Sunglasses

Just about everyone I talk to asks me how long I have been with the paper, which forces me to tell them “only about three weeks.” The next obvious question is “Then where do you come from?”

So I answer. I don’t think most people understand that I am not from New York City. But that’s OK. That problem arises no matter where I am.

I find their responses to be interesting. Some say, “Oh that’s really far. How are you adjusting?” But others don’t even react. It’s like I told them I moved to Superior from Missoula or something. I’m almost more intrigued by the people who show the littlest interest in my move. I am not sure if they just don’t process the information or if they don’t care or if they didn’t even listen or what. Anyway, it’s interesting.

Other people don’t ask me anything. And here’s why.

I was reporting a story up in Haugan about a radio field day and in walked this couple. I was in the middle of talking to the guy in charge of the field day, and he stopped to introduce me to the couple. They said they knew who I was. They had seen me at the flea market, about which I wrote last week. They told me they enjoyed my article and they also liked the piece I did about the Gildersleeve mine. They are friends with Sue Mclees,

the woman who was at the mine, and they appreciated me giving her some press. Then the woman asked me if I had a fun time whitewater rafting. She said she thought otherwise based on the picture. I told her it was simply the water splashing in my face that made it look like I was stressed out.

But the point of this drawn-out sequence is to illustrate just how closely these people can follow me.

They knew what I was up to on Thursday, Friday and Saturday just by reading the paper. And by asking around, they already knew a little bit of my history and didn’t need to ask.

I never really thought about being followed in that sort of way. I realize that this blog is a little bit like that, but it’s not quite the same. Most people who take the time to read my droning posts know me. That’s why they take the time. Here were people I had never met, who live 2,500 miles from my home town, who are now able to follow a certain aspect of my life.

A woman in the post office also said she saw my whitewater piece. “That was pretty cool,” she said. Similar thing happened at a community concert I reported.

Now, I am not saying I need to go around wearing sunglasses like a celebrity, but it is strange to think that the people on the street are more likely to know me than I am to know them.

I mean, aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be writing about everyone else?

Comments welcome,

Andrew

Some Links

Here are links to some of the stories I have written for this week's paper:

karate

gold mine

white water

Ascent

I think it was in my college essay, the one that I had to write when applying to schools, that I first used the phrase “descent into adulthood.” I remember my father reading that phrase and questioning me about it.

“Do you really mean to use the word descent?”

He thought I should have used ascent, or at least something more positive. He was interested in my motive.

I remember thinking that it was a descent because life is ultimately on the path to six feet under, or at least that was my existential, young-adult thought. I’m not really that cynical. I think I was just trying it on for size.

But now that I’m here, beginning my foray on adulthood, I can’t help but think about that phrase again.

In college, I was all about ascent. I was excited about working my way up in most everything I tried. And, for the most part, I’m happy with how far I was able to climb.

Here in adult land, I’m once again at the base of the mountain, and not just the ones I can see from my front door. My adulthood, no matter how many twists and turns, will really have only one path. There is only one peak that I will ascend to. The scary part is picking which one I want to climb. Wouldn’t it would be easier to just let gravity push me in its natural direction?

Climbing the corporate ladder, or whatever the equivalent in my field might be, is not something I’ve ever worried about. I have always had positive reinforcement and success in that area.

But would an ascent toward the top of my profession be a true ascent into adulthood? And would that mean leaving other facets of life well below me? What would it be like to see the world as a play set high above from the corporate jet? I’m really not sure how great an ascent that would turn out to be – how great an adulthood that would turn out to be. It could be grand, but it could be lonely. There’s really only one way to find out: start climbing.

So I will ascend toward the adulthood I’ve started and reach out toward the sky with open arms and an open mind. Some things may crumble beneath me on the way up, but I’d rather fly than die.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

The remotest

I never thought I could say this, especially so soon, but I went to a place today that makes Superior look like New York City. I traveled to this gold mine, well an old gold mine, way up in the mountains on Cedar Creek road for a story. The road goes nearly into the Idaho border.

The car and I chugged slowly up the dirt path. I almost got seasick from all the pot holes. Going down was cool though because I put the car in neutral for almost the entire way. It was also beautiful. The creek somehow manages to look sea-green.

Also, I saw this moose. It was scary when he poked out, but he was definitely more scared of me.

That’s why he ran away so fast.

Comments welcome,

Andrew

Spot News

I had to do my first spot news the other night. I got a call from the volunteer fire chief about a fire that ignited on a semi-trailer on route I-90. By the time I got the call, it was over, so I simply had to write the story based on what he told me. Not really all that exciting, but there is something to be said for the thrill of having to write a story quickly.

Still, spot news has never really been my forte. Even in college, I tried to avoid it. I avoided it mostly because it usually required a lot of running for a non-story. A few one-mile sprints down to Kenmore from the old FreeP office only to find out that a phantom fire alarm had gone off, and I quickly realized I never wanted to do that again. When I was editorial page editor, I used to snicker quietly whenever I heard sirens, knowing full well I wouldn’t be the one to chase them.

But more than just not wanting to run, I never cared about spot news because it’s not really what I’m about. I’m not about the quick thrills. Some people get a rush by getting to a disaster site and reporting the story as fast as is accurately possible. To me, that’s not what I enjoy. I’ve done it, and am happy to do it, but it isn’t my preference.

In my mind, that kind of journalism is superficial. It’s bang, bang what happened. I’d rather delve deeper. I want to know why, who this impacts? Could it happen again? What’s the human element?

I think you can classify journalists in part by how much they enjoy spot news. There are those who live for it. They want day after day to chase the scoop and report the facts. It’s an important job.

But then there are those who would like to take a moment to reflect. They’d write the day-after feature trying to make sense of it all. I think that’s more where I fall.

But when you’re young, you have to do it all. And I think that’s good. It takes doing it all to know what you prefer.

With that, here's another story I wrote for this week's paper. I wrote a bunch more that I will put on the Web site soon. Once I do that, I will link them from the blog. My favorite story is one about the Lolo National Forest receiving stimulus money without being able to guarantee that local contractors will get the work.

Comments welcome,
Andrew

I see the light?

That’s 10 at night. And I didn’t play any tricks with the clock. It really stays light for that long. I think it’s because the two hour time difference overcompensates for the speed of the Earth’s rotation or something. Don’t look at me, I’m no scientist. But it creates an interesting paradox.

See, I don’t have much of a social life in Montana. Don’t be sad. Going out at night was never something I really really loved doing. I just did it because it was something to do. But because I don’t have a night life, I like to go to bed early and take advantage of things I can do during the daylight. Unfortunately, that often means trying to fall asleep while the residual light still shines.

The interesting thing about being here is that a lot of what I can do in an hour or two would be a day’s activity from Boston or Albany. Like this morning I went on a hike up a small mountain/large hill and was back by 10 a.m. -- 9:37 to be exact.

Sometimes in Boston I would feel like I wasn’t doing enough to take advantage of my surroundings. I would blame myself for sitting around, even if I was doing work. Here, it’s easy to take advantage of my surroundings. And if I can be done with a significant hike before my morning coffee, it’s easy to feel like I did something with my day, even if I spent most of the day writing and reporting from my desk.

Heck, even the commute to the office feels like an activity. The road cuts through the mountains and offers some of the most intense scenery I have ever witnessed.

It’s easier to feel calm when you don’t have the pressure of trying to take advantage of the place you are living in. Simply living here is taking advantage. However, that also makes me feel like I’m out of “it.” There is nothing to be missed, except maybe a star or two. It’s a satisfying yet unsettling sensation.

I guess I’ll quit worrying and get to bed. It’s almost 10, and the sun is yet to set behind the hill.

Comments welcome,

Andrew

No Internet

Sorry that I have not yet been able to post. I know you are all thinking that the delay signifies my laziness and lack of dedication to this blog, but that couldn’t be more off base. The truth is, I did not have working Internet until today. And that simple fact is pretty symbolic if you think about it. You see, I’m used to just showing up in my new places of residence and having Internet provided for me. Plug in my Dell, which was purchased at University Computers, and BU’s Office of Information Technology would take care of the rest. Not the case when you are living alone. Sure, work is paying for my Internet and phone, but that doesn’t mean it just magically appears like it has the past four years of my life. No, I had to call the cable company and set everything up myself. Talk about the real world.

Lacking Internet also tells a little bit about life here in Superior, Montana. It’s slow paced, just like the average Internet connection speed in town. Kyle, who traveled with me and spent a night with me in town, said that when people ask me about what Superior is like, I should tell them that my neighbor is a real live gold miner. I can also tell you that my landlord has a row of antlers hanging from the garage. When Kyle and I first rolled into town, an antique car show dominated most of River Street. On my morning run I hear roosters.

The trip here was largely uneventful, which is good. Kyle and I needed frequent stops because we both like to eat and because Kyle’s long legs needed to stretch outside a crammed car. We saw Mount Rushmore, Chicago and a whole lot of farms. We stayed with Kyle’s aunt and uncle in Rochester and with my friend Daniel in Chicago. Once we crossed the Mississippi, we started to see billboards for all sorts of crazy things like the National Wood Carving Museum and the Corn Palace. We indulged if we had time, which was not frequently. We needed to travel about 800 miles per day.

Now that I am here and settled, it’s time to get to work. I’ve met a lot of the main players in the town already. That’s the advantage of working in a place that houses fewer than 900 people. Everyone should be pretty accessible. I have not really made any friends yet, but everyone sure is nice. I guess reporters are never really anyone’s friend. Maybe that’s why so many of my friends are journalists.


Comments Welcome,
Andrew

Embarking

Somehow, I had much different emotions before leaving for London. A year and a half ago I felt the need to see all there was to see. Talk about pressure. I no longer feel that sort of pressure. I do look at this Montana adventure as being a different sort of study abroad, but the adventure will come more from doing the job, meeting people and living life rather than traveling to exotic locations. Montana could be seen as an exotic location, certainly much different from any place I have ever lived, but the fact that I am going for an indefinite amount of time forces it to be closer to a home than a travel destination. I will see what I see in between work and life. The challenge this time is to be an effective settler rather than a great gadabout.

As I embark on life in Big Sky country, I am also simply embarking on life. This will be my first true test of independence.

Now for some logistics:

Tonight Kyle and I (my friend Kyle will be travelling with me to Montana because he plans on spending the summer working as a waiter in Glacier National Park) will make it only as far as Rochester. From there we drive to Chicago. After that it’s on to South Dakota for some camping under Mount Rushmore – if all goes well – and then we finally make it to my apartment in Superior, Montana on Friday evening.

Wish us luck and hope the bears don’t bite.

Comments welcome,

Andrew