Anaconda – an east coast town in rural Montana

From Missoula to Butte, I decided to take Montana Highway 1 instead of Interstate 90.

Compared to many places in the country, it seemed almost unfairly beautiful – all the multi-colored (including
pink!) granite walls, water falls and sparkling Georgetown Lake.

Driving the route just before sunset, I finally felt like Montana smacked me in the face, as if to say: “Here you are, back in the garden, finally.”

Had I not just
spent the night in Phillipsburg, I’d have stopped
somewhere to camp.

But several miles down the highway, I got to Ananconda, and instantly fell in love… which sort of doesn’t make sense… The whole town — founded by copper magnate Marcus Daly — was constructed around a humongous smelter. Droves of working class families had their lives wrapped up in, hanging from a thread and sometimes destroyed by the profitability and work conditions at the plant, which was finally closed in 1980 because of dwindling copper ore.

There was a sort of depression and mass exit at that time. But in its heyday, Anaconda was quite the bustling city, with lots of cool buildings and its own silver screen theater.

As I drove through, I estimated based on the traffic, number of businesses, size of the public buildings and high school, there were
probably 40,000 or so in the city.

I was surprised to learn it’s now less than 8,000!

Another thing I noticed right away was the prominence of the Catholic cathedral and how tightly together all the houses are built. They were constructed by immigrants and migrants from the east coast who came to work at the processing plant, which explains why this rural Montana town has such a funky personality — as if it were a misplaced east coast city.

Only the stack remains from the smelting plant. At 585 feet, though, it’s a salient reminder.

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In town, I went through a great exhibit of quotes and pictures that fleshed out the story of the miners’ lives.

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This house is for sale:

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And here’s one with some copper detailing:

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The cathedral (one of several cool looking churches I didn’t make it inside):

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And to keep things thematic, a little Americana action:

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What’s on the wall in Missoula and ‘our last best place’

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This is a pretty cool sign. Guess real men drink Coke. It was above a steep cement stairwell that led down to a dungeon of a bar. I peaked my head in at about 6:30 p.m. on a Wednesday and saw several older guys pounding shots. To my right was a shelf of pamphlets on safe sex and various STDs. I turned around and headed for the daylight.

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No idea what the story is behind this painted over wall. I liked the propped up can of PBR. Nice touch.

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One thing I've noticed about Idaho and Montana, so far, is there seems to be lots less cops.
I have seen a handful of homeless people and lots of these kinds of signs.

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Another thing I appreciate about this state is the diversity of its license plates! This is one of my favs.

Weippe, Idaho

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My next trek, just an hour or so later, was up a steeper, scarier grade — eight miles of tight twists and turns that really put Rocinante to the test.

I arrived in the small, seemingly forlorn town of Weippe ("Wee-IPE") in time for its Camas Festival – a small but lively celebration of the blue flowered plant that has long been a staple of the Nez Perce diet.

There weren't any plants to eat at the festival, but plenty of native dance demonstrations, speeches and a play.

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In Weippe, I also visited my fifth Idaho museum!
They've all focused on Nez Perce culture and the Lewis and Clark expedition, and each has been excellently kept and curated.

Weippe's stood out for its outdoor murals and a walkway detailing native plants (which makes the trip worth it whether or not you arrive by closing time).

I'm getting a kick out of how closely I've mirrored the Lewis and Clark trail.

When they arrived here in the mid-1800s and saw the field of camas flowers, which blooms for just a couple weeks at the end of May, they nearly mistook it for a sea.

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Wishful thinking, probably.

When I get on Highway 12, I'll be paralleling part of the Nez Perce retreat of 1877, another terrifying and poignant journey.

Wenatchee, Wash.

A place of picket fences and shadows

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where color can be found…

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In old alley ways

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and words on doors.

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Sun and shadows…

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Time etches its story without words

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but it cannot etch the sky.

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There will always be a place for you here.

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And if you peer into doorways that are hidden from every day

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remembering what was larger than life, yesterday

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the color of a former world

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whose beautiful eyes can no longer see,

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you will find me.

I’ll be playing with color, dancing in shadows

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trying to count all the things we’ve moved

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and the distance we rode

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together or alone…

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And I’ll be thinking of you while I walk my line through time.

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