There are mountains out there; we can sense them but we cannot see them yet. Luckily we have taken refuge in the stunning house and farm of my former college roommate Maire and her husband David. From the windows of their restored farm house you make out the Bridgers beyond the horses, sheep, chickens, and cats.
Bozeman is a unique college town. At once hip and savory, it is also a throw back, an old western place. Despite the pouring rain yesterday we strolled Main street stopping for browsing and chats with saddle makers, stationers, and wine merchants. All our meals so far are collaborations of the best sort. David tromps in with armfuls of fresh rhubarb. Their own eggs were scrambling when we woke to the smells of bacon and coffee. Venison chili last night with a salad of extraordinary proportions by Leila. And my bread we finally finished for toast this morning (a record ten days after emerging from my freezer - what a hearty beast it is making me love it all the more).
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