Augusta, Montana

I couldn't face another night in a motel.  Nothing ever happens in those cubicles.  You hardly talk to anyone but the desk clerk.  You get reacquainted with terrible television.  You catch up on the bad news.  Who needs that? 

So after two nights at Motel 6s, and no sign of decent camping in the vicinity of Helena, I was feeling desperate and a bit depressed.  Gary suggested that I talk to the librarians and ask their advice.  Good plan! 

Candice at the Helena library got on the phone and called the other branch libraries.  Susan, at the Augusta Library said come on up and camp in the city park.  What a relief.  So I finished my performance at Helena, bought a scone at the library's coffee shop, then stopped at a cart outside for a bratwurst.  I had my doubts.  Can you buy real brats outside of Wisconsin?  Apparently not, it was just a jumped up hot dog.

Then to East Helena for another performance and then a drive to Augusta.  I spoke too soon about crossing the Great Divide yesterday because Augusta is on the Pacific side of that dividing line. Still, no worries, because the great heat of the past few days was finally over, so the Sable behaved.

Augusta holds 274 souls, but a lot of heart.  I stopped in the library before it closed and Susan began to tell me about the artists who came here to paint the scenery and stayed.  There are three restaurants, an art gallery, a small school (four students in the ninth grade), a post office, and of course a library.  There are all kind of cultural events, including a short story reading group at the library.

The city park, directly behind the library, provides free camping.   I would be the only camper.  I set up the tent and went off to grab a salad at the Buckthorn Cafe after stopping to let the guys at the garage know I was going to be over at the park.  The owner is the president of the VFW, which maintains the park, and he was soon over to check things out.  He warned me about  big storm that was coming, but  by now I've camped through more than my share of thunder and rain.  My tent is fine as long as I am in it weighing it down.

As I sat at the picnic table reading a book and drinking tea, the residents of Augusta began to wander through the park.  A fellow brought his dog and three children.  Two guys in pickups circled around.  Two girls rode their horses through though the signs specifically forbade horses.  I suppose they were all talking about the crazy woman camping solo in their park.

A storm did hit that night, but did no damage.  I woke as I often do in the middle of the night.  I usually read a bit or do a sudoku puzzle until I can drowse off, but every time I turned on my little lantern,  three dogs began to bark.  OK, I did without that.

But at 5:00 a.m. a nearby rooster began to crow.  I have a camping hatchet, and if that bird had come anywhere near, he would have been an ex-rooster.

In the morning, Susan treated me to breakfast, I stopped at the gallery/boutique, finding a book I hadn't read,bought groceries at the well stocked and reasonably priced grocery store, and did a fun performance for the three children who had been in the park the night before.

I left with fond memories of Augusta, population 274. Isn't that better than yet another stay at a motel?