Paradise Valley

Written for Montana Woman Magazine, check them out here

I wondered what the headlights coming south thought of us. They were headed down the valley and it was already well past midnight. No one had any business on this highway at this hour, especially us. We bounced softly between the lines, partially from the infamous wind, partially from the bad shocks and maybe a little bit from the shot of Pendleton. I watched the dark peaks above us through the icy passenger side window. They were somehow still visible and still looming through the dark night. The full moon was reflecting just enough off the snow that covered the mountains. They were bigger and more judgemental at 1 o’clock in the morning, almost like they were telling me to watch myself.

I took off my cowboy hat and leaned my head back on the headrest. The dog behind me sat up and sniffed my hair before settling back into his self imposed task of finding all the stray grouse feathers under the seat. We made our way down the straight two-lane highway and finally passed the other set of headlights. I squinted as the beams filled the cab of our truck with light and kept my eyes closed for a second longer while I took a few deep breaths. I opened my eyes just as we passed Mallard’s Rest. Mallard’s Rest may be one of the best displays of the Yellowstone River in the area. You stand on a plateau above the river and look down on it–— in all of its mighty glory. Tonight, the river looked cold and rigid. Its banks were icing up–— in the summertime it’s flows pushed around cottonwood trees, now it pushed icebergs. The view from the top of Mallards Rest lets you see the problems you might run into while navigating the water. When you’re on the river those things can sneak up on you and tear you up, even if someone warns you about them.

The mountains and the river are what make up Paradise Valley, a wise windy valley. As we made out of the valley and into town, I looked over at you.

Next time, I will listen to the valley.