Your Community Builder
Your Community Builder
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Many years ago I met this woman, I had drove off the road from Ekalaka Park, Ted and her drove us out to get my yellow pickup back on the road, It was an embarrassing way to meet, but Darlene was a woman of humor, and all was good, we laughed, her’s was such a memorable laugh, Throughout the years she showed genuine care for many, the Alzada Grade School comes to mind, a school teacher like my mother, Those times in Alzada took me back to my childhood, it drenched me with familiarity, it cemented my appreciation for Darleen, and for e...
I haven’t been stuck in the mud for some time, Yes that old ‘gumbo’, such treacherous stuff, The vehicle would be wrestled with, so rough, When in this slick clay, try avoiding the grime. You might high-center...stuck, it seemed a crime, One may be on foot, without a rebuff, A neighbor, ‘X’ miles away, enough, For a good hike in the mud, damn this slime. But there was a flavor in getting so stuck, To admit that we might not be in control, But what would I tell Dad about the truck, There is much about this business, still to unroll, For Dad’s...
This last summer I walked the streets where once, I drove a maroon colored Mercury, Up and down Main, it was so endlessly, Good to kids back then, an accepted stunt. Learning to drive on icy street, no fuss, It was as fun as fun might always be, Turning by the “Cop Shop” so carefully, It, as American, as one can trust. Memories bubble, ones not to discuss, Of those nights with the eight-track tape playing, And we’d talk of teenage life gleefully, It’ll always stay in me, a total plus. There are memories one might which to trade, But driving...
The Miles City tournament back then, We students looked forward to it, excite, It, a taste of adult’s freedom, of nights, Where we, as teenagers...no books...nor pens. We’d go to the games, to watch our own men, Playing against Sacred Heart, a tough fight, Or perhaps of ‘State School’, boys of plight, There’s a certain school pride to defend. Those times, lightened winter’s burden for sure, And as a nice break, in a larger town, It’s glamour was not lost on me, its stir, Of the high school routine, of its frowns, Perhaps a shiny trophy to inc...
This time of year is like accidentally grabbing the electric fence, In its way of making memories flash within our minds - the shortly lit days of our holidays - memories which are often intense, I think back upon my Carter County Thanksgivings and Christmas’ - quite long ago, The snow on the ground - the end of hunting season - the early sunsets with their golden glow. My earliest memories are of the Belltower community holiday celebrations - with our own community Santa in tow, The small brown paper bags of candy often with a sticky p...
I arrived back in town on a hot July afternoon some days ago, A passed brother-in-law to remember - and a town with new construction - with obvious determination - grit and goals, And Mother Nature seems to be giving another of her serious tests, With scant rain and hoppers - conditions aren’t now the best. Adversity has been faced before by farmers and ranchers - and those who depend upon them - of all the difficult rows - before - had to be hoed, And though each family in the county face problems which may differ - thankfully support exist m...
Fourth of July at Belltower Hall - back - when growing up, I recall that it was fifty dollars worth - and it may have increased after the initial startup, But it was such a great time for a kid - firecrackers and sparklers - and booms and spark showers radiated - in the darkened sky, Those times still set within a friendly way with me - a summer peacefulness - even with the excitement - before our eyes. Jimmy Carroll (1932-2010) - would always set them off - us kids were not allowed close - in case something would erupt, And one year Jimmy did...
My father’s family is traced back to West Virginia, which was still Virginia when my great-great and great-grandfather lived there before moving west. There are Curry/Currey family reunions in West Virginia to this day. I was told by a cousin there that all people with our name in WV are related. ‘Currey’ and ‘Curry’ were used interchangeably, there at that time. I researched this part of the family the last few years using Ancestry.com and other sources. It is postulated that the family may have come from Northeast England to America,...
This is the end of my project. I rounded off the twenty eight students up two more. There were others I went to school with in those eight years in Ekalaka. A boy with the last name Black who was the doctor’s son for example. But my memory of Mitzi and Blaine are still strong so I’ve included them, with all us others. Thank you Eric Lovec for allowing me to express myself to a town, and kids from long ago, who I still have a large place in my heart for. The Finale — Herding Cats — Two Added to Twenty Eight I’ve come to the end of my classmate...
I wrote some of the following from a building at the University of Montana where I go to write sometimes. The sight of the studious young people are an inspiration. And I did attend one quarter here in 1974, although I graduated from MSU, so I am a cross between a bobcat and a grizzly. The following are five more students I went to school with in the old high school at Ekalaka. The Leaves — Not Of Grass, But Of Our Vine I sit on the campus of U of M, Students about me boosts a man of age, To do justice to all leaves on the stem, The Carter C...
Some more thoughts about past classmates, from the CCHS class of 1974. Giggles, Integrity, Lovably Snide, Competitor and Respect Again a look at some from our small class, Yearbook thoughts, help me in my chosen chore, Photos forty eight years, back in the past, My recollections waver, distant shores. Sherri, the giggle still sounds, bell of brass, Annelea, our integrity core, Elston and onions, snide remark landmass, Mike, competitor, talents to high scores. Kim, quietly rode towards respect, torch to pass, I can’t deny a pride, ...
Some more of my pseudo-sonnets for my class of 1974 in the old white high school building, for this week. I haven’t gotten bogged down yet within writer’s block gumbo. When you write what you know, or at least what you think you know, the words flow like augered wheat. Memory lane, seems mostly overgrown, Not as if jackpine thick, but still obscured, But I’m winding my way, kicking pine cones, My heart lifts inches, beats far from austere. Kelly one of a kind, some glad, they groaned, Keith, utilitarian — he procured, Lynette with strawberry gr...
Part II or Barnett’s Blue Bike Broke Badly Five more from seventy four, my thoughts, I’m trying to retrieve from my account, Some old coins covered thick in dust and fraught, My memory rabbit hole caved, no doubt. But enough cream rises it seems, for plots, Or words to form in either, springs the fount, John on monkey bars now unsafe for tots, I raced Jack in a sprint, Coach stopwatch count. Chip dribbles to the right and then set shot, Barnett’s blue bike breaks, though fairly stout, Saxophone reed in mouth and music dots, Some things captu...
The following is my first of five poems of twenty-eight I’ll write for all members of my Carter County High School class of 1974. I’m writing in alphabetical order. One must write when the faculties still exist. The poems are entirely from my memory, and I take all credit or criticism for which I might incur. I would include the “Class Prophecy” which I found online, but talk about snarky. Hence, I will not include it. ‘Pseudo-Sonnets’ For My Class of 1974 I will write, of class of seventy four, Alphabetical, twenty eight of us, A blurred mem...
I originally wrote this for my hometown newspaper, in which I try to avoid politics to some length. With this below I thought that it all needs to be said straightforwardly, and politics unfortunately is interwoven deeply into the matter at hand, quite unnecessarily I believe. Some may see some problems of thought within my writing. That is what I’m a writer here for, to transmit thought and ideas. And I certainly can’t speak directly for those now on the land trying to express their point of view. That would be disingenuous of me. Below is...
Editor’s note: The following poem was written and submitted by Erwin Curry, former Carter County resident. It was everything to me: A delight of discovery, A sign of seasons turning, A source of entertainment, A refuge from sadness, A solitude for thought. Boxelder Creek, my dependable Boxelder. Cottontails, beaver, rattlesnakes, Mink tracks, deer tracks - raccoons. Tall cottonwoods, fluff afloat, Magpies in the morning. Licorice smell from the wild. Boxelder, my dependable Boxelder. Life can be chaotic. My first eighteen years seemed to be. B...
Chorus: The jaws of a beast, One looked at when entering. The man who created it, Marshall Lambert - small town genius. He only walked to work, striding away. Mr. Lambert was a true American. I sat up front, In Sophomore science class. Talk of early horses, Two toes or three, Fossils in the County, Mr. Lambert knew. Chorus: The jaws of a beast, One looked at when entering. The man who created it, Marshall Lambert - small town genius. He only walked to work, striding away. Mr. Lambert was a true American. He had twin boys, brilliant as he, One...
My father, a Carter County rancher, would be anxious each November when he would sell his calves, about 100 miles away to the livestock ring in South Dakota. A good price would allow for another year of operation. In my research I came across a spreadsheet from the USDA Economic Research Service with hog and beef market data back to 1970. I decided to check each presidential term for the percentages that the ranch, wholesale and retail get from the total retail value of beef. I tried to use the third year of each presidency term to be...
