Campus Map Section :: Image – MSU Services
Bridger Canyon Road :: Image – Still from the movie Torn.
Handmade Houses: A Guide to the Woodbutchers Art :: Art Boericke, Barry Shapiro Photographers
It was Friday and my writing class in Wilson Hall ended at noon. Afterwards, I wandered the corridors for a few minutes because I liked to glance at the nameplates next to the faculty member’s office doors. Reading the names of the writers, philosophers, and literary professors always made me happy — professors on the verge of big breakthroughs, like a new way to view ‘quality’, discovering an image to describe ‘home’ in their new poem, or the birth of a literary journal. It always felt serious and authentic there and I loved that feeling. Then I walked into the courtyard and unlocked my bike under a grove of birch trees and rode to the art building.
I had to stop by the art department office to drop a form off and ended up chatting with Leola for a few minutes. Leola was the department secretary, office manager, and heart of the place. Like lots of people in her position, she quietly held most of the knowledge and power. She had the answers for everything you’d ever need to know — not just answers to all the paperwork questions from students and faculty, but she could tell a ceramics student what the melting temperatures were for each cone during a kiln firing, why the video equipment had been glitchy lately, the office hours for every faculty member from memory, and when the photo chemicals were scheduled to arrive. She knew everything and everyone.
While I was there, I checked a painting in the painting studio I’d recently started in the corner and then walked back over to B. and said hi. She asked me what I was up to. “Not much. Just got out of a class. Seeing who’s around and then heading home. How about you?” I asked. “My class just ended too. I’m heading home as well. No plans after that.” “Don’t you live somewhere on Bridger Canyon Road?” I asked. “I do. Have you been to our place before?” “No, someone must have mentioned it.” I said. “I’ll just be hanging out later. Stop by if you’re looking for something to do.” “Oh… thanks! That’d be a nice ride.” I said. “It’s a big house with a large open porch on the north side of the road. It sits by itself and has quite a few big trees around it and there’s a red mailbox at the entrance to our road.” “That sounds easy to find. I’m not sure I’ll make it, but thanks for the invite.” “Sure.” I headed downstairs and rode home.
After I’d eaten lunch and worked for a while, I decided to take B. up on her offer. So, I grabbed my day pack, a sweater for later and headed out. I road through town on North Rouse which merged onto Bridger Canyon Road. It was a narrow county two lane, with virtually no shoulder in either direction. Cars drove at highway speeds too, so it wasn’t very bike friendly. I was relieved to see the roof of what I thought was her house rise into view. It had a large front porch, a detached garage and all sitting on at least five acres surrounded by Cottonwood, Blue Spruce, and Elm trees. There was a grove of aspen trees on the backside of her house too that became even bigger as it crawled through the drainage and up the foothills towards Mount Baldy. The mailbox was painted red just like she said, so I rode up the gravel road, laid my bike down and sat on the huge front lawn to catch my breath. A few minutes later, a screen door closed behind me, and I turned to see B. waving from the porch. I joined her there and we sat for a while talking about bike riding, the expansive view, her home and how she ended up there. Eventually we went inside and sat at a long, heavy farm table in the dining area, drank coffee, talked and smoked cigarettes. The window light that had been creating hazy floating smoke grids in the air above us disappeared as the light through the windows slowly dimmed. The house began to feel more and more familiar like I’d been there before, like the shotgun house in Somers on the north end of Flathead Lake, photos from the Handmade Houses book, or the Far Out House back in town. It’s a powerful singular feeling.
Songs :: The Blue Man by Steve Kahn, Albatross by Fleetwood Mac, Freeway Jam by Jeff Beck, Something You’re Going Through by Graham Parker, and Good Times Roll by The Cars
© C. Davidson