Harry Knew A Few Things

My father-in-law, Harry Johnson, left Texas in 1953 and moved to Gallatin County. Quickly falling in love with the Big Sky state, he made Montana home, raising a son and daughter here. He died in Ennis in 1995.

But as much as Harry loved Montana, he didn’t care for the winters, which he thought were too long, too cold, too confining.

A mason, he’d take his family south each winter, picking up jobs laying brick and stone in the desert before returning to Montana in the spring.

Once back home Barb said her father could always tell who wintered in. He never gave specifics, but as someone who wintered in this year myself, I could make some guesses.

My first winter in Montana was spent in Cooke City and I didn’t leave. Life in the mountains was unique and interesting enough. By April, however, winter was beginning to feel like it would never end.

I’d step into the Miners Saloon for a beer in the afternoon and the six guys seated at the bar would all turn around, see it was me, and turn back to their drinks without even a nod. The conviviality we’d enjoyed at the start of winter long gone.

Had I been a stranger they would have chatted me up, asked questions, maybe even bought me a beer. Instead they preferred to sit in silence nursing their lukewarm Olys.

Harry would have spotted the problem.

I sure did.

That was my last winter in Cooke.

Over the ensuing decades Barb and I fled Montana for warmer climates every March. We towed a boat to Florida until we got tired of the crowds there, and have been spending time in the desert Southwest in recent years.

This year, much to our regret, we stayed home.

Malta isn’t Cooke City but the two towns share some similarities – snow, cold and remoteness. In both places strangers draw attention, offering possible respite from the over-familiarity of neighbors.

I once thought staying around for the whole winter would earn respect, some sort of badge of honor, but it doesn’t. No one cares. They’d rather hear about your trip to Cozumel than how cold it got in February in Malta.

Harry knew that. He knew the importance of a tropical fix. So do I, especially when I find myself getting excited when I see a stranger in town.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]