Lacey Middlestead is a Montana native and freelance writer currently living in Helena, Mont. She loves meeting new people and helping share their stories. When she’s not busy writing articles for newspapers like the Independent Record and Helena Vigilante, she can usually be found indulging in her second greatest passion–playing in the Montana wilderness. She loves skiing and snowmobiling in the winter and four wheeling, hiking, boating, and riding dirt bikes in the summer. 

My dad reminds me, on almost a weekly basis, that I need to stop growing up. I like to think that holidays like Halloween and Easter reassure him that even at 27 years of age, I still boast quite a bit of childlike innocence.

When I first started attending school at Carroll College in 2005, I figured my childhood days of high-paced Easter egg hunts were over. I mean college is supposed to be a time of diligent studying and planning for one’s future right….not scrambling after plastic eggs like your life depended on the candy inside them? When my first Easter at Carroll rolled around though I received an email announcing Carroll’s annual Easter egg hunt. My jaw dropped and my heart fluttered with anticipation. The tradition could respectably carry on!

I remember hovering by my dorm room window in St. Charles watching students outside polka-dotting the iconic hillside----colorful egg by colorful egg for the hunt later that day. I felt the excitement build inside me.

When it came time for the egg hunt to start, dozens and dozens of students lined up along the base of the hill and waited for the whistle to blow signaling the start. Tightly clutching their baskets/plastic bags/pillow cases, everyone leaned forward like runners primed at the start of a race. The whistle blew and we were off. I must admit I have never seen a group of people move quite as quickly as I did that day. It was like the commencement of the Hunger Games but instead of racing to get the best weapon, the students made a mad dash for the best eggs….the ones with the lucky tickets inside guaranteeing them a prize. The students stampeded up the hill in a flurry. I quickly found out that I didn’t really need anything to put eggs in because I only managed to snag about three or four of them. As soon as I spotted an egg, someone else swooped in and scooped it up before I could get to it.

The egg hunt was over in a matter of 60 seconds, possibly a generous 90 seconds. It was the fastest, most furious egg hunt of my life. But I loved every minute of it.

Although I miss Carroll’s annual egg hunt, I am lucky enough to have parents that continue the tradition for me at their house each year. This year there was not one but six of us “adults” over the age of 18 that participated in the egg hunt. Well, there was also my friend’s three-year-old daughter, Camille, who’s more respectable egg hunting age made the rest of us look rather ridiculous. But we are all young at heart so the hunt commenced.

My dad had the esteemed privilege of hiding the eggs this year. And hide them he did! Unlike Carroll’s hunts, we had to look under rocks and inside bushes to find them. He was instructed to leave some easier ones out though for Camille. My boyfriend, who is notoriously competitive during egg hunts, almost couldn’t stand walking by all of those easily accessible eggs that he knew he had to leave for Camille.

Even though the wind was howled that afternoon and most of our stomachs were loaded down with ham, potatoes and cheesecake from Easter dinner, we diligently hunted until we found all of the eggs. My boyfriend’s younger sister, Holly, found the golden egg with $20 in it. She was especially excited about that since last year big brother rubbed it in her face when he found the golden egg. Camille and I didn’t care much for the money though. We were satisfied to just pop open the eggs and start pillaging all of the candy inside.

At 27 years old, most of my friends are married with kids now. They’re content watching their little ones scurry after Easter eggs while they cheer them on. But me-----well, I’m just happy to keep playing out my youth as long as possible and avoiding the “growing up” piece of life my dad has always warned me about.

THOMPSON FALLS – There are two things that make the annual Sanders County Yard Sale-ing Event work.

One is luring lots of treasure hunters to the county on the last weekend of June to pick through the tens of thousands of items at dozens upon dozens of yard sales, most of them along a 100-mile-plus stretch of Montana Highway 200.

The other is lining up the yard sales.

That effort is on right now, as organizers prepare for the eighth annual countywide yard sale.

MORE >>>http://missoulian.com/news/state-and-regional/organizers-prepare-for-massive-logistics-of-sanders-county-yard-sale/article_9448c7fe-c368-11e3-b45a-001a4bcf887a.html

Angela Jamison is a native Montanan and she grew up in beautiful Bozeman.  I'm the mother of two girls and write a blog about our life here and taking in the simple pleasures of family and food.  http://www.rdeliciouslife.blogspot.com/

The M.

As winter begins to melt into spring, I begin to get the itch.  Green and brown is starting to replace the white on the Bridgers and the "M" is starting to make its appearance.  This means hiking season is upon us.  Every year the itch begins around April…the desire to throw on my hiking boots and get lost in my thoughts on the trail.  This year the desire has heightened for me as I just finished reading "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed.  It's an amazing memoir about a woman who hikes the Pacific Crest Trail from California to Washington.  Reading her adventures has amped up my longing for hiking.  It got me thinking about one of my favorite, simple hikes right here in town….

The M trailhead. Easily one of the most popular in the Bozeman area.  From people who hike it everyday as a part of their workout routine to tourists who have never climbed a hill…all make their way to this visible landmark.  It sits on the side of Baldy for all to see.  People push their way up the steep trail or go the more leisurely route.  It means a lot to many.  Last summer at the top I met an old man sitting on the bench.  It was his 90th time hiking the M.  His friend, who usually hikes with him, couldn't make it that day so now he had one day on him.  You could see it was an ongoing competition.  I never hiked it as a kid.  Hiking wasn't my families thing.  Hiking came to me when friends introduced it to me as a teenager.  I had grown up surrounded by these mountains, but never much ventured in them.  The M was my first hike.  It was this hike that got me hooked.

Hiking can be very social.    Going with friends and chatting your way up the mountain.  Soaking up the fresh air and having the type of conversations where everyone can talk freely.  Something about getting your heart pumping with miles ahead of you and nothing to do but talk opens the lines of communication.  This is why I have been trying to instill a love of hiking into my daughters.  As they grow my hopes are it becomes the perfect setting for those tough conversations.  The kind where not sitting face to face can make it easier and more honest.  Right now these conversations consist of 6 and 8 year old talk- who is their current BFF and why does the dog pant while we hike.  It doesn't matter what the conversation is right now, it's that we are talking.  The person I have put the most miles on with would be my husband.  A city boy through and through, he came to Montana aching to play in the mountains and this only added to my new found love of hiking.  He pushed me to try harder and steeper trails.  To do them with a pack filled with sleeping bags, tents and food so once at the top we could camp.  Together we saw amazing places and grew closer with each conversation on the trail.  Back then we talked about our hopes and dreams, where we would go in life, what we wanted out of it.  To this day when it's just the two of us on a hike we have these same conversations.  Being in our mid-thirties with two kids and careers you would think we were in the middle of doing those things we talked about years ago.  We certainly are, but there are new hopes and dreams that come out on the mountains. 

Hiking can also be very personal.  I have had many a solo hike.  The M being one of the most popular for me.  It's close, easy to get to and because of the amount of traffic it gets it feels safe to be on alone.  On your own the only conversation you can have is with yourself.  Alone, scrambling up the mountain with your thoughts.  I find this a meditative time.  To notice any thoughts that are bothering me, things going on in my life.  I notice them, think them through and leave them on the trail.  I notice thoughts that are making me happy, take in a breath, soak up the view and feel peaceful.  I notice what I'm capable of, pushing myself to the top even when feeling tired.  The feeling of accomplishment, looking down and feeling strong.  The hike down is always the best.  You breathe a little easier.  Your mind cleared.  The mountain air, the quiet of the nature surrounding you, it adds to my ability to slow down and be present. 

The M trail offers so much.  I know some feel it is too busy, but if you take the time you can meet someone new.  Someone who may be seeing it for the first time.  When I sit at the top and overlook our Bozeman, I love to listen to those visiting talk about our town.  Hearing others in awe of it makes you realize how very lucky we are to live here.  You never know who you will see or meet on the trail.  An old friend you haven't seen for years. A family visiting from Australia asking you to take their photo because they're in Montana for the first time.  A group of strangers coming together to sit with a girl who fell on her run down.   Seeing the look of pride in my daughters eyes when they made it to the top for the first time, hiking the whole way on their own.  Yes, the M may get busy and I've never been on it without seeing another hiker, but this is okay.  It is there for all of us to enjoy.  A place to socialize, exercise, meditate…all right in our very own backyard.  

Lacey Middlestead is a Montana native and freelance writer currently living in Helena, Mont. She loves meeting new people and helping share their stories. When she’s not busy writing articles for newspapers like the Independent Record and Helena Vigilante, she can usually be found indulging in her second greatest passion–playing in the Montana wilderness. She loves skiing and snowmobiling in the winter and four wheeling, hiking, boating, and riding dirt bikes in the summer.

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In getting ready for the onset of summer, I purchased a new dirt bike a few weeks ago. Much to my father’s reluctance, as he was a Kawasaki and Suzuki dealer for over 30 years, he instructed me to buy a Honda CRF 230 as the next best step up from my KLX 140. And boy, oh boy did I take some serious heat for the purchase. Because my dad was a dealer all those years, I have only ever rode brands that he sold. And through his business I became well acquainted with a lot of MX racers in town. As soon as pictures of my new bike hit Facebook, so did the sarcastic comments and suggestions of disloyalty from all of these guys. It was all in good fun and I laughed it off saying that I was simply doing what I had to do to improve as a rider.

What I wanted to say was “shouldn’t the fact that I’m a girl and I ride be all that matters?” I mean how awesome and unconventional is that?

It has been my great privilege in the past few years to share in the company of several other ladies, such as myself, who aren’t afraid to do the same extreme sports as guys. We are certainly a rare breed….but one which is incredibly strong.

During my first few off-road races on my bike last summer, I lined up at the start alongside only a handful of other girls. I was scared as hell to say the least, but I took some comfort in looking on either side of me and knowing that I wasn’t in it alone. During one of my first races out at the track I witnessed something that made me incredibly proud to be a lady rider. I rode up on another girl trying to unwedge her bike from a giant muddy rut gouged into the track. Another girl was next to her helping push the bike while she gave it throttle. Like me, they were outnumbered in a male dominated event and struggling just to finish. But they were determined to take that checkered flag, and unlike the guys with trophy envy, they wanted to make sure that their fellow ladies finished as well. That takes some serious guts to pause and help another rider out and put their needs ahead of your desire to place.

When I started my second season of hockey this last fall, I was relieved to see there were two other girls joining me. On a novice league of over 20 guys, we were again outnumbered, but still ever determined to get out and play. I watched both girls take some nasty falls and crash into the boards trying to beat the guys to the puck. But they got right back up each time and kept skating …..and with a beaming smile on their face to boot! Even though they both played on the opposing team, I was never so happy as when I saw one of them score a goal or assist on one. I always tried to make sure I went out and gave them a fist pound afterwards, and they always did the same for me. It takes great courage to step out onto the ice and play in such a vicious sport, especially when the guys don’t hold back any just because you’re a girl.

A few weeks ago, I missed our game and the inaugural game for a new girl. I was shocked and saddened to later hear that she fell during the game and suffered a concussion. She will be out for the rest of the season. It was an unfortunate accident, but according to her boyfriend who plays with us, she’ll be back next year. See that’s the thing about these types of women…..even when they get knocked out cold, they’re ready to go right back in again once revived.

My all ladies sled clinic with Dan Adams in February was another time of revelation for me on just how many strong women there are out there -----ready and willing to push themselves to the limit. Snowmobiling is a hard sport…..being a girl makes it even harder. I watched girls fall off and roll their sleds dozens of times. And each time they got back on their sleds, more pissed off and ready to try harder the next time. One of the girls’ sleds completely rolled over the top of her one time, but she still stuck the weekend out and managed to do an awesome sidehill maneuver the following day that I completely failed at. The amount of support and encouragement I found in that group of lady riders that weekend was overwhelming. And the best part was, we had all hauled our sleds to the middle of nowhere to ride with one of the top riders because we are that committed to the sport and to showing the men in our lives that we can ride just as well as them.

I was told once that I have “mismatched genetics” because I do so many activities that are non-traditional for girls. There was a time when I felt like that made me a bit of a freak. But the thing is, there are a lot of girls out there like me. I have rode and played beside them and they are by far the toughest chicks I know. They motivate me to keep going when I want to give up on something and they are changing the world as we know it by raising the bar for what women are capable of.

They are strong women…..and I am proud to be one of them.

“Strong women: May we know them. May we raise them. May we be them.”