Every seemingly small decision creates a larger, lasting impact. That one seemingly small pebble, plunked into the shallow shoreline, would create a storm on the other end of the lake.
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“No matter who the threat is, no matter what the threat is, you look them in the eye so that they know you’re human.”
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Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about where food comes from. As a farmer’s daughter, it’s always been something on my periphery, as I grew up spoiled with eggs in the chicken coop, meat in the freezer from a local rancher, and garden vegetables canned for the winter months filling shelves in the basement.
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Whether you’re just passing through or putting down roots, I want to let you know that you now have a responsibility to help keep this place an incredible place to be.
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“As I live and breathe,” remarks Celeste Shaw with a wistful gaze when asked about Montana. This expression is generally used to emphasize the truth of a statement, but for Celeste, who now wears many hats as a trauma nurse, entrepreneur, restaurateur, and national magazine editor, the phrase conveys her feelings about her childhood home on the Hi-Line.
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Your sex does not determine who you will be, what goals you will make, or what waves you will create once you come forth into this world. But, I have always known that I would fight for you and the limits placed upon our sex for generations and generations— in all the same ways my mom (your grandma) did.
It can happen to anyone.
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Even a century after women secured the right to vote in our country, running for political office for the first time takes courage, discipline, persistence, and an abundance of passion.
Now, add in a global pandemic— and a solid helping of gender bias to boot.
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My hands are always dirty. I haven’t painted my nails in years, and most days they resemble more of a seasoned mechanic’s hands than the ones I remember being born with. Despite their unkempt appearance, my hands remain my most prized possession because they allow me to make magic out of metal and earth.
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The heritage narrative that dominated Jill Mackin’s childhood was that of her father’s European family history. Just as dominant, however, were the silences regarding her mother’s Native Turtle Mountain Chippewa (Ojibwe) lineage. A trend that Mackin says, “speaks to the broader heritage of our country and our continent” regarding the silence surrounding Native identity.
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The American West exists in mythological creatures: the outlaw story of Billy the Kid, the aim of Annie Oakley, the controversial celebration of General George Armstrong Custer, and the ever-present regal shoulders of the great American bison.
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Yesterday, my son threw a type 3 tantrum in the parking lot of the grocery store. Screaming, limbs locked, holding on to the cart like his life depended on it, while I tried to get him into his car seat.
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A purple banana seat bike, two friends, and a steep alleyway. For Alexis Pike, that was the beginning of Color Me Lucky. At age 6, Alexis and a friend climbed on her new birthday bike and headed down an alleyway. As the alley got steeper, she peddled faster, flying toward the gravel on the other side of the road.
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