by Jeffrey Taylor, Hamilton
The novelist John Steinbeck said that he admired other states, but he loved Montana. As a resident of ten winters, descendant of all-weather Black Irish pioneers who were born here, who found calves in blizzards and hanged horse-jacking suspects on frosty mornings, I would agree – to a certain degree. And that degree is nowhere below and well above zero.
Last month, a country to our north – I do not name Canada – failed in its neighborly duty to prevent border migration by the polar vortex. Fun-killing temperatures should stay where they belong: anywhere east, north, and/or south of here works fine. This weather modification could have been done easily with a long string of nuclear detonations out in the tundra of Arcticanuckistan, away from population centers if at all feasible. Eastern Montana has an Eskimo’s boatload of obsolete Minutemen IIIs. Why not retarget them to Make Montana Warm Again? My calls and emails to NORAD and POTUS were not returned.
This big cuppa Nasty Freeze in the face must have startled a few intrepid newcomers to this sacred but weather-quirky valley, who suddenly realized why so few winter episodes of “Yellowstone” were ever made. Those pickups always start. They’d start underwater, if the script said so. “Pipes froze up? Them ol’ sunzabitches. Take ‘em to the train station.”
Talk to a really old-timer, or Google it, and learn about truly bad Montana winters.
Here’s a red pill: there are places, like the rest of Montana, where it got Nanook-grade cold, and no brass monkey was left intact. Our episode of freefalling mercury was just a Montana Banana Belt love-tap from Old Man Winter.
That’s the good news. Another red pill: check out the Spring Blizzard of 1969.