All but the Waltz: A Memoir of Five Generations in the Life by Mary Clearman Blew

By Mary Clearman Blew

In language comparable to the wild great thing about enormous Sky state, Mary Clearman Blew provides us a glimpse into the lives of her relatives as she lines their connection to Montana’s average and human panorama. starting together with her great-grandparents’ arrival in 1882 in Montana--still a territory then--Blew relates the tales that make up her life.

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Extra info for All but the Waltz: A Memoir of Five Generations in the Life of a Montana Family

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Or merely too removed from them to be annoyed? Was I to believe the best or the worst about this man who had shaped my life without ever bestowing a word or perhaps even a glance at me? 24 Mary Clearman Blew g Reading Abraham, in the beginning, was learning to beware of my own expectations. In the following passage 1 supposed at first that, like an on-the-scene reporter of local color, he was describing a day in the life of the bullwhackers who drove the big freight wagons from Lewistown to Fort Benton: At the top of the Arrow Creek Hill (a hill which the freighters always declare "hangs over a little") as one of the off bronchos could not be brought back into the road with the whip Frenchy took the tongue at a leap but just as he struck the ground an especially obstreperous broncho on the off wheel kicked him.

The same pantomime was gone through with by the balance of them, but one young buck to show he was not interested by such childs play went off Reading Abraham 35 some ten or fifteen yards seating himself on a knoll which happened to be toward the horses. Norton flanged the telescope and turned it end for end and pointed it towards the fellow on the knoll and called up the leader, who took a peep. The young fellow on the knoll appeared away off, seemingly near the horses. Here the paper has flaked away from the top of the grocer's receipt Abraham is writing on, destroying several lines which probably describe the Indian's surprise in seeing his friend so reduced in size.

What did he think he was doing? And why? South Dakota? A man who had preferred, all his life, to remain within twenty miles of his birthplace? What was he doing? Still, we called our sister Betty in California to tell her that surely in a few hours we would have better news. Our father 44 Mary Clearman Blew had been sighted alive and rational; surely he would be found soon, and we would know why. But Saturday night fell, and with Sunday morning came the storm into eastern Montana. Rain and overcast and no further word.

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