Day 21, April 6, 2020

Blue Sky

There are few things as glorious a blue sky in the morning. Today it was a crisp spring morning that felt refreshing and made me think of the vivid blue of the glacial lakes in Glacier National Park in Montana, a seemingly impossible blue. 

Blue sky over Montague.

Where I live now, there aren't too many opportunities to see big sky, instead we have lush forests, hills and small mountains, and lots of sinuous streams and rivers. Years ago, I had the opportunity to present at a conference on the Rural Creative Economy in Montana. I almost always take advantage of an academic conference as an excuse to see another part of the country, so I leapt at the chance.

Stuart Rosenfeld used to organize these Creative Economy conferences as part of a network he was creating across the country, and they combined academic presentations at a community college, with field trips to see how different communities were putting the creative economy into action. For this conference we went to Whitefish, Montana. I was on a panel about instilling creativity in students and curricula as part of two days of presentations, then we went to the Salish Kootenai College and the Flathead Valley Community College. I had never visited an Indigenous People's college before and I was very impressed with the tightly woven mission of preserving culture and language, addressing the needs of the community, and providing the primary source of higher education on each respective reservation. I was particularly impressed with how the students at Flathead Community College were learning construction by building student housing on the campus, how a need for health care workers predicated the creation of a nursing program, and how the need to preserve the language instigated a language program at the Salish Kootenai College. We also got to see some amazing contemporary interpretations of traditional visual art forms, and I purchased some cds of the local tribal bands.

I always try to tack on a few extra days when I travel so I can explore the area a bit. I struck up a friendship with a few of the other conference attendees and we decided to head up to Glacier National Park. Feeling fairly confident, we strode across the hotel lobby until stopped by the concierge, who quizzed us about our destination, then asked if we had bear spray. The grizzlies were waking up, he explained, and talked about singing while hiking and making as much noise as possible. He then pulled out a can of bear spray from the concierge kiosk and designated me as the bear spray operator. 

In the car ride up to Glacier, I carefully read the instructions. Apparently, this Lysol sized can contained enough spray for fifteen seconds and had a reach of twenty feet. I read this out loud to the car, and we observed a moment of stunned silence. I tried to envision the misfortune of being twenty feet from a grizzly and how steady my aim might be. Luckily, aside from losing my pen in Lake MacDonald in a particularly strong gust of wind by a cliff, we had no mishaps. We saw a herd of elk, but no Grizzlies, aside from a taxidermy example in a dark bar. High in the mountains where we hiked, there was snow on the ground, and that made for slow going in our sneakers, but it was beautiful

Eventually, we returned to the car and made our way down the far side of the park where the mountain had been ravaged by a forest fire. After such majestic scenes, the devastation of the fire was sobering. It was like we were having a glimpse of a post apocalyptic world. Then, as sudden as the burned forest began, it ceased and the land became flat and as far as one could see there was a straight road and vast open sky. I don't think I've ever seen such a vast sky on land before. It made saliva pool in my mouth like something unexpected was going to happen. We drove on into the Blackfeet Reservation and the town of Browning. 

Having visited the Salish Kootenai and Flathead Reservations, and having made fast friends with everyone we met there, we felt curiously confident about exploring the Blackfeet Reservation, but almost immediately we could sense a profound difference. Driving into town, there were no people walking the streets. There were more junked cars than cars that looked drivable. We pulled into the Blackfeet Heritage Center and Art Gallery, and aside from a dour looking attendant, we were the only visitors. We walked through the gallery with a hushed reverence. 

Big sky outside of Browning, MT

Hungry from our hike, we asked for suggestions for lunch, and were given directions to a mobile home set on cinder blocks that served as a restaurant serving a hybrid of Mexican-Indigenous food. The walls of the restaurant were covered with tributes to a teenager who had recently passed away, and the counter by the cash register had a long list of names of people who were no longer welcome to pass checks. 

We ate, again in a hushed respectful silence, and then drove a self guided tour through Browning. I had never seen such abject poverty in the United States. It was hard to believe that this was the same country that held the reservations on the western side of the mountain. How could there be such disparity? But the thing that holds fast in my memory was the silence. The lack of traffic, the lack of people on the street. 

I hope they have found ways to turn the reservation around. Back in 2006, it seemed like hard times in Browning. 

First ride selfie.

Today, I went on my first bike ride of the season. It was a little late in the day, so it was already getting a little brisk, and while there was some traffic, and we did pass a family out for a jog, there were few people out. Normally, on a beautiful spring day like today, the Bookmill's parking lot would be overflowing with people sitting outside the Lady Killigrew and Alvah Stone. Turn it Up's door would be slapping open and shut to a crazed erratic rhythm. But there was none of that. Instead, we rode on, down to the farm fields below the Bookmill. And down there, in one of the few places in Montague where the vista opens up, there is big sky. There is a slow loll to the fields, a gentle undulation, but you can see a horse off in a great distance, a man walking a dog, the shape of a barn. It was here that we turned around under the broad winged gaze of a low flying turkey vulture.

It felt wonderful to be on the bicycle again. It wasn't a particularly intense ride, just a gentle pace that felt like a good reintroduction to the road. I shuffled through the gears, got warm enough that my nose started to run, and went fast enough that my eyes watered a little bit. Now that the first ride is done, I'm sure others are soon to follow. I may even take off my bike rack and switch to the little under the seat bag since I'm not carrying my laptop and a change of clothes anywhere anytime soon. It feels like maybe spring is finally here.

Sending lots of love to you all.

Take care and be well,

Leo

From Our Friends:

From Paul Lindale and the GCC Art Department:

Take a look at the Art Department blog: "Within, Without: Living the Remote Life" with work by students and faculty responding to our current state of existence. I just read, "A Week's Worth of Quarantine Comics!" and it brought tears to my eyes. 

Today's Online Teaching Tips:

From Brookings:

"8 Recommendations for Universities and Professors During the Coronavirus Pandemic" is mostly commonsense at this point, or pretty general. But a decent little bit about shortening assignments and being innovative with assignments.