Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

She’d had to explain that she literally meant he drove his truck through a field, hence ‘field trip’, and he’d crashed it into a rusty tractor, causing thousands of dollars in damages.

But he went into the Army and they took him down a peg or two. He’s got a wife of his own now and two little boys who are the apple of their momma’s eyes and are gonna give their daddy a helluva ride when they’re teenagers.

She seems a bit too gleeful at that prospect.

Olivia surprises me even more. I was right about her age. She’s twenty-one, but she’s not still ‘finding herself’ like so many are at that age, or at least like I was. She knows exactly who she is and who she isn’t and doesn’t have time or patience for anyone who doesn’t agree. I like her a lot.

Moved here a couple of years ago with my girlfriend. We live downtown above her boutique. She sells Western clothes, boots, and hats, mostly to tourists who want a ‘look’ for their vacation but to locals too.

She’d emphasized the word ‘girlfriend’, then waited and watched for my reaction to her verbal bomb which had been nothing more than a promise to visit if I needed some Western gear. Olivia smiled, and I knew I’d passed a test.

Unc has been another matter altogether. We chat as we work side by side behind the bar, which is huge progress, but I don’t feel like I’ve gotten to know anything more than the front he puts on for the customers. Gruff, hardass, hard-working old man whose life is inside these four walls.

I keep trying, though.

“You’ve got something special here. What made you open Hank’s?” I ask on Saturday afternoon while we’re prepping for what he promises will be our busiest night yet. I’m not sure I believe him because we’ve been dead since the lunch rush ended two hours ago.

He looks around as though he’s seeing his own bar for the first time. “A man needs a place to go have a beer, in good times and in bad. So I made one of my own so I’d always have a place to go.”

That onion layer peels back a little bit, letting me peek underneath.

“I think a lot of people are glad to have Hank’s and you,” I say honestly. I’ve seen the people who come in here every day, from workers who want a quick and delicious lunch to the regulars who perch at the bar every night to chat with Hank instead of going home to an empty house. “I know I am.”

This is a temporary visit for me, a few months at most, but it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. I’ve found a coffee shop down the street that makes deliciously frothy, foamy lattes I crave on the daily. The grocery store is staffed with friendly people who smile easily and is stocked with most of my favorites, from my indulgent bark-thin chocolates to my I’m-not-cooking-tonight cauliflower crust frozen pizzas, so the kitchen in my little house is well-supplied. The mountain even feels less harsh now, magnificent and grand rather than judgy and looming.

My biggest fear, that my online photography work would crash, hasn’t come true, either. My photo blog, A Day in the Life of a Tree, is maintaining a steady following, losing a few here and there but gaining some to make up most of the difference.

I started the blog years ago, thinking the cutesy name had been a catchy reference to my name. I never dreamed it’d blow up like it has. I have ‘Tree-ers’ who comment on every photo, sharing their days with me the way I share mine with them. I stay anonymous, posting pictures of the things around me and bits of myself, but never anything that would make me identifiable. They like it that way. I like it that way.

Nothing has changed since my move to Great Falls. I spend most of my free time taking photos, usually on walks around town. I’ve posted pictures of gorgeous sunsets turning fields into sparkles of gold, a floppy-eared, tail-wagging dog I saw running through town chasing a school bus, and the rusted orange and blue of an old truck fender. I long ago gave up trying to figure out what people want to see and simply photograph what speaks to me—in lines, shapes, colors, and emotions—but so far, everyone seems to be along for my journey from city life to country life photography.

And now Unc looks pleased at my confession, so I take advantage. “Freeze, just like that.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, my eyebrow asking permission, which he gives with a blink.

Click. I capture him with a genuine smile and affection on his face. This is how I want to remember him.