Growing Up

      They call this god's country, I couldn't agree more. I'm not a very religious man but sitting on top of some remote mountain in the Montana wilderness sure challenges a man's beliefs. Could such beauty be truly random? That is a question for each individual to answer for themselves but if there is a God then I'd have to say that I'm a lot closer to him than the individual who goes to church every Sunday.
       Views aside, landscapes such as the photo above have dominated my view my whole life. Freedom has never been more than 15 minutes away, beckoning the way a lover would. Inducing me to flee the chains of society and live a clean open life in nature.
       I was born in West Germany, the son of two American patriots serving their country, unfortunately I do not remember the land of my birth but the mountains of Montana more than compensate me for that lack. My folks separated when I was 2 and my mother raised me with the assistance of my grandparents, molding me into the individual I have become over the passage of the years. My earliest memories are fuzzy and vague but I do remember the smell of a camp fire and grandpa's cab over camper. The mist on Hyalite Lake as the sun rises on a brisk morning, slowly burning off revealing the mirror like surface occasionally broken by the rising of a brook trout. Eating pancakes and eggs while Gramps gets the boat loaded, fishing poles, bait, life jackets, fill up the gas tank. A life of freedom and a total lack of responsibility at that age. Just bits and pieces flash through my dreams, so many years and changes yet those memories will stick with me my entire life.
      Growing up in a small rustic town shaped my views and insulated me from the tumultuous life bustling outside our cozy little world. As I grew and explored I found myself enamored with the outdoors and nature, roaming the hills, watching deer and elk feed in the clearing and the occasional black bear foraging in bushes, red tail hawks wheeling through the air, shrieking their defiance to any who would take the time to listen. Song birds by the score racing through the air, singing their melodies and trying to outdo eachother.
      Bozeman was a small bucolic town located in the Gallatin Valley surrounded by majestic mountains, a safe quiet place for a young boy to grow up. We knew our neighbors and didn't have to worry about crime, there was an innocent restlessness in the air, a sense that all was well and mischief wasn't malignant but done in fun.