Fall in Montana

Horses. Oh my god there they are, just down this hill and into the next valley. I can see them, but they haven’t noticed me. My God, I can’t believe I almost forgot what horses look like, I can’t believe they’re here. They look more regal than I remember I must admit. Their manes are dreaded and long, their hair is matte and has raised tufts from battles won and lost. I am so envious of them; they look so free. And why would they not? They’re with their families, healthy, and strong. To top it all off we are in Big Sky Country, so what better place than here to be a horse? I understand why the rumors around them place them all in this side of the country. Aside from the South, this is the only region I can remember there being real cowboys, ranches, and buckin’ broncos.

As I flattened my spot in the tall grass in the valley, I let myself get lost in the horses. Their whimsical bounces and playful head tosses, each movement containing complex social ques that I could only daydream about their meaning. I pictured them all learning about their new freedoms when we lost all the water. I bet the initial deaths were heartbreaking, but the ones who survived, they must be so strong. How they ever found standing water is beyond me, but how someone managed to see them find standing water and tell of it is something I simply can’t fathom. I guess deep in my heart I always believed it to be just a rumor. That way I didn’t have to face failure when I inevitably didn’t find them. And yet here they are. How many minutes passed I don’t know, but the energy shifted. They were calm, I was tired, and the sun had not set yet, but it would be soon. The days are still so short this time of the year. Before I had mustered up the will power to stand up, they were leaving. I have to follow them; I can’t lose them. The world will feel so dead again, I can’t lose them.

I stand up quickly in the grass and they don’t notice. I have to be quiet, but I have to hurry, and I don’t feel comfortable interacting with an animal after all this time. All I’ve seen in the last three months are a few stray cats and a pair of crows. I don’t know how a scared horse will react so I can’t be too quick, but they are leaving. If the last three horses started trotting I will surely lose them over the hills. Shit shit shit. I’m running now and my pack is much louder than I wish it was. The tall grass is cutting my exposed arms and legs but no matter how much burning and stinging I experience I have to run as fast as I can. God damnit when was the last time I ran a mile? They’ve heard me. I can see their heads looking in my direction, their ears facing me and high in alert. I have to stop for the sake of both my attempted stalking and my lungs, but being crouched in the grass like this is hard and my breath is loud and unsteady. I can’t see their heads when I’m this low, so I have to stand. Once I do my heart is immediately in my stomach and my feet feel like they’re made of lead weights. They’re trotting away from me and they’ve just about reached the hilltop. Before I know it, they’re gone into the valley adjacent. I’m broken. I can feel the black hole of abandonment and loneliness opening up in my chest like it has so many times in the last two years, but I can’t go into that place right now. Those horses exist and I found them by myself. I can’t give up I have to just keep walking. I saw the direction they went in and they have to be going somewhere for the night I know it.

So I walk. My arms, legs, and face are burning and upon further examination my hands are bleeding too from my failed attempts at moving the grass out of the way before it hit my face. The dark feelings are starting to take over, and the dread is starting to set in but my hope of finding the horses again is giving a valiant fight. I’m at the top of the hill I saw the three horses crest and I can’t believe my eyes. There are cattails! Cattails meant only one thing and I know it. I didn’t study wetland ecology all those years ago to forget what cattails mean: water. There has to be water because it’s the only way those plants could survive. I’m running again and the burning all over my body doesn’t even register past the elation in my heart. When I reach the valley, I can almost taste those cattail roots. I haven’t had fresh vegetables in ages I don’t even remember what a potato tastes like.

The closer I get to the cattails the clearer it becomes that I will not be seeing any standing water today. There’s not only visible soil at the base of the cattails but there’s something strange coming into view, like a shrine at the edge of this sad, dead, marsh. I can’t imagine what that must be, out here, in the middle of nowhere. I was under the impression that all of these annual marshes were just a myth and here it appears a small mass of people know and love this wetland. There are stuffed animals, picture frames, unlit candles, and little trinkets gleaming in the setting sunlight. It’s almost like a dream, seeing something so human after all this time, something so alive and emotional. The closer I got the more tears welled up in my eyes. The thought of seeing something so sentimental and crafted by human hands almost made me feel better about harvesting more water with my Extractor for the night.

When I rounded the edge of the marsh, coming face to face with the shrine, I knelt down and took my pack off. In an effort to be productive while I fell into the shrine, I set my Extractor down, tapped into the root mass of the tall grass around me, and attached my collection tank. I enter my start code and the whirring of water being sucked out of the roots helped drown out the sound of my heart beating hard against my chest. I was right, this is a shrine, and not to some deity or invisible God… but to the water, and the horses, and the very much alive people that have visited here. I’m crying, a loud heaving cry from a place in my chest I didn’t think existed anymore. I can’t tell if this is love or hope or faith or some beautiful mix of the three. There are letters from people explaining how this water saved their family’s life, how traversing the dry lands here almost made them lose hope until they saw the horses. Pictures of families with dates and words of hope and inspiration on the backs. Stuffed animals dirty, stained, and loved, left here with notes to the children that may find comfort in them. There’s a heart shaped locket made of gold around the neck of a pink stuffed bear. Its hands are sewn together as if in prayer, and there’s a “squeeze me” box in its belly that I assume died long ago. Touching the shrine felt like blasphemy so reading the letters proved to be difficult. Halfway through the first one my Extractor beeped the pattern that told me my collection tank is full. I wiped the tears off my face and rub my eyes. Crying like that is very cathartic and makes me feel closer to myself than I had in a while.

Disassembling my Extractor is something I know by heart and can do in a brainless state of bliss, so I was extremely startled when I heard the soft crunch of grass under some amount of weight. I looked up and could see the silhouette of someone riding a horse. The closer they get the more I can see, and while my eyes aren’t very good, I can tell it’s a woman. She’s weathered and her looks almost as rough as the horse she’s riding. I am frozen in place but neither fighting nor flying is going to work in this scenario. I can’t tell if the adrenaline induced blood rushing behind my ears is from shock or fear, so I stay still and I don’t speak. I feel hot metal on the back of my neck of an unmistakable shape. Right as the woman on the horse comes into focus the light behind her becomes so bright I can’t see anything and I feel my back hit the ground behind me. Then white light, and more white light. That’s all I remember.