Looking East
Looking West
A few months ago, I had a routine check-up with my dentist who’s a dental student at the University of Minnesota. He was born and raised in Hamilton, Montana located in the Bitterroot Valley and is an accomplished collegiate golfer. The student working in the cubicle next to us was also from Montana and a collegiate golfer. It’s less and less unusual to encounter someone from there but meeting two dental students working next to each other on a floor of fifty other dental students, both collegiate golfers, on the same day is extremely rare. He said he and his wife who’s a law student and from Hamilton too, plan to move back there after they graduate because they miss it. If not back to their hometown, he imagines living in a town small enough that it only needs one dentist and one lawyer.
That led us to reminisce about other towns we remember, love, and could afford to live in today. We talked about how other cities, small towns and the countryside have changed over the years. He doesn’t recognize Bozeman anymore and said sometimes it’s called the ‘New Aspen’, but a close friend who’s lived there multiple times over many decades disagrees. She’s heard that nickname too but thinks the other nickname ‘BozeAngeles’ is a more accurate description for a variety of reasons.
Our conversation caught me off guard. With the exam light inches from my face and multiple devices wedged in my frozen mouth I started to daydream. Sometimes I drive by specific places when I’m there, places I’ve lived, places friends have lived, main street, campus, the Pickle Barrel for a sandwich, the Western Cafe, and to see if the Far-Out House is still intact. I even stopped by the art building the last time I drove through. I parked, stood on the front lawn, and called a friend who I went to school with. We reminisced and I described how the arts and architecture complex looked the same. “Did you go inside?” he asked. “No, but I did fifteen years ago when I attended some meetings. It’s the same inside too but I didn’t recognize it and felt out of place.” Our conversation shifted to 1980 when Mount St. Helens exploded, the cloud moved east, and three days later thick ash fell and collected like snow right where I stood.
After my appointment, I walked to a distant parking ramp because the closest one is always full and street parking is never available. I hadn’t been on this part of campus for a while but I noticed the corner deli where I’d received a call from my wife many years ago. I was getting coffee, and she was filling me in because I’d just missed the visit by her doctor and his team. They discovered what was wrong, its critical state, and how they planned to help the following morning. The fear and guilt washed over me again. Then I drifted to a landscape in Central Montana which always settles me down, thought about my dentists hope for his family’s future, and the familiar views he’d enjoy when he returned to the Bitterroot.
He asked me if I missed Montana. “I do—a little all the time.”
Songs :: The Boy In the Bubble by Paul Simon, Clay Pigeons by John Prine, Small Town by Aaron Espe, Goin’ Back by Neil Young, and Rocky Mountain High by John Denver
© C. Davidson