I missed out on a family trip to Disneyland last week – it’s far, far away, and lots of bucks and time needed to get there. Yep, I missed out on Space Mountain, Star Wars, and dinner in Downtown Disney. It was painful 🙂 So I did the next best thing – I visited the National Bison Range. Established in 1908, the bison range consists of 350 to 500 bison, thanks to the foresight of those who knew the value of saving this American icon from extinction. It’s a pleasant drive just forty or so miles south of here, and it just happens to be the most gorgeous time of the year here (well, except for that first heavy snowfall). The balsamroot, larkspur, and paintbrush were riotous. The mountains were totally showing off, and the animals played their roles to my complete satisfaction, all unstaged and spontaneous. The scenery was not painted, the colors were authentic, and the meadowlark songs that played across the hills at every stop I made were au naturel. Though I didn’t get close enough for a photo, I was fortunate this time to see a black bear, a two-tone bear actually who had a fat honey-colored body with black legs. His mother must have been proud. And nothing else needs said – pictures are worth a thousand words – –

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”
~ Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator

There went Charlie, happy to ride off with a group of strangers. Broke a mother’s heart.

The helpful railroad worker offered more. “We’ll be heading back to town ourselves shortly, we’d be glad to take ya.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind. I’m just going to run back to the house and I’ll be right back.”

I hurried up Martha’s porch and she opened the door before I could knock.

“What is it now?” She asked, her tone less suspicious and more helpful.

“Do you have any paper, and a pencil I could borrow? I promise I’ll return the pencil. Any scrap of paper would be fine. Just to sketch Charlie real quick, in case I can’t find him right off.”

She disappeared from the doorway. I was starting to get nervous. I couldn’t go home without Charlie, wasn’t sure I could even get home without Charlie. In movies they always made it clear you couldn’t alter history. Gosh, what a time to be thinking about movies. I was scared for Charlie and getting a little scared for myself. I should be trying to get home instead having to hunt for my dog, but going to town did sound fun, my curiosity was killing me.

Martha appeared with a pencil and a few square pieces of what looked like butcher paper.

“Thanks so much, Martha, this will work fine.” I sat right down and went to work, keeping on eye on the workers so I wouldn’t miss my ride. Within just a few minutes I had a good likeness of Charlie sketched out, complete with the funny little tufts of hair around his mouth and wild eyebrows framed by floppy ears.

“That’s a very good likeness, Miss Sally. Looks just like him! Looks like you’d best be going.”

“Thanks, Martha, I’ll get back as soon as I can.” I tucked pencil and paper into a deep pocket of my skirt, hoping she didn’t mind if I borrowed them for longer, and ran down the steps to where the men were loading into another truck. One of the workers gallantly helped me into the front seat and then climbed in the back with the other men. I waved to Martha as we pulled away, and I tucked my skirt as best I could around my hiking boots.

* * * * * * *

I was grateful to Charlie for making me chase him into town. What a site! I had read about the history of Pinetop and even recognized some of the store fronts from my own time. The road wasn’t paved, of course, and there were more trees right in town, some big stumps in between some of the buildings, and wooden board walks instead of cement sidewalks. I loved it! Climbing out of the truck near the train station, I thanked the men profusely for my ride into town. They all tipped their hats and wished me luck finding my dog. There was no sign of the truck Charlie had ridden in so I gathered up the long skirt and picked a direction, deciding to start with the west side of the street and show his picture around. There was an awesome general store with tin and enamelware on display out front, along with sacks of feed, flour, and fence material. Then I passed the bank and millinery shop – something sadly lost to my time and here I was looking at an authentic one! Next there was a bank. I showed Charlie’s pictures to several passers by and they all shook their heads no, they all wished me luck. Just as I was about to go into the newspaper office a train pulled into town, blowing its whistles – a good, old-time steam train, spewing smoke and ash and sounding marvelous! I found a quaint wooden bench and pulled out the pieces of paper Martha had given me. I sketched for probably thirty minutes, first the train and the station, then the scene across the street, people coming and going, the false-front buildings, then I guiltily remembered Charlie. Getting up in a hurry I plowed right into a handsome gentleman who I’m guessing was standing a little too close, perhaps looking over my shoulder. We both sputtered apologies.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am. I was admiring your sketches and should have introduced myself. Roger Dawson, at your service.”

I held my hand out to a man who looked like a young Richard Crenna with a mustache. I love Richard Crenna.

“And I’m Sally Burke. I’m really looking for my dog but I got sidetracked, so much to see here!”

“I agree, but I’m a newspaper man, I make my living by paying attention and seeing everything. You’re very talented, I can see that. Do you ever sell your work?”

“That’s very kind, thank you. No, I just do it for fun. There are a lot of artists more talented than I.”

“Not around here. I could use your sketches in my paper, times when a sketch says more than a photograph. And I’ll give you $2 for that one of the street scene.” He fished two coins out of his pocket and traded two silver dollars for my sketch. I was speechless. “That’s so you know I’m serious.” I wish I could have sketched Roger’s smile to take home with me. I never wanted to forget it.

“Well, again, that’s very nice, but I’m just passing through. I need to find my dog and get going.

“And what does your dog look like?”

I showed him Charlie’s picture and felt the tug of worry, I had to find my bud.

“You are VERY talented. Your sketch looks exactly like that dog right over there.”

I looked to see Charlie on the opposite boardwalk, trotting along like he was on a mission. Perhaps it was unladylike for the time but I hollered his name and he looked over his shoulder right at me. I think his pace actually picked up and he ducked into the open door of a place called the Steel Rail Café.

“Thanks again, Mr. Dawson, it was a pleasure, I really must be going.”

“And you, Ms. Burke, a genuine pleasure. You will let me know if you change your mind.”

I gave that handsome man my best smile and hurried across the road. I would have loved to have lingered in Mr. Dawson’s company, maybe over coffee in the café, where I found another scene right out of a movie. I glanced around for Charlie while waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A waitress rushed by me balancing two china cups and a teapot on a wooden tray.

“I’m looking for my dog, I saw him come in here.”

“A shaggy little thing, not far off the floor? I gave him a chunk of meat and sent him out the back door. Can’t have no dogs in here, cute or not. You can go on through.” She motioned with her head and I made my way through to the back door, past a kitchen I would have died for, cooper pots and new enamelware everywhere. No time for gawking. Sure enough, just out the back door in a dusty alley, Charlie was smacking his lips. I think he was hoping for more handouts.

“Okay, Buster, done touring around? Did you worry about me at all? Or worry about getting home?”

Charlie didn’t answer but seemed resigned to come with me. I found my way out of the alley, Charlie following dutifully. Then I realized I had no way to get back to Martha’s. I headed over to the general store, hoping the shop owner might know how I could get a ride. I didn’t know if $2 was enough to hire someone. Trying not to waste time shopping, in a place I couldn’t buy anything if I wanted to, but wanting to poke around and see everything, I went up the wooden steps and was about to go through the shop door when I stopped so suddenly Charlie actually walked into the back of my legs. There in a big bushel basket were iris bulbs, just dumped in, marked 10 for 35 cents. I thought of the lovely iris out at Martha’s and wondered if she bought them here. Or maybe she hadn’t yet??? The man inside was very nice, and before asking for a ride I asked about the iris.

“They’re right out of my wife’s garden, miss, there are creams and yellows, maybe a little orange. They multiple quite nicely, make a lovely display.”

“That’s very interesting, I’ll take ten please. And could you tell me, is there someone I can hire to take me west of town, there’s a woman out there, lives along the tracks with her husband. Is $1.65 enough to get me there?”

“Ah yes, the Petersons. You could get a ride out in the morning with the workers, if you’re not offended by my suggestion. I’m sure they are all gentlemen…”

“It sounds like I can be of service after all.” The voice sounded too good to be true. There was Mr. Dawson, and he was offering me a ride. Of course I smiled my consent.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Dawson, and your timing is perfect. I’m going to get a little bag of iris to thank my new friend, Martha, and I’ll be ready when you are.”

“I will fetch my car and be back momentarily.” Mr. Dawson tipped his hat and excused himself. I thanked the store owner and he gave me a little bag for my iris.

Out on the front step I chose ten fat iris bulbs and sat down with Charlie to wait. Such a lovely day, a scary day, my brain was overwhelmed. I looked down at Charlie and he had that contented doggie grin on his face again. He’d had a good day too and had to be worn out. I took that goofy face in my hands and told him how much I loved him, how glad I was I found him. And in another one of those weird, unbelievable moments, of which this day had been full, I’d swear I heard Charlie say something. So I asked him.

“Did you say something?”

“Do we have to go home, mom? I like it here!” We watched Dr. Dawson pull up in his car. “So do I.” I smiled. “So do I!”

to be continued….

The woman and I stared at each other, both of us speechless. Charlie ran over and jumped on her, his little dusty paws leaving faint prints on her apron.
“Hey, little fella. Where did you come from?” After a quick tussle of Charlie’s ears she eyed me again, justifiably with a look of fear.

“Sorry Charlie jumped on you, he knows better, he just gets excited sometimes. We didn’t mean to startle you. I’m pretty surprised to be here myself.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as I gave my apology.

“You’re, you’re a woman? A girl?”

With no time to think I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Gosh, thanks, haven’t had anyone question that for a long time.” I smiled but she didn’t. “I guess I’m not exactly dressed like a girl. I’m not sure what to tell you.” There I stood in my old jeans, roughed up L. L. Bean hiking boots, made just for women but not exactly feminine, dad’s old blue plaid flannel shirt, and a baseball cap that had “Go wild in the Mountains” printed on it. “Rather than try to explain maybe you could help me. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Before the poor woman could answer men’s voices and the stomp of boots came up on the porch, clearly about to enter the house.

“You get back down there and stay until I call you.” The woman ordered. She was smoothing her apron and nervously watching the front door as I started down the stairs.

“Charlie, get over here.” I hissed my command but he ignored me, his tail wagging furiously in anticipation of new friends coming through the door. I went downstairs and waited. I pondered a dozen things while I waited in that cellar, everything from the fact that time portals really existed, to how pretty all the canning jars were lined up on the walls down there, to thinking I needed more obedience lessons for my dog. It must have been on hour before I was summoned back upstairs.

“Now you explain yourself immediately or I’ll have one of those men take you to the sheriff in town.” She had a wet dish rag in her hand and waved it at me like it was a weapon.

“I, uh, was, um…” I looked around the cabin, desperately trying to think of a plausible story. I should have been concocting something while I waited downstairs instead of thinking what a good story I’d have to tell when I got home.

“I was out scouting elk with my father and we got separated. I’m lost actually. It’s just me and papa, out in the hills trying to get by, I guess I don’t always dress very pretty.” I looked down at my outfit, trying to look apologetic.

“And you were trying to steal food from the cellar, were you?”

“No, ma’am, I assure I was not. I just fell into the cellar, I don’t know how I got there.” I was getting really getting hungry though. Leftovers from the meal she just served the men were in a big pot on the stove and smelled wonderful. I was hoping if I sounded pathetic she’d feed me. “Hey, where’s Charlie?”

“He went out with the men. Sit on down, I’ve still got enough stew to feed you and then you have to be going. But you’re going to get yourself in trouble wearing those clothes. We’ll have to think about what to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.” I hadn’t called anybody ma’am in probably twenty years but it seemed the most natural thing. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I surveyed the cabin, amazed at the newness of the woodwork, the pretty yellow checked curtains in the intact window, a few antique-style pieces of furniture that looked almost brand new. I could still picture in my mind the tree growing smack in the middle of this room like it had been just over an hour ago.

“My name is Sally. I’d be very grateful for any help, ma’am.”

“We’ll see what we can do then you can go find Charlie. And my name is Martha.”

I watched as my benefactor served up a stew thick with carrots and chunks of meat. She couldn’t have been much older than me. She wore a floor-length, red print dress, the sleeves pushed up for work, the collar buttoned almost all the way to her throat with a tiny rim of faded lace around the edge. Her apron was starched and white with a few faint stains where she wiped her hands and two dog paw prints. It covered most of her skirt and bodice. She was pleasantly plump with a touch of sadness, perhaps resignation, in her face. Her hair was a knotted up braid on the back of her head, dark with a few strands of gray. She was right out of a movie.

“My husband bought this house from the railroad when they were finished building the line through here and we make our living, such as it is, from a bit of farming and providing meals for the train and lumber bosses. I ain’t no beanery queen, mind you. I wanted to be closer to town, but…My husband is out hunting now, too. Maybe he’ll come across your pa.” She finished washing up lunch dishes, wiped off the worn wooden table, and took my bowl before I had to time to scoop up the last of the delicious gravy. “I have some things that don’t fit me no more, should do you fine to go look for your dog and then you can be on your way.”

Within an hour I stood on that woman’s porch in a long calico skirt, lots of little blue and purple flowers on a yellow background, and a faded cream-colored lace blouse. And my hiking boots. I’d braided my hair into a pony tail and accepted the muslin scarf Martha offered. I looked back before stepping into the unknown. Martha stood watching me for a moment, shaking her head, hands on her hips, then went back inside.

* * * * * * * *

As I’d guessed, the river was visible just across the tracks. There was hardly a tree for acres on either side of the tracks, just a couple of large ponderosas near the house, perhaps to provide shade from the late summer heat. I could see larches on the distant hills with the same gold of early autumn I’d seen 95 years into the future when I got here. Whoa. I looked east, half expecting to see my truck parked along the edge of the dirt road that paralleled the tracks but there was nothing beneath a stand of young cottonwoods swaying in the breeze. I had no time for exploring or sightseeing, though, I had to find Charlie and figure out what to do. There were clusters of men working up and down a section of track, shoveling and hammering. The first group I approached stopped what they were doing and watched me come their way, clearly wondering what I could be wanting.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my dog. A little guy, floppy ears, grey and white and black, kinda scruffy looking. Have you seen him?”

At first none of the men said anything, they just stared at me. Finally one of them jabbed another with his elbow, and the jabbed one finally answered.

“Yes, ma’am. I think that might be the little fella right there.”

I turned to see where he was pointing, and there was Charlie, crowded in with a bunch of men in the back of an old, I mean new, pickup truck that was pulling away. He was giving me his contented doggie smile.

Part One

It was one of those exquisite fall days, starting out crisp and warm by noon, a day for an adventure. Charlie watched as I rooted around in the basement. He danced around my legs – he knew exactly how we would spend the day. The sun was throwing its first shadows across the driveway by the time I had packed lunch and we climbed into the cab of my old red Toyota. Dew was smoking off the shed and the first breeze puffed the dust when we startled a squirrel by the woodpile. I carefully moved my morning’s second cup of coffee from one hand to the other, trying not to slosh it all over. Charlie climbed through my feet and hopped up on the seat – he was ready. I sipped my coffee, enjoying the warming blow of engine heat, and wiped a clear spot on the windshield. I made a tight u-turn in the driveway and off we went, leaving a swirl of leaves that followed behind wishing us a good time.
We drove in comfortable silence, savoring the autumn scenery and anticipating the day. Charlie gave me his contented doggy smile and turned back to watch out the window. The colors across the hills graduated from shades of green to yellow gold. Larches high up on the hill were already turning. When I could see the lake off to the south I slowed the truck. Our turn off the highway was almost automatic. We come here a lot. It’s a bumpy mile or so, past a small community and a section of barbed wire fence not fencing anything anymore, down a rutted road. The creek is low now and dry grass rustles along the banks, cattail puffs float silently on the slow-moving water. Charlie headed off to chase grouse, the same ones he’s probably flushed a dozen times. I grabbed our basket and blanket and headed west through the trees, finding our path to the cabin hidden in the overgrowth of summer’s end.
I stumbled on the old Montana homestead by a lucky happenstance. I was trying to find a lake someone had told me about and I got lost. After turning around at the end of a dirt road I happened to glimpse the corner of a roof line beyond a row of young firs. Charlie and I poked around and found an old path, disguised with knee-high grass and weeds. The first thing we came to was an old barn. Charlie pounced on the grasshoppers that rattled out of our path. There were torn screens and coils of wire lying underfoot. A section of the barn’s roof had fallen in, leaving the entrance blocked with ribbons of lumber angling down from the loft. Remnants of other outbuildings were scattered across a wide, golden field. There was the shell of an old car, nothing left but a crumpled, rusted chassis. Pieces of equipment lay hiding in the grass – unrecognizable. Had it been a farm? A base camp for railroad workers? As we neared the main house, we found rusted buckets, broken boards, and the hinged part of an old gate. There was a small building just off the main house with most of the roof still intact, though thin and rotting with the sun shining zebra stripes through it onto the floor. Maybe this had been storage, maybe with a root cellar. The house itself was hard to picture whole. It had been two floors, the roof now resting at a slant on the ground floor, burying the porch on the south in a tangle of rotted boards. The staircase was still there, a twisted skeleton, gray and broken, reaching past remnants of the west wall to the sky. The north wall had leaned over and split, logs holding strong at one end, splayed out on the ground at the other, like fingers braced against a fall. Young firs and pines struggled up through the rubble along the east wall, and a huge larch was growing right in the middle of the house. Just one window frame remained intact. The river would have been visible when the house was new. I knew some woman had enjoyed the view because right outside this window was a bed of iris. Not wild blue iris, but creamy whites ones and bright yellows with bronzy-orange tongues. I tried to imagine her in the kitchen, going about her daily routine, maybe checking to see if the iris had bloomed yet some long ago spring. I admit I’ve dug a few of these iris and taken them home where they’ve multiplied and put on a lovely display each spring.
This day, before I’d even gotten the blanket down and our picnic set out, Charlie was in the ruins of the house. Did he come when I called? No! bad dog! I’ve never gone past the broken down walls into the house with its floor of debris, old shingles, and who knows what hidden dangers. Charlie was intent on something under a broken board, and I thought I could reach him by not actually stepping into the house. Okay, just one step and I had him! Then came the crash.
When the dust settled and I’d cleared my lungs with a good cough, I could see I’d fallen through the floor and into a cellar or some sort. Strange, it looked almost new, like it hadn’t been disturbed for a hundred years. Before my eyes even had a chance to adjust to the dimly lit space I heard sounds overhead. I hoped no more floor was going to crash down on us. There were intact stairs along the west wall so I carefully climbed up, testing each step before putting weight on it. Charlie bounded right up the stairs and out an open doorway. When I got to the top I thought maybe I’d hit my head or maybe had taken a nap before lunch and was dreaming. I stepped into a old-fashioned looking kitchen, complete with things I’d seen in antique stores, an old coffee grinder much like the one had sitting in my kitchen, a lovely old table with new-looking pieces of enamelware set out like company was expected. The human brain is quite amazing. Though everything in mine denied what was happening, in just nanoseconds I knew exactly what was going on. I had fallen into another time….