road tripping day two: Missoula to Billings, Montana

“Nicole! Quick! There’s your photo for the day.”

“Okay. Pull over,” I said, failing to get into the spirit.

“Just snap it! With your phone!”

So I did.

“PULITZER!”

Yesterday we stopped in Butte for lunch at the Hummingbird Cafe, which is a bit like the Antique Sandwich Company at home, but not really. Similar vibe. I have never seen such an incomprehensible menu, so I felt like my order was a stab in the dark, a wild guess. But the food was delicious. (The french toast was divine.) We chatted with a fellow who might have been the owner, and he had a strong, possibly German, accent. Which may or may not account for the menu issue.

I found this inspirational signage in the cafe to be ironically confusing.

The historic section of Butte is filled with buildings that seem to be desperately clinging to a faint memory of dignity and grandeur. There are a few blocks where buildings have been restored, and they’re surrounded by the ruins of once-lovely architectural wonders. One of the restored buildings has a fancy-pants natural foods market and deli on the first floor, Hennessey, and lofts above. Smart move to put food near presumably-expensive housing in a dying downtown area. Because surely calling an apartment a loft works out to many more hundreds of dollars per month?

After lunch we scooted over to the Hennessey Market on Granite Street, not to be confused with Copper or Quarts or Antimony or Porphyry Streets. Three teenage girls pulled in beside us in a Volkswagon bug, and while they shopped, they played Marco Polo across the aisles. I was just passing a worker fella who was fronting cans, and we exchanged smiles at the first call and response. At the checkout, one of the gals asked if they were hiring, and yes, the nice checker fetched her an application.

As we were leaving, the gal with the application in hand said she would rather work at some other place—I didn’t catch the name—because of tips. “I need cash.” 

I can’t imagine what it would be like growing up there.

We made it to Billings just in time to see our boy compete. I watched and listened to the mostly-male teammates speak in jargon I don't understand, and wondered how we got here. These youngsters live such a privileged life.

Big Sky Country

Visiting Butte the day after the Kavanaugh scandal reminded me of Twain’s comments about the Copper King, William Clark, buying a seat in the Senate. I couldn’t quite remember exactly what he said, but I remembered the gist of it, and looked it up:

He is as rotten a human being as can be found anywhere under the flag; he is a shame to the American nation, and no one has helped to send him to the Senate who did not know that his proper place was the penitentiary, with a ball and chain on his legs. To my mind he is the most disgusting creature that the republic has produced since Tweed's time.

Which is not consoling, necessarily, but a reminder that corruption is nearly as old as the republic.