Fuck Yah Montana!

I've been working--forever, it seems--on a piece about my relationship with Montana and, in the process, have been leafing through old notebooks.  And, lo! I found this one from the summer I was 24 that totally embodies "To the Yes!" So here goes:

31 May 2001

Written upon returning to Bozeman from a Forest Service job in New Mexico I quit after one week:

Fuck yah, Montana!

Fuck yah, ceasar salad with homemade soft croutons, still warm from the oven.

Fuck yah, this Corona with lime, 

this dirty couch and red floor cushion from Target in Prescott, Arizona

Fuck, yah, plants everywhere and this green yard that you'd never know was just mud a couple months ago.

Life does persevere.

As does mine.

I think coming back north was the best decision I've made in a long time. Although I am sorry if I have inconvenienced the fish folks, the great relief I feel at being here is worth it.  Now I know where my heart sings its wildest and most operatic tunes. Where it shouts FUCK YAH! breathlessly at a simple turn in the road, lupine on the hillside.  Where it feels free.

The light in New Mexico may well be incredible, but it is the Montana air that I need to breathe.  For a long, long time.