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The end of our trip to Montana and our departure from Glacier National Park led us to Billings for a short but very hospitable stay with my husband’s cousins. We enjoyed walks around cousin Susan’s golf course community. Hiking away from the paved road into an open field or near the rimrock was out of the question as those spaces contain poisonous snakes during the summer. The dining at a neighborhood “Great Harvest” was delicious and nutritious with deli sandwiches made with fresh-baked, artisan bread. “Great Harvest” is a Montana franchise that features the state’s grain, which is milled at the store. The store/deli also sells “in-house” created and packaged breakfast cereals and ingredients for all sorts of baked goods. Another cousin, Shawn, introduced us to the steakhouse, “Granary”. The fare was tasty. We sat on the patio which gave the pleasant feeling of being in someone’s wooded backyard.

Perhaps the most unusual but the most gratifying sight to see while we visited Billings was a waterfowl sanctuary. Susan’s husband, Jack recommended that pay a visit to “WJH Bird Resources” which is owned and directed by his friend, Sheila McKay.

Sheila was very gracious and took us on a marvelous tour of the grounds. I became acquainted with an array of exotic ducks and geese. An East African Crown Crane and a Sandhill Crane reside there too. My plans for a future trip to Billings will definitely include ample time to paint and sketch at this preserve.

Our room in Lake McDonald Lodge was on the highest floor and faced the lake. Immediately after I entered the room, I heard a beautiful serenade coming from the opened screen door at our balcony. Happily, a small bird would visit and sing in the eaves of the roof or on the railing. I was captivated by the friendliness and beauty of this bird. The next day we rented a row boat. The lake was still, the sun was bright, and the mountains stood in their glory. We were alone on the lake, away from the shore for an hour. Sporadically our little, 5 inch, winged friend would encircle the boat at very a close range, dip to drink and fly away. Perhaps, the bird was making sure we were alright. I sensed endearment. When we returned to the room, I couldn’t wait to consult my manuals and identify this bird. Voila! A male Violet-green Swallow has become my newest fascination. I have a beautiful photo for reference of his striking, contrasting, colored feathers, and can’t wait to paint him. Since the Violet-green Swallow mainly appears in Western North America, I intend on donating a print of this future painting for The Marynell Heringer Women’s Golf Tournament (in honor of my husband’s late aunt) next summer in Billings, Montana.

When we departed from West Yellowstone, Montana we needed to make some time heading north.  Reservations had been made many months in advance to stay inside Glacier National Park.  Check-in was looming in a matter of days.  While we were driving along the Madison River (SR 287N), the ranchland and farms in between the river and the Madison Range were abundant and beautiful.   A cowboy walking with a lasso appeared in our lane coming towards us.  Surprisingly, a whole herd of cattle  was being driven by him and another on horseback, right alongside the road (and our car) outside the ranchland fence.  Amazing…cowboys really do exist!  How quintessential Montana, n’est-ce pas?

Before lunch, my husband had to visit Three Forks.  He wanted to say that he was able to see the confluence of two rivers:  The Madison and The Jefferson which give birth to the mighty Missouri.  I was humoring him by agreeing that this was ‘a must see’ on our trip.  We had to hunt for the park that contained this sight, and the riverbanks were flooded.  As I begrudgingly walked through a gravel park, my poor attitude changed to one of pure gratitude.  We met a mother Killdeer guarding her nest (made on the ground).  She acted frantically and would not leave her 4 brown and black, speckled, cream colored eggs.  They were perfectly camouflaged by the multicolored gravel.  Instead of the typical broken wing defense, the good mother Killdeer tilted her backend up, over her nest and fanned her lovely white and pale orange-rust tail feathers.

Since we were trying to cover a lot of road on SR287N, we decided to stay a few days in Choteau (French pronunciation).  My husband picked this little town for no other reason than Choteau seemed like a good place to stop.  We knew nothing about this town.  We were lucky to find lodging, the last available room at ‘Stage Stop Inn’ (weekend before Independence Day).  Not only did we delight in this town, but not too far south of Choteau (on SR89) is ‘Freezeout Lake’, a veritable bird haven.  Finally, I discovered what I had seen at Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge.  Those funny-looking white birds were pelicans.  A plethora of white pelicans congregated on either side of the road, flying, communing, basking on their own rock islands, swimming and raising their young.  I noticed a flustered Black-crowned Night-Heron flying hither and yon.  Perhaps we disrupted his peaceful time with his white peers.  We couldn’t gain any access to the lake off the road. I believe that another distant rock island (hard to detect with my limited lens) was claimed by a commune of Black- crowned Night-Herons.

We moved onward, after a 2 night stay in Choteau.  Our approach on SR 287 to Choteau and beyond, northward following SR89 to St. Mary’s, is full of conflicting emotions.  The landscape gives us much to ponder and appreciate with ‘The Range’, a  continuous string of wilderness areas and mountain ranges (Continental Divide) to our west.  ‘The Range’ is thirty plus miles away and is dwarfed by the overwhelming, if not oppressive sky.  To our east the land is vast and unending with gentle, rolling grasslands.  Besides the presence of occasional wildflowers, livestock sprinkled on the very distant land, and the occasional car that passes, we had the feeling that we were the only two people left on this earth!  We even started to question, “Is this our planet?”  The isolation became unsettling.  Then a road sign broke our uneasiness.  “Caution: Livestock at Large”.  We laughed at the thought of “Elsie” and “Mr. Ed’s” mug shots hanging as “Wanted” posters at the local sheriff’s office.

Our travel began in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  My husband wanted to revisit and see more of the Poudre River Canyon in northern Colorado.  He loved its ruggedness, and that’s an understatement.  Immediately, signs greeted us stating that we were entering cougar country and to be aware.  I didn’t care for the canyon, a profound lack of trees and vegetation.  The isolation and harsh environment were apparent.   The rushing river was swollen and raging from mountaintop snow melt.  Thankfully, it was providing refreshingly cool drafts.  No need for air conditioning.  We put the windows down.  However, I did not want to get out of the car.  Paranoia paralyzed me.  We didn’t see any big cats, but certainly smelled where one had left its mark.

The terrain changed as we continued north on SR14, out of the Poudre Canyon area.  Soon we were driving past fertile ranches and wetlands.  We stopped to witness a young moose successfully dodge a threatening Angus bull.  Before a lunch break in Walden, we stopped to look out and below at the panorama of Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge.  The distance was too great to make out a small group of funny-looking, white, tropical birds (not waders) moving in unison along the stream banks.

After lunch, while we were making our way north, again to I-80 in Wyoming, we passed a pronghorn that was on our side of the continuous state route fence.  I noted to my husband, the driver, if we turned around, the animal would be in great range for a photograph from my car window.  Since the pronghorn was having a dilemma trying to get back over the fence, he was in the same area when we returned.  I was adjusting my camera and taking some photos as he continued to walk away in the opposite direction.  My husband, thoughtfully and slowly backed up the car for me to continue our photo shoot.  Smash, Crash, Scratch! What just happened?  We had just backed our rental car into a tall, roadside metal post, planted every 100 ft. for reference.  Imagine the story the pronghorn told, if he found his way back over the fence.              

Back into the state of Wyoming, we proceeded north for our second time in 4 years through Grand Tetons and Yellowstone Parks.  Five miles before the Western exit in Yellowstone, and before our late dinner/destination across the border, a large, but quick storm occurred and cooled down this part of the park.  We met with traffic, and suspected animal sightings.  Several park rangers were assisting a large gang of buffalo cross the road to graze.  I have wonderful photos of bison, with their calves, close range.

The next day was spent back in Yellowstone as we spent 2 nights in West Yellowstone, MT.  Once again, we readily found a smaller obstinacy (I just love this word) of buffalo resting next to the Madison River.  They were very patient or blasé while I and other park guests took photographs from safe distances near our cars.  I witnessed a guest irresponsibly stop his car on the road, leave it, rush (arm outstretched aiming his pocket digital camera) towards a moving cow who nuzzled her calf to stay back on a narrow path between her and the river.  People have to remember that the animals in the parks are “wild”, and can act accordingly!

We spent the rest of the day hiking along Madison River, taking photos of fly fishermen, some ducks and Columbian Ground Squirrels and kicking up (to my husband’s delight) dry buffalo pies which floated away like flat grey meringue.

Nature is experiencing a big change, and growing pains.  Wildlife around my house and the neighborhood is a reflection of this change.  Nidification is taking place for the Carolina Chickadees in my small birdhouse.  Some nests are already built and awaiting new life for the neighboring Robins and Cooper Hawks.  My backyard has become a frequent repose for 4 does.  They like to feed on my leftover acorns.  I suspect that one of them is pregnant.  I tried unsuccessfully to photograph a brilliantly rich, cinnamon- colored fawn in the adjacent yard early last June.  Since the fawn looked very thin and stood on wobbly legs, I presume that it couldn’t have been but a few days old.

Radical changes occur in our weather systems here in the Ohio Valley. Sunlight hurriedly comes and goes. Easily, I get drawn into a vortex of mood changes.  Nothing gives me more pleasure than to produce another painting, attend another exhibit opening, and capture the perfect photograph.  Self doubt seeps into my soul like storm water.  What if none of this comes to fruition? Anxiously, purposefully, but reverently as I am caught up in my activity, I need to stop and remind myself of God’s glory and promise of abundant life that follows.

http://www.dnr.state.oh.us/Home/wild_resourcessubhomepage/ResearchandSurveys/sandhill_crane_migration/tabid/18911/Default.aspx

The population of Greater Sandhill Cranes, endangered in Ohio, has grown from only 4 spotted a decade ago to presently over 20.  My dream would be to own some wetlands or farmland in Northeastern Ohio or Northern Michigan and encourage or raise the population growth of these special birds.  I am fascinated by their large and unusual silhouettes, their anthropomorphic behavior of socializing, courting, pairing, raising their young or colts, but mostly by their ability to survive over 9 million years.

   I feel a little fractured over trying to cover all the bases.  All I really care to do is spend my time painting, but calm slowly settles in my mind at the end of this winter month.   Whether I awaken to see a gathering of does in my backyard feeding on acorns or hear the calls of birds nearby as they hustle and bustle, I sense hope.  Spring is coming!