There is a lot of pride in this state, and plenty of envy directed toward it from people who don’t live here. And, anymore, we’re more willing and able to show everyone else what he or she is missing.
But before social media, before easy-to-use filters that made the Big Sky look even bigger, there was a book – then a movie – that drew people to western Montana, or at least made them want to come here.
This last rainy weekend, a few of us drove to Seeley Lake to rediscover Norman Maclean and his near-perfect novella “A River Runs Through It.” Maclean lived and fished here. He also taught at the University of Chicago. He died in 1990.
Instead of lionizing Maclean or his most famous work at this literary festival, writers, his friends and family recalled an imperfect, genuine man who wrote with confidence and whose words lingered long after you read them.
Many picked up a fly fishing rod or set off on a trail after reading Maclean’s book, likely as many did the same after watching the movie based on Maclean’s story. That’s not why we had planned to backpack after spending Saturday morning at the festival, although it didn’t hurt.
After weeks of mostly dry weather, as it so happens the wettest day of the summer arrived the same day of this scheduled trip. So, to escape the rain, we changed plans and headed to a cabin of a friend of Beacon writer Tristan Scott.
The cloudy icons on our respective phones had indicated we would be washed out. Instead, the weather broke and our six-person party emerged from the cabin and played yard games, reminisced on the shore of Swan Lake and, yes, a few fished, although no one caught anything.
It was one of those weekends that turned unexpectedly, but was still worth the trip. It was a weekend that began by learning about the writer and teacher who, as Annie Proulx wrote in the forward of his book, “celebrated the expertise of work now lost, told of masters of fly fishing, ax and saw work, mule and horse packing, fire fighting, small scale mining,” and continued with our group traveling though the region where Maclean grew up, just 100 years later.
As night fell on the Swan we gathered a circle of chairs and told stories, each more exaggerated than the last. It’s not easy to tell a good story, as Maclean knew well. “A River Runs Through It” was published when he was 73. And in the acknowledgements of the book, Maclean said his children had inspired him to write down some of the stories he told them, but he also disclosed, “All of these stories are much longer than is needed to achieve one of the primary ends of telling children stories – namely that of putting children to sleep.”
Still, after finishing what is now considered one of the greatest American books of the last 100 years, some publishers sent it back, complaining that there were too many trees in the story.
We all have stories to tell, some better than others. But whatever they’re worth, they’re likely told best among friends on a summer weekend near water in western Montana. There are good reasons to be proud of this place. The view alone on the drive to work is enough to make a city-dweller jealous. It’s so much more than that though.
Maclean knew this. His kin and former neighbors told more stories about their relationships with him than of his connection to Montana. It turns out, this place is even better when you have someone to share it with. It makes for better storytelling, too.