August has been an abrupt month. Caleb’s foot is feeling better now that he’s not hiking in the California desert and though we try to get into a routine here in Missoula, while we wait for PCT Days in Oregon, it isn’t easy. Also, this has been a year of loss of at least six people, mostly family members across the country. I could write another post about that.

We carpool together to Stevensville for their 112th Annual Creamery Picnic Weekend on Saturday. This is possibly the oldest ongoing community festival in Montana. The first picnic occurred in 1911 after the community rebuilt the creamery in 39 days following a fire. We start with a visit to the Masonic Temple for their breakfast plate, and though seconds are welcomed, our bellies are full.

We have a look at their historic maps and case of memorabilia before walking to Main St. We peruse the locals’ tents while Jake buys Caleb a new apron (that he’ll surprise him with later) and Jessi buys a rainbow variety of juice shots to try before the parade. We have a laugh at the mix of poo, ginger, cayenne, etc. flavors as none of us want to finish the one Lyra chose. The parade comes with inflatables, dancers, and loud horns.

One girl is overwhelmed and handling the situation by covering her ears and crying quietly, but the mom refuses to give her to grandma so that she can lecture the child instead. I remember how it felt to be that kid, and since I would be told to mind my business, I decided to walk away and view the rest of the parade while picking up candy. We are approached in the park by a preteen who tells us a joke: What’s a kidnapper’s favorite shoe? White Vans. lol.

Sunday, I spent the afternoon in a nap and after dinner, we all tie-dyed shirts so we could wear them the next day to celebrate Jessi’s 44th birthday at St. Regis Minigolf, an hour away. We bring a deck of UNO: show ’em no mercy cards to make the score more laughable by adding points and switching the totals among all the players. I’m glad I wasn’t in charge of all that math, but so much fun was had.

We’ll have birthday cake for breakfast and two visits to the Western Montana Fair, a six-day event that was started in 1875. We’ll take the kids in the afternoon and then return with their parents in the evening. I’ll spin the wheel with Jessi laughing and Sam helping on the teacups ride named Tornado while Caleb watches. We take a moment to stumble off and then find Jake and Lyra who went to find a ride suitable for people prone to motion sickness.

We bought enough food for a month since we would be out of town for ten days. We will take what we can fit in the car with the kids to the cabin and Jessi will bring the rest, along with dinner, when she arrives at my bedtime. I spent the evening putting together a 500-piece puzzle and then sat on the grass and stared at the moon and its reflection on the lake in the silence that only early morning can bring.

Once I’ve woken, I sit by the water’s edge to read with the sounds of water lapping on shore, the train horn across the lake, the birds in the trees, the fast boats on the water, and the whispering neighbors on the next dock over. Being at the cabin feels like the closest comparison to being on trail – more nature, fewer people – which is what we had planned, so it feels right. We spent half an hour with a mantid before returning it to the grass.

Though the kids are older, they have maintained their curiosity and respect for bugs, unless it’s a spider and then all kindness is gone as arachnids are the number one family fear. I’ll take a morning at the cabin to jump in the 68° water while the fog dissipates from the surface. I felt excited to do so, but still had to talk myself into it. Walking on the wet, chilly grass after was painful on my already cold feet.

Another Saturday, another parade, this one in Trout Creek for the 45th Annual Huckleberry Festival. There is purple hair, cannon fire, Frisbee giveaways, and huckleberry taffy among the tossed candy. We walk to the other end of town to look at glass, wood, pottery, jewelry, etc., and get huckleberry ice cream. Sam drives us back to the cabin and Uncle Ed calls to let us know cousin Eric had a heart attack in his 40s. Four days later, he’ll call to let us know his kid didn’t make it.

Caleb is able to get the boat started and on the water, but it doesn’t get far. We’ve decided to sell it so that we don’t have to worry about transport, storage, repairs, and maintenance. The kids find water balloons to throw at Caleb and decorate rocks for them to find underwater, repeatedly, for over an hour. I jump in but quickly lie in the sun to warm up. I cut up a hami melon and made egg salad.

Caleb cuts up half a watermelon and makes waffles and raspberry lemonade. I’ll paddleboard to the trestle bridge, which seems easy enough, but the return requires more effort as I wonder if the clouds are moving or if I am. It turns out the wind is blowing both away from the dock. I will celebrate with baked s’mores and step outside while Caleb talks to the officer responding to a call about gunfire. Later, the neighbor lets us know a gunsmith lives down the road.

I sit in the grass and listen to the deer chew when they will let me. I sit on the dock and watch the sunset while Caleb picks up forgotten hooks. I sit on the porch and glance at hummingbirds while I read. I sit at the table and puzzle while others eat or watch TV. I sit on the toilet too, but you don’t want to read about that. When I’m not busy sitting, I’m walking or sleeping, such is life at the cabin.

The parents come and go as they have duties and a 17th birthday party to prepare for. Jake has made the cake from Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood: The Smushed Cake and the presentation is fitting. They will light the candles hours after Lady tries to swim on top of Denis after pushing him off the paddleboard. Jake, Jessi, and Sam jump in to rescue a dog each as Rufus wanted in on the swimming action.

I spent our last day at the cabin in the grass and out of the 20mph wind gusts carrying smoky air from fires in Washington and Montana. I watch the same breeze make the trees dance and the clouds shape shift. Caleb, Jessi, and I will leave the next morning and drive to the Deschutes River State Rec Area. Ranger Ian suggests some hikes and we see three snakes (Great Basin Rattlesnake, Gophersnake, and unknown) on Blackberry Trail, along with ripe berries, some behind spiders with the threat of ticks and the promise of thorns.

We are camped beside a Boy Scouts troop, but have no issue falling asleep as they obey common campground policies. I walk barefoot (another reason I love the cabin) past the 18 geese enjoying the field. We arrive at Cascade Locks for PCT Days and park behind the lot reserved for volunteers, sponsors, vendors, and campers on Thunder Island. We were going to participate in the city clean-up but it was canceled due to rain.

We instead get to spend the morning visiting booths as they set up. I appreciate the more personal time to connect with people traveling from around the globe to support the hikers, hippies, homeless, and happy campers who walked, drove, and flew to be here too. While waiting in line for breakfast, I happened to see two guys I’ve been following on Instagram. They are surprised there are still a bunch of people hiking in Northern California, as one has finished and the other will be in Washington after this weekend.

I collect about 30 stickers and see Umi, now named “Weak Lips” because he sweats profusely when eating spicy foods. He will get a temporary neck tattoo from the PCTA to match Caleb and me. We join Rachel (Jessi’s childhood bestie) and her husband Chris for dinner at Thunderbird Bar in Portland (and move inside to escape the cigarette smoke) after visiting Nathan (another bestie) at his store How Convenient.

We buy carbs from his pop-up vendor, The Sourdough Dealer PDX (an abbreviation to separate her from the baker in Bossier), and Caleb compares her bread to the Boudin Cafe in San Francisco (if only she would let her dough ferment a bit longer). Jessi gets the guest room and we get the Pink Room in the basement, too insulated to hear the overnight rain.

The next day is a necessary oil change (twice the price in Portland) and then a visit to the Gresham Farmer’s Market to see Rachel’s vector control booth, listen to Bruno entertain his hipster audience, and sample some delicious cheeses before grabbing some for the road. Jessi and Caleb volunteer from noon to four while I grab them food and coffee and collect wood “cookies” that others have made via crosscut saw at the Forest Service booth.

I trade their volunteer-earned raffle tickets with Umi for a foldable sit pad. He later wins a Hyperlite Mountain Gear bag and other gear. I’m happy to support other hikers, especially when they are staying for the rescheduled raffle drawing, while we drive to Uncle Ed’s to spend the night. After a five-minute hug with Aunt Lorraine, her husband asks that she sit so she can rest her bruised knee. We go to bed thrilled to see each other but exhausted under the circumstances.

Caleb drives straight to Missoula while Jessi and I visit Aunt Jamie (Ed’s sister) and Uncle Kevin and their critters before driving to the family cabin, equidistant from Oak Harbor, so that Jessi can drive the truck back. I stay behind to bask in the silence that only comes with no kids or pets in the country (vs the city). I will drive into the other lane to avoid helping a suicidal turkey take himself out in front of his family with five poults!