I Get Nekid

After six weeks, it was finally time to say goodbye to the orchard. Claire made sure I loaded up with plenty of apples and snacks for the road. It took me a while to pack everything into the car, but on a rainy Friday morning I finally hit the road.

I had ten days before starting at my next farm. It was tempting to stay at the orchard a bit longer, but after the long workdays, seven days a week, I was ready for a little vaca. I didn’t go very far right away, though, because my good friend Anna was having a party in Missoula on Sunday. It was a celebration of the 20th anniversary of her friendship with her best friend, and all of the friends I made at my previous farm were going to be there, so I didn’t want to miss it.

My solution for staying close was to visit the well-known Jerry Johnson hot springs just over the Idaho border. I found the place easily enough, then lucked out with an amazing (and free) campsite a few miles up the river. For the next two days, I spent my time sleeping late, staring at the river and soaking in the hot springs.

I haven’t had many hot spring experiences, but there were a few in Oregon. I learned early on that I prefer the natural hot springs to the paved pools full of screaming kids. These natural springs usually involve a hike into the woods and lots of naked people. That was a little weird for me the first time, but once I learned to let go and join the crowd the awkwardness faded fast (it also helped to realize that people in much worse shape than I weren’t ashamed of their bodies).

Jerry Johnson was the natural kind. It involved a 1.5 mile hike into the woods that led to a big, rocky clearing full of several warm and hot pools. People came and left every few minutes, and many of them had no qualms about baring all. It was a chilly weekend, so the hot soak felt great.

And yes, I got naked. Not for the picture, though:


I returned to Montana just in time for Anna’s bash. It wasn’t anything crazy—a potluck in her parents’ backyard with a few drinks and games. Later, a few more drinks and dancing. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my last night in big sky country with my closest Montana farm friends. Oh yeah, and the party had a dress code: wear a one-piece.

Death of a Tipi, and the Consequent Erotica

Sadly, my precious tipi met a gruesome end last week.

A few months ago, the tipi was occupied by a WWOOFing couple with a dog, and that dog put a small tear in the bottom of the canvas. My farm family didn’t think the minor tear was worth fixing, which would have involved taking down the entire canvas and hauling it across town to a friend who owned an industrial sewing machine. It certainly didn’t look like anything serious to me, but when a fierce storm hit us a few days ago, the wind picked up that little tear and ripped the whole canvas in half!

I discovered the tattered tipi corpse when I came out of the farm house after dinner. Since it was getting dark and expected to rain, I had to quickly move into a guest room inside the house. That room was always an option for me, but I preferred my quaint tipi space. Once I settled in, however, I really started to appreciate life indoors. It was getting pretty damn cold in that tipi at night, and more than once I woke up to find a chicken or a muddy dog in bed with me.

My unfortunate tipi, before & after.

The day after I moved in, the family’s ten-year-old son snuck into my room, stole my laptop and hauled it up to his tree fort to look at pictures of naked women online. He got caught when I found my computer in a different room of the house than where I left it—blades of grass stuck between the keys—and decided to check the internet history. Unfortunate for him, he also visited his favorite gaming site. Might have suspected his father otherwise.

Suffice it to say, the kid got punished. No TV or video games for a week, longer if he didn’t apologize to me. Took him about two days to get around to it, but he sounded sincere.

The cool thing was that he was only punished for taking the computer out of my room and lying about it when first confronted; nobody was upset that he was searching for naked women. I think that’s cool because my strict Lutheran upbringing would have seen that as the biggest fault, whereas this family acknowledged it as a normal part of growing up. I almost didn’t mention the nudity part to the parents because I didn’t want to embarrass the kid more than necessary (heck, I was ten once), but I decided they should know what they were dealing with. I’m glad I did, too, because the father was in complete denial for most of the evening. He just kept saying “No, he’s not interested in naked women yet… he’s too young… that’s impossible!” When he insisted that his son knew nothing about sex, I said “Well, he does now,” and played the video the kid watched.

The scandalous tree fort, where boys become men.

Now that I live in the house I really feel like I’m part of the family, which has both its pros and cons (every family has drama—no exceptions). I’ve been at this farm over a month now, and in Montana for over two months. I never meant to stay in the same area for so long. The reason I’ve stuck around is that I have some good friends here and Montana is so freakin' beautiful. After so many weeks, however, the thrill is wearing off and I’m starting to feel the itch to move again. I have one more week left at this place, then off to my next destination: a sustainable homestead project in South Dakota, with a little camping and exploring on the way…