Since I have been with my partner Curtis, 2 and a half years now, I have had to hear every summer about his week long venture out to Paradise, Montana, where he plays with The Portland baroque Orchestra in a small music festival at a little hot springs resort.
'Paradise" is located in a little valley inside the Bitterroot Mountains of Western Montana, where the Clark Fork River flows along in it's slow green glacial advance toward the North. How fitting for me to be blogging on 'Heaven Now' from 'Paradise'. Fortune sometimes smiles on the least of us.
This year I was invited to go along, so I cleared the calendar for months in advance to make it work. One never knows what to expect when tagging along as the girlfriend, yet I am finding this trip a lovely and unique series of experiences and opportunities to be truly 'away'.
The drive here from Portland was long, we left at 4 am so we had time to stop along the way in Spokane, at the only Independant bookstore within hundreds of miles. Aunties in Spokane is a fabulous place, highly recommeded.
The subsequent drive through Idaho on I-90 is all winding up and down high mountain passes. Huge climbs and long downgrades where one can only hope the brakes are all in order. From Idaho into Montana the mountains continue, and then the turn off, left toward St. Regis and Glacier National Park.
We arrived at Quinn's Resort by 2:30, narrowly passing through a small forest fire which later caused a temporary road closure.
The weather is warm, and there are cherry trees all over the place! The first thing I did after we dumped our stuff in the room was to walk out to see the river. I passed a pie cherry tree loaded with fruit. A rare type of cherry these days. The cherry of my childhood. That reminded me of Trog, the cherry picker I met on the ferry to Alaska back in 1976. He picked cherries in Montana. ( Trog, short for 'troglodyte' hitchhiked with me and we got a ride from 2 guys in a big RV, all of us bound for Fairbanks. We played poker at night in those huge Alaska valleys with barely a sunset and dusk in June.)
Traveling I guess does this, conjures up memories of the distant past. Well, I don't want to digress from being here now. How lucky that life goes on and 36 years later, after my gypsy youth, I am still doing little gypsy things.
The musicians are out warming up at dress rehearsal, I can hear the violins. Monica Hugget, the reason this festival exists, has arrived in her dusty rented Subaru. My own dusty Subaru sits in the parking lot. A strong mountain wind has kicked up, and the outdoor stage is set.My man has gone to work, making music. I get to watch, and hope the rainstorm coming in is kind to this diligent, talented group of interesting players.
Music in the mountains... more later!
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