Roadtrip Glory

They don’t call Montana “Big Sky Country” for nothing. Especially now that I live in LA and have sadly forgotten what a star-filled sky really looks like, falling asleep beneath the vast expanse of the Milky Way and actually being able to marvel at its contents is enough to convince you it’s actually bigger there than anywhere else. I’ve been to Montana countless times over the past 13 years. Some trips I remember for the innocence and the relaxation, some I remember for the pain and the heartache. This trip was an entirely new frontier for me, but Montana always offers something of a sacred ground, and it didn’t disappoint this time. Upon leaving I felt both cleansed and filled up, both pensive and rejuvenated.
Last Thursday Jeremy, Silas and I began the 18 hour drive to Hamilton, MT to meet my dad and Taylor. Silas had been staying with me for a week here in LA and we weren’t going to leave until early Friday morning but we were all so excited for the adventure to begin we just decided to get an early start. I drove (proudly, I might add) for a whole two hours before falling asleep in the backseat while Silas and Jeremy drank 5-hour energy drinks and bottomless cups of coffee and literally drove through the night. I woke up a few times, first while we were on the strip in Vegas and again in the dark while we passed through southwest Utah near Zion, one of my most favorite places. I didn’t wake up for good though until we were right outside Salt Lake City and Silas was being pulled over for his first speeding ticket. He handled it like a pro and the police officer was actually pretty decent, but dare I say I don’t think Utah left the best impression on Silas. After wondering the streets of Salt Lake in search of breakfast and only finding endless edifices associated with the LDS, we continued on the interstate until I saw a sign for…. Cracker Barrel!!!! The Nashvillian heart in me skipped a beat with joy and nostalgia to stumble upon such a southern symbol as Cracker Barrel and so we HAD to stop for a hearty country breakfast. That night we camped along the Salmon River in northern Idaho. We got eaten by mosquitoes (this would prove to be a theme throughout the week), Jeremy’s tent zipper broke (more mosquitoes!!!!) and Silas had to jump into the river to detangle a fishing line he cast into a pile of logs. But waking up to the sound of rushing water before the boys were up and sitting by the riverbank to read and journal in the early morning light, I said 1000 silent prayers of gratitude to be there and to be on the road and on vacation.
We made it to Hamilton on Saturday afternoon. My dad and Taylor met us in the parking lot of the grocery store, tan and a bit weary after a 16 mile over night hike they had finished that morning. We drove up into the canyon and set up camp and the world melted away. In the following days we took a trip to Lake Como and went swimming, Jeremy and I also attempted to take an inflatable boat out into the lake but didn’t get very far paddling with one oar against the wake of 5 different jet skis and motor boats. Taylor even swam out to try and push us further off the shore, which actually worked for a few minutes until we capsized altogether and could hardly climb back into the thing we were laughing so hard. We also did a day hike up to the Fred Burr Reservoir and all found the courage to jump in even though it was the coldest water I’ve ever felt. On our descent back into the canyon, we drank the ice cold water running off the sides of trail, filling our empty water jugs, truly ‘bottling at the source’. Jeremy and I slept in a tent with a see-through mesh ceiling, allowing us to star gaze and even catch a glimpse of a meteor shower. Silas and Taylor slept in cots close to our tent and it warmed my heart to hear them chatting quietly in their sleeping bags, sleeping head to head like the little boys they used to be.
On our last day there we packed everything up and headed into town. Hamilton has grown significantly since we first started exploring the area when I was a kid, but the downtown Main Street still has an infectious charm. We wandered through the little shops until late afternoon when dad, Jeremy and I set off to the edge of the Bitterroot River to visit Brian’s cross. It was 10 years this July since he passed away, but walking to the spot where he was pulled from the river feels like walking back into time. My heart jumps into my throat and my feet feel like lead beneath me, still hesitant to go back and feel the heavy weight of all that has happened that can’t be changed. The area itself looks completely different, the current has a way of continually changing the landscape, pushing and pulling new fallen logs and trees and rocks, constantly altering the shoreline. My family put up a cross on a tree many years ago near the place where he drowned and each year when people visit it they put up new things- pictures, notes, flowers. This year Brian’s dad John put up a beautiful homemade sign. I wonder if the rafters who float by that tree on any given day pay notice. If they can even feel for one minute what that spot on the river really means. For them it is a cross on a tree, for us it is history and heartbreak. It’s someone’s whole life. The sadness never fades.
The next morning at 4am dad, Taylor and Silas left for the Bay Area and Jeremy and I set off on our own adventure back to LA. We took our time weaving along the 12, out of Montana and into Idaho, curling along the Salmon River yet again. It was breathtaking, maybe the most beautiful drive I’ve ever been on. We stopped at practically every pull out to take pictures, and even scooted our way down the embankment at one point to jump into the river. It was a hot, lazy, perfect day. We had planned to camp that night in Hells Canyon, but hadn’t designated any specific campsite. At 7pm we pulled off onto a gravel road that ended up taking us an hour up a mountain range called Seven Devils Peak, and concluded at what felt like the top of the world. The temperature had dropped significantly, as was the sun and we were eager to set up camp and cook some dinner. But the minute we stepped out of the car we were completely swarmed with a blanket of mosquitoes and even though I was pretty sure there was no skin left on my legs for them to feast upon, we decided it’d be torturous to spend a whole night there and so we went back down into town. We stayed the night in the blessed town of Riggins, Idaho and it was such a quaint little river town, it was the best accident we could have had.
The next morning we didn’t hit the road until about 1pm. The Oregon countryside was so much different than the mountains of Idaho, we were suddenly passing farms and bales of hay and grazing cows. We got gas in a town that was literally only a gas station and the house of the station owner. We played MASH (Jeremy ended up having to marry an older lady who comes into Hugo’s (the restaurant we work at) every week and is questionably both heavily medicated and heavily reconstructed by plastic surgery) and Mad Libs and talked and talked and talked until we hit Reno at about 11:30pm. Much to his chagrin, we stayed the night there and much to his even deeper chagrin we got Starbucks in the morning on our way out of town. (He is a loyal Peet-ist). He was in high spirits despite all that though because we were only 3 hours or so from our final stop on the trip, the Eastern Sierras and a few choice spots along the 395. He’s been talking about his love for this area since we first met so I was really looking forward to seeing them for myself. We stopped in Mammoth and Bishop and ended up in Mosquito Flats (it never ends!!!) for a freaking amazing hike into Little Lake Valley. We came upon lake after lake, all set against the backdrop of picturesque mountain peaks and lush clearings of green grass. We ate lunch in one such clearing that nestled right up against the lakeshore and we barely even spoke, we were so enamored by the scenery. As night fell we made our way up another mountain and into the forest to his favorite campsite, although his favorite plot right by the river had been taken. We made a huge breakfast-for-dinner scramble that was delicious and sat on a blanket in the dark by a glorious campfire and stared at the sky. There were no other lights to be seen but our fire and the twinkling stars and we whispered and giggled and I laid on his lap while we ruminated on all the amazing things we had done that week.
The next morning we woke up and I turned 27. It was a really peaceful feeling. I’m not big on my own birthdays usually and always feel a little weird getting attention for them, but this year everything felt right. 27 sounds really old. Not REALLY old, but old enough that I should have some things figured out and lined up. But to tell you the truth it felt like I sort of slid right into this new age without my fingers crossed. Here I am and I’m so happy and so lucky and so faithful that all will continue to be as it should be. I spent the day on the road with Jeremy and it was just what I wanted to do. Thank you so much to everyone who called me and sent me texts and emails and cards. I have the best friends and family a girl could ever ask for.
So now I’m back in the real word, getting ready for school and heading back to work. But I feel like I can breathe a bit deeper somehow, I feel a bit lighter even. I feel a bit safer remembering that I am so, so small.
I have big plans for this fall, heading back to Nashville finally, a year later, to play a show and see some friends and promote the record. I’m graduating from school in September. I’m hoping to get some sort of real live tour together up and down the CA coast. I’m going to 4 weddings. I’m daydreaming of all the endless possibilities and just hoping I don’t miss anything.
A big thanks to Charles Alexander for all his magicalness and patience.
Also to my dad and Taylor and Silas for all the memories.
And of course to Jeremy, for all the things I believe in now.

May the rest of your summers be filled with magic and glory!!!!!!!