Back in the Saddle

How appropriate, right?  Me, Montana, saddles.  Notice I did not use the title "Back in the Saddle Again" lest I be infringing on some copyright or another.  After all, "Back in the Saddle Again" is the song that defined Gene Autry and is the title of his biography.  It was even voted 98th best song of the Twentieth Century.  What I'm up to is not nearly as epic as having a song in the Grammy Hall of Fame.

 I always wanted to be a cowgirl, but ended up a trash picker instead.  Remember me?  Garbage Grandma?  It's been a really long time since I have posted.  636 days to be exact.  That's 1 year, 8 months and 26 days.  It can't be that long since I have done anything interesting can it?  But it HAS been that long since I have gone on a trash picking adventure.  Cold, wind and snow (kind of like the mailman) have never deterred me in the past, but somehow I couldn't get my trash picker and black bag out of storage until--yesterday.  Oh, I picked up stuff here and there.  It's in my blood.  See something, do something--like bend over and pick up that Twisted Tea can (5% alcohol by volume) or Busch Light Beer bottle or Rosauers receipt or Kind Bar wrapper.  (How kind.)  But yesterday the open road called to me, the cans and bottles glinting in the sun up and down Tubb Road were begging to be picked up, and I couldn't contain myself.  And a long-time dream of mine was realized.  Always wanted to take 2 bags with me on a pick.  Read on.

Since I like to recycle cans and bottles that go into my black garbage bags, separating them from the general grossness as I go seemed like a great idea.  But I never could figure out how to hold 2 different bags' mouths open at the same time while picking. Voila!  The answer?  A retired husband!
I wouldn't say that I drug Jack along on my pick, but neither would I say that he jumped up and down wagging his tail at the prospect.  He is a great partner on the whole and found 2 black bags and my 2 green pickers. (My shiny green "Nifty Nabber", formerly called Mr. Green in my book, well, OK, my manuscript that was supposed to be a book some day.) Caps and gloves and we were out the door.  One hour and 15 minutes later we had to stop as our bags were full.  In the old Colorado days, often I would time the end of my pick to coincide with Lee's lunch break so he could swoop by picking up both me and my bag, but here we see another downside of retirement.  Nobody to pick me up!  No matter as it was a quick 38 minutes back to the house.  Of course, along the way we passed more cans. I couldn't stand to leave them there, so hands full, we returned home.

After a return trip to pick up and inventory the bags, here is the breakdown:  103-1/2 aluminum cans, 6 bottles and a whole bag full of miscellaneous items.  The most interesting thing we picked up? A pen from the Sacajawea Hotel in Three Forks--headwaters of the Missouri.  Imagine a ball point pen migrating all the way from Three Forks to Tubb Road--a distance of some 20 miles.  I love the Sacajawea Hotel.  Have you been there?  The epitome of history, she is celebrating her 104th year.  Kind of reminds me of the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park.  I'm sure there is no need to remind my readers that Sacajawea was hired, by virtue of the fact that she was Toussaint Charbonneau's wife, as an aid to the Corps of Discovery expendition (Lewis ande Clark) because she spoke Shoshone.  Her son's name, who was born on the "trip," was Jean Baptiste, but nicknamed Pompey by Clark. Sound familiar?  Two of the tallest peaks in the Bridgers are named Sacagawea, 9,551' and Pomp Peak, 9551'.  Isn't history so much fun?  And so is picking up cans.

Always Winter