Memories of Solberg Cabins

My first trip to the cabins, nestled along the north fork of the Musslshell River in a pine-covered valley near Martinsdale, Montana, occurred when I was about five years old. That was probably our family's second vacation. The first was a year earlier when we borrowed a neighbor's tent and camped out on Smith River -- not far from the cabins. Anyway, in the ensuing year, somebody must have told the folks about renting a cabin instead of pitching a tent.

In those days, lunch consisted of either a baloney or salami sandwich, a bag of Goodies potato chips and a can of Shasta pop -- all bought on the way out of town at Ray's grocery where Gene worked. By the way, you needed a church key to open the pop -- the poptop was still to be invented. The cans were also steel, not aluminum.

My first trip to the cabins was spent snuggled between Mom and Dad in a double bed in the cabin made of logs. Janet and Susan had the trundle beds and Gene and Randy had the little red, tar-papered cabin to the west. On that trip, there was no volleyball, badmitten or other sport, except fishing. Dad and my older brothers went fishing and Mom and the girls and I walked up to the highway or dangled our feet in the cold stream waiting for the boys and the fish to arrive.

After that first trip, we made several more to the cabins as I was growing up, but there were always fewer of us going because brothers and sisters were getting married. In fact, Susan and Rich spent their honeymoon at the cabins -- which makes them honest to goodness Montanans! Camping on their honeymoon!

Eventually, it became my turn to get married. And along came two children. So following David and Cathy's wedding in 1993, someone had the glorious idea of leaving Roundup after the ceremony and heading up to the cabins. I think that first year might have been just the folks, Rich and Susan and their family and mine. I think Randy, Janice and Gary joined us because it seems Janice's Dad, Bernard, came that year, too.

It wasn't until the following year that David and Cathy came along, which led to the fire incident. And the fire incident led to the naming of the years as in -- that was the year of the fire. For those who weren't there, David and Cathy were staying in a pop-up camper which caught fire and burned. To my boys, I'm sure they compare it to the burning of Chicago. It was quite exciting as we formed a water line and handed buckets of water from the creek to the person throwing the wet stuff on the burning camper.

The next year -- 1995 -- was even more famous because it was the year that Scott and his Dad nearly drowned. Well, not really, it's hard to drown in a foot of water, but we did our best as we sunk an intertube after hitting a pointed rock. What made the incident famous was Scott's "man-on-the-street interview" with Uncle Rich, which was caught on videotape. There he told the world that the only thing that saved him from perishing was grabbing on to "my dad's icky shirt."

Other memorable "years" were when Rich spun Dylan's inflatable raft upside down in the corner of the stream. There was also the year of Spencer as he followed Missy and Lindsay around like their shadow, and the year Gary directed all the kids in an epic movie, "Where's Timmy," which we still have. And it was a great year when indoor toilets and running showers arrived. There was also the year Belinda drove the car off the bridge -- well not entirely, but close enough for me.

As the years passed, the talk of the fun we had begun to circulate and every year we seemed to get more and more people coming. However, the fun ended -- at least for my family -- in 2002. By that time, I had lost my job with MDU and had started with the Bismarck Tribune so lacked both time and money for a trip to the cabins. The year after, Mom's health began to fail and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to leave Roundup.

Like Jim Croce said, if we could "put time in a bottle", I think a lot of us would like to return to the cabins for another jaunt. However, the next time I might be the Grandpa, and it might be someone else who snuggles between their parents on a double bed. I hope all of you cherish your cabin memories, and feel free to share some by commenting on this blog.

High, wide and handsome...

Former Great Falls Tribune reporter Joseph Howard Kinsey wrote the classic history book, "Montana - High, Wide and Handsome." And after driving 1,300 miles this weekend, most of it in Montana, I'd have to agree with Kinsey. You forget how far towns are away from each other until you start driving from Winnett, to Jordan and on to Circle.

Oh, I miss the mountains, the streams, the evergreen trees, but in fairness to my adopted North Dakota, I've got to tell you that if I was a farmer, I would find it easier plowing the rich, tree-less plains of North Dakota as compared to a forested mountain side in Montana. Still, Montana's scenery is easy on the eyes -- even at 80 mph.

Here's a couple of observations from the weekend about the Treasure State:

1. I still enjoying buying things in Montana and not having to pay a sales tax. The price on the item is the price you pay -- not an extra six or seven cents on the dollar.
2. Two-lane highways are scary after you're accustomed to driving on Interstate highways. I about met my maker between Great Falls and Lewistown on Saturday afternoon trying to pass a semi-truck. A pickup surprised me -- even though there was a dotted center line -- as it came up really fast. However, I managed to pass the truck and duck back in ahead of a head-on collision. I was glad my car had lots of horsepower and could accelerate very fast. Still, I was looking at the ditch in case I was needing to head in that direction.
3. There's no better company than family. It didn't matter if it was my inlaws in Glendive, Aunt Ginny in Billings, Connie in Roundup or Nancy -- Rich's cousin -- in Great Falls, the welcome mat was certainly out.

I might devote another column to Shorty's funeral -- it was memorable and impactful -- but let me just say the phrase that stuck in my head was this one by the preacher: "There are two kinds of people. One kind enters a room and announces, "Here I am." The second comes into a room and says, "It's sure good to have you here with me." I agree with the preacher that Shorty was certainly of the second kind, and he's a good role model to follow.

You can't go home again

Thomas Wolfe wrote a novel titled, "You can't go home again" meaning that you can't recapture the past. This weekend, I'll be heading back to Montana -- my home state -- for the first time since July 2006 when I brought my father to live with us in North Dakota.

I asked Dad if he would like to come with me to Montana, but he didn't think he was up to the long drive. "I better stay here and take care of my cat," he decided. Oh, he also wanted to know if my wife was going to Montana with me. When he discoverd she wasn't, he said, "Well, if she'll stay home and cook for me, I guess I better stay home and eat it."

If I had my druthers, I would love to be driving to my hometown of Roundup to visit my parents in their big blue, ranch-style home on the edge of town. Maybe we'd be bringing some kites along to fly in open fields nearby or baseballs and gloves to play catch in the street in front of the house.

But the blue house is sold and my mom is buried in the cemetery near her brother's grave plot. So instead of going to their home to visit mom, I'll be going to the cemetery on the edge of town to put some flowers on her grave.

Certainly, there will be people to visit -- uncles and aunts and a hardworking cousin -- all who have meant so much to me and my family. But still it won't be the same. As Thomas Wolfe said, "You can't go home again."