Bozeman, Part 2

I’m sitting at a turnoff near a river.  Andre just surprised me with a stop at a huge swimming hole, where we took a well-deserved leisurely swim to cool off after a long day of working the land.  We were tasked with clearing a space where starts from the greenhouse would be planted, which basically involved pulling weeds, many of which we would consider food—dandelion, with huge roots that we saved to make “coffee,” lambs quarter, thistle, and herbs such as mallow and chamomile, among others.  For the first hour I worked efficiently and quickly, with vigor, filling the compost bins with large handfuls of weeds that were already wilting from the heat of the morning sun. That pace was not long lasting, especially as the conversation started to flow and the morning sun moved overhead. In the garden, I met Laura, Josh’s girlfriend and the daughter of Bob and Vivian, the landowners, who came out to bottle feed the lambs.  They are down to three feeds per day. Josh said they used to require a feed once every four hours, which meant sleepless nights.  Josh is a really interesting young man, who I felt a real connection with right away.  He slightly resembles my little (not so little) brother, not in his physique but in his demeanor.  He is a beautiful man, raised in Chicago and moved to Bozeman with some friends to escape the Midwest (like me).  He seems quite at peace on the farm, peace that I experienced while pulling weeds in his garden, methodically and mindfully.  Later I learned we were the first co-op shoppers he’d invited to his farm, which felt really special.

After work, which ended around 1PM, Josh cracked open some beers and we brought him to Butter to share some of the goodies we’d been gifted, blackberry moonshine, some of the huckleberry vodka Andre bought in Clayton, and my elderberry cordial.  That’s when Bob joined us, and we spent the next hour or two chatting with him about political and social issues, the energy crisis, food and farming, and on, and on, and on. He offered to make margaritas if we stuck around for a couple of hours, the best in town apparently, so we pulled ourselves away and headed to the Madison River Brewery (David’s recommendation, and the Scotch Ale and Honey Rye were amazing, just like he said).

After our swim, we went back to Butter to towel off when Andre noticed that two of the duck eggs we were gifted had been broken. We cooked and devoured them atop the bread we rescued from Great Harvest last night on our Bozeman diving adventure.  When that wasn’t enough, we broke out the carrots and cheese that we found and bought, respectively.  I suppose we’re staying the night here again, rather than in the fairgrounds, with our new friends at the farm.  I’m looking forward to getting back there.