A Post Breakfast Walk

        When I set foot out of my door this morning, I was immediately thankful that I chose to bring my winter coat. A cold rain drizzled steadily upon the valley and obscured the mountains. I was barely warm enough even with the coat and a hoodie underneath.
        I've decided there must be a smokehouse nearby because as I rounded the corner and hit the gravel road towards main street, there was the unmistakable aroma of meat curing. It smelled delicious and for a moment made me second guess my vegetarianism. Aside from the smokehouse aroma, the air in general here has a different quality. My instinct is to say it is cleaner, fresher, and I think that's true judging by the lichen growth on surrounding rocks. The diversity of color (orange, bright green, and grey-green), along with the fact that they are thriving is a indicator of pure air. (I'm glad I learned something from my environmental biology class.)
        There is also a hint of pine with every inhaled breath. It reminds me of entering an empty room and smelling a trace of perfume and knowing that it was just occupied. A blind person would know that they are surrounded by thousands of pines here in Basin.
        One more thing about the air: it feels a lot less humid. In general it seems easier to breath, despite the fact that we're at around 6,000 feet above sea level.

        I came to the main road that runs through Basin and decided to head south and see that part of town. To my left the Boulder River rushes north, and just beyond that is I-15, the highway that connects Helena to Butte. The town of Basin itself is built on a narrow strip of land carved out of the mountain. It's hedged in by the river on one side and steep slopes and rocky cliffs on another. For the most part it is one street deep with only a couple of "roads" complete with signs that branched off (these are more like driveways).
        Yesterday in the truck with Mo, she told me that Basin has really been struggling economically ever since the mines closed. This morning was my first glimpse into that world. As I walked down the wide two lane road complete with double yellow line, white lines and berm, I felt as if I were in a ghost town. There was not a single person in sight. The only sign of life was the occasional chimney that puffed out woodfire smoke.
        The houses here are tiny by the standards of today. Most people literally have bigger garages than many of the houses here. There are also junk cars everywhere, along with RV's, heavy equipment, and other scrap items. It seems that most yards here are junk yards, but that's not to say it is trashy. On the contrary, I have yet to see a single item of garbage. From what I can tell this is resourcefulness, and there's a whole lot of dignity in that. There's also a certain charm to many of the places here. A number of times I kept thinking "Oh, I wish I lived there!"
        The further I walked the more Keep Out and No Trespassing signs I saw. I began wondering a little about my new neighbors. Were they unfriendly? Or perhaps just weary of those folks at the artists refuge? Near where the road ended and became a steep logging path, a man was operating a backhoe. He literally had carved a space out of the side of the mountain and was erecting a log cabin. It was three logs high so far. To its right was a structure built out of hay bales and roofed with a tarp. Perhaps temporary storage? Maybe even temporary housing. When he noticed me walking, he waved. I think I'm going to do just fine here in Basin.