"I'm in love with Montana.
For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection.
But with Montana it is Love.
And it's difficult to analyze love when you're in it."
I agree with John.
It's hard to put my finger on why I love it here so much.
But I do. So very much.
It could be the divided air,
from plains to hill to mountain to glacier and back,
meshing the landscape like kneading a good bread.
The crisp of an evening here is unrivaled,
filled with stars too far from anything to be dimmed.
In fact, our nearest city couldn't do damage to such brightness.
It's crystal clear here.
Not a sound but tonight's rushing river,
the boulders bouncing and grinding underneath,
and my belly growling for another cheese and cracker.
It's date night on the river...
with wine and cheese and a dip in some cold, cold, cold water.
It could be the fragrance of pine and hay all too familiar with breeze that get me,
or the cottonwood towering over the wettest of corners on the river.
The breeze flits through the leaves, and through my hair,
and dances across my bare shoulders.
Things lay down here for the wind,
and rise up for the sun.
Here, you surrender to this cycle.
It's summer in Montana.
Our most fleeting of seasons.
I gulp it up like the best Sauvingnon Blanc,
straight from the bottle.
It could be the coldness of our turquoise water,
how clear and crisp a summer dip feels.
How special it is to swim in the deeps of a river all to yourself.
How special it is to be alone for just a minute in the world.
And then again, how special it is to NOT be alone,
instead with a man you're proud to call your own..
This guy born and raised in this gorgeous country,
a character as deep and rich as the place he calls home.
It could be the layers of woodland fodder under these silhouetted pines and firs,
and depending on how far north or south, a little fern or a little cactus.
This crunch underfoot is a place for me of honest reverence.
That duff from under the forest contains something truly special.
It reeks of potential.
Fat-bellied Trout hide out in the banks of these purple pebbled creeks,
where skipping rocks beg for a ride across the water.
The sun hangs on to the last drop in the summer until someone wishes it away.
And no one usually does, so it hangs on until it's too tired to stay...
The stars come out again, prodding us for a little attention.
But they don't have to prod too hard.
I'm all in.
For this place,
and this rolling, tilting, whirling landscape,
It could be many things, John.
a set of Montana Agates.
A little Montana for those earlobes.
Each a character of their own,
but in classic Montana Agate style...
all browns and golds and stripes and dots.
In the shop Thursday.
3PM Mountain Standard Time.