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.”

Kathleen Clary Miller has written 300+ columns and stories for periodicals both local and national, and has authored three books (www.amazon.com/author/millerkathleenclary). She lives in the woods of the Ninemile Valley, thirty miles west of Missoula. 

A wise old saying dictates something about staying way from politics and religion in a friendly conversation.  But if you want to be my friend, never talk about finance.  Like the three-year-old who bolts from his mother’s slippery grasp when she attempts to corral him, I run from investment discussion and 1040-form forums like I long ago bolted from a heaping spoonful of yucky cough medicine. When the words “Fed” or “capital gains” slide into any verbal exchange, a solid brick wall crashes down in my brain. An otherwise intelligent, capable person, if the talk turns to interest rates, I revert to the bimbo who is looking right at you but wondering which strappy sandals go with that new black skirt I shouldn’t have bought until my dividend check arrived.

What is the matter with me? If I am willing to increase my earning potential by systematically organizing a numbers strategy before purchasing a lottery ticket, why can’t I do it with finances?

Because it isn’t like my childhood Monopoly game, where it all came down to a roll of the dice. You’d collect and you were finished—no forms, no interest rates, and no plan for the future. Based on my competitors’ visible capital as well as my own cold, hard cash, I could purchase property, charge rent, and collect earnings with as much chance of winning as anyone else. No one was at my side analyzing the viability of the B&O Railroad or the Electric Company as it applied to possible tax exemptions.

Today experts and pundits would find it necessary to predict the future of the hotel industry on a failing Baltic Avenue or an over priced Park Place. Their advice would cloud my former confidence with doubt and fear: Should I short the Short Line Railroad? I would leave the room indecisive and unsure, remembering longingly the good old days when, based solely on instinct, I boldly made my move.

My kind, generous father purchased some stocks for me years ago, and I am forever grateful for the boost in my income as a result of his careful money management. Of course, he loved to sit at the breakfast table and remind us that had he not opted to sell his Sysco stock—the truckload of shares he had been granted in return for the sale of his own company when I was in college—we would have been strutting around with billions in our wallets.

Except for that one teensy misjudgment on his part, you’d think I could have risen above my handicap long enough to listen to his wise counsel. Instead, whenever I lit upon a kitchen chair to grab a sandwich and he began talking about the market (and I don’t mean grocery store), I suddenly had to make a phone call. When he patiently explained to me for the fourth time since Saturday why my mutual fund needed tweaking to avoid substantial capital gains tax, he recognized the familiar change in my weather as a thickening cloud washed across my gaze and I bobbed my head for the third time, in desperate need of a nap. The how-to book he had advocated I read years ago is, of course, on the shelf, untouched.

My aversion is not entirely my fault. What began as ownership of simple shares in recognizable company names has uncontrollably multiplied into monstrous transactions with untenable things like REITS, royalties, and K-1s. I could follow along, if, like Jed Clampett, a forty-foot geyser spewed gallons of oil per minute out of my own front lawn, but I can’t visualize any of these intangibles. This kind of exchange is all on paper. Monthly statements that rival any mathematics Master’s thesis arrive in envelopes or emails I open just long enough to read the bottom line. What’s my balance? I quickly three-hole punch all sixteen pages and store them in my “Stocks” binder (who said I couldn’t manage my portfolio?) then return to my real goal for the day: completing the Times crossword puzzle.

            I am terrible; I am bad. I am a wicked, spoiled daughter who wants to have money in my account but doesn’t want to hear a word about how it gets there. I am the darling who resided in South Orange County spending my income on manicures and trips to Nordstrom, wondering could the boob job in return for my own children’s inheritance be far behind? I was able to retire comfortably to a simpler life in Montana (no boob jobs necessary here), and despite such good fortune (literally), after all, am no better than those Pasadena trust-fund babies I trashed while growing up.

            Still, I would rather have a root canal than read the annual reports that clog my mailbox, and I turn my taxes over to a professional as fast as I can get the check written. Meanwhile, the battle continues. When proxy ballots surface on the kitchen counter, I don’t even open the envelope, and I recall my disparaging father shaking his head as I deftly tossed expensive glossy tabloids detailing corporate meetings and year-end goals into the recycling bin while I poured instead over retail store catalogs. If I invest in The Sundance Company, would I be invited to the stockholders’ meeting hosted by Robert Redford?

            As my dear, departed father tried to discuss real estate ups and downs, current banking trends or his frustration over the power of analyst predictions, I started to hum softly. Then I was guilt-ridden and momentarily determined to be the Wall-Street-wizard daughter of his dreams. But my mother’s words, the ones I used to think were so unkind and intolerant, echoed in my ears: “Do you always have to talk about something so boring?” This outburst resulted from his desire to share with his beloved wife his latest triumph in a series of many that had brought her a life of contentment and designer shoes.

Bright and conversational in many other areas, now that my father has passed away and my husband takes care of our money matters (he knows better than to try to discuss it) when the broker calls our house and asks for me, I still cut him off in mid-sentence and now hand the phone to the man I married so I won’t have to face finances.

“Sorry, Tod. I have to go try on some sandals.”

7:59 a.m. A Kalispell resident has discovered incriminating evidence regarding the recent theft of his shingles.

9:58 a.m. An irritated man on Morning Glory Lane reported a loose dog and advised an animal warden that he has ways of dealing with the problem himself.

10:00 a.m. An erratic driver tore up an Evergreen Drive resident's lawn after swerving off the road and driving through the front yard.

12:28 p.m. A concerned woman claimed that someone keeps changing her bank account information.

1:26 p.m. A man parked by the river reported that people were shooting clay pigeons right next to his vehicle and that it had been peppered with lead. They were asked to find a safer place to shoot things.

2:38 p.m. A Kalispell woman reported that her ex-husband was taking their kids to Hawaii for spring break.

4:36 p.m. A Kalispell woman found the laptop that her sister stole at a local pawn shop.

5:10 p.m. A woman on Willow Glenn Drive reported that people using the bike trail often park in her driveway. She would like to have them towed.

5:17 p.m. Young boys were seen playing on the train tracks in Evergreen.

6:13 p.m. Someone found some "decent" looking camping equipment in a deserted transient camp by the Old Steel Bridge.

MORE>>>Flathead Beacon

Montana author Norman MacLean would have been proud of a recent poll that shows how much Montanans love the rivers running through their state.

A majority of Montana voters think rivers are important for their quality of life and that some warrant protection, according to a poll released Tuesday by Montanans for Healthy Rivers.

Public Opinion Strategies, a Republican polling firm, and FM3, a Democratic firm, conducted the bipartisan polling effort at the end of February by interviewing 400 randomly selected Montana voters.

One-third identified themselves as Democrat, 40 percent Republican, and the rest claimed to be independent.

Of those polled, two-thirds said they'd recreated on Montana's rivers at least once in the past year. Montana's fishermen and boaters were evident in the almost one-third who said they had spent at least 10 days on the water.

An even greater percentage — 85 percent — felt that healthy rivers were very important to Montana's economy. That opinion was consistent across respondents of different political affiliations and hometowns.

Almost 95 percent of Democrats and 83 percent of Republicans said rivers were very important to the state.

MORE>>>Bozeman Daily Chronicle

Fewer and fewer moose in Montana are being observed by hunters and biologists. Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks (MFWP) has historically relied on these sightings for population estimates without scientifically tracking the moose. A few years ago, MFWP launched a 10-year study hoping to obtain actual data to either corroborate or dispel anecdotal information. Wildlife managers also hope to learn more about what’s going on with the moose population and why it may be declining. The harvest rate also has dropped dramatically in recent years, with only 274 moose taken by hunters in 2012 compared to about 500 in 2006.

This is not a problem just in Montana. Minnesota used to have two distinct moose populations, and now is close to only having one. An aerial survey of moose in northeastern Minnesota in early 2013 showed a 52 percent drop in population since 2010, which prompted the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources to completely call off the 2013 moose hunting season and refuse to consider future seasons unless the population rebounds.

MORE>>>Examiner.com

A group of Drummond landowners is considering opening pastures to wild horses from the federal Bureau of Land Management.

The BLM is seeking to create “ecosanctuaries” on private land to provide long-term homes for thousands of horses it can’t sustain on public lands. Drummond’s Rural Sustainability Organization has applied to create such a facility for up to 325 horses.

“We’re still finding out if it’s going to happen,” said Nancy Radke of the group, which has organized community projects in the Drummond area for 14 years. “We’re working with landowners to have different pieces of land available.”

The BLM estimates it has about 33,760 wild horses roaming on its lands in 10 Western states as of 2013. It’s already placed another 33,105 wild horses in holding pastures and 14,595 horses in short-term corrals. Horses from that latter group would go to ecosanctuaries.

MORE>>>The Prairie Star

Montana has 145 wild horses on BLM’s Pryor Mountain land in the state, compared with 18,764 in Nevada. Wyoming has 3,459 wild horses on 16 federal range areas.

“Our horse management areas are at capacity, and this is way more cost effective than holding them in short-term facilities,” said John Hill of the BLM Missoula field office. “This is to provide for humane treatment for the horses.”

A 4.8 earthquake shook the northern part of Yellowstone National Park early Sunday.

The University of Utah Seismograph Stations reports the earthquake occurred at 6:34 a.m. about 4 miles north-northeast of the Norris Geyser Basin. The university reports it was felt in the Montana border towns of West Yellowstone and Gardiner, both about 20 miles from the epicenter.

There were no immediate reports of damage. There are few visitors in the park this time of year.

Yellowstone sees frequent small earthquakes. Since Thursday, there have been at least 25 recorded in the nation's first national park.

MORE>>>USA TODAY

Kathleen Clary Miller has written 300+ columns and stories for periodicals both local and national, and has authored three books (www.amazon.com/author/millerkathleenclary). She lives in the woods of the Ninemile Valley, thirty miles west of Missoula. 

By March first, I’ve already popped what is technically considered an overdose of vitamin D and killed any calcium absorption with enough coffee to sink a ship.  When I awaken at 9:00 in the morning and it is still so dark and snowy that I think what’s the hurry, then pray in order to pull back the covers but winter just won’t give up it’s time to focus on what I’m grateful for.  Give me a moment; I know I’ll think of something.

Silence.  There is nothing quite like the quiet of a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.  And after months of it, I’m not as easily annoyed when my dear husband cranks up the volume on yet another action/thriller video.

Fresh air.  I am joyful while strapping on snowshoes then planting my trekking poles, pleased to be clad in something other than flannel pajamas which is all I’ve worn since a week ago when I threw on some jeans to go grocery shopping during the 20-minute window that the roads were plowed.  Out here in the Nine Mile Valley, our driveways are winter wonderland trails tantamount to any the rest of the world must travel to in order to participate in winter sports.  YAY!  As I breathlessly hike until my legs feel like rubber and my lungs burn, I thank God for arms and legs (I pray continually that they are not frost-bitten) and I feel deep gratitude seeing the final round in the bend that leads to my back porch.  I appreciate the time outdoors because I feel better afterwards (who wouldn’t?) back inside.

Indoors.  I feel so fortunate to have a roof over my head and radiant heating under my feet (I lie flat on the floor and gasp until my heart rate returns to normal).  Even the confused birds fight for entry at the sight of me thawing.  I hear them tap tap tapping at exterior logs, desperately trying to bore a hole into some semblance of spring. 

Hot water—lots of it.  A piping, long shower has been calling my name for two miles in the blizzard I misjudged to be a slight breeze and a light snow flurry.  I am eternally grateful for fingers that have feeling enough after 30 minutes to turn on the faucet.

Food.  Lunch will follow; how happy am I, that I can consume the same number of calories in one meal I otherwise would in a whole week were I simply sunning on some beach and getting no aerobic exercise! 

The fireplace.  No need to elaborate here.

Icicles are lovely works of nature’s art!  Pine branches appear no longer green but dark grey so that my daily view is every bit as stunning as a black-and-white Ansel Adams photograph!  There is so much glory to be recognized, even in such bleakness…until that moment when I realize that if I don’t see something red or yellow or bright blue very soon I’ll go stark raving mad.  

The remote control.  Thank you, Lord, for technology!  When I am on the brink of insanity I lift and push, desperately seeking any colorful entertainment that will lift me from this comatose slumber like the kiss from Sleeping Beauty’s prince.  The television engages, the screen lights up (a beacon of hope) and there it is!  Not exactly what I was continuously praying for: “Highlights from the Winter Olympics.” 

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances…”

1 Thessalonians 5:18

People in Billings are feeling pretty good, according to a 2013 survey released Tuesday by Gallup and Healthways that ranks the city of Billings as No. 1 in job satisfaction and No. 15 in overall well-being. 

Results from the survey come from over 178,000 interviews. Those interviewed were asked to consider areas of their life such as emotional health, physical activity, work environment, healthy behaviors and access to basic necessities. 

Out of the 189 cities that were ranked, Billings came out on top for job satisfaction and in the top 10 percent for well-being.

For Mayor Tom Hanel, those results come as no surprise. 

Hanel said Billings is very fortunate. In comparison to other cities, he said, Billings has a lot of resources at its disposal.

MORE>>>Billings Gazette