Bannack Days

The weekend was a blur, a swirling loop of happy moments pouring themselves into happy memories.

DAY ONE

Settling into camp, I fell asleep to the sound of horses munching on hay, the scent of crushed alfalfa and meadow grass strong in my nostrils. It was a warm night and the breeze held its own until moonrise, then all was quiet.

I woke to fingers of daylight slipping through the tree branches swaying near my hammock. Birds greeted the dawn, the horses continued at their hay, and I lay there thinking what a perfect day this is starting out to be.

Soon I could hear Mel putting the coffee on. Sticks snapped and a match struck, the sound of water hitting the walls of the coffee pot. I decided that camping is the best way to do Bannack Days.

At the campfire in my sweats and boots, hands wrapped around a tin cup steaming with freshly poured cowboy coffee, I breathed in the misty sunrise and let it settle my soul as the fire warmed my legs. I watched a cloud of mist surrender its last hold on the hilltops, the sun reigning victorious once again. I looked at Mel beside me and saw my own peace reflected in his eyes as he leaned back and stretched his Red, White, and Blue CROCS to the fire.

"You never get tired of moments like this, do you?" I asked.

"Nope," he said without hesitation. "Never will, I think."

And together we sat and let the morning grow around us.

I find myself with very little to do all day except wander an old ghost town pretending to be in the year 1876. I have everything I need - a good outfit, a hat to shade the mountain sun, a handbag for odds and ends, a supply of cash, and precious few responsibilities. This is the Bannack Days of my dreams!

The day lived up to the dream. Hot but bearable, busy but not too "people-y", filled with an atmosphere of historic preservation and finished off with the classic Montana weather demonstration - a thunderstorm to wash away the heat and drench the unwary.

Lying in my sleeping bag while the sun eased himself to bed, I watched raindrops slide down the tarp and closed my eyes to better smell the wet pine needles on the ground below me. The world faded and I drifted to sleep.

DAY TWO

The second day started the same as the first, except it was colder and I got to the coffee pot first. I set a new pot to boil on the burner while Mel fed the horses and started the fire.

We were halfway through the first cup when one of the neighbors came walking by on his return from the little green "house" on the corner. Greetings were exchanged and he eyed the fire with a shiver. Mel invited him over and he said he would just warm himself a moment, couldn't stay. I placed a chair for him, and he said he would just sit a moment, couldn't stay. He "couldn’t stay" all the way through our second cup of coffee and into the final dregs of the pot as he and Mel swapped stories from the mountains.

It was time to begin the day.

Horses saddled, camp set to rights, and Sunday "go-to-meeting" clothes, Jeanette and I having spent Friday evening ironing all the skirts and shirts and petticoats. The three of us sat in the front row of the Bannack church, built in 1873 and blessedly cool in the late morning heat. Rock of Ages never sounded so good.

The day was slower than the previous one, and when it was slowest, Mel would turn to me with a smile and ask if I cared to take Apache for a spin. I hesitated a moment...Oh, who am I kidding? I almost snatched the reins out of his hand and clambered into the saddle. I rode south, towards Boot Hill, topped out on the rise above town to watch the shootout in the street, then curved around and came back.

At the tail end of the afternoon Mel took the pack string on a final ride around and back through town. I set my steps to rejoin Jeanett at camp but took the scenic route that led by the creek. The water ran swiftest in the middle of the stream, then curled off towards the bank in little eddies that gradually died out and slowly merged back in the current. They called my name. Off came the leather boots and the woolen socks. Skirt and petticoat wrinkled and crinkled as I bunched them around my knees and waded in. It felt like a slice of heaven!

I was at peace in Bannack, free and content. I was me, and I like me. Then I hit cell service again and the struggle to maintain that peace became a little bit harder. But I can still smell the sage and the campfire smoke and hear the horses when they nicker lowly in the morning for their breakfast. Some of that peace stayed in my heart, just waiting for the right moment to return.

Apache, "Horse-face" Nelson, Daisy Duke