Wolf Stuff 6

I chewed on that anger all the way to Glacier National Park, and then chewed on it some more. I gripped the steering wheel of my little, gas-efficient economy car as if it might save me if we drove over the side of the very steep, very narrow road we were told was magnificent and something to see. It was something to see, alright. And it was scary.

The terror wore off somewhere around Bird Woman Falls. We stopped to take a picture by the sign. Then we continued on, saying things like, "Wow," and "Are you kidding?" We marveled. We mocked. We just couldn't believe what we were seeing.

"I've been to the Alps!" I said. I declared it. And, with residual anger, added, "And this shit puts 'em to shame!"

We stopped at the lodge deep within the park, and the regular stop, I suppose, for travelers going to the sun. I passed over all the wolf stuff. I headed for the bookshelves. I couldn't believe that in all those years of mythologizing Montana, I didn't know anything about that park, those mountains, or the road that will casually lead your through.

Most of the books were history books. I pulled Native North America from the stack because I liked the look of it: copper with confident blue text. I felt fine judging the book by its cover. I opened it to a random page and learned that some tribes isolated their women while they were menstruating because the blood was considered so potent, so powerful and dangerous that it could contaminate sacred objects if it came in contact with them.

"L!" I called out. She came over and I read aloud, "The first period usually included the girl's isolation in a small menstrual hut set apart from the village."

"Is that so the bears and wolves could eat her without putting the others in danger?" L asked.

I shut the book, but I bought it. When I stepped outside on the patio where L was smoking a cigarette, I gasped. There was magic in Montana, and it was in those mountains. It was in that view.

It wasn't at the White Birch Motel and Campground, which was why we'd made the pilgrimage to Kalispell in the first place. I was searching for a spirit, but it wasn't for my dad's deceased friend, after all. It was the spirit of discovery, fueled by the act of traveling roads revealed to you by strangers. It was Going to the Sun or nowhere at all.