- October 19, 2016
- Posted by Joshua Michael Amsdill
Montana. My home, my livelihood. The forge that wrought my character. The mountains are the setting to my personal tragedies, my triumphs,and my romances. They all happened in my home. I still remember the poetry of the brisk wind as it blew through the individual branches of the bare maple trees. The ancient forces that roamed through my imagination as I wandered the deep rattlesnake woods. The spirits of nature as they clashed with the spirits of industrialization. The loving people. The cold beer shared with many a friend. The hopelessness of being a homeless drunk as I stared at the mountains and tried to find my solace whilst hanging out with a bunch of homeless men reveling in their drink. The toiling work of swinging a pickaxe in the hot summer sun. The steady sound of a crosscut as it sawed through a gargantuan cedar tree hundreds of years my elder. The reassuring and fulfilling sound of a log rolling down a steep mountainside. The raging of hurricane force winds as the forces of nature make their way through the caverns of mountain canyons. The constant beating of wind against my face as I walked toward the Hellgate Canyon. The feeling of accomplishment as I reached a peak at 10,321 feet. The laughing of meth addicts at crude jokes as they sit within the confines of a crumbling traphouse. The roar of music through caras park made tangible by the clapping and dancing of the crowds. The intangible sense of a tragic childhood spent roaming fields situated next to a decrepitated trailer court. The sounds of a bass guitar reverberating off a shed wall. The wailing of man singing away his despair. Most of all the companionship of some of the most awoke, loving, caring intelligent beautiful humans beings. This is merely a glimpse of what can be found in the confines of Missoula, Montana. A place unlike any other, a place of new beginnings and tragic stories. But most of all the forge of so many souls and personal identities.
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