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…

Cookies of the Gods

On my last day at Glacier, I made the long, lonely trek to the far northwest portion of the park, which led me through the North Fork town of Polebridge. To get there, you have to drive down a long unpaved road that leads you far away from any sign of civilization. I had heard of Polebridge from a few Montana friends who all just grin when they hear the town’s name, as if it were some inside secret that made everyone happy, so I was curious to check it out. Also, Anna was very insistent that the ride was worth the cookies I’d find there—and even more insistent that it would be wise for me to bring some back to her.

To call Polebridge a town is something of an overstatement. The main strip consists of a gravel lot with two buildings: the Northern Lights Saloon and the Polebridge Mercantile (also known as the Polebridge Bakery). Drive a few miles up the road and you’ll find the funky Polebridge hostel with a lawn full of tipis. The saloon was closed when I arrived, but I scoped out the Mercantile and found myself rummaging through shelves of food, housewares, t-shirts, wine, crafts, antiques and some of the most mouth-watering baked goods I’ve ever seen. Yeah, Anna was dead-on about the cookies.

The place definitely had character. I’m sorry to say it, but you really need to visit it yourself to understand. I enjoyed spending some time on the Merc’s porch watching hippies and old timers come and go. It would have been easy to spend the whole day doing so, but I had hiking to do.

My campsite that night was at Bowman Lake, another long stretch down another unpaved road, this one very windy and narrow. The trip was totally worth it. Even though this campground filled up, too, it was much more spacious and much less crowded than those at the center of the park. Far less tourists make the rough trek up here, and that left a huge blue lake all to myself and a handful of kayakers. I considered staying a second night, but I was actually getting a little tired of hiking around mountains and lakes every day. They were starting to seem less than incredible. Also, I needed to find a farm.


When I emerged from the mountains the next day, I stopped at a library in Columbia Falls to get online. Still no word from the farm I was seeking. I had been holding out for an organic apple orchard in Arlee, Montana, but was tired of sending emails and leaving phone messages with no response. I kicked myself for waiting so long and for putting all my eggs in one basket when I had no place to stay, then spent a couple hours at the library calling and emailing other farms in Montana. I figured that if I didn’t hear from any in the next day or so, then I’d start sending messages to farms in other states. That was my original plan—to keep moving and see new regions with every change—but I didn’t feel I was done with Montana yet.

I knew there was free camping at the reservoir near my last farm, so I decided that was as good a place as any to stay until I found my next host. I enjoyed two days of swimming and lounging by the water, often watching lightning in the distance, before I found an available farm—and it turned out to be the apple orchard I originally wanted! They called me at ten o’clock Saturday morning and by noon I was moving into a tipi on their property. An hour later, I was thinning apple trees.

Yep, I live in a tipi now. How cool is that?

Incidentally, Anna was ecstatic when I gave her a bag of Polebridge cookies. Watching someone eat those cookies is like watching someone become brainwashed with pleasure. I think she’s in my debt now. Wondering if I can get a car wash out of it…