There's a Lot of Good Around Us!

I have never been comfortable with all-or-nothing statements, especially when they relate to our life together as a people. Nor am I a big fan of statements that ignore the shades of gray in value statements about "We the people." We are not the smartest, the freest, or the richest. Nor are we the worst culture, the most dangerous country, or even the ones with the most significant problems. We are one among many nations. And we are a diverse and interesting people. This trip has become a celebration of the many cultures and peoples who have become the “One Out of Many” that is our society. From the Pacific Coast to the mountains and deserts of the West, I am learning new things about our culture and the future that can be ours, should we choose to accept it. It is so easy to let our cynicism and fear capture our imaginations. But as we travel, I see more and more evidence that there is great strength and character in the American people. I am finding hope in this journey.

 

Our last week in Central Montana was no exception.

 

On our way to the Garnet Ghost Town in the mountains above Missoula, we stopped at this old stage stop at the pass. In the days of wagons and horses, this building offered a break before beginning the descent. The trip was an all-day ride, and the stop was a necessary respite. While the horses were resting, the passengers would get a meal and some time away from the stagecoach. The building has survived into the age of autos by being re-purposed for the winter. This is a popular cross-country skiing and snow sledding route when the road is closed to cars and trucks. The old stop becomes a warming hut with wood and an old stove. Re-purposed historical sites make me happy. Too often, being declared an historical site is a death sentence for an old building. We decide that the old has no value other than reminiscing about the old days. When the building falls into ruin, we forget, and it disappears forever. But by re-purposing the building, our history lives on. The story is kept alive along with the backstory of its origins. Yep, seeing this old building still serving a continuing purpose brings joy to this old soul.

 

Garnet, Montana no longer has any permanent residents. The only people who live here are the staff that takes care of the place and the occasional overnight guest in the B&B-type accommodations in some of the buildings. But 150 years ago, this boomtown was driven by the mines that dotted the surrounding hills. Garnet was a family town that worked to keep life respectable. Just down the road was Beartown, where the single men lived. Apparently, it was much less “respectable.”  Garnet had stores and saloons that catered to the 2,000 residents. It also had a hotel that served all parts of the community.

 

This picture shows one of the rooms in that hotel. The bottom floor was a nice dining room and kitchen with the latest appliances. The walls were decorated with heavy, expensive wallpaper, and the furnishings were quite comfortable. The second floor had rooms for single men and women and families. They, too, were well-appointed. A door that opened out the back of the building allowed steamer trunks to be hoisted onto the second floor. The picture shows one of these second-floor rooms. The third floor (the attic) was a common sleeping area where men would rent a 3x9 patch of the floor for their bedroll and belongings. This building was part of a thriving community until the mines began to play out, and the economy moved on. Communities such as this are part of who we are as a people. We did our best to take care of each other while making a living. It is good to remember our roots. If you want to see more of the Ghost Town, check the pics on Flickr.

Old Fort Missoula sits on the edge of Missoula, MT and is an interesting collection of historical displays. The Fort was open, meaning it did not have walls to protect it. It served as a home for various Calvary Units during the Westward expansion and was transferred to other Federal Government departments before its closure in the middle of the 20^th Century. One of the stories of the Fort tells of its central role in the development of the US Bicycle Corps. This was an experiment to test the effectiveness of US Troops on bicycles. In 1869, the Army assigned Black Troops to ride and test the bikes. They rode them under all kinds of conditions, including a ride to St Louis. The Corps was based at Fort Missoula because of its proximity to mountains, open plains, and summer and winter conditions. The soldiers rode the bikes thousands of miles in varying road conditions. While the bikes proved worthwhile at being more efficient than horses, the promise of the internal combustion engine ended the experiment. The Army took its best shot at exploring options for the troops. This was not a failure; it was an experiment by people who were brave enough to push the boundaries of what they thought was possible. The men in the US Army Bicycle Corps put themselves on the line to go where most of us would never set foot, or pedal a bike, for that matter.

 

This picture tells a much darker story of Fort Missoula. It was the site of an Alien Detention Camp before, during, and immediately after WWII. These differed from the internment camps that held Japanese American Citizens during the war. The Alien Detention Camps held men who did not have citizenship but lived in the US. They were arrested and held in these camps when their visas ran out and were not renewed. Italians working at the New York World's Fair were among the first residents in 1939. But after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese who had been denied citizenship because they were Asian were arrested and put in the camps without legal recourse. The Government used them as bargaining chips with Japan for the return of US Citizens held in Japan. In a few cases, men from the camp were released to be with their families in the Internment camps. But most had to live in barracks such as this throughout the war. The US finally apologized in 1985. This was too little, too late. Most of these men had lost their lives and livelihoods due to racism and fear. The Italians were treated very differently, as most European immigrants are. Many were released to return to Italy when the war ended. Others decided to stay and were allowed to become US Citizens. These buildings are shameful reminders that racism is nothing new in our lives. It reminds us that we have a great deal of work ahead if we are going to become a great nation or even a civilized people.

 

We have been reading about Prehistoric Lake Missoula since we stopped at our first historical maker on the Columbia River. This was the first in a chain of prehistoric lakes formed when the glaciers began retreating. The glaciers cut huge canyons in the rocky crust of the Northwestern US. When the ice started to melt, vast amounts of meltwater accumulated behind ice dams in narrow places in these gorges. One of these ice dams formed on what is now the Clark Fork River, named after William Clark, just across the Montana State Line in Clark Fork, Idaho. As pictured above, this ice dam created a vast lake that crossed deep into modern-day Montana. When the ice gave way, it sent a torrent of water rushing into the Prehistoric Columbia Lake. This, in turn, created an even more massive flood that cut through the basalt and carved out the Columbia River Gorge. As the weather changed, the glaciers re-formed, and the lakes returned, only to have them give way and further cut into the bedrock of the Pacific Northwest.

 

We have spent the better part of two months traveling through this area, and I am astounded at how massive these lakes would have been. In Missoula, the mountains outside of town have ripples of earth formed by the water setting new shorelines as these lakes ebbed and flowed. And these lines are thousands of feet above the present riverbed. Most shocking for me is that there is no reason to believe that Lake Missoula is only in the past. Scientists expect that it will return following the next ice age. 

 

After four days, it was time to return to the road and continue our journey South. Travel days can be the most stressful of our time on the road. There are deadlines to meet, such as park checkout and check-in times. We have to pack up Koko and prepare him for the trip. Nakai must be hooked up for towing. Generally, we need to find a place to park the rig for lunch. Only some highways have rest areas. Most of the time, we must stop for gas and let Koko take a long drink. But mainly, drive days involve the best and the worst of our wandering, the open road where surprises are part of the reality.

 

If a problem crops up on a travel day, it will throw everything off. These unforeseeable problems can quickly drain the joy out of our adventure. Even when surprises do not happen, the possibility hangs over every moment of a travel day. I have learned more on travel days than all the rest combined. I am learning to allow the present moment to dominate my thoughts, not the future or the past. I am learning to find joy where I am, not where I think I want to be or where I have been. I am learning to claim problems as part of the adventure rather than as something that it steals away. I am learning to plan well and follow the plan if it fulfills its purpose. But when the road becomes too complicated or troublesome, we can always make a new plan. I am learning to sleep a little easier before a drive day. Maybe these lessons will be complete by the time we leave the road in a few years. But I am not betting any money on it!

 

After leaving Missoula, we drove for a couple of hours. We climbed up to 5,200 feet into the historic mining town of Butte, Montana.   We set up in the Butte KOA. The forecast promising a cool and wet stay proved accurate. Butte is named after a hill in the middle of an open space outside of town. Travelers would point to the "Butte" as a waypoint in their journey west. When some placer (surface) miners found gold in the creek at the foot of the hill, the small town quickly grew as prospectors swarmed the surrounding hills. Limited amounts of gold were found, but prospectors discovered significant deposits of other minerals, including copper. This attracted some people, but copper was only somewhat valuable in the mid-1800s.

 

However, the need for copper exploded when Nicolai Tesla and Thomas Edison made electricity a significant energy source. In the late 1800s, Capitalists came into the area. They bought up the small mom-and-pop mines and started digging deeper and deeper into the countryside. The Copper Kings fought for control of Butte and the 100 + mine shafts that burrowed into the “Richest Hill in America.” As the capitalists consolidated their power, the Unions rose to protect the workers dying by the hundreds because of the unregulated practices driven by the Robber Barons. Butte is home to the Anaconda Mine, the Granite Mountain Mine, and several others known in the history books as places of death, violence, economic oppression, and rampant greed.

 

Today, Butte is a town of roughly 30,000 people on a townsite that once held 90,000. The deep mines closed, and open pits replaced several of them. One mine remains in operation. Butte is also part of the largest Superfund Site in the country, where groundwater must be pumped and cleaned to prevent poisoning wells in a large part of central Montana. (More on this later.) This pumping will have to be done in perpetuity. Yep, this town is truly historic. Its history has had a profound effect on our life, even to the present day.

 

This is the Berkeley Pit Superfund Site. It is also the deepest body of water in Montana at 900 feet. Its story began nearly one hundred years ago when deep, hard rock mining was no longer profitable. They couldn't make enough money from digging the rock underground and bringing it to the surface. The only way to stay profitable (read, meet the greed of the corporations that owned the mines) was to change to open pit mining. The companies held the mineral rights underneath several towns, including Berkley, MT. They gave notice and bought out the people’s homes, and started digging. The profits increased because open pit mining took far less labor to dig and process a ton of ore. Many men were thrown out of their homes and lost their jobs. As horrific as this was for these families, the real damage of the Berkley Pit would not be felt for another generation.

 

In the 1960s, the open pit was no longer as profitable as the company wanted. They shut down the mine, and the groundwater began pouring in. This water mixed with the Sulphur in the rock and became very acidic (4.2 ph.). It leached nasty chemicals from the thousands of miles of abandoned mine shafts and the pit itself. Shutting down those pumps caused permanent damage to this site. The unusual color of the water is due to extreme pollution. The Federal Government required the pit owners to install and maintain it perpetually. This water cleaning system must keep the water level below the aquifer. To date, there is no profitable way to get the chemicals out of the water (profit is the biggest driver of this story), so the water will need to be pumped, cleaned, and released into the nearby Silver Bow Creek (which runs by our campground) forever, FOREVER. When, not if, they turn off the pumps, the final chapter in this story will be written, and it will be a tragic ending indeed.

 

When you gaze at the picture above, consider how much clean water is worth and add that to your profit calculation. The math will tell you that none of this has ever been profitable for the earth, only for a select few capitalists and their labor allies. We will learn from this one day, but that day still awaits us.

 

After setting up in our campsite, Marlene and I took a stroll along the nature walk next door. While on the walk, we encountered this little fellow. He or she is a muskrat. This was my first encounter with one of these critters in the wild, and I started hearing Captain and Tennille singing “Muskrat Love."

 

"And they whirl, and they twirled, and they tango

Singin' and jinglin' a jango

Floatin' like the heavens above

Looks like muskrat love.”

“Muskrat Love” by Willis Alan Ramsey

 

I don’t know if this is Sam or Susie, but the song started echoing in my soul. When it came on the radio, I would take refuge in the beat's gentle lilt and calming rhythm. Tennille’s voice was a refuge from the hard rock and the pounding beat of the music of the day. The simple images of the song reflected two people who were lost in the wonder of young love. As I walked with Marlene fifty years later, and this little critter came swimming up to greet us, I heard a gentle reminder of the best part of my life. It was the muskrat love that I shared with the person beside me.

 

This is a Tommyknocker sculpture in the mine at the World Mining Museum.  The Tommyknocker was a Welsh legend that miners who died in mine accidents lived on as Tommyknockers. All mines are filled with creaks as rocks settle. The miner would attribute these to Tommyknockers moving around them in the shafts. Also, many Welsh miners carried their lunch with them. They called these potato and sheep stew wrapped in baked dough a pasty. Miners would break off bits of their lunch and leave them for the Tommyknockers.

 

People who live with the constant threat of accidents or death find ways to cope. Legends, such as the Tommyknocker, help them live with the reality of their chosen livelihood. Small acts like leaving a few crumbs scattered about for them help us acknowledge responsibility for our lives. Old timers warned the new men in the mine to pay attention to the creaks and groans caused by the Tommyknockers if they want to see daylight again. When we reached the sunlight, we were hungry for a pasty. Yep, legends are not just stories; they touch the human soul. They help us see beyond the veil of our world and walk to the beat of the universe. They give us little things that we can do to remember and look ahead with hope.

 

One of the harsh realities of life in the mines is that ore is very heavy. The ore carts in the mines would hold a ton or more, and moving them through the mine to the lift took brute strength. Profitability demanded larger and larger loads of ore per cart. Men, alone, could no longer move them. At first, they tried horses in the mine shafts, but these creatures did not adapt to life in the darkness. However, miners discovered that mules worked out very well. They could haul heavy carts, and if the mules got their daily tobacco treat, they would pull heavy loads all day. The mules began their life in the mines, being wrapped like burritos and lowered down through the same cages that took men into the mines. Once lowered down thousands of feet, they spent the rest of their useful lives in the shafts. They worked their shift and then had time to rest in the deep darkness. According to the tour guide, they were treated well, and when they could no longer haul the ore, they were raised out of the mine and retired to a mule retirement ranch in the hills nearby. He added that the miners took care to slowly reintroduce the mules to the light of day to avoid blinding them. These mules have become part of the reality of hard rock mining in Montana. They, and the mule skinners that took care of them, were replaced by a “donkey” that ran on compressed air generated on the surface by steam. While the mule skinners had to learn how to manage the new "donkeys," I am sure the mules were quite happy in their mountain retirement home. 

 

After lunch, we went to the Mai Wah Society Museum. This group is dedicated to telling the story of the Chinese Community in Butte over the last 150 years. It is housed in two buildings that also include the old Wah Chong Tai Mercantile and Noodle House. These buildings sat in the heart of the six-block area known as Chinatown. Merchants who owned businesses were able to bring their families with them to work in the noodle parlors, herb shops, and laundries. But most Chinese came to this country as laborers from the Ganzhou (Canton) province in Southeastern China. In 1882, The Chinese Exclusion Act prevented laborers from bringing their families.

 

Unfortunately, racism and economic interests forced the Chinese to live in small enclaves, Chinatowns. Butte was no exception, but the people of Butte were uniquely brutal when the Chinese began to succeed. The labor unions had a significant interest in getting rid of the Chinese out of fear of losing their jobs. They encouraged lawmakers in Helena and Washington, DC, to pass laws limiting the Chinese's ability to work as laborers. But the merchants prospered. So, the unions arranged a boycott of Chinese-owned businesses. The Chinese business association took them to court and won. It took a brave Supreme Court to bring justice for these people.

 

Even though there is very little left of Chinatown, these two buildings tell its story. Marlene is standing in the aisle of the Mercantile house that also includes an herbalist who served the Chinese and Euro-American community, especially during the Flu epidemic of 1918. Upstairs was a popular Noodle House that attracted customers from the whole community. They invented dishes like Chop Suey and Chow Mein to sell to their non-Chinese customers.

 

The twin engines of racism and economic self-interest made it difficult for the Chinese to succeed, but they did. You would think American society had learned something in 150 years. However, these two “facts of American life” still guide our immigration policy, even though they have proven incapable of stopping the social change that immigrants bring to our shores. I believe we will learn that lesson, but that remains in the future. Why do I dare to hope? Read on!

 

This dragon was a gift to the Mai Wah Society from the people of Taiwan. It is a central part of the Annual Chinese New Year Celebration in Butte every year. The entire community participates, and it is a highlight of the Winter months as school children and adults parade through the frozen streets with fireworks and dancing. The people of Butte are very proud of the multicultural aspect of their life together. The various European Groups, the Mexican and South American communities, and the Asian Communities now work together and celebrate their future. Butte, like the rest of the US, has come so far. It has surpassed merely tolerating diversity. They celebrate it! As we continue our travels, I hope to see and experience more of these stories that recognize that our country is coming together, despite those who, for their own self-interest, would tear us apart.

 

Before I close, I want to share this bit of dialogue from the Lord of the Rings, where Sam is helping his friend Frodo carry on their trek to Mordor.

FRODO: I can’t do this, Sam.

SAM: I know. It's all wrong. By rights, we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something.

FRODO: What are we holding on to, Sam?

SAM: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

The sun is still shining out here on the road. I hope you will continue to share this road with us and celebrate the best of who we are as “We the people.” There are many more "Welsh Pasty's" and "New Year's Day Parades" to discover on the road ahead, old buildings with new purposes, brave souls taking their bicycle over snowy mountain passes, and people sharing “muskrat love.” I find great hope in the people and places I have seen on this trip. And all this good in the world is worth fighting for, or in my case, traveling for!

 

Journey on!

Bob