Ohmyohmy. My husband was away for a long weekend with his posse, fishing wild Montana rivers while I was at the homestead navigating class five rapids with one oar, negotiating log jams and barracudas. It was hard and tiring (as if I needed to feel more exhausted) and, come Sunday afternoon, I was very, very thankful for the return of those extra two hands and the bounding, rough energy that only a papa can offer.
My girls and I had a very Missoula sort of weekend. We picked four pounds of peas (!!!!!!), had breakfast picnics at the park, ate waffles and hula hooped at the farmer’s market, watched the Missoula Marathon (and ran a few of those miles with our friend), swam, slid down red slides at the playground. I went to bed at 9pm all three nights Andy was away, my eyes so heavy they fell shut the instant my body was horizontal, supported by Missoula.
Yes, Missoula. I love my town, my community. We chose this place, the same place that raised generations before me. It’s the geography, the mentality, the beauty. Read more about my Missoula in this week’s mama digs, Missoula Grows With Us.
