He was born in a small town called Brewster. He grew up in the mountain valleys along the Methow River. His father worked the trails with a pack team of horses. A war still weighed heavy on his mind. His mother, a kind heart, always accepted new kids into the home. Even those with checkered pasts. This pushed him to never be at home. Instead you’d find him swimming in the river or hunting a new animal. As a little kid he would walk along with his rifle shooting birds getting used to the stalk of prey. He did this while falling in love with the trees, and the mountains. As he grew the mountains called him on. He’d end up moving out east from the Washington territory to the barren territory of Montana. Ending up in an old mining town called Butte barely on its last leg. There he’d have a son and daughter and start his family with his wife. Work was hard to find but he ended up in a good place with another move near land controlled by the Northern Cheyenne. There he’d have his 3rd and final daughter. The family was formed in the wild mountains of the western frontier. A short time later he’d build a large cabin to keep them safe. They say he was a crack shot with a rifle and could hunt any animal better than an apache. They say he was protected. That one night an Indian spirit from the land showed itself to him, making him invulnerable when in the woods. He’d go on to take the biggest elk, tallest deer and the fastest antelope. He only took what he needed and shared the meat with his family. He knew what the land had given and he was grateful. Those around camp fires still tell the tale to this day of the great hunter born in the mountains. A man larger than life. A man that conquered the mountains. Built his dreams, and stood by his values. The mountain man. Love you dad!
Housed and Fed 