Just Another Sunday in Big Sky Country

It's almost been three years since my dad, Myron Blanchard, died. I find that hard to believe, but that's what it says on his headstone. There are things that remind me of him every day. Heck, sometimes I even see him.

This past Sunday, I took some much needed time to complete some unfinished business. I asked my friend James to help me set Dad's headstone. After I asked him, I briefly thought, "That's a pretty creepy thing to ask someone you've known all of six months." Then I remembered, around here it isn't all that unusual to take a Sunday afternoon to do something worthwhile with the help of a friend – new or old.

I've had the government issued military headstone on my front steps for several months. It was a daily reminder that winter is just around the corner, and I'm sure the mailman thought it was odd.

Dad died February 2, 2013. He was cremated, and in the fall of that year, my sister, Dorena and I, with the help of Paul Etchart, spread some of his ashes near the stone house south of Glasgow. Dad worked for Etcharts for several years and during that time our family lived on the ranch near Willow Creek. Many memories were made there – for our family and others. Our house was literally in the middle of nowhere and for most of the time that we lived there, we had no phone or television. Our primary means of communication was by two-way or CB radios and our indoor entertainment consisted of old National Geographic magazines. It was the best time of our lives – no question about it.

The rest of his remains were buried in a beautiful wooden box, made by Keith Fogle, on Cornwell Ranch west of Glasgow. Dad worked on the ranch and had a special friendship with Kirk Cornwell. I remember the day Dad took us out to the ranch to show us where he wanted to be buried. Since being diagnosed with cancer, he had been preoccupied with his final arrangements and wanted to make sure we knew exactly what he wanted.

We drove through the yard of the ranch, over a small bridge and up into the hills. When we came to a stop and I stepped out of the vehicle, I immediately understood why he chose the spot he did. We were on a point overlooking Cornwell Ranch and surrounded by the Montana horizon in all directions. In his customary fashion, Dad stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked over the valley. He was in his element. Pointing out landmarks in the area, he talked about the view and the wildlife. Just as he finished talking, a bird flew up out of the brush and set off in flight over the valley. Dad turned to us girls and said, "See?"

It was much the same when we made our way to the ranch on this most recent Sunday. Driving through the yard of the ranch on fallen leaves with the sun shining through the trees only affirmed that things were as they should be. It was a damn beautiful October day in Montana. While preparing a spot for Dad's headstone, we noticed a herd of horses running along the fence about 400-500 yards away. For a person who doesn't live in Montana, it all may seem a little cliché, but for those of us from here, it's just another Sunday in Big Sky Country. The only thing missing was a curious hound dog running through the prairie grasses.

Dorena & I were incredibly touched by the Cornwell's generosity and will be forever grateful for the gift they gave our family. Dad is right where he wanted to be and that brings us tremendous peace. We still have another, more personal marker to place. Fabricated by Fred Potter, it includes a number of things that honor Dad's memory and things he enjoyed. We'll save that for another Sunday when we can all go together and share the afternoon. For now, at least the critters know who's resting on the hillside.