Day 5 – Learning to Shoot Again

© 2010 Todd S. Klassy

Rolling hills near the Bear Paw Mountains in Montana at day break.

I planned on going to Glacier National Park; I really did.

Along the way I kept stopping to take photographs and/or write a note to myself about something I wanted to photograph later. I then made an ad hoc decision to spend my day driving through the Bear Paw Mountains here in north-central Montana and scout the quiet side streets of Havre.

I headed out the door at 5 o’clock this morning. Steve (the cat) was not happy about me leaving and having to spend the morning in his strange new home alone. He scolded me as I reached for my keys, which he recognizes as the sound of my impending departure. And I recognize his scolding as the sound of me needing to feed him before I leave. I turned around, opened a can of tuna, and hoped it would distract him long enough so I could leave without any more curses from Steve.

The tallest of the Bear Paw Mountains is Baldy Mountain, which rises 7,000 feet above seat level. They are not the kind of snow-capped mountains you visualize when you think of the Rockies, but one can still feel insignificant when you are near them.

Today was my first day of photographing since arriving in Montana. Now that I have settled in, I will photograph every day. This, after all, is the reason I came to Montana.

I haven’t photographed much since December 2008. If you know me, you know why. Photography for me was always distraction; a mechanism to take my mind off of problems. For some reason, however, it became harder and harder to pick up my camera…even though I knew doing so would probably be good therapy. Somehow I think I was punishing myself. Those feelings are now long gone and I found this morning’s photographic journey into the cold Montana air to be quite liberating.

I used my camera only a dozen or so times in 2009, but when I clicked the shutter on my Canon for the first time in a long time I was reminded of the same bad habits I picked up over the years. I have always considered myself a drive by shooter; I walk and drive aimlessly looking for something to catch my eye. Then I photograph it. But somewhere (probably a result of my previous career scouting tower sites), I began shooting from the window of my truck instead of getting out and working my subject. It is a horrible, lazy habit. I need to purge this (and other) bad habits; another reason I came to Montana.

I took some nice images today. I was very pleased.

The more I shoot here in God’s vast and open classroom, the better I hope to become. In more ways than one.

Day 4 – Doing Without

Havre isn’t the end of the world, though some would say it’s close.

Havre has high-speed Internet, two grocery stores, a McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, and even a Super Walmart. Sad but true, Sam Walton’s goal of world conquest even extends to Havre, Montana.

Moving to Havre, however, has become an exercise in doing without. It is a perfect place to experiment with my goal of achieving balance and minimalism in life.

For me it started more than six months ago when I unplugged the TV. The only television I have seen is the Wisconsin Badgers and Green Bay Packers at the local pub. There are some things even I can’t do without.

Yes, I miss watching Mad Men and every Deadliest Catch marathon, but judging from what I hear I don’t miss seeing Jersey Shore, the Jay Leno-Conan O’Brien saga, or American Idol. Not having television means more time to read, listen to music, take photographs, and hang with friends. Steve (the cat) seems okay with it, too.

Now that I am in Havre I am learning to do without much more. For example, gas stations here are few and far between. Having enough fuel in your automobile when venturing outside of the city walls can mean the difference between life and death in this inhospitable wilderness.

When I moved to Havre I also parted ways with my microwave oven. I think ditching the microwave is a good move. Most TV dinners prepared for microwave ovens are heavily processed, high in sodium, and relatively unhealthy. And few (if any) taste good. Ounce-for-ounce microwavable foods cost more, too. Yes, they are convenient, but at what cost?

A microwave oven would be handy right now. My landlord is laying down new linoleum in the kitchen and is replacing the oven and stove at the same time, so I have only been able to prepare meals with the small broiler oven I brought with me.

In the weeks ahead I plan on doing without other things in my life, too…some of them worse for me than others.

Day 3 – Really Long Streets

Ask anyone in Montana and they will tell you, “Montana is a small town with really long streets.” After driving across half of what is a very large state and being here now for two days I think I can tell you Montana is more like a long street with really small towns.

No “street” in Montana is longer than U.S. Highway 2.  It runs the entire length of the Big Sky State for 664 miles and it is never more than 60 miles from the Canadian border. The locals call U.S. Highway 2 and the area bordering it “Hi-Line.” It gets its name from the railroad that runs parallel to U.S. Highway 2. It is part of the Great Northern Railway and it is America’s northern most east-west rail line.

Havre is the center of Hi-Line; an oasis of sorts in an otherwise desolate and wild frontier. It has a population less than 10,000. The next largest city is Great Falls, which is 2-1/2 hours away. There are more deer here than people.

Everyone here is so friendly. I have been approached by several strangers on the street who just wanted to say “hi.” Today, while waiting at one of the few stop lights in Havre, a truck pulled up alongside me and the older gentleman inside rolled down his window (literally).

“Where ‘ya from, boy?”

“Madison, Wisconsin.” I yelled, trying to cut through the sound of our idling trucks. I said Madison because he probably never heard of New Glarus. Hell, there are people in Wisconsin who have never heard of New Glarus, Wisconsin.

“My wife is from La Crosse,” he said.

The light then turned green. As we both pulled away slowly from the light he continued to talk to me through his window as we both drove parallel down Main Street in Havre.

“Well, welcome to Havre! Hope you enjoy your stay,” he said.

“I’m sure I will. I’m sure I will.”

A different man approached me in the middle of the night as I was moving in my very large wooden chest. He asked if I could use some help.

“Probably, but I think I will try to manage on my own if it is all the same to you. Thank you very much for asking, though.” I answered back; almost out of breath.

He is a young chiropractor who moved to Havre last year from Michigan to open his practice. He lives next door and invited me over for a beer. I told him I would be happy to join him after I was all settled in.

“I look forward to it,” he said.

I have been approached by complete strangers in the grocery store, at the post office, and while walking down the street. All they wanted to do was say “hi.” I was also invited into another person’s house for a cup of coffee. I don’t drink coffee, but for some reason I obliged. I don’t know; maybe I look like I don’t belong here…and they know it.

Then again, maybe this is how they  treat each other here. I’m beginning to think it’s the later.

I have all of my belongings moved into the house and will spend much of the weekend arranging Tranquility Base. My computer system is up and running, which is good because I plan my first photo excursion tomorrow and will need it to edit my photos. I will head south into the Bear Paws Mountains at first light. I then plan to explore Havre.

A few more people are sure to come up to say “hi.”

Day 2 – Orientation

It is our first full day in Havre.

Steve (the cat) ate well for the first time since we left Wisconsin. He also slept a lot, proving stress really does take a lot out of a guy. He hasn’t purred though, which concerns me. Tomorrow I hope to fix that.

I haven’t moved in everything yet. Moving in proved to be much more cumbersome than moving out. The residential streets in Havre consist of only compacted gravel, which explains why every automobile in Havre looks like it hasn’t been washed all winter. Every street, it seems, is littered with potholes and large chunks of ice. Coupled with a flood of melting snow, moving in has been a real challenge. I will move the rest tomorrow and I will get everything situated by Saturday evening.

Our new pad is very humble. It is nothing like the dream home I left behind. None of the doors are equipped with deadbolts; I will remedy that next week.

The landlord installed new carpeting, linoleum, and is providing a new kitchen stove; which is good. But I was disappointed to learn that little house on the prairie I rented does not have a shower. I never thought of asking if it had a shower before renting it sight unseen. How foolish of me. For the past two days I have had to learn all over again how to take a bath. I will address this issue with the landlord before the weekend. If he doesn’t fix it, I will rig up something on my own.

The good news is Steve will have his own room. The upstairs has windows that overlook the neighborhood and peer right into the tree tops in the front yard. This room has become a favorite place for Steve to hangout. I have nothing to put upstairs, so I will probably park his kitty litter box and a sleeping pad there so he can have the room all to himself.

Everyone in Havre is very nice; most go out of their way to say “hello” to you…unprompted. There is a little old lady who lives next door who greeted Steve and I before we could close the door to the truck when we pulled up the first time. She wanted our complete history before she let us go.

The neighbor lady also revealed she has six cats of her own. Steve did not like hearing that bit of news. He does care for cats and wouldn’t mind if he never saw another cat again. You see, Steve doesn’t see himself as a cat. He thinks he is a human. Lucky for Steve the backyard is fully enclosed with a tall wooden fence. I will repair it next weekend and hope to make it cat proof. I will still tie Steve up, but the wooden fence should help keep the neighbors out. As my father used to say, “Strong fences make good neighbors.”

Day 1 – Voyagers

The morning of my departure was foggy…and I was very groggy.

I was up until the wee hours of the morning packing my trailer and the rear of my pick-up truck. Every heavy load required me to climb up and down a flight of stairs. 1o steps X 50 or more loads and 2 trips each. You should have a good sense of my agony.

I was very sad as I was leaving my home, especially with it being so empty. It was a good house and once my dream home. Now it was cold and bare. I tried to recall only the good times, but a few of the bad ones eked in, too.

As I slowly drove down my driveway for the last time I passed the tree I planted on my wedding day. I specifically ordered a blue spruce but was deceived and given a white spruce instead. Its base was also crooked, its roots not very deep, and it needed a lot of watering for it to survive the first year. I almost shed a tear. It was the perfect metaphor for my failed marriage.

My 1200 mile drive was, in a word, murder. I battled dense fog, freezing rain, and a very angry cat who simply did not want to leave Wisconsin. Steve (the cat) made his opinion very clear.

I plodded along until the wee hours of the morning when I no longer had the desire to plow through the fog anymore. Steve, he was on the verge of laryngitis from crying non-stop from Madison to Bismark. The stop, I thought, would do us both some good.

The next hotel on I-94 was a Motel 6. It was not a Waldorf Astoria by any means, but as Tom Bodett would say, “All hotels look the same when your eyes are closed.”

Steve scoured the room for an hour. After exorcising the room of its demons, he communicated that it met his approval. He flopped on the bed, meowed as he looked at me, and flapped his tail hard against the equally hard bedspread. It was the last noise I heard the rest of the night. We both passed out in minutes.

I only slept for five hours, but it was a deep sleep. I brushed my teeth, skipped the shower, and rushed out the door with Steve in tow.

It was raining and I was still too tired to think about the possibility the rain might be freezing. As I climbed one of the many anonymous hills between Bismark and the Montana border I suddenly felt the rear of my truck slide and the trailer wagging back-and-forth like a dog’s tail. It scared the hell out of me, and even Steve knew something was wrong.

I let off of the gas and my ship righted itself, but I was losing speed and traction fast. I was certain I would either spin out in the middle of the interstate or slip backwards out of control when I ran out of momentum and traction. Somehow I managed to move over to the rumble strip on the side of the road and get to the top of the hill…barely.

I limped along the interstate the rest of the way to Montana at only 40 miles per hour. I was growing frustrated by my lack of progress, but I knew getting to Havre late was better than not making it all.

I fought back the desire to close my eyes while I drove, but Steve seemed none the worse for wear. He slept quietly beside me. I was jealous he could sleep but sincerely happy he was so quiet on this the second leg of our trip. He was either resigned to his fate or far too tired to complain.

The weather in Montana was better, though still dreary. I no longer had to contend with freezing rain or fog so the rest of the trip flew by much faster.

We arrived in Havre shortly after one o’clock and I pulled up to our new home–heretoafter referred to as Tranquility Base. I took Steve inside so we could both see the new home for the first time. Once again he spent a great deal of time exploring every square inch of the place before he seemed pleased.

I moved half of our belongings into our abode before I called it quits for the evening. It had been a long time since being so tired.

But I delivered Steve and myself to Havre…in one piece. And I am glad.

Knocking on Doors

© 2007 Todd S. Klassy

The rolling slopes and farm fields of rural Rock County, Wisconsin.

I haven’t written much since Sunday. I have been very busy packing up my house and saying goodbye. After Tuesday I will have a chance to get caught up and then I can post something daily again.

Lately I have found myself devouring many common, everyday sights and sounds near me; many of the things I have taken for granted over the years. I consume even the most mundane task, whether it is going to the store or picking up the mail. I find myself looking around more and listening better. Looking around was always a strong suit; listening not so much.

My new habits are a byproduct of the realization that it may be the last time I visit some (or all) of these places, see these people, and do these things. I’m sure I will have an abundance of new sights and sounds, but I grow a bit melancholy thinking about what I’m leaving behind.

The urge to explore, it seems, is in my genes. One grandfather and boat full of great grandfathers and grandmothers once left their home on a voyage westward, too. They ditched their homeland without any knowledge of what waited for them on the other side of the ocean. And each of them did so with a hope that the life waiting for them over the horizon was better than the one they left behind. In each case their hunch was right.

My grandfather was the only one of the pioneers in my family I personally knew. And although he was very proud of his new home and wouldn’t trade his life for anything back home, he still missed his place of birth.

I fear the doors I am about to knock upon may be closed. Rather than a solution, I concede my journey may end in defeat. But like my relatives before me, I am comfortable with my fate, despite what I may leave behind.

A vestige of my grandfather’s pioneering spirit now guides me. I think of him often as I prepare for this move.

Packing Light

© 2005 Todd S. Klassy

A frost covered tree on a farm outside of Sauk City, Wisconsin.

I told myself I would pack light. “Only take the bare essentials,” I told myself.

Doing so is harder than I originally thought.

I spent much of today sorting through my belongings. I made three piles of stuff; (1) stuff I’m taking with me, (2) stuff I am giving to friends, family, or St. Vincent de Paul, and (3) trash. The pile I plan to take with me is much larger than I imagined. I will need to pare it back tomorrow.

It is amazing how much crap one accumulates in a lifetime.

I decided to adopt a goal of living a life of minimalism this past summer. The more stuff I have means the more stuff to move, dust, clean, insure, fix, remove, etc. It all seems so pointless. Sure, there are basic necessities and keepsakes we all need, but in the end what’s more important? A big pile of stuff that depreciates and gets used less and less than we thought when we first purchased it? Or experiences that can last a lifetime?

Yes, some of that “crap” I will miss. Hopefully I will be moving too fast to notice.

The Making of “Havre, MT”

© 2008 Todd S. Klassy

A lone tree silhouetted against a blue, winter sky outside of Monticello, Wisconsin.

Today I began production of my weekly YouTube video series “Havre, MT: The Chronicles of Me & Steve.” I call it my quasi-documentary.

I’ve never worked with video before, so this will be quite a learning experience. As such I’m a little worried about all of the layers that go into the making of a video. And then consider having to do it every week. I just hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew.

There are several key elements I am working on for my first video. The most difficult task will be figuring out a way to firmly attach my camera in the back seat of my truck. I am setting it up so it will take a photograph every 20 seconds along my long trip from Wisconsin to Montana. When I’m done I will have captured 3,240+ images during the 18-hour, 1250-mile journey it will take to drive to Havre, MT. Then I will need to process all of the images and stitch them together to create a 2 to 3 minute video segment. I will also interlace some video I shoot along the way. In other words, you should see just about everything I see on the first leg of my journey.

Another key element will be the “intro” and “outro” for the video. These are the brief interludes at the start and end of a video. Once completed I will reuse each of them in all future episodes. I know how I want them to look and feel; now I just need to figure out how to do it. Of course the music I use will be important. More on that topic later.

Audio is the last big obstacle I need to overcome. Again, I am a still photographer and not a video or audio person, so understanding and overcoming this will be a hurdle. I don’t think I will use much audio captured from my camera itself. I will instead narrate the videos after the photographs and video have been spliced together. I need to purchase an Edirol R-09HR MP3 Recorder this week in order to accomplish this task. I also plan to use it to capture some of the ambient sounds while I’m taking pictures (i.e. birds, waterfalls, thunder) and use them on later videos.

After I tackle each of these hurdles then I need to start planning episodes two and three.

Ugh, all in a day’s work.

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