Dear Montana,
When I was little I hated you. I hated how you took me away from me friends I had made. I hated your emptiness that surrounded me. I hated the dry air and most of all I hated feeling so far away from everyone I loved.
Now that I have spent about half my life within your borders, these feelings of utter distaste have dissipated from my life. For now I truly am reminded why you are the Last Best Place. Your daunting sunsets paint over my heart with feelings of nostalgia. As I sit here, in Virginia, I don’t see your stars or traces of the wilderness. I miss looking up and not being able to count the glittering dots in the sky.
Never would I have imagined that the vast borders that I call home would hold such precious memories to me. The countless rides in the “cheese-wagon” on dirt roads. Where my weekends were essentially spent in Canada, for I was on the highline, or the time I made my parents drive five hours to watch our final high school football games.
Never would I have imagined that the state with hardly a million people in it would change me. The memories of eating Taco Treat for the first time, spending hundreds of dollars at our swanky state fair, and driving without a purpose in my little beat up truck are ones that cannot be taken away from me. Your roads are terrible but they are unchanging whether I’m driving to Bozeman or heading to the endless fields that is Eastern Montana.
Never would I have imagined that the people I met here would be the most genuine. The attitude of perseverance is a common thread that runs through all of us. I guess you can say we get that from your harsh winters. It’s almost as common as the love of Huckleberries or even Hi-Country Jerky. As firm as the Little Belts and as gentle as the sweeping skies, Montanans know what is best for themselves.
Calling Bozeman my home for the foreseeable future has deepened my love of the mountains, especially the Bridgers. I am not really an outdoorsy girl. When I drag my feet to class I am reminded how beautiful my home is. How the sun peaks over the jagged peaks of the bowl I live in, the mist that can only compare to the Misty Mountains of the Hobbit.
When I find myself out of your 147,164 square miles of the Treasure State, I relish who you have made me to be. Your harsh winds push me to do my best, and what can I say, I'm from Great Falls. You remind me that driving quickly is okay, but don’t necessarily do that in the snow. You remind me that nights are better spent under the stars. You even remind me that there are three seasons; Road Construction, Hunting, and Winter.
So, I thank you. Your many names cannot even come to fully describe what you are to me. You are and forever will be my home. Thank you for the lessons and the plethora of memories. Thank you, for truly being the Last Best Place.
Love,
Your grateful immigrant
