00;00;00;00 – 00;00;25;10
Marc Moss
Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Marc Moss, founder and executive director of Tell Us Something. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us something storytelling event. The theme is hold My beer. If you’d like to pitch your story for conSyderation, please call (406) 203-4683. You have three minutes to leave your pitch. The pitch deadline is December 7th.

00;00;25;12 – 00;00;29;26
Marc Moss
I look forward to hearing from you this week on the podcast.

00;00;29;29 – 00;00;47;13
Jesse Ballard
I distinctly thought about the doll house in the corner, the horse mural on the wall. And so when I started to wake up from that nighttime nap, I was really surprised to look around and see thorn branches instead of that childhood bedroom wall.

00;00;47;15 – 00;01;08;26
Betsy Funk
The flowers are there and they’re up to our knees in color and riotous glory. It’s a misty day, so we aren’t hot. It’s cool. And the mist has made the flowers scream at us. It’s glorious. And I’m hiking with my daughter, who?

00;01;08;29 – 00;01;31;02
Syd Lang
Goodness. For the open mouth piece. Right? Yeah. So I’m throwing up everywhere, and all of a sudden, the crowd of kids just falls completely silent. And. And a kid goes, hey, that’s my grandma’s costume that you’re throwing up in.

00;01;31;05 – 00;01;58;18
Marc Moss
Three storytellers share their true personal story on the theme Never Again. Their stories were recorded live in person in front of a packed house on September 18th, 2024 at the George and Jane Denison Theater in Missoula, Montana. Tell Us Something acknowledges that we gather on the ancestral lands of the Salish, Kootenai, and peoples. These lands have been inhabited for millennia, shaped by the wisdom and stewardship of the First Nation peoples.

00;01;58;20 – 00;02;24;27
Marc Moss
We acknowledge the historical and ongoing trauma inflicted upon indigenous communities, including the forcible removal from their lands, the destruction of their cultures, and the systemic injustices that continue to persist. As we honor the indigenous people who have called this place home. Let us commit to learning from their traditions and values a tangible way to do that. If you live in Missoula, Montana, is to visit the Missoula Public Library on Friday, November 1st.

00;02;24;27 – 00;02;51;27
Marc Moss
Missoula Public Library hosts a First Friday event highlighting native art and culture, showcasing the library’s permanent collection. That event kicks off four weeks of programing celebrating Native American Heritage Month. A tooltip will be installed on the Harrison Children’s Library. They will unveil an exhibit of the Salish Kootenay Seasonal round that gives children a new interactive learning tool. They will also debut a new collection of indigenous books and materials.

00;02;52;00 – 00;03;17;04
Marc Moss
Stop by the library or visit Missoula Public Library Board to learn more. Tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language. Jessie Ballard and her family are stranded in the Kenyan desert, where they faced danger, dehydration, and exhaustion. Come along with Jessie on a wild, adventure filled with unforgettable memories in a story she calls the best walker.

00;03;17;11 – 00;03;25;21
Marc Moss
Thanks for listening.

00;03;25;23 – 00;03;57;10
Jesse Ballard
I want you to think back to the last time your car broke down, or you were riding in a car that broke down. Think through the steps involved to being rescued. I imagine it was a stressful situation, but pretty simple to get rescued. A phone call to triple A, wave down a passer by. Call a buddy and maybe within a few hours you were safely back at home or in a safe place at least.

00;03;57;13 – 00;04;22;27
Jesse Ballard
Now, I want to take you back in time to late 1980s in a remote area of northern Kenya. Myself, I’m around eight years old. My younger brothers, around six, were with my parents and we had just finished visiting family in a remote area of northern Kenya. We were living in Nairobi, the capital city, at the time we’d finished our visit.

00;04;22;29 – 00;04;47;27
Jesse Ballard
We packed up our double cab white Nissan and we were well on our way back to Nairobi. We happened to hours after our travel. We ended up in this area part of our travel called the chawl B desert. Chawl B is the gabbro word gabbro. Being one of the groups of people that lives in the area for dry and salty.

00;04;48;00 – 00;05;12;02
Jesse Ballard
So I just want you to imagine dry and salty for miles and miles around you. Well, I’ve set up how remote it is, but here we are driving along and another car happens to come by us, and they stop. And it’s Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Family, friends. Wow. What are the odds of that? So my parents strike up a conversation.

00;05;12;02 – 00;05;35;14
Jesse Ballard
I think my brother and I are just playing in the back seat, and then they wave and off the Andersons go. My dad goes to restart the car. Nothing happens. We all jump out of the car and start waving at the Andersons, who by this point are miles down the road in a dust cloud of dry and salty.

00;05;35;17 – 00;05;58;02
Jesse Ballard
Well, that didn’t work. My dad tried valiantly to get the car started, but it wasn’t going to happen. So he makes the decision. He’s going to be the hero. Dad, and is going to embark out on his own and find help. My mother, sitting in a pickup truck with an eight year old and a six year old, said, not.

00;05;58;05 – 00;05;58;20
Betsy Funk
We are.

00;05;58;20 – 00;06;25;04
Jesse Ballard
All coming with you. So we gathered the supplies, the few supplies we had, which included a jerry can. For those of you not familiar with that phrase. It’s kind of a big plastic or metal container that’s often in the back of a car on Safari with extra gas, or in our case, with extra water. So my mom grabs the jerry can and we start our walk through the child B desert.

00;06;25;07 – 00;06;44;22
Jesse Ballard
At first, my brother and I think this is great. We’re skipping. We’re throwing rocks. We’re having a grand old time. What an adventure we’re on. Eventually, the charm starts to wear off. It’s made extra irritating by my mother banging on the now empty Jerry can.

00;06;44;24 – 00;06;47;08
Betsy Funk
Boom boom boom boom.

00;06;47;10 – 00;07;11;09
Jesse Ballard
Over and over and over and over. Mom! Stop that! That’s annoying. I pause here to have you think of walking a Montana trail, where you might encounter something like a bear. What is it that you do when you’re on a trail where you might encounter a bear? You make noise, right? You’ve got your bear bells. You’re ready with your bear spray.

00;07;11;12 – 00;07;34;18
Jesse Ballard
My mother knew that we might encounter lions or some other wildlife, and the boom boom boom was out of protection for us. But of course, I was childlike, blissfully ignorant to that, and just annoyed at the incessant bang bang bang. So we’re walking and walking and walking and eventually the sun starts to go down and we are exhausted.

00;07;34;18 – 00;08;00;27
Jesse Ballard
So tired. My dad managed to grab some thorn branches and build an enclosure for us to rest in. I don’t my dad and my mom were doing much resting, but I was so tired and I felt so safe in that enclosure that I conked out. I fell fast asleep even though I was only eight. I have this distinct memory of feeling like I was back in my childhood bedroom.

00;08;00;27 – 00;08;30;00
Jesse Ballard
Even though I was in the middle of the desert in a thorn bush enclosure. I distinctly thought about the doll house in the corner, the horse mural on the wall. And so when I started to wake up from that nighttime nap, I was really surprised to look around and see thorn branches instead of that childhood bedroom wall. So as I was waking up, I start to hear the sound of cowbells in the distance.

00;08;30;00 – 00;08;54;14
Jesse Ballard
Digging, deep digging. So we are all listening, and we know that if there’s cowbells, there’s humans, there’s civilization. So we get up and we follow the sound of the cowbells. And that leads us to this. Now abandoned old tented camp. But it wasn’t totally abandoned. There was a caretaker there watching over the property, and he welcomed us in.

00;08;54;15 – 00;09;24;04
Jesse Ballard
He pulled out some cots for us to lay on, and again, we just fell fast asleep. Sleep through the night and as the as we’re there, he’s also giving us cup after cup of tea or chai so that we could get hydrated. And as we’re waking up, I remember this what’s probably an old wives tale to test if you’re dehydrated or not, where if you lift the skin on the back of your hand, if it sticks together, supposedly you’re dehydrated.

00;09;24;07 – 00;09;48;15
Jesse Ballard
And I thought, oh, I’ve been walking in a desert. I mean, I’m dehydrated. And sure enough, when I lifted that skin, it stuck together. So keep that tea coming, get rehydrated. But as I’m waking up that next day, I hear another strange sound. It’s little kids yelling and I can hear that thunk, thunk thunk of rocks being thrown up into this tree near my bed.

00;09;48;18 – 00;10;13;19
Jesse Ballard
And I look up and there’s a giant snake up in the tree. I was pretty scared, but these kids just kept at it and kept checking the rocks, and eventually that snake slithered away. So big sigh of relief there. So now we had to figure out how in the world we were going to get home. Well, this old camp happened to have an old ham radio.

00;10;13;21 – 00;10;40;00
Jesse Ballard
The problem was it had a dead battery. So these two Samburu Lascaris guards, who were part of the the staff at the camp, decided they were going to book it back to our car and get the battery out of the car that we could hook up to the radio and call for help. They did that trip so quick for my brother, and I felt like hundreds and hundreds of miles, but they were back real fast.

00;10;40;03 – 00;11;14;11
Jesse Ballard
So we hooked up the radio and my dad gets on there and we hear this crackling over the radio and another familiar voice. It’s our neighbor from back in Nairobi, placing the order for her tented camp. A dozen eggs and a bag of flour. What are the odds that it would be Mrs. Cotter on the radio? But eventually my dad got through to friends who were wonderful and volunteered to drive up and help get the car and get my dad and the family back home.

00;11;14;13 – 00;11;46;10
Jesse Ballard
Well, my parents decided that another long drive was not the best thing for it and seen little me and my brother. So they managed to make a connection with a local pilot who had a little Cessna plane, likely something like an hour story earlier, and he flew into this remote area. No landing strip, just a bumpy road, but bumpy fields that he landed in, and myself and my brother and my mom loaded into this tiny little plane, which for me was so exciting.

00;11;46;10 – 00;12;11;11
Jesse Ballard
We were going to fly in this cool little plane and get home. My brother was prone to car sickness, which also translates to air sickness. So he’s in that plane just trying to hold it together, and my mom’s doing her best to distract him from wanting to vomit by pointing out things that were flying by. So we’re flying along, and my mom sees this waterfall in the distance.

00;12;11;12 – 00;12;37;04
Jesse Ballard
Look, man, look at that cool waterfall. Our daredevil pilot decides you want to see the waterfall? Let’s go. Hangs a really sharp right. Pulls the plane right up against the waterfall, which did not help the air sickness at all. Eventually we make it back home. My dad makes it back home and we are safely under the roof in our own house.

00;12;37;07 – 00;13;07;23
Jesse Ballard
And I’m back in my bed with my dollhouse in the corner. The horse mural on the wall. I’m sure my parents were in their room going. Never again. But for me, I had a trophy proudly up on my bookshelf, given to me by my parents. A little trophy that on the bottom, red nest Walker. You get.

00;13;07;26 – 00;13;31;04
Marc Moss
Thanks, Jesse. Jesse is a perinatal care coordinator who moonlights as an actor and a birth doula. She lives in Missoula with her husband, two kids, and two cats. In our next story, Betsy Funk hikes with her adult daughter Kelsey, in Glacier National Park on what would become a grueling hike for her daughter. Kelsey’s determination and love for the outdoors pushed them through tears and exhaustion.

00;13;31;07 – 00;13;42;19
Marc Moss
Betsy calls her story Glacier calls. Thanks for listening.

00;13;42;21 – 00;14;07;12
Betsy Funk
I’m from Glacier country. And for those of you who know Glacier Country, you know that the park calls to us and often that means we’re compelled to go visit her. This is happening this one week, and I was feeling it, needing to go back to Glacier. Back to hike. So I made the decision to go. One day I called a friend.

00;14;07;14 – 00;14;23;00
Betsy Funk
I said, let’s go hiking. She said, yeah, I’m up for it. Let’s go. I said, well, have to start early because we want to get back in time. She had a baby and we wanted to make sure the baby got back in time to get some rest. She says, yeah, no problem. I got this. And so I went and picked her up.

00;14;23;03 – 00;14;49;29
Betsy Funk
We loaded up the baby backpack, the snacks, all the Kutama of going to Glacier. Of course, we got our layers and our bear spray and headed up to Glacier to our favorite hike. Now, my friend is my daughter, and she, she has her son, and she’s excited about going on this hike because she’s been doing this with me since I was carrying her in the backpack up the hike.

00;14;50;02 – 00;15;11;01
Betsy Funk
She did it with me when she was a teenager and says, I will go no farther. And she also did it with me and kicked my ass up the switchbacks. So we know it’s her favorite. She has, she has a real passion for this part of the park, as do I. So we get to the trailhead. It’s about eight in the morning.

00;15;11;01 – 00;15;31;29
Betsy Funk
We decide we’re going to start early. This particular trail takes on a slow day, about six hours to do. It’s not extraordinary hard, but it is touted as one of the most beautiful hikes in the park. So as we’re unloading her son and I’m unloading her and we’re getting things ready to go, I look over at her and I say, Kelsey, how are you doing?

00;15;32;04 – 00;16;05;16
Betsy Funk
I’m good mom. I said, so you sure about this? Yes, mom, I got this. I said, great. Okay. You’re sure of it? Let’s go. So the trail drops off. the going to the sun Road, and it goes for about a mile into the subalpine forest. And as you step on that trail, the sounds of the road drop away and you’re surrounded by the moistness of bear grass and ferns.

00;16;05;19 – 00;16;31;17
Betsy Funk
A soft foot underneath. And it gradually hikes uphill into these beautiful mountains. That compelled us to go and call us. So as we’re hiking, I’m realizing this is taking Kelsey a little longer than I thought it would. Now she’s carrying her son, and, And that’s okay. So I turn around and say, you sure you’re up to this?

00;16;31;17 – 00;17;02;17
Betsy Funk
She says, oh, I got this, mom, so I’m fine about I don’t know, I want to make a guess, but a mile to a mile and a half in on the trail, it’s becoming pretty apparent to me that this is going to be a long day. She’s taking a while, and I guess this is where I tell you that my daughter is in six plus years of living with and gradually dying from, glioblastoma multiforme, which is brain cancer.

00;17;02;20 – 00;17;38;27
Betsy Funk
It’s terminal. She’s been through two brain surgeries, five and a half years of chemotherapy and a full term pregnancy. she’s a fighter, and she wants to do this hike. She loves this hike. But when you look at her, you realize that cancer, it doesn’t take you all at once. Cancer takes you. Bit by bit, one piece at a time.

00;17;39;00 – 00;18;04;17
Betsy Funk
And I’ve been watching for over six years. My daughter die in front of my eyes, one piece at a time. So we’re hiking along the trail and I’m starting to be concerned. It’s taking her a while. She’s gained a lot of weight with all the treatment. She’s slow, she’s tired. And I ask her, else we can stop at the why?

00;18;04;18 – 00;18;34;04
Betsy Funk
It’s okay. We’ve been here. It’s wonderful. She says, no, mom, I got this. So we get to the why where she knows the next thing she’s going to see are these glorious meadows filled with arnica, an Indian paintbrush, mountain aster. And she has a degree in horticulture. So she she says she’s jazzed. She wants to see this. So we get to the line and I say, okay, we’ve got a choice.

00;18;34;06 – 00;18;55;18
Betsy Funk
We could stop here, go back, have lunch. It’s great. We’ve seen wonderful things. We could go on up to get an idea, or we could head over, say, pass. And she says, mom, Syde pass. That’s the only option. I got this. So we head up. The meadows are there. They’re up to our knees in color and riotous glory.

00;18;55;21 – 00;19;29;00
Betsy Funk
It’s a misty day. So we are as hot. It’s cool. And the mist has made the flowers scream at us. It’s glorious. And I’m hiking with my daughter. So from there we open up and we go through some beautiful waterfalls and creeks and we get to the switchbacks. Now these switchbacks are no fake. Go. They’re real switchbacks. They go and they go, and then there’s little summit and then you go some more.

00;19;29;03 – 00;19;53;05
Betsy Funk
at this point, we’ve been on the trail twice as long as it would take anybody else to be on the trail. I said it was a misty day, so there were very few people on the trail, and those people had long since passed us where I thought we’d be done. At about two in the afternoon, it was becoming pretty apparent that we might be down after dark.

00;19;53;07 – 00;20;18;15
Betsy Funk
We go to start the switchbacks, and it’s even more apparent that Kelsey is weakening. She’s struggling about every ten meters. She has to stop. Let’s feed the baby mom. Let’s take a rest. Kelsey. We can go back any time I got this, mom. It’s okay. I got this on these switchbacks. She finally allowed me to take the baby.

00;20;18;17 – 00;20;44;07
Betsy Funk
I carried them on my back. Now you’re wondering, what’s he doing? Well, he was just hanging out. He was cool. He was wrapped up all snuggly warm, and I just kept handing food back there. He was good. So we’re hiking up the switchbacks, waiting for calcium, checking in. How are you doing? I’m okay. I got it, mom. Take the next switchback.

00;20;44;07 – 00;21;11;21
Betsy Funk
How are you to him? Mom, I’ve got this. Okay. We eventually make it to the top. Along our way, we pick up a couple of heart stones. And as is tradition in my family, we put the heart stones on this enormous cairn that stands at the top of the pass. And we put them there to honor those who come before us and to guide those who come after us.

00;21;11;23 – 00;21;34;24
Betsy Funk
And we hold each other and we celebrate and we embrace and we feed the baby more food. and then I ask for calcium. If we go back, it’s shorter. We know where we’ve been and we’re okay. It’s an extra mile, a mile and a half to go down the other Syde. Mom, I didn’t come here to quit.

00;21;34;26 – 00;22;03;17
Betsy Funk
I’ve got this. So I take a deep breath. I say, I’ll take the baby. She’s my baby, I said. Okay, she was a stubborn one. so she carried the baby as we drop down this trail. If you’ve never been there, you walk through hanging gardens of monkey flowers and orchids all scream and riotous color in the high alpine saying, come have sex with me, please.

00;22;03;20 – 00;22;31;25
Betsy Funk
The beautiful. And she is relishing in it. She’s in rapture. She’s loving this at the same time. Her legs are shaking. She’s worn through one pair of leggings because she’s large and her legs have chafed. She’s bleeding. I give her another pair of leggings. She’s begun to walk through them. She falls. She breaks up, holds. I ask if I can take a photo.

00;22;31;27 – 00;23;00;27
Betsy Funk
She says, nope, I got this mom. So we continue down, shaky knowing it’s getting late. There’s nobody on the trail at this point. The clouds are settling, it’s getting scary and it’s bare. 30 if anybody knows what bare 30 is. Well, basically the rule is stay 100 yards away from a bear right? Oh, I have someone with me who’s having trouble walking on the trail.

00;23;01;00 – 00;23;25;03
Betsy Funk
And when we see the full size, the grizzly bear ten feet off the trail and I ask her, can you bushwhack? She says, mom, I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can hold myself up. We can’t walk on the trail. I take a breath and I say, okay, so there is this full sized grizzly ten feet off the trail.

00;23;25;03 – 00;23;53;11
Betsy Funk
The trail goes on a switchback above the bear and below the bear. So we’re going to cut across a little field to try to avoid doing it twice. Right. So I tell Kelso, right here it is. Kelso, I’ve got the bear spray and I’m standing with the bear spray, and I go, you walk behind me and she goes, mom, I said, just walk behind me because I’m looking at that bear.

00;23;53;11 – 00;24;26;20
Betsy Funk
And I say right to his face, she’s not going to die today. Not today. And she makes it. She gets the other Syde. I start to back up, still holding the bear spray. The bear shakes his head and huff 70, walks over to a pine chain just below the bear. We made it. We continue down the trail and it’s clear Kelsey is truly struggling.

00;24;26;22 – 00;24;49;08
Betsy Funk
a ranger has been sent in to help us, although what could he do but help her up? Because at this point, I’m giving the baby her modality of getting down this trail, bleeding and shaky and very unstable is to sit on every step, slide on her ass, and have us help her up. And then she walks away to the next one.

00;24;49;08 – 00;25;17;02
Betsy Funk
Sets and slides. It’s getting later and later, and I’m thinking, we need to call somebody in. And I ask him, should we call for help? She says, mom, I gotta do this. I got this. We make it to the bottom. It’s glorious. I’m relieved. I’m crying. The baby’s asleep. and there’s a at the bottom of this trail.

00;25;17;02 – 00;25;42;06
Betsy Funk
There’s this beautiful path that goes down on the river. And I go and put my feet in. Because I’m an old woman and my feet hurt. And she goes and puts her feet and she’s. Oh, this doesn’t this won’t do, mom. And she goes because she’s bleeding and she sits right in the creek and she goes, you know, mom.

00;25;42;08 – 00;26;02;12
Betsy Funk
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that again. And I looked right at her and I said, you know what else you got? This. Thank you.

00;26;02;14 – 00;26;24;04
Marc Moss
Thanks, Betsy. Betsy Font lives in the Flathead Valley, where, surrounded by mountains, she raised her family. She believes stories are the result of the mischief wonder and magic of life and of a willingness to be witness to all of it. To see photos of Kelsey and Betsy on their hike visit. Tell us something, doc. Work coming up after the break.

00;26;24;06 – 00;26;40;28
Syd Lang
Thank goodness for the open mouth piece, right? Yeah, so I’m throwing up everywhere, and all of a sudden the crowd of kids just falls completely silent.

00;26;41;01 – 00;26;42;13
Syd Lang
And a kid goes.

00;26;42;16 – 00;26;43;18
Betsy Funk
Hey.

00;26;43;21 – 00;26;47;23
Syd Lang
That’s my grandma’s costume that you’re throwing up in.

00;26;47;26 – 00;27;08;22
Marc Moss
Remember that the next tell us the main event is January 13th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at Tell Us something.org. Thank you to our story sponsors who help us to pay our storytellers the Good Food Store. For more than 50 years, The Good Food Store has been Missoula’s homegrown independent source for natural, organic and locally sourced food.

00;27;08;24 – 00;27;43;14
Marc Moss
Learn more at Good Food store.com. And thanks to story sponsor ParkSyde Credit Union, whose mission it is to be the best place for people of western Montana to get a loan. Learn more at ParkSyde fcu.org. Thanks to our accessibility sponsor SBS solar, allowing us to provide American Sign Language interpretation at the live event. SBF solar stands at the forefront of the solar energy revolution, with over 30 years of industry experience specializing in custom solar design and installation for both reSydential and commercial applications.

00;27;43;20 – 00;28;10;17
Marc Moss
SBA solar is committed to promoting energy independence and environmental sustainability. Learn more at SBS linc.com. And thanks to our workshop sponsor, White Tide Designs, helping us to feed our storytellers at the group workshop. White Tie Designs is a woman led art and design studio that produces colorful spaces and stunning artwork that fosters positivity and empowers individuals to be their best selves.

00;28;10;19 – 00;28;34;26
Marc Moss
Learn more at Wide Tide designs.com. Thanks to our media sponsors, Mizzou Events Dot net, where you find all the good things that are happening. All of our Missoula and Missoula Broadcasting Company. Learn more about them and listen online at Missoula Broadcasting company.com. Thanks to our in-kind sponsors. Float Missoula. Learn more at float msl.com and choice of Tyler. Learn about Joyce at Joyce of tile.com.

00;28;34;29 – 00;28;58;14
Marc Moss
All right, let’s get back to the stories. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Marc Moss closing out this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. Syd Lange is a summer camp counselor at a small, long running camp in Colorado. Listen as she meets a special individual one summer and watch their friendship blossom amidst laughter, shared stories, and a whole lot of fun.

00;28;58;16 – 00;29;08;17
Marc Moss
Syd calls her story lovesick. Thanks for listening.

00;29;08;19 – 00;29;39;15
Syd Lang
I’m standing in the middle of a large dining room, and I’m in a bit of a pickle. The problem is, there is a cute girl sitting in the corner and I am in fluorescent, Colorado. well, actually, not in fluorescent. Fluorescent, as of the last census, had 149 people who lived there. It’s technically an unincorporated community, and I’m in Florissant, but not really forest.

00;29;39;15 – 00;30;02;20
Syd Lang
And I’m actually 30 minutes up a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. And I’m in this dining hall, and I see this girl and she’s sitting in the corner, and I want to go sit by her. She’s got this wild mullet that I later learned. She’s cut herself with a river knife on the Grand Canyon, and she’s got these vibrant eyes, and I want to sit next to her.

00;30;02;20 – 00;30;32;15
Syd Lang
But I’m a little bit nervous, and I’m nervous because on the drive out from Montana to Colorado, I’ve lost my voice somewhere. Wyoming’s long takes a long time to drive through there. I’m sure somewhere my voice has taken a stop and not come with me. I get to Colorado and I, I have laryngitis. And so here I am, standing in this room trying to meet a staff of seven people, small staff, and I can’t speak.

00;30;32;15 – 00;30;36;07
Syd Lang
And so I’m introducing myself, scratching through words. And I’m saying I am sad.

00;30;36;07 – 00;30;37;12
Betsy Funk
And I, I don’t.

00;30;37;12 – 00;30;57;00
Syd Lang
Normally sound like this, and I don’t know what to tell you. And I’m so happy to be here. And, it’s my fourth time coming to work at this outdoor education center. And we do summer camp, and we also do, teaching students. And so I spend the next week during staff training trying to get to know this girl.

00;30;57;01 – 00;31;14;19
Syd Lang
It’s not going well. I’m not really getting to know anyone because no one can hear me. And so at the end of training, we decide that we’re going to go all together as a staff. We’re going to go into town. The big town. And so we get in two separate cars, and I manage to weasel my way into the car with her.

00;31;14;19 – 00;31;32;03
Syd Lang
And I’m thinking, oh, good, here we go. Now it’s my time to rock. And so we get in the cars, you know, five, seven person staff team, right? Five people and one car, two people and the other. Here we go. So we get in the old 2001 Subaru Outback, and she rolls down all the windows because it’s August in Colorado.

00;31;32;03 – 00;31;52;12
Syd Lang
It’s still pretty hot. She turns on the radio and she’s singing the whole drive, and my little scratchy laryngitis voice is no competition for the windows or the music. And so I’m silent. The whole two hour car ride. We get to town and she has this great idea. We should go to karaoke.

00;31;52;14 – 00;31;54;16
Betsy Funk
Like, oh, awesome.

00;31;54;18 – 00;32;23;15
Syd Lang
This is perfect. So I get to karaoke and Big Green Tractor, my typical karaoke songs. Not sounding as good as it usually does, and I’m up there and I’m scratching through the lyrics and I finally, as the night goes on, I get a chance to sit outSyde with her and we’re talking about how we both have worked at this camp, but we’ve worked there opposing seasons, and so we have never we’ve never met before.

00;32;23;18 – 00;32;26;03
Syd Lang
And she goes, oh, I’ve heard of you, though.

00;32;26;06 – 00;32;26;11
Betsy Funk
Like.

00;32;26;13 – 00;32;48;25
Syd Lang
Oh God, this can’t be good. And she goes, yeah, you’re Patient zero, aren’t you? Yep. So, so let’s go back to 2019. It was my second summer at camp, and I’m coming as the climbing director this summer. And my goal is to get students excited to sign up for my climbing program, because the more they sign up, the more I get to climb.

00;32;48;25 – 00;33;17;02
Syd Lang
And that’s the dream job to a 19 year old. And so here I am. I’m dressed in front of all of the kids. It’s 150. Kids are sitting in an outdoor auditorium, and I’m putting on an opening night performance, and it’s this zany, wild experience and I’m dressed head to toe in a giraffe costume. And luckily, there is a break in the giraffe costume from the top of my head to the bottom of my chin.

00;33;17;02 – 00;33;33;27
Syd Lang
It’s got this like big giraffe muzzle, you might call it these big ears. And I’m in a belay system, which is a climbing term. If you don’t know, I’m wearing a harness and another person is also wearing a harness, and we’re kind of mocking what climbing might be like. And I have no control over if I’m moving forwards or backwards.

00;33;33;27 – 00;33;53;20
Syd Lang
I’m tied into a rope and my player is deciding how much slack I get. And so here I am, and I’m like dancing in front of everyone. I’m so excited. I’m the giraffe and I’m going to climb with you all summer. Come sign up, and all of the sudden I turned to the left and I just start spewing vomit just out of nowhere.

00;33;53;20 – 00;34;10;18
Syd Lang
Thank goodness for the open mouthpiece, right? Yeah. So I’m throwing up everywhere, and all of a sudden the crowd of kids just falls completely silent.

00;34;10;20 – 00;34;12;03
Syd Lang
And a kid goes.

00;34;12;05 – 00;34;13;06
Betsy Funk
Hey.

00;34;13;09 – 00;34;36;14
Syd Lang
That’s my grandma’s costume that you’re throwing up in. And so I’m standing in front of everybody spewing vomit and also spewing the norovirus, which took over the entire camp all summer. looking back, it was pretty awesome. You know, kids in the dining hall, they’re standing up and three kids are vomiting at once. And all these interactions, it was a real stand by me moment.

00;34;36;15 – 00;34;56;21
Syd Lang
We had a barf tally on the Syde. Yeah. Totally awesome. So I coined the name patient zero, and I’m sitting here and I’m like, really going into this story, like telling her maybe more than I should. And I look over after talking about this and I’m expecting her face to be like, oh. And she looks at me with just this, like excited astonishment.

00;34;56;22 – 00;35;14;03
Syd Lang
She goes, well, hey, that’s cool. Have you heard of my character early? Like, oh, okay, we’re going to do this. Here we go. And so she starts telling me about this character named Earl, which is a bird, and the bird dance to every event. And Earl kind of sounded like this. So she’s going into Earl.

00;35;14;03 – 00;35;39;11
Syd Lang
And then I start talking about granny. And granny was my other claim to fame at this establishment. Granny is an old character. She’s an old woman character. And I’m working outdoor ed season at this time. And so fifth and sixth grade students from the surrounding area in Colorado, they come up and they spend a week with myself and the other field instructors, and we we replace part of their curriculum from the class.

00;35;39;11 – 00;36;01;16
Syd Lang
So we’re teaching it. And also acting it out. It’s really an odd place. And so I am working I’m teaching the, the homesteading curriculum, and I’m granny dressed head to toe in a bonnet. And granny, I just fell in love with granny. So I spent two months being granny and granny sounded like this. Hey, kids. Well, come.

00;36;01;16 – 00;36;01;23
Betsy Funk
On.

00;36;01;23 – 00;36;07;08
Syd Lang
Down. Here we go. We’re going to churn some butter.

00;36;07;10 – 00;36;29;20
Syd Lang
And granny had a really rough season because granny had giardia. And if you don’t know what giardia is, it is a parasite you get from drinking unclean water. And she already really stays until you take care of it. So the idea, Judy, a granny, is running around teaching these kids in her bonnet and her and her homesteading dress.

00;36;29;27 – 00;36;45;19
Syd Lang
She keeps going, Granny’s got dysentery. Where is the chamber pot? So at this point, everybody has heard about patient Zero and also granny with giardia.

00;36;45;21 – 00;37;08;21
Syd Lang
And I’m swapping stories with this girl. Her name is Sophia, and we’re going back and forth, back and forth and just doubling over in laughter outSyde of this karaoke bar. And we decide that what we need to do is bring Earl and granny together. And there’s a perfect opportunity for that. We have, in this outdoor ed season, what’s called the hoedown.

00;37;08;24 – 00;37;29;29
Syd Lang
And I can guarantee you, you have never been to anything like the High Trails Hoedown. It is magical and wild. All the students are packed into a small auditorium. The teachers are. They are wide eyed, confused, or like, this is what you do. What? And all the staff comes in, were dancing around in different costumes and we put on a performance.

00;37;29;29 – 00;37;51;14
Syd Lang
And every night the performance looks different because we don’t play in it and it goes on for like two hours. These kids dancing at the hoedown and granny and Earl come out and they just steal the show. And for the next two months, granny and Earl steal the show every single week, granny and Earl.

00;37;52;24 – 00;38;26;08
Syd Lang
Spend a lot of time together. Granny and Earl also sit in Sofia, fall in love. throughout the entirety of that season, Sophia’s mullet slowly grows out. My voice slowly comes back. Thank goodness. Good old Larry’s kicked it, kicked the curb, and, we moved back to his unit together. And granny and Earl still live in Missoula. We’ve been here for two and a half years, and we have a pretty darn good time.

00;38;26;11 – 00;38;38;07
Syd Lang
and I would say we still know how to throw a pretty dang good hoedown.

00;38;38;09 – 00;39;12;06
Marc Moss
Thanks, Syd. Sydney Lang grew up in Olympia, Washington, and has been living in Grand Old Missoula, Montana on and off for the past seven years. She attended the University of Montana, where she studied communication and climate change. She spends much of her time climbing big rocks and zooming through the trees on her bike. She has been working in the outdoor education world for many years both in Montana and Colorado, said love seat bubble gum, ice cream, practice slack line by the river, play on local trails and cook dinner with friends.

00;39;12;08 – 00;39;35;12
Marc Moss
Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is January 13th. The theme is hold my beer. Learn how to pitch your story and get tickets at Tell Us something.org.

00;00;00;00 – 00;00;25;10
Marc Moss
Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Marc Moss, founder and executive director of Tell Us Something. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us something storytelling event. The theme is hold My beer. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call (406) 203-4683. You have three minutes to leave your pitch. The pitch deadline is December 7th.

00;00;25;12 – 00;00;29;07
Marc Moss
I look forward to hearing from you this week on the podcast.

00;00;29;10 – 00;00;47;16
James Crosby
Someday you’re going to be cool. That is what the rebellious older sister says to her younger brother. Towards the beginning of Almost Famous, my rebellious younger sister did not share that same positive outlook.

00;00;47;18 – 00;01;02;15
Aaron Miller
A couple of weeks later, mom got me into private speech therapy in order to improve some of my speaking, reading and writing. And mom was also told that I was not going to be able to read or write in my life. When she first found out I had autism.

00;01;02;17 – 00;01;16;15
Marc Moss
For storytellers to share their true personal story on the theme. Never again. And it’s a party. Everyone’s dancing. Everyone singing along. Strangers are kissing each other. Hugging. Everyone’s just. It’s a celebration.

00;01;16;17 – 00;01;34;07
Karna Sundby
I realized that I was in the middle of this horrific storm. Suspended from a few sheets of ripstop nylon. It’s funny how there’s not fear, how logic kicks in when you’re making decisions that may possibly save your life.

00;01;34;09 – 00;01;55;09
Marc Moss
Their stories were recorded live in person in front of a packed house September 18th, 2024, at the George and Jane Denison Theater in Missoula, Montana. Tell Us Something acknowledges that we gather on the ancestral lands of the Salish, Kootenai, and Pender peoples. These lands have been inhabited for millennia, shaped by the wisdom and stewardship of the First Nation peoples.

00;01;55;11 – 00;02;21;18
Marc Moss
We acknowledge the historical and ongoing trauma inflicted upon indigenous communities, including the forcible removal from their lands, the destruction of their cultures, and the systemic injustices that continue to persist. As we honor the indigenous people who have called this place home. Let us commit to learning from their traditions and values a tangible way to do that. If you live in Missoula, Montana, is to visit the Missoula Public Library on Friday, November 1st.

00;02;21;18 – 00;02;48;19
Marc Moss
Missoula Public Library hosts a First Friday event highlighting native art and culture, showcasing the library’s permanent collection. That event kicks off four weeks of programing celebrating native American Heritage Month. A tooltip will be installed on the Harrison Children’s Library. They will unveil an exhibit of the Salish Kootenay Seasonal Round that gives children a new interactive learning tool. They will also debut a new collection of indigenous books and materials.

00;02;48;21 – 00;03;19;04
Marc Moss
Stop by the library or visit Missoula Public Library Board to learn more. Tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language. In our first story. Listen to James Crosby share his disastrous sailing camp experiences and life changing moments as a lifeguard. James shares his journey of self-discovery and resilience, and discovers how a seemingly simple act of kindness led him to finding his true calling and inspire others along the way.

00;03;19;04 – 00;03;27;28
Marc Moss
In a story that he calls too big to sail. Thanks for listening.

00;03;28;01 – 00;04;11;07
James Crosby
Someday you’re going to be cool. That is what the rebellious older sister says to her younger brother. Towards the beginning of Almost Famous, my rebellious younger sister did not share that same positive outlook. I had no shot at being cool. All the things you needed to do to be cool. I was not good at seeing. When I turned 13, I had gone through a growth spurt that was kind of like one of those Play-Doh pasta presses.

00;04;11;09 – 00;04;17;23

My limbs just shot out of my body.

00;04;17;25 – 00;04;28;19

And I was a total liability on the sports field. I was kind of like, if the wacky inflatable arms guy had a jersey on.

00;04;28;22 – 00;04;29;29

His.

00;04;30;01 – 00;04;36;16

Nice defense. James, I’m on your team. Well.

00;04;36;18 – 00;05;01;25

So I had yet to find my thing. I had yet to find the thing that would make me cool. But if I was signing your yearbook, headed into the summer. That summer that I turned 13. I knew that my time was coming because I was looking forward to sailing camp, sailing camp last summer. This is when I was 12.

00;05;01;25 – 00;05;30;24

I had gone for the first time. It was the Chesapeake Bay and you couldn’t have been further from the ocean. It was great because I had just started watching Shark Week. So sailing was not a great choice. But we overcame that because my goodness, I got it. Port side. Port. Port. That’s left. Left. Nice starboard. I like starbursts, I opened them with my right hand.

00;05;30;24 – 00;05;54;11

Starboard. Starburst. Right. Yes, I got it. I could tie some knots, like. All right. That’s pretty good. And when we finally got into the boats, I kind of understood how the wind worked. And, boy, that feeling when you got going downwind and you tacked so the wind caught the other side of the sail and the boom swung over your head and caught the wind.

00;05;54;11 – 00;06;23;25

And you felt the power of the boat surged forward. The sun on your face, the wind, the sound of the water on the hull of the boat. I was in it, and there was nobody else I could disappoint. It was just me out on my boat. The captain of my craft. It was great. The things that I had to endure with sailing camp also included golf.

00;06;23;27 – 00;06;34;22

It hurts when you swing in with. It hurts even worse when you hear somebody behind you go. Ooh!

00;06;34;25 – 00;06;59;16

And then there was tennis. Tennis? I was the only camper to ever lose an entire game on the serve. I was serving up nothing but disappointment. I was so bad that after I lost this entire game, I went to practice my serve against the fence. And I just hit the ball straight over the fence, across the road, into the pool.

00;06;59;18 – 00;07;25;15

Nobody wanted me on my team. Nobody wanted me on their team. I didn’t want to be on my team. Let’s be honest. So finally it came time to sail and I was so excited. I was so excited. Except as a as a camper. I was there towards the end of the summer, so a lot of the other campers, they were there the whole summer and this summer that I returned.

00;07;25;17 – 00;07;55;16

I noticed that the people I had been sailing with last summer had moved on to bigger boats. Suddenly the people around me were a lot smaller, and when I went to set up my boat that year, I noticed that the mast was kind of short. In fact, the whole gear was unusually easy to carry over, and when I finally set up my boat and shoved off shore out into the great wide open of the Chesapeake Bay, once again, this is far from the ocean.

00;07;55;19 – 00;08;24;16

You could probably stand the whole time, but there I was, out on my boat, and when I went to tack to turn the boat, when the boom was supposed to go over my head, this time it hit me right in the arm, and I wrestled the boom over my head and pushed it out to the other side, at which point the boat had turned back into the wind and the boom came right back.

00;08;24;18 – 00;08;41;05

Knocked me into the back corner of my craft, and I took on some water. Yikes. All right, so I’m bailing it out and the booms coming around, and I try to push it around, and I fall back and I take on some more water. And before I know it, I hear the thing that still chills me to my soul.

00;08;41;08 – 00;09;13;04

It’s the recovery boat coming out to say, hey, are you okay? If you have to say, are you okay? I am not okay. And as they dragged me back to shore, waist deep in water because I couldn’t fit on the recovery boat while they held the sail, the look from my peers was mortifying. I did fail upwards, though.

00;09;13;05 – 00;09;39;18

I became somebody else’s problem. I was too big to sail, so they put me in the bigger boats. That didn’t make me a better sailor. Now I just had two other people in the boat with me. Luckily they were also bad at sailing, so I wasn’t really letting them down. We were all figuring it out. Well, at the end of the week it came time for the Gibson Island Regatta and we had accomplished nothing.

00;09;39;23 – 00;10;02;27
James CrosbyIn fact, our boat was so bad that by the time we thankfully crossed the finish line, the other boats were already rigging up on the beach. But there were only three boats in the race that day, so we got a medal.

00;10;02;29 – 00;10;28;26

I still felt like a loser, but I was so bankrupt of mojo that when the cute girl at camp asked me to go to the dance, I said no because once again, the wacky wavy inflatable arms guy was not on the dance floor. I promise. So I vowed at that time I would never sail again until years later.

00;10;28;28 – 00;10;48;27

I had become a lifeguard. Now I became a lifeguard because I thought lifeguards were cool and in a pool. I didn’t really have to swim because I could stand just about everywhere. So I had become a lifeguard and I took it very seriously. And my sister was also a lifeguard, and she could assure you that I was still not cool.

00;10;49;00 – 00;11;12;27

And one day I met a guy who would change everything. I saw this guy get up onto the diving board with his son and throw his son from the diving board into the water and from across the pool. I was like, it’s time, I gotta go. So I went cruising, sir. Sir. And his son was flopping in the deep end.

00;11;12;28 – 00;11;35;12

Looked like he was drowning. And as I get closer, he pops his head out of the water. He’s got this huge smile on his face and he’s swimming as though, oh my gosh, okay, what’s happening? And the guy on the diving board is laughing and he’s laughing. He says, hey, it’s okay, we do this all the time. This is my son Josh, and Josh has cerebral palsy.

00;11;35;14 – 00;11;57;20

He can’t get around grade on land, but when he’s in the water, he can do his thing. And Josh is a daredevil. He doesn’t want to get into the shallow end. He wants to get chucked in to the deep end. So it turns out Ross says, hey, we’re looking for lifeguards. Are you looking for some extra time, some extra help?

00;11;57;20 – 00;12;08;14

And I said, yeah, I think that that could be cool. And he says, actually, it’s a, it’s a windsurfing program. Do you know how to sail?

00;12;08;16 – 00;12;18;10

Well, Ross, I got third place in the Gibson Island Regatta. I,

00;12;18;12 – 00;12;40;07

So I show up for my first day on the job, meet the other instructors. They’re all really cool. We’re all getting along. And this camp is for kids with disabilities. And the whole thing is to get them out on the water, to get them to move in ways that they can’t on land. And my job as a windsurf instructor is to use this adaptive windsurfer.

00;12;40;09 – 00;13;05;01

It’s two long, skinny windsurfers with a sheet of four foot by eight foot plywood in between. It has two sails. The front sail is for the instructor to work the sail, catch the wind and move us around the back. Sail a much smaller one is for our athletes, kids in wheelchairs, kids that can’t move around. Sometimes the only thing they can move is one finger.

00;13;05;01 – 00;13;31;06

And my job is to get that one finger on the boom so that they can feel the wind catch the sail. They can feel the boat surge across the water. They can hear the water on the hull, and if the wind moves the wrong direction, I’m there to block the boom. That was something I was super qualified at.

00;13;31;09 – 00;13;50;18

So whatever it took for me to get to that point was something I was happy to endure, because the look on those kids faces made it all worthwhile.

00;13;50;21 – 00;14;21;11
Marc Moss
Thanks, James. The oldest and tallest among dozens of first cousins, James Crosby oddly and infuriatingly found himself outmatched in many backyard sports. He earned scores of nicknames Stone hands, Butterfingers, flood pants, all apt descriptions of his athletic prowess and giraffe like physique. After years of searching for the thing that could make him cool, a summer job with Access Sport America taught him to be something better.

00;14;21;13 – 00;14;56;17
Marc Moss
To learn more about the adaptive programs at Access Sport America, visit go access.org. In our next story. ‘s autism diagnosis doesn’t define him. It fuels his determination. From speech therapy to high school theater, Aaron overcomes his challenges and proves his capabilities. Aaron believes that disabilities aren’t limitations. They’re opportunities for growth. Aaron calls his story growing up. Thanks for listening.

00;14;56;20 – 00;15;26;07
Aaron Miller
Sorry I was laughing too hard. From James’s story. So I have less of a story and a little bit more of a statement. So a lot of people think of mental disabilities such as autism, ADHD as bad. But I’m going to say they’re not. And I’m not saying that because I have one of my own. I’m saying because it’s true.

00;15;26;09 – 00;15;56;17

And here’s why. So when I was four. Mom had just found out that I had autism, and she had absolutely no idea how to react. My brother was born three years before I was, and he does not have anything like autism or ADHD or even anything that he got later in life. like PTSD or anything like that.

00;15;56;20 – 00;16;17;10

So mom had no idea how to react. A couple weeks later, mom got me into private speech therapy in order to improve some of my speaking, reading, and writing. And mom was also told that I was not going to be able to be able. I’m sorry. I was not going to be able to read or write in my life.

00;16;17;18 – 00;16;39;25

When she first found out I had autism. So a couple of weeks later, she signs me up for private speech therapy in order to improve my speaking, reading, and writing because I was already doing it. But I sucked at it with because I was four years old.

00;16;39;27 – 00;17;08;16

So I was not happy. I did not think it was for me because I thought it was stupid. So I was not looking forward to the first day. So we first go in and we’re brought into this really small waiting room. And to the left is a hallway that leads to a bunch of other people’s offices. And then straight ahead is a hallway to the back of the building, which is like a playroom.

00;17;08;18 – 00;17;33;20

So I get in and after waiting a little bit, I get introduced to a mentor named Margaret. And she takes me and my mom over to her office down the left hallway. And then she starts asking mom a couple questions. Mom starts asking Margaret a couple questions. And then she starts asking me a couple questions. And then at some point, she had mom leave the room.

00;17;33;22 – 00;17;57;29

This was when I was extremely uncomfortable. I did not get defiant, which is good. But I was still very uncomfortable. So mom leaves the room and on the inside I’m like, help! So Margaret continues to ask a couple of questions such as spell this, pronounce this. Can you write this down? And it wasn’t that long of a trial.

00;17;58;02 – 00;18;20;10

Once we were done, I was excited that I was going to be going home because it was all over. And then mom broke the news to me and said that I had to come back. I did not want that to come. And then I found myself a couple weeks later back into the building with Margaret, with mom not in the room.

00;18;20;10 – 00;18;24;12

And I still thought it was done.

00;18;24;15 – 00;18;50;22

At this point, Margaret started doing something that she did consistently almost every time I saw her. She would show me an iPad and on it would be an animated sequence picture. You’re like picture. You’re in a classroom and you’re taking any kind of test, math test, history test, whatever. You’re taking a test and you need to sharpen your pencil because it just broke.

00;18;50;26 – 00;19;17;12

But the teacher said that you can’t get up, so you can’t get up and sharpen your pencil. Even though you just asked the teacher. So you either have the option to get up when the teacher isn’t looking and sharpen your pencil. Kindly ask again if you can sharpen your pencil, or just get up and start screaming.

00;19;17;15 – 00;19;33;12

I first had no idea what to do with these situations because they were always the same thing. It was always an animated problem. Problem comes up and then it gives me three choices and one of them’s correct. I had no idea what to do with these because I had just started kindergarten.

00;19;33;15 – 00;19;36;12

So I was.

00;19;36;15 – 00;19;50;00

So Margaret started guiding me through them. And when I started to learn what the right answers were, I started clicking the wrong answers on purpose.

00;19;50;02 – 00;19;55;09

I was always like, okay, it’s not okay to yell. I’m going to click the yellow button.

00;19;55;13 – 00;19;58;11
Karna Sundby
Boink.

00;19;58;14 – 00;20;22;20

And Margaret always had to tell me that that was wrong and always had to tell me why that was. And then she started doing a sort of reward system. Every time I got one of them right, she would give me access to this Batman set that was in the corner of the of her room. It’s like a Barbie doll house, but it’s the Batcave, basically.

00;20;22;22 – 00;20;44;08

So I would get one, right? And then let’s say she gives me, like, the Batman action figure, and then I get another one. Right? And she would give me, let’s say, one of Batman’s gadgets and so on. And I started to enjoy it, and I actually started to learn. And mom started to find me speaking, reading and writing.

00;20;44;08 – 00;21;13;11

Over time. Eventually I started seeing someone else named Ed, and he worked a little differently. So something that he did most of the time was he would turn on his computer and he would open a Google doc, and then he would turn on the text to speech setting. And then what we would do is that we would have a normal conversation with each other, and then he would see how much I was talking and how well I was talking.

00;21;13;13 – 00;21;26;19

My little kid brain exploded. When I found out that it was operated by my voice, he turned it on and I was immediately like, hi, my name is Aaron.

00;21;26;22 – 00;21;27;04

How are.

00;21;27;04 – 00;21;51;23

You? So we did that a couple times, and I started to have fun at speech therapy because I saw people like Ed where we had fun on the computer, we saw people, or I saw people like Margaret, where I got to play with her Batman set and go through her iPad and stuff with those animated things, whatever you want to call them.

00;21;51;25 – 00;22;15;17

And I also saw someone else named Alana, but the problem is that I saw her the least, so I don’t remember what she did, but she’s going to be important later. So keep her in mind. I’m not joking when I say that. So about six years later, I took a break from private speech therapy, and at this point I had moved across town.

00;22;15;17 – 00;22;46;06

My family had just met another family, and then we moved in. And now we’re just one big happy family, as they call it in the Disney things. So we move in together. But in the process of moving, I had to switch schools. I went from Lolo to the other side of Missoula near the airport, so I had to go from Lolo School to Hellgate Elementary and things got a little rough from there.

00;22;46;08 – 00;23;10;17

Fifth grade was my first year there, and kids would immediately start going up to me and they would find out very quickly that I had autism. And when they did, they would avoid me. They avoided me. They would lie to get away from me and I would even get home. Sometimes crying because I always thought I had no friends or anything.

00;23;10;19 – 00;23;42;17

So but over time, I actually managed to find friends, and those friends even doubted me at first. So I still found friends and everything was going okay. And then Covid came. Yeah, Covid sucked. So Covid came for all of sixth and seventh grade. I did not see my friends as often as I could, and I was always stuck in classes with kids who always made fun of me.

00;23;42;20 – 00;24;07;17

And the worst part was that that’s the key thing, is that they made fun of me. They did not just tease me. They would say they wish that I got Covid first and that I would. Maybe there were some kids who said that they wish I would even die from Covid. And it was not good. Again, I would get home crying.

00;24;07;20 – 00;24;20;00

Thank you. I would get home crying. And the problem was that mom could not do much because of the Covid policies. So I had to sit through this.

00;24;20;03 – 00;24;47;18

But through it all, I never gave up. When I first moved across town, I started writing about my dreams and practice, and I was self-taught writing. I did homework. I did research. I’ve written like essays and everything like that at school, and I’ve proved that I’m really capable.

00;24;47;21 – 00;25;10;09

Sorry. My train of thought derailed. I proved that I’m really capable. I have passed with straight A’s since seventh grade, and I’m now in my junior year of high school.

00;25;10;12 – 00;25;34;24

So ever since I got into high school, no one has doubted me. I first joined the theater department after hearing what my brother and sister always said, because they did theater before me. So I did it, and everyone else was very similar. They had autism, ADHD, dyslexia, all of this stuff. So I fit in pretty well and I was given a chance.

00;25;34;24 – 00;25;47;12

I’ve had people come up to me and say, hey, do you want to be in this piece that I’m doing? So I have passed with straight A’s and I’ve proved that I’m capable.

00;25;47;15 – 00;26;02;02

And now I am the house and facility manager at big Sky High School for the drama department, which is really important.

00;26;02;05 – 00;26;39;01

So through all of this. It was a rough ride. I will say, now ask yourself this is one’s disability a chance to improve? Yes. If very much is. I have gone through so much. But never again will I let my disability change me in any way again.

00;26;39;03 – 00;26;59;15
Marc Moss
Thanks, Aaron. Aaron wanted me to add that Ed and Alana were in the audience that night, and he ran out of time while telling his story. He wants to acknowledge them and again pass along his gratitude to them. was born and raised in Missoula and currently goes to big Sky High School. He loves dogs, performs being outside, and making close friends.

00;26;59;17 – 00;27;19;14

Aaron tries his best with work, people and even himself. In the summer, he works as a camp counselor for Missoula Parks and Recreation. Aaron has had four family members before him participate in other Tell Us Something events and is proud to join the ranks of Tell Us Something storytellers. Coming up after the break and it’s a party. Everyone’s dancing.

00;27;19;14 – 00;27;26;13
Marc Moss
Everyone singing along. Strangers are kissing each other. Hugging. Everyone’s just, hey, it’s a celebration.

00;27;26;16 – 00;27;43;24
Karna Sundby
I realized that I was in the middle of this horrific storm. Suspended from a few sheets of ripstop nylon. It’s funny how there’s not fear, how logic kicks in when you’re making decisions that may possibly save your life.

00;27;43;26 – 00;28;04;23
Marc Moss
Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is January 13th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at Tell Us something.org. Thank you to our story sponsors who help us to pay our storytellers. The Good Food Store. For more than 50 years, the Good Food Store has been Missoula’s homegrown independent source for natural, organic and locally sourced food.

00;28;04;25 – 00;28;39;14

Learn more at Good Food store.com. And thanks to story sponsor Parkside Credit Union, whose mission it is to be the best place for people of western Montana to get a loan. Learn more at Parkside fcu.org. Thanks to our accessibility sponsor SBS solar, allowing us to provide American Sign Language interpretation at the live event. SBF solar stands at the forefront of the solar energy revolution, with over 30 years of industry experience specializing in custom solar design and installation for both residential and commercial applications.

00;28;39;21 – 00;29;06;17

SBS solar is committed to promoting energy independence and environmental sustainability. Learn more at SBS linc.com. And thanks to our workshop sponsor, Wide Tide Designs, helping us to feed our storytellers at the group workshop. White Tie Designs is a woman led art and design studio that produces colorful spaces and stunning artwork that fosters positivity and empowers individuals to be their best selves.

00;29;06;19 – 00;29;30;27

Learn more at Wide Tide designs.com. Thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula Events dot net, where you find all the good things that are happening all over Missoula and Missoula Broadcasting Company. Learn more about them and listen online at Missoula Broadcasting company.com. Thanks to our in-kind sponsors. Float Missoula. Learn more at float msl.com and choice of tile. Learn about Joyce at Joyce of tile.com.

00;29;30;28 – 00;29;56;28

All right, let’s get back to the stories. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Marc Moss. Our next storyteller believes in the power of storytelling so much he founded Tell Us Something in 2011. That’s right. Our next storyteller is me. I call my story. Is anybody alive out there tonight? Thanks for listening.

00;29;57;01 – 00;30;28;16
Marc Moss
Go to your room. So I did. My 14 year old self is stomping up the stairs, silently cursing my dad. Some perceived transgression of mine. Maybe I put the dishes in the dishwasher incorrectly. Maybe I forgot to put the vacuum cleaner away after I vacuum the living room. I don’t know anything could have set him off. I walked into my room and I punched play on the tape deck and.

00;30;28;18 – 00;30;53;06

Lights out tonight. Trouble in the heartland. Got a head on collision. Smashing in my guts, man. Caught in the crossfire. That I don’t understand. But there’s one thing I know for sure I don’t give a damn for the same old played out scenes. Man I don’t give a damn for just the in-betweens. Honey, I want the heart, I want the soul, I want control right now.

00;30;53;08 – 00;31;10;15

You better listen to me, darlin. Talk about a dream. Try to make it real. The end up in the night with a fear so real. You spend your life waiting for a moment. That just don’t come.

00;31;10;17 – 00;31;15;07

Bruce Springsteen.

00;31;15;09 – 00;31;31;14

And Bruce Springsteen got me through that moment. He got me through lots of moments in my life. He got me through my first love. The only lover I’m ever going to need is your soul. Sweet little girl. Time.

00;31;31;17 – 00;31;57;14

He got me through loneliness. Like a river that don’t know where it’s flowing. Took a wrong turn. And I just kept going. And so loving somebody like that so much. Somebody. Music. You want to see him perform? And Bruce is a poet. He’s a dreamer. But really, he’s a storyteller. And he puts on 3 to 4 hour shows.

00;31;57;16 – 00;32;04;08

And I saw him from every tour from 1988 to 2005.

00;32;04;10 – 00;32;29;20

Not every show, but I grew up in Cleveland, so it was easier than here. And in 2005. Well, first of all, the shows were amazing, and I loved them so much that, in Gardiner, when I lived in Gardiner, Montana, I drove 11 hours. I didn’t have a car. And so I was in the back of a pickup truck 11 hours to Fargo, North Dakota to go see him.

00;32;29;23 – 00;32;36;11

You can listen to that story on the Tell Us Something website. I taught it a long time ago.

00;32;36;13 – 00;33;02;07
I even got to see him at Giants Stadium in New York City. I didn’t know I was going to be in New York this like 2003 ish in that neighborhood. And I called my Aunt Tina, who introduced me to Bruce, and she was like, hey, don’t buy a ticket. I was like, what are these scalpers? Okay, so I get on the train from Manhattan and I go to Giants Stadium, and I walk into the parking lot kicking rocks.

00;33;02;07 – 00;33;18;05

I got 20 bucks in my pocket hoping for the best. And this guy walks up, he’s like, do you need tickets? And I’m like, yeah. He goes, I know how much you’re out there. He goes, 30 bucks. I go, here’s ten. And he’s because you need their money. So he’s like, I can’t do it. I was like, okay.

00;33;18;05 – 00;33;32;26
Marc MossAnd I’m like turned to start walking away. And he’s like, wait a minute, I can do it. So I gave him ten bucks. This reporter walks over to me, hey, I’m from the New York Times. I’m doing a story on scalpers.

00;33;32;28 – 00;33;59;14

No lie. You can go to the New York Times website and read. photographer from Missoula, Montana, Marc Moss, had this to say. That’s true. But I didn’t get to see the Seeger Sessions tour. So in 2005, Bruce put together this 18 piece band brass band, and did a cover of, an album of Pete Seeger songs. And Joyce got to see the show.

00;33;59;18 – 00;34;24;13

Way before I knew Joyce, she was living in New Orleans right after Hurricane Katrina, and she was working at this restaurant right near the track where Jazz Fest happens. She got out of work, and she just walked right in. So 2012, now we’re married. She calls me at work. Mark, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are headlining Jazz Fest this year.

00;34;24;15 – 00;34;50;16

The Wrecking Ball album had just come out. I’m like, buy some plane tickets, we’re going to New Orleans. So we go to New Orleans. We’ve got friends there. We’re sitting at Louise’s by the track eating red beans and rice. I ask her, did you buy tickets? She goes, no, it’s Jazz Fest. Don’t worry about it. I’m like, look, if we’re going to do this show, we might get divorced.

00;34;50;18 – 00;35;15;27

I mean, it’s important. Yeah, I was exaggerating, but I mean, it’s really I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that, like, I couldn’t just go buy the tickets myself, but I wasn’t thinking about that. And so she sort of breaks down later like minutes later, I don’t know, an hour later, goes down, buys tickets. 20 minutes later, for the first time in history, Jazz Fest sells out.

00;35;16;00 – 00;35;37;06

So eventually, you know, Jazz Fest comes around, we go to the show, it’s hot, it’s New Orleans, it’s June, it’s sweaty, it’s there’s no shade anywhere except for this one tree. And we’re sitting under this tree, and it’s 3:00 in the afternoon. And Bruce goes on at four, and doctor John’s playing, and I’m like, let’s go. We should start walking over to the stage.

00;35;37;08 – 00;36;01;03

Enjoys this like it’s Jazz Fest. Don’t worry about it. I’ve never been to Jazz Fest. I’m worried about it. I’m like, it’s like quarter after three. Can we just. I want to go see Doctor John. I’ve seen Doctor John, she says, but I haven’t. I say I want to see him. So it’s like 3:45. I start walking over there without all my people.

00;36;01;03 – 00;36;19;23

I don’t know, whatever. They’re just going to do what they’re going to do. They start to follow me. We get to the closest we can get, which is nowhere close. We’re going to have to watch the show on Jumbotrons, like from here to across the street outside the dentist. And that’s how far away we are. And I’m pissed.

00;36;19;25 – 00;36;41;03

I’m grumpy. I’m frustrated. I’m trying not to let it wreck my afternoon. I’m trying to be present and get ready for the show. But it’s hot outside and my hand is swelling up and my ring and my wedding ring is stuck on my finger. And I. It’s not like I want to take it off because. But my hand is hurt, my finger is hurting, it’s swelling and I’m starting to freak out.

00;36;41;03 – 00;37;02;06

And people are offering me ice. And this woman comes running over. Don’t put ice on it, she says. It’s going to make it worse. She pulls lotion out of her purse and she starts putting it on my finger, and she’s rubbing my finger, and she pulls my ring off and Bruce Springsteen walks out onto the stage. Thank God she gives me my ring back.

00;37;02;07 – 00;37;35;16

I put it in my pocket and it’s a party. Everyone’s dancing, everyone singing along. Strangers are kissing each other. Hugging. Everyone’s just. It’s a celebration and brings us through pain and heartache and sex and rock and roll and party and just so that you’re Clarence Clemons, the saxophone player and Bruce Springsteen’s best friend had died and Jake Clemons clearance his nephew had to fill in.

00;37;35;16 – 00;37;52;15

And during Born to Run, there’s a line. The change was made uptown and the big man joined the band. And at that moment, the show stops and a big slide show shows up selling vibrating clearances. Life.

00;37;52;17 – 00;38;12;23

He finishes the song and then he sings another song about the dead. If you’re here, they are here. If you’re here, they’re here. If you’re here, they’re here. We’re here together. It’s like a gospel revival.

00;38;12;25 – 00;38;40;28

So we walk out of the show and Joyce goes, I get it, I get it now. So we drive to Portland and see him there, and we get into the show. We’re close this time. We’re right up near the stage. And at that moment where the change was made up time and the big man joins the band like he stops the show again.

00;38;41;04 – 00;39;06;21

Except this time he has this long catwalk out into the audience, and he’s out on the catwalk and he turns around and he’s watching the show, you know, with us, the the slide show. And then this magical thing happens. He falls backwards off the stage into the crowd. The crowd catches him and he’s crowd surfing. I knew you were going to do that.

00;39;06;24 – 00;39;17;23

Crowd surfing across all of us. I got to grab his ass.

00;39;17;25 – 00;39;37;17

He gets up, back up onto the stage, and he’s, like, patting himself down like I did somebody steal my wallet? Ha ha. And he pulls out a phone out of his pocket and he’s surprised by it. Someone had shoved their phone into his pocket, and he takes a selfie and you’re like, throws it to the roadie. Roadie catches it and he goes, hey, if that was your phone.

00;39;37;18 – 00;40;01;06

Go get it after the show. Like, you don’t get that on a CD. You don’t get that streaming. You don’t get that on an album. You don’t get that you’ve been watching a video. That’s real connection. And I’m never going to get to see it again. Because his ticket prices are out of reach to readers. And then. And the plane fare because he’s not coming here.

00;40;01;08 – 00;40;34;16

So what I’m left with is gratitude that I got to see him so many times and experience that level of connection. So many times. And one of the things that he says during the show is, is anybody alive out there tonight? You tell me.

00;40;34;18 – 00;40;56;04

Thanks. Me! I am the founder and director of Tell Us Something and live with my wife Joyce, and our kitten Ziggy on Missoula’s North Side. Rounding out this episode at the Tell Us Something podcast. Can’t somebody get swept up in a windstorm while skydiving? Peer pressure in borrowed gear led to a harrowing experience in a story that she calls my Last Jump.

00;40;56;06 – 00;41;04;07

Thanks for listening.

00;41;04;09 – 00;41;33;15
Karna Sundby
There I was, hanging 1200 feet above the earth in gale force winds. And this is no shit. And that, my friends, is how a good skydiving story begins. It’s true. I was dangling from a parachute in the middle of a storm, being swept up the valley toward Snowbowl ski area. The next day’s Missoula in front page would read 59 mile an hour, winds wallop.

00;41;33;16 – 00;42;07;20

Western Montana skydiver lost up Grant Creek. It was August 15th, 1988. And what a great day it had been. It was a reunion of the silver Chip skydivers, which was a club at the University of Montana in the 60s and 70s. The party was happening at Grant Creek, in a meadow equipped with barbecues, kegs and a Cessna 180 that was taking off and landing all day to give these old skydivers the chance for another free fall together.

00;42;07;22 – 00;42;32;22

Although I had made well over 300 jumps with this club, I had no intention of making a skydive today. It had been ten years and I had never flown one of these fancy square parachutes that everyone was now using. And the ripcord wasn’t here anymore. It was down here someplace. And the parachute. Did you, just in case of a malfunction, wasn’t here where you could see it was behind you someplace.

00;42;32;24 – 00;42;58;15

So, no, everything was so different, and I was not going to jump. And then my friends started saying, come on, it’s going to be so much fun. Come on. The sunset is going to be so pretty from up there. So with that little bit of peer pressure, I changed my mind and was soon donning borrowed gear. I was wearing somebody else’s jumpsuit that was too big, somebody else’s rig that wasn’t comfortable.

00;42;58;18 – 00;43;22;07

Somebody else’s soft leather helmet. Unlike the hard motorcyle type helmet that I was accustomed to my own gear I had given away ten years earlier, and I loved it. Every time I looked up at that and saw that beautiful white and blue parachute, I felt like I was with an old friend who had safely landed me in so many different drop zones.

00;43;22;09 – 00;43;50;14
Karna Sundby
We had jumped into the oval at the University, into fireworks stands over the 4th of July, into weddings and rodeos and football games. I loved it. But this gear was so unfamiliar, and it had been so long that I said to the three guys I was with and this jump today, I’m going to dump high, which meant I’m going to pull my ripcord earlier than you pull yours.

00;43;50;16 – 00;44;15;09

Maybe 1000ft earlier so that I have a longer parachute. Right? So that in the unlikely event that I have a malfunction, I have more time to deal with it. So we were climbing into the plane, and my buddy Andy ran up with a hard helmet and said, wear this instead. It’ll be safer. So I swapped the soft leather one off my head for the harder, safer pair helmet.

00;44;15;12 – 00;44;37;29

And little did I know how grateful I would later be for this kind gesture. We took off and the plan was to go up to 8000ft for a 32nd freefall, but at 5000ft, the tower from the Missoula airport called us and said, if you’re going to go, you better go right now, there’s a big storm rolling in. So we looked out the open door, the airplane.

00;44;38;00 – 00;44;49;18

We could see these huge black clouds on the horizon. So we jumped.

00;44;49;20 – 00;45;14;19

It was incredible to be in freefall again. I had forgotten how much I loved this, and we were doing relative work, which meant we were flying together, holding hands, making a circle that was falling through the sky. Epic. Our parachutes all opened successfully and I was having so much fun flying this smaller, faster chute called a pair a plane.

00;45;14;21 – 00;45;33;01

I took the goggles off my eyes and clipped them on top of my helmet so I could feel the breeze in my face. I looked down and I could see the other three guys lower than me, getting ready to make perfect landings in the meadow. And my approach was all set up. I was going to have a great landing as well.

00;45;33;03 – 00;45;58;05

When suddenly I was moving backwards. Now this parachute had 32 miles an hour forward speed and I was being blown backwards. And then suddenly I was being buffeted around by this heavy, heavy winds. I looked down at the ground. I looked at my altimeter and saw I had gone up a couple hundred feet, which just doesn’t happen with this kind of parachute.

00;45;58;08 – 00;46;20;08

I realized that I was in the middle of this horrific storm, suspended from a few sheets of ripstop nylon. It’s funny how there’s not fear, how logic kicks in when you’re making decisions that may possibly save your life.

00;46;20;10 – 00;46;46;15

My first thought was maybe I’m caught in winds aloft. So I cranked a toggle, a steering line hard to make the parachute spiral down fast to get out of such winds. But no, I was still being blown backwards. So my second thought was, where can I possibly land? In those days, at the base of Grant Creek, there were just a few neighborhoods, and then it was forest all the way up to Snowbowl.

00;46;46;17 – 00;47;13;00

So I looked over my shoulder and in the forest I could see three homes with pretty big yards. And I thought, well, maybe I’ll land in one of those yards. And then I thought, no, they’re probably surrounded by electrical wires. I’ve never flown this parachute. It’s just too dangerous. So way up there. I had seen a clearing closer to Snowbowl, and I decided to turn and run with the wind and see if I could make it to the clearing.

00;47;13;02 – 00;47;31;10

Now you know that my parachute had 32 miles an hour forward speed. And you know that the winds had been clocked at 59 miles an hour. So you can do the math. I was screaming up that valley.

00;47;31;12 – 00;47;55;17

I didn’t make it to the clearing about 25ft above treetop level. I turned back into the wind because it would be better to land going 30 miles an hour backwards than to downwind it forward at 90 miles an hour. Fortunately, I remembered the tree landing protocol I had learned when I trained with the Silverton skydivers back in 1970.

00;47;55;20 – 00;48;20;19

You cross your legs like this and your arms like this, because one of the many bad outcomes of this situation was that I could land on top of a dead lodgepole pine. Skewered through some vulnerable body part and bleed to death.

00;48;20;22 – 00;48;36;26

But no. I was crashing through the lodgepole pines, branches, debris, twigs going everywhere. And I remember thinking, damn, I wish I was still wearing my goggles.

00;48;36;28 – 00;49;10;01

I thundered in and landed hard on the ground feet, but head hard enough to crack my pelvis. And without that helmet, I wonder if I would have cracked my skull. The wind was so intense that my parachute was still inflated and it was dragging me through the trees. And I reached up and started pulling the harness down. And then the harness is connected to the parachute by shroud lines, and I’m pulling the shroud lines down, trying, trying and trying to collapse the parachute.

00;49;10;03 – 00;49;36;25

Finally I got it deflated and I scooted back and laid on top of it so it wouldn’t re inflate. Eventually the wind subsided. I tried to stand up and that’s when I knew my leg was broken. So there’s nothing I could do but wait. As dusk approached, I try not to think of lions and wolves and bears on my.

00;49;36;27 – 00;49;48;00

And with a little prayer in my heart that went something like. What if you get me out of this one, I promise never again.

00;49;48;03 – 00;50;13;23

Meanwhile, back at the party, that storm hit hard and fast and was being blown all over the place. And my friends are me being blown away. So they jumped into their vehicles and raced up the road to rescue me. Now, in one of those three homes I had seen from the air, a family was was gathered out on their front porch watching this spectacular storm.

00;50;13;25 – 00;50;19;24

And they saw me fly by.

00;50;19;27 – 00;50;49;05

And then a little bit later, they saw my friends drive by. So they started shouting. He went that way. Lucky me. At least they would be looking on the correct side of the road. It was probably over an hour before they found me. And all I can say is thank God for shark. And when they did phone me, they showed me this big branch that I had apparently broken off a tree which had apparently broken my leg.

00;50;49;08 – 00;50;57;28

I call it a limb for a limb situation.

00;50;58;00 – 00;51;24;17

They firemen carried me out of the forest and drove me to the emergency room at Saint Pat’s Hospital. And, I didn’t know if the medical insurance I had at my job would cover a skydiving injury. So I told them that I’d been playing Frisbee.

00;51;24;20 – 00;51;29;29

And ran into a bench.

00;51;30;02 – 00;51;56;10

I also didn’t know that search and rescue had been called out to locate me. So you can imagine my surprise when this burly sheriff’s deputy comes walking into the exam room. So broke your leg, she said. I nodded. And you were up Grand Creek, were you? I said and you were playing Frisbee were you? And you ran into a bench did you.

00;51;56;13 – 00;52;01;13

Low flying bench. She asked.

00;52;01;15 – 00;52;09;23

And that’s no shit.

00;52;09;25 – 00;52;32;23
Marc Moss
Thanks. Karna. Karna Sundby has always been on her own unique uncharted past. Her curiosity and spiritual quest has taken her to places that most people would find bizarre, wondrous or enlightening, depending on their personal life experience. The one word they would never use to describe Kanha is boring. Karna’s gift and curse is being fearless. Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast.

00;52;32;25 – 00;52;47;01
Marc Moss
Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is January 13th. The theme is hold my beer. Learn how to pitch your story and get tickets at Tell Us something.org. Tune in next week to hear the concluding stories from the Never Again live storytelling event.

00;52;47;03 – 00;53;14;06
Jesse Ballard
I distinctly thought about the doll house in the corner, the horse mural on the wall. And so when I started to wake up from that nighttime nap, I was really surprised to look around and see thorn branches instead of that childhood bedroom wall. The meadows are there. They’re up to our knees in color and riotous glory. It’s a misty day, so we aren’t hurt.

00;53;14;14 – 00;53;42;10
Betsy Funk
It’s cool. And the mist has made the flowers scream at us. It’s glorious. And I’m hiking with my dog. Thank goodness for the open mouth piece. Right? Yeah. So I’m throwing up everywhere, and all of a sudden, the crowd of kids just falls completely silent.

00;53;42;12 – 00;53;48;17
Sydney Lang
And a kid goes, hey, that’s my grandma’s costume that you’re throwing up in.

00;53;48;19 – 00;53;59;28
Marc Moss
Listen, for those stories at tell us something Short or wherever you get your podcasts.

00;00;10;01 – 00;00;35;00
Marc Moss
Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. Tell Us Something is a nonprofit that helps people share their true personal stories around a theme. Live in person and without notes. I’m Mark Moss, your host and executive director of Tell Us Something. Have you ever felt that tug towards a place, a memory, or maybe even a person? That feeling of going home, that feeling of going home isn’t just about a physical location.

It’s about belonging and connection. It’s about finding that piece of yourself that’s been missing. On this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. We explore all the different ways we come home to ourselves and the world around us. We’ll hear stories of journeys, of second chances, of rediscovering what truly matters. So buckle up and get comfy. Join us as we embark on these heartfelt adventures.

This episode of the podcast was recorded in front of a live audience at the Glacier Ice Rink and Pavilion on June 11th, 2024, as part of the Missoula Pride celebration. Eight storytellers shared their true personal stories on the theme Going Home.

00;01;19;02 – 00;01;30;05
Michelle Reilly
It was like looking through the most beautiful kaleidoscope I had ever looked through all these vibrant colors and shapes and patterns of fractals and wonder.

00;01;30;05 – 00;01;48;03
Adel Ben Bacha
As she answers the phone, she softly says hello. And then silence. That silence felt like forever. But she breaks that silence with a delicate sob.

00;01;48;03 – 00;01;59;15
Zeke Cork
I didn’t know what it meant, but I couldn’t shake it. I thought maybe it was about my family, so I try to write about it, but there was always something missing. It stayed with me for years.

00;01;59;15 – 00;02;06;01
Ashley Brittner Wells
The coolest thing you could do in town was go to the games. And I desperately wanted to be cool, so I went.

00;02;06;01 – 00;02;37;00
Marc Moss
That’s coming up. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next tell us something storytelling event. The theme is Never Again. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call (406) 203-4683. You have three minutes to leave your pitch. The pitch deadline is August 9th. I look forward to hearing from you. We’re also looking for volunteers to help with the event.

If you love Tell Us Something and you love helping out, visit. Tell us something. Morgan. Volunteer to learn more and to sign up.

We were gathered at the Missoula County Fairgrounds in the heart of Montana amidst the vibrant energy of early June. As we remembered that we took a moment to acknowledge the traditional stewards of this land. We stand on the ancestral homelands of the Salish and Kalispell, people who for countless generations have nurtured and cared for this place. The place of the small bull trout.

Their deep connection to this land is woven into the very fabric of this valley. We honor their resilience, their knowledge of the natural world, and their enduring presence here. Acknowledgment alone is not enough. Let’s also commit to taking action ways that you can do this if you live in Missoula, or to learn more about the native tribes who still inhabit this land.

You can visit the Salish Kootenay College or the Missoula Children’s Museum to deepen your understanding of the Salish and Kalispell cultures. You can visit the Missoula Art Museum, where the exhibit We Stand with you. Contemporary artists. Honor the families of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous relative crisis runs through September 7th, 2024. You can support cultural events hosted by local tribes and explore opportunities to volunteer with their initiatives.

We can always be looking for opportunities to incorporate indigenous knowledge and practices into our everyday lives, whether it’s sustainable land management or traditional food systems. We can commit to moving beyond mere words and work towards building a more respectful and inclusive future. Honoring the legacy of the Salish and the Kalispell people on whose land we stand.

Remember this. Tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language.

We ate. Tell us something. Recognize the privilege inherent in our platform and while we love sharing a variety of voices, it’s important to amplify marginalized voices. That’s why during the event on June 11th, I stepped back and passed the mic to our friends from Missoula Pride. Devin Carpenter, who shared his story at last year’s event, and Kiara Rivera from the center, performed the honors of seeing the evening’s event.

On the podcast, you’ll hear them giving the bios for the storytellers.

Michelle Riley finds herself homeless in 10th grade in a challenge that begins a lifetime of challenges after earning a PhD. Despite her alcohol use disorder, she struggles to overcome addiction and finds unexpected hope. In an online ad, sensitive listeners, please note that Michelle’s story contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, which may be distressing for some listeners. Please take care of yourselves.

Michelle calls her story heroic measures. Thanks for listening.

00;05;41;05 – 00;06;29;18
Michelle Reilly

I found myself homeless for the first time when I was in 10th grade. My sisters and I came home from school and our father’s truck was parked there. But our father was never home this time of day. So we walked inside. Hello. Hello. No answer. We walked up the stairs and the door to my parent’s bedroom was cracked, so we pushed it open and my father was there, kneeling at the foot of his bed with all of his guns, a row of guns laid out neatly on his bed.

My mom was gone. She left. See, I grew up in a small town in rural Appalachia, and my parents were young parents. My mother had three daughters by the time she was 21. So I guess by 35, she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. And home became not so homey anymore. I started sleeping at friends houses or sleeping in my car.

Sometimes I didn’t sleep at all because by 11th grade I was working 3 or 4 jobs. I’d rotate between two afterschool jobs, and then I’d go to work third shift at a diner. And diners in Appalachia weren’t the most wholesome place for a 16 year old girl to be. So I dealt with far too many sexual propositions from older men.

There. I’d get off at 6 or 7. I’d go to school, shower in the locker room, and then I’d sleep either in homeroom or in my car. And I don’t remember thinking about these things. It was like I was just on autopilot doing them. After high school, I started undergrad with the same unwavering autopilot and schedule. I was working 5 or 6 jobs and taking 18 to 21 credits a semester.

And I was introduced to the underground rave scene in Pittsburgh and started experimenting with party drugs. I was also drinking a lot during this time and sleeping even less. I’d started drinking at a young age after my mom left, and I was given a fake ID, but I lived in a small town, so I’d frequently run into friends of my father’s at dive bars, but they knew his mental state after my mom left, so either they never told him or if they did, he was too depressed to say anything to me.

After undergrad, I moved to Reno and started living out of my car again. And then at 27, I applied to grad school and earned a master’s of science from Johns Hopkins University. And then I was offered a research position. So I moved to Flagstaff and earned my PhD and four years.

Underneath the accomplishments and overcome struggles. I was completely empty and numb, still completely out of touch with any emotions and just doing doing all the things that I know needed to get done. Doing all the things I needed to do without feeling anything. And during this time, I was still drinking a lot like a fifth whiskey a night was not uncommon.

I was still over performing at work, exceeding expectations and producing high quality products. But my behavior was erratic and my emotions were frequently uncontrolled outbursts of sobbing or rage. And I felt that uncontrollable spiraling. It’s like I was in a dark box and there wasn’t a top or bottom, and there wasn’t a way out of this box because the box was everything.

It’s like those car compactors at scrap yards. The force and pressure needed to smash a car into this tiny package of metal. That force and pressure is what it felt like all around me, all of the time in this torque box. And I couldn’t climb out of this box because the darkness was everything.

It was so isolating and I felt so alone. I became completely dysregulated and at times suicidal and really lost hope.

One day I was scrolling through Instagram and I felt an emotion, a glimmer of hope, a tiny seed deep down that I barely felt safe acknowledging. I filled out an online form for a clinical trial titled Psilocybin Treatment for Major Depressive Disorder with Co-occurring Alcohol Use Disorder.

Fast forward several long months of getting physicals, providing psychological examinations, getting bloodwork and providing a detailed drinking history. And I was told I was accepted into this trial. I started meeting twice a week with my guides, a licensed social worker and a psychologist. And there wasn’t a single meeting that I didn’t cry at, just endless tears streaming down my face.

But hopelessness was still. I felt.

On September 18th, I walked into the Johns Hopkins Center for Psychedelic and Behavioral Research for my last Credos interview, and I was asked a series of questions on a scale of 0 to 10, how important is it for you to change your drinking right now? Ten? On a scale of 0 to 10, how confident are you that you can change your drinking right now?

At this point in my life, I felt like I had drank more days. I’d been alive than not drank, so my confidence was pretty low. I think I gave the question a 3 or 4. More evaluations and discussions and meditating. And then I was handed a wooden chalice and I put on a blood pressure monitor. I shades and headphones and I waited.

And if you’re familiar with psychedelics, the dose I was given was a high dose. It’s what they call a heroic dose.

The music began to entice and overwhelm me, and I was being pulled by curiosity into a world completely unfamiliar to me. Although I had a fair share of experience with party drugs, I had no experience with psychedelics.

I began to see so many fantastical things and found myself invited deeper and deeper into my internal psyche. So many interesting patterns and curiosities and a feeling of weightlessness.

It was like looking through the most beautiful kaleidoscope I had ever looked through, all these vibrant colors and shapes and patterns of fractals and wonder.

The texture of the music became the vibrant colors, and I could feel all these colors and patterns in a very intense way. The kaleidoscope became five dimensional and the universe became five dimensional. And I was a part of that.

I could feel so much depth and breadth and heights, but also time both forward and backwards and resonance. And every cell in my body was suddenly alive and vibrating with the resonance of these mutating colors and the kaleidoscope. My body became warm and endless without boundary, and I felt so much openness, like an untethered ring. Like the layers just being pulled off of me.

All that crushing heaviness. That only thing that I had felt for so long was being pulled out of me and lifted off of me and replaced with this beautiful radiance. And this warm, golden light was being poured into me and filling me and spilling out around me into this beautiful reflective pool. At some point, I don’t know the timeline, but I felt as though I was being embraced by the universe, and I felt a presence.

And I felt this presence tell me or show me that I was not alone, that I was being held, always held, and that I was loved. And I saw darkness from my past in a new light. But I felt safe there, and I felt as though I was not alone. But I was being guided through this darkness and fear was replaced with curiosity.

I explored unending time and a continuum of life, and I felt more at home than I had ever felt in my entire life. The details of the experience are inexplicable, as often is said about life changing psychedelic experiences. It was ineffable. I had one other treatment three months after my first, and I have not had the urge to numb reality through drinking since my first session.

I still carry with me that peace and comfort I felt during my first session, and I’m learning a new sense of self filled with generosity and acceptance. And I’m so grateful that I found my way home to my self-worth.

00;16;36;03 – 00;16;52;04
Devin Carpenter
Michelle Reilly is a wilderness specialist and wildlife ecologist who has lived in Missoula for 8 years. She is a wildcrafter, avid backpacker, and devoted mother. If she isn’t deep in the mountains or paddling the rivers, you can find her in her yard tending her gourmet mushroom gardens. She also runs a Missoula Ladies’ Dinner Club and enjoys entertaining in her backyard. Sensitive listeners, please note that Michelle’s story contains mentions of suicidal thoughts and the her father contemplating suicide, which may be distressing for some listeners. Please take care of yourselves. Alright, please welcome Michelle Reilly.

00;16;52;10 – 00;17;06;17
Marc Moss
Up next Adele Ben Boccia shares a vivid tale of family nostalgia and a life changing phone call that redefines the meaning of home. Adele calls her story plus 206. Thanks for listening.

00;17;06;17 – 00;17;35;07
Adel Ben Bacha
Hello, everyone. Before I tell you my story, I would like for all of you to close your eyes, at least for one part, because I want this to be a shared experience. So my story takes us back. Eight years ago in France, in the little city of my family and I are all gathered for a Thursday dinner, as my mom loves to make them.

Everyone understands what she has prepared for dinner. It’s everyone’s favorite meal, a delicious couscous that looks like perfection. So she’s in the kitchen. We are all in the living room. We are a big family of eight people, and I’m the youngest in the living room. You can hear the loud voices, some jokes being thrown at people, and very loud and heavy arguments.

So she’s in the kitchen. The dish is getting ready, and as she brings the plate in the living room, everyone just stops. They’re astonished by this red vivid color. This color comes from the spices she puts in it. The tomato sauce, the harissa. Very spicy that day. By the way. And everyone dies in. Everyone stops. And the room is filled with the sound of clinking spoons.

And so I try a very timid. Bon appétit that can be heard. Have you ever felt that ignored. If not, that hurts a lot. So everyone dives in and eats peacefully. The noise is getting louder as it was before, but suddenly the phone rings. My mum rushes through the phone to the phone and I see her eyes widening, and as they get bigger, we all see this number.

This number was longer than usual on the phone and we could all see the country code. And I remember vividly the numbers two, one, six. Answering that phone took her instantaneously back to her childhood until she was 17. As she answers the phone, she softly says hello. And then silence. That silence felt like forever. But she breaks that silence where they delicate sob.

Me and my siblings look at each other and we understand what happened. And something very bad happened. After a sleepless night, my mom boards us on the first plane. She finds to Tunisia the place where she was born. As the plane lands, her head is still up in the clouds. She walks through the airport and all she sees is just lifeless figures walking around the airport.

She goes out of the airport. And then she hops into the first taxi, and she is starting to get prepared to her two hour drive to take her to her hometown, a small village now become a city called Dubai. As she is on her way, she looks through the window and she notices that a lot of things have changed.

The palm trees are higher, the buildings too, and the traffic is heavier, making the journey even longer. She finally gets there, knocks at the door and suddenly the memories in her head start rushing as well as if it was a race. Each memory wanted to be the one, the one to be remembered. The first thing she would tell her sister.

But eventually none of them won. The door opens and my mom sees her sister. Red eyes still filled with water, without a word. She is welcomed with a heartfelt hug and welcoming eyes filled with filled with sympathy. Without saying anything, she follows her sister in a very dark room, and you can tell that the room was very dark, because the only light you could see was the swaying of the curtains through the rare breeze.

And then she enters and she sees the lifeless body on a mattress. As she sees it. She can’t help it but rush to the body. She holds her and hugs her tightly and kisses her repeatedly. On me. On me. Meaning mom in Arabic. I’m here now. You’re safe. After saying that, the only thing we could see is a tear that has been shed on my grandmother’s cheek.

One of her siblings goes to the body and closes the eyes, and you may now open yours. The reason why I chose this story is because, like my mom and the youngest of the family of eight, and I’ve always felt that it was hard to find my voice and to step up for my ideas. Because when you’re young and you have a lot of big brothers that would tell you what to think because you’re too young, you don’t know anything.

You’re naive. But now, thinking back, I think that this story shaped me in a way because I didn’t want to feel the regret and guilt that my mother felt of not being there enough for her own mom. So when I was about 18, I already knew that I wanted to be a teacher, and I’ve always made a promise to myself.

I said that whenever I get my first job as a teacher, I will buy a house and make sure that my mom is safe with my dad and that they left the small apartment we have been living all our life. So that’s what I did and I thought that would help them. But as I was growing older, I was getting, harder and harder on my siblings.

As I was repeating the process, I had been I had been living before, and now I’m thinking back, and I was hard on them because my mom wishes they called her more and visit more because she was expressing her own grief as if life could stop at any moment. So I get into a lot of arguments with my siblings, telling them that they should call mom more often because you never know what can happen.

But now I understand why I felt that. And most of all, why I shouldn’t feel like that. Because today we’re here to talk about home. And my vision of home changed. My siblings didn’t call my parents that often because they now have a family husband, wife, children. So this is now their home. But it doesn’t mean that they love my mom any less.

So what I do today to avoid that happening again is calling my mom anytime I can. And being here now. Far away from home. Only for a month. Still, I make sure that I call my mom every day because I have understood something very important. We tend to think of home as a building, something that has been built, something that protects you from the outside.

A geographical space. But I have now understood that a home is actually not a geographical place. It could be a spiritual place. So now when I call her, I always make sure that even if we don’t have much to say every day, that I get to hear every detail of her day. This way, when it’s my time to go home, I don’t feel like she felt the buildings getting higher and the trees higher to thank you.

00;25;44;02 – 00;25;54;09
Kera Rivera
Adel Ben Bacha is a 29 year-old French English teacher in Dijon, France. You must have heard of the mustard! He teaches in highschool, university and for masters’ programs, among other activities . He loves meeting new people, traveling and discovering new cultures, going out with friends and family.

00;25;54;09 – 00;26;01;02
Marc Moss
We’ll be right back after this short break. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast.

00;26;01;02 – 00;26;12;14
Zeke Cork
I didn’t know what it meant, but I couldn’t shake it. I thought maybe it was about my family, so I try to write about it, but there was always something missing. It stayed with me for years.

00;26;12;14 – 00;26;18;28
Ashley Brittner Wells
The coolest thing you could do in town was go to the games. And I desperately wanted to be cool, so I went.

00;26;18;28 – 00;26;22;10
Marc Moss
That’s after the break. Stay tuned.

Thank you to our story sponsor, the Good Food Store, helping us to pay our storytellers. Learn more at Good Food store.com. Thanks to Golden Yolk Griddle, who also showed up as a story sponsor. Learn more about them at Golden Yolk griddle.com. Thank you to our accessibility sponsor, Parkside Credit Union, allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event.

In order to be a more inclusive experience, learn about them at Parkside fcu.com. Thanks to our artist sponsor Bernice’s Bakery, who paid our poster artist. I learned about them and their delicious baked goods at Bernice’s Bakery mty.com. Thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula Events, Dot net, the Art attic, The Trail Less Traveled, and Missoula Broadcasting Company including the family of ESPN radio.

The trail 133, Jack FM and Missoula. Source for modern hits you 104.5. Thanks to our in-kind sponsors. Float. Missoula. Learn more at float msl.com and choice of tile. Learn about Joyce at Joyce of tile.com. Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Denison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683.

Tickets are available right now at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter. In order to be informed about all of our events. Welcome back. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m your host, Mark Moss.

In our next story, Zeke Cork returns to Missoula after many failed escapes to face his demons, find love and embrace his true self. Sensitive listeners, please note that Zeke’s story contains a mention of a suicide attempt, which may be distressing for some listeners. Please take care of yourselves. Zeke calls his story. Ezekiel cried. Thanks for listening.

00;28;25;09 – 00;28;39;09
Zeke Cork
Speaking. Got a short king? Yeah, sure. King on the premises? Yeah.

Thank you, Devon. And thank you, everybody, for coming.

After trying to be someone else anywhere else, I came back to Missoula. This town owns me. No matter how many times I try to run from here, it would find me and call me back and was never kicking or screaming that I’d return. It was more like tail tucked between my legs, begging for forgiveness with a promise to be better.

See, I grew up here. My handprints are in concrete. My footprints cast in the local trails. My tire tracks on the gravel roads. I went to Paxson and Roosevelt, then Hellgate High School. All my first year here. My first communion. My first kiss. My first awkward mechanics was sex. My first love, and my first heartbreak. I left my first boyfriend, who I wanted to be more than I desired, for a girl who had dumped me in the pig barn right here at the county fair.

So surrounded by the smells of shit and cotton candy. I stumbled through the sounds of the midway games and the blinking lights, where I ran into friends who tell me it was going to be okay. And then I made a girl underneath the Ferris wheel who I watched devour of candied apple with a passion I could only envy.

And I swear, she rolled her eyes at me, seeing the pathetic loser I was instead of the swaggering, give a shit start, I tried to present. Now my parents, they were educators, active members of the Democratic Party in Saint Anthony’s parish, and they pushed me to become anything that I could imagine, at least until their marriage failed. When I was a teenager.

And trust me, it needed to end. But I lost my way. I didn’t know who to be without them showing me. I think maybe later, when we’re adults ourselves, we figure out that our parents were just people trying to find their own way. But I followed my father to Portland. I blamed my aimlessness on him, and I wanted him to fix it.

I was a disaster. My once perfect father was consumed with finding his own last year, and he was really nothing more than Peter Pan chasing after his shadow. So I came back to Missoula, trying to find the promise that others had seen in me. I enrolled at the university. I was pretty focused for a while until I fell in love with that girl I’d met underneath the Ferris wheel, so I’d follow her to Chicago and then Seattle.

But she’d become this plank for me to cling onto, and an ocean of confusion and grief. That was a lot to expect of someone who was just trying to make it to shore themselves. So I packed up my books and my records, and I drove back to Missoula again. But there’s something that happens for me every time I enter this valley from any direction.

When it opens up and the neighborhoods pop into view, and whatever season it’s in presents itself in all its glory, like the royal robes of fall lilacs in the spring, the ice choked rivers in the winter, and the brown hills of late summer. And I just let out this long breath I’ve been holding. And I know, I know that I’m home.

But I can never sustain that comfort. I could only see my reflections in shards, slivers of broken glass. I couldn’t name the ways I was fractured. I only knew that I was. So I took up drinking as a hobby. And there was lots of what Beyoncé calls those red cup kisses when I’d meet a girl, and then another, and then another, hoping they’d be the one that would fix me.

But they were just crooked. Rusty nails tried to hold it together themselves, and we all kind of wanted the same thing, but the weight of it was too much for anyone to hold. And one night I had a dream about the prophet Ezekiel, the one in the desert who commands the bones to rise up out of the sand.

The one in that old song. That old gospel song. Ezekiel cried. Them bones, them bones, the ankle bone connected to the knee bone. Yeah. That guy. I didn’t know what it meant, but I couldn’t shake it. I thought maybe it was about my family. So I try to write about it, but there was always something missing. It stayed with me for years, and I’d say, what is it?

Why does this haunt me? And then one late night in August, after one month of sobriety, I wandered out to the shed that belonged to the woman I was seeing at the time. And I took her shotgun with me, and I tore that place apart looking for shells. All I found was an empty box. But still I put the barrel of that thing in my mouth and I squeeze the trigger, hoping there was one in the chamber.

Well, I’m here today because there wasn’t. But the next morning I checked myself into rehab. Next month I’ll be 34 years sober.

But back then, I had to just try to make it through each day. So I stayed to myself, went to work, read, listen to music, played video games, and watched a lot of movies. But then I’d made a girl and she was cautious but intrigued. And I wasn’t a good catch. But she was beautiful, smart and strong. So we took it slow, and eventually I’d convince her to run away with me, and we moved to Seattle.

We came back to Missoula, and then we’d move to Texas, California and Alaska. Every time things got rough, we’d move. All we needed was a change of scenery. We even got married, and that meant something. Maybe that would be the thing that would save us. Where we strong enough to move back home, settle down in our family and friends again.

We’ve had so. But it was actually the opposite. It was the safest place to just let it end. See, the skeletons live here, and we’d return to the place where they’d dwell. And I still despise that broken person in the mirror. And I’d been asking someone else to love them without hesitation. Without question. Unconditionally. What a huge ask.

So, for the first time in a very long time, I was on my own and I stood on the top of Mount Sentinel, staring down at my hometown, listening to Josh Reynolds homecoming, humming along in the crisp column air. And I let the pastoral rolling. It was there that I understood what the dream she had left her countless times as a lost girl, someone’s daughter, sister, a wife, only to return to become something akin to the prodigal son.

And it probably would have been a lot easier for me to become myself in a place where no one knew my story. But instead, I asked people who had known me most of their lives to call me by a new name and address me as the man I’d always been, but repeatedly denied. And what I got in return was my family and friends wrapping their arms around me and saying, yes, this makes sense.

My ex-wife gave me my first testosterone shot and she’s my closest friend. Then I’d meet someone new. Yeah, I know, here we go again. But we’d both sworn off relationships. But that crackle and hum like power lines was pretty hard to resist. So she chose to move across the world and give me and my town a try. She liked us.

We got married in a ghost town not too far from here, and we’re trying something different. We’re helping each other unpack the baggage instead of helping and making each other lugging around. So far, so good. And I’m no longer a stranger in a strange land. I finally live in a body that I’m not at war with. And the mirror.

The mirror is now a full reflection of someone I recognize. Someone I know. I look at my perfect haircut from Compass Barbershop, who has been with me through the whole thing.

And I’ll run a razor down my neckline. And I’ll watch my shoulders broaden and my hips narrow. And I see my parents, both of them looking back at me. My mother, who’s 84, is still alive and well, and my father has passed, but both of them staring back at their son, proud of the man he’s becoming. And I have a tattoo on my chest, a line I borrowed from Florence Welch that says, I’ll show you what it means to be spared.

I landed in a safe space. Nestled between these foothills and held by this community. The place where Ezekiel Zeke rose out of a desert of despair and became home. And for me, this is what it means to be home.

00;38;37;04 – 00;38;43;13
Devin Carpenter
He lives in Missoula with his wife and two rescue mutts. He loves tacos and trucker hats.

00;38;43;13 – 00;39;05;10
Marc Moss
Wrapping up this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. Ashley Britton or Wells is a self-described tomboy in the 1980s who finds courage in the Montana Lady Griz games. It took years to find her own place in the sands and be the inspiration for girls who are like she was then. Ashley calls her story made in Montana. Thanks for listening.

00;39;05;10 – 00;39;52;13
Ashley Brittner Wells
I’m sitting on the burnt orange carpet of my bedroom for new kids on the block, blasting from a tape deck in the background. Staring back at me from my bookshelves. Kristy’s great idea. Every Garth Brooks cassette tape known to humankind. And the eyes of 1 million porcelain dolls. I’m staring at my 1993 1994 Montana Lady Griz basketball team poster.

The shit is iconic. 15 players pose in their high school leather jackets on the University of Montana campus in front of their lockers. T’s blond perms, proofs of curly bangs scrunched at the front one with a feather in her hair. The team is historic. The tag line is made in Montana because that year all the players were from our states, and I would stare at it because it was a signal to me and my friends what Montana girls like us could grow up to be.

One day. I’m all Montana, too. I was born in the mid 80s and raised in East Missoula. And did I mention that I loved the Lady Grizz? I went to all their games. I went to their summer camps in the summer, and I tried to figure out which player I wanted to be. Their home turf, Delbert Arenas, nestled up against the base of Mount Sentinel on the University of Montana campus.

Our games I would run one hand along the brown, snaking metal railing that surrounds the court, balancing a piping hot personal pan pizza, on the other hand, slide my butt along the tanned plastic bleacher seating and get ready to be pumped at the opening chords of Pop Up the Jam. I would scream, and the players ran out to raucous applause from a full house decked out in copper and gold.

The games were the coolest thing you could do in town, and it was like my posters had come to life. The players were like my celebrities Shannon Cates, Skylar Cisco, Malia Kapp. The coolest thing you could do in town was go to the games. And I desperately wanted to be cool. So I went. I have always been trying to figure out who I am in a world that doesn’t totally feel like I belong in it.

I was bigger and louder than the other kids. I tried to do all the things the boys did. I struggled to fit in pretty much anywhere you put me. I was what we referred to in the 90s as a tomboy. I didn’t know which new kid on the block I had a crush on, but I knew that I had a crush on their rat tail haircuts.

So I got one of those with my mom in tow. The hair stylist twisted my thick blond ponytail into a giant hair tie at the base of my neck and cut the whole thing off. Save the rat tail, my mom cried. She still has that ponytail tucked away in a Ziploc bag in her floral hope chest. I sometimes think it’s the last remnant of the daughter that she thought she was getting, but who?

I quickly put a stop to it. My friends and I loved my rat tail, and at the games we would strut around the arena checking people out, looking to be checked out. the crowds back then and to this day are made up of everyday Missoula fans just like us. Families retire trees. Then there was the student section.

I thought the student section were so cool. They were in college, for example. They had they were sunglasses inside. They knew all the chants and cheers. T fans, lady Griz T fans. But there was this one couple that always stood out to me. One had hair short like mine and wore hoodies and baseball caps. The other had a tease perm, poofs of curly bangs and jeans, just like the players on my beloved poster.

But they weren’t just any other couple. They were queer. I would see them, and I would watch them as much as I would watch the games. I had never seen a couple like them in Missoula or anywhere else. I would climb to the highest corner of the arena and my second hand Nike’s, and I would watch them, and I would see them put their arms around each other’s shoulders, whisper in each other’s ears, cheer for the same players.

I cheered for. And I didn’t really know what I was seeing, but it felt really safe. It felt warm. It felt like coming home. It must have taken so much bravery for them to show up to those games 30 years ago to and be totally themselves. I don’t know what it was like to be queer in the early 90s in Missoula, except that I do, because I was I just didn’t know it yet.

Back then, it felt like people kept out of each other’s business in ways they just don’t anymore. And seeing this couple was really meaningful to me, because it made me feel like maybe someday who I was going to be wasn’t one of the players on the court. It was one of the people in the stands. When I was 24, I moved to Portland, Oregon and quickly realized why a couple like that would make me feel like I’d found myself.

You probably figured it out before I did. It wasn’t difficult to be a lesbian in Portland, Oregon. It didn’t feel like taking a chance, holding hands in public with Mal, who would become my wife. Once we went hiking up the Columbia River Gorge, and on the way home, we pulled over to stop and look at the river and as we got out of the car, I planted one on Mal’s face.

And in that moment, I noticed a man in iridescent sunglasses staring at us. Standing outside of his pickup truck. It was just the three of us out there and my breath caught in my throat. But then he gave me a smile and a wave and a thumbs up. And I thought maybe it was going to be okay, and maybe I could be queer anywhere, even in Missoula, Montana.

Shortly thereafter, we moved home. You can imagine how excited I was to take Mel to a Lady Grizz game. My mom was just as excited and bought us matching University of Montana hoodies just for the occasion. We loaded our arms up with personal pan pizzas, big bags of popcorn, fountain Diet Cokes as big as we could find, and took the back arena hallways to our seats.

Nowadays, those hallways are lined with posters from all of my beloved teams from the early 90s, and I showed them all the 9394 poster and told her about the team and the dirty ball contest at summer camp, where whoever had the dirtiest ball would win a prize. At the end of Lady Griz camp. So I would dribble the ball for hours in my driveway and practice layups and try to do whatever I could to prove how committed I was to the players.

I also told her about the couple, who, you know, I’ve always wondered who they were, where they ended up. All of these images came rushing back to me as I watched the current team on Robin solving court. A few months ago we attended the senior night game and the house was packed. There were families and the student section and packs of ten year old girls walking around the arena and matching sweatshirts shox a bright pink lipstick across their faces.

Seeing and being seen, listening to whatever it is I listen to now, it is. And this time I hesitated for my arm around my shoulders.

The Montana that I grew up in, and frankly, moved back to just a few short years ago has been replaced by a moral panic. Folks aren’t exactly keeping themselves out of our communities business anymore, but we must remain being seen. When you are true to yourself, you give others permission to be true to themselves, to.

It was our turn to demonstrate a little bit of bravery. Owing so much to that couple that I will never get to thank.

So I did, everybody. I put my arms around my shoulders.

Because she is my love. And those arena seats are my home where we get to be exactly who we are and who I always have been.

00;49;56;11 – 00;50;04;18
Kera Rivera
She is best known as Mel’s wife. she is a lifelong women’s sports fan.

00;50;06;26 – 00;50;20;03
Marc Moss
Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. This episode was recorded live in person as part of the opening events at Missoula Pride on June 11th, 2024 at the Glacier Ice Rink Pavilion.

Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Dennison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683. Tickets are available currently at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter.

In order to be informed about events and all things storytelling. Stream past episodes, learn more about upcoming events, and get tickets at Tell Us something.org.

00;00;10;01 – 00;00;35;00
Marc Moss
Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. Tell Us Something is a nonprofit that helps people share their true personal stories around a theme. Live in person and without notes. I’m Mark Moss, your host and executive director of Tell Us Something. Have you ever felt that tug towards a place, a memory, or maybe even a person? That feeling of going home, that feeling of going home isn’t just about a physical location.

It’s about belonging and connection. It’s about finding that piece of yourself that’s been missing. On this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. We explore all the different ways we come home to ourselves and the world around us. We’ll hear stories of journeys, of second chances, of rediscovering what truly matters. So buckle up and get comfy. Join us as we embark on these heartfelt adventures.

This episode of the podcast was recorded in front of a live audience at the Glacier Ice Rink and Pavilion on June 11th, 2024, as part of the Missoula Pride celebration. Eight storytellers shared their true personal stories on the theme Going Home.

00;01;19;02 – 00;01;33;03
Kiki Hubbard
A few days later, my mom called me to share a story. She said she had just been on the phone with my grandmother, and that she was terribly upset because apparently her cousin had called to ask how my father had enjoyed the bacon.

00;01;33;03 – 00;01;46;20
Adria Jwort
So you’re going to North Dakota after that. But where are you stopping at Salt Lake City? As soon as you get there, call me. Just, you know, he kept saying, call me, let me know you’re at. And I knew it was because of that club shooting.

00;01;46;20 – 00;02;10;29
Teri Wing
For seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding and actually I had my kids in hiding to, Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living, my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

00;02;10;29 – 00;02;26;13
Chloe Williams
So I loved Women on Hawthorn and in Portland for eight years. Yeah, there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

00;02;26;13 – 00;02;57;12
Marc Moss
That’s coming up. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next tell us something storytelling event. The theme is Never Again. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call (406) 203-4683. You have three minutes to leave your pitch. The pitch deadline is August 9th. I look forward to hearing from you. We’re also looking for volunteers to help with the event.

If you love Tell Us Something and you love helping out, visit. Tell us something. Morgan. Volunteer to learn more and to sign up.

We were gathered at the Missoula County Fairgrounds in the heart of Montana amidst the vibrant energy of early June. As we remembered that we took a moment to acknowledge the traditional stewards of this land. We stand on the ancestral homelands of the Salish and Kalispell, people who for countless generations have nurtured and cared for this place. The place of the small bull trout.

Their deep connection to this land is woven into the very fabric of this valley. We honor their resilience, their knowledge of the natural world, and their enduring presence here. Acknowledgment alone is not enough. Let’s also commit to taking action ways that you can do this if you live in Missoula, or to learn more about the native tribes who still inhabit this land.

You can visit the Salish Kootenay College or the Missoula Children’s Museum to deepen your understanding of the Salish and Kalispell cultures. You can visit the Missoula Art Museum, where the exhibit We Stand with you. Contemporary artists. Honor the families of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous relative crisis runs through September 7th, 2024. You can support cultural events hosted by local tribes and explore opportunities to volunteer with their initiatives.

We can always be looking for opportunities to incorporate indigenous knowledge and practices into our everyday lives, whether it’s sustainable land management or traditional food systems. We can commit to moving beyond mere words and work towards building a more respectful and inclusive future. Honoring the legacy of the Salish and the Kalispell people on whose land we stand.

Remember this. Tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language.

We ate. Tell us something. Recognize the privilege inherent in our platform and while we love sharing a variety of voices, it’s important to amplify marginalized voices. That’s why during the event on June 11th, I stepped back and passed the mic to our friends from Missoula Pride. Devin Carpenter, who shared his story at last year’s event, and Kiara Rivera from the center, performed the honors of seeing the evening’s event.

On the podcast, you’ll hear them giving the bios for the storytellers.

In her first story, Kiki Hubbard, her mother and her grandmother are on a plane returning back to the United States from former Yugoslavia. After a trip tracing their ancestry, the grandmother, a strong immigrant who fled war and violence, is frustrated because customs won’t let her bring bacon into the United States. Kiki calls her story what bacon? Thanks for listening.

00;05;57;15 – 00;06;16;18
Kiki Hubbard

I’m on an airplane home from Europe with my mother and grandmother. To my left is my grandma Francesca, who went by Frances, but whom my family affectionately called Momo. I know she’s next to me because I can sense her signature fidgeting.

Mama was a constant warrior. It was as if anxiety propelled her through life, which kept her busy, I suppose, because she was always knitting, gardening, cooking, doing. And she moved at a rapid pace regardless of what she was up to. For example, if you saw her doing her laps at the mall, you would quickly conclude that she was either racing someone or racing away from someone.

This is a woman who never became a U.S. citizen, despite being in the United States for over 50 years as an immigrant.

Because she was terrified of failing the exam. She was ashamed of making mistakes and having people learn about them. And I suppose at a deeper level, she was afraid of being told that she couldn’t stay in this country. Now standing no more than five feet tall, Momo was also one of the strongest people I have ever known. She chopped firewood with an ax well into her 80s. She would flip burning logs in the fireplace with her bare hands. After emigrating here, she chopped off half of her pointer finger while working in a bakery in Milwaukee. She simply wrapped her hand in a towel and kept working. It wasn’t until her supervisor caught wind of the situation that she was taken to the emergency room.

Now, sitting next to me, to my right on the airplane is my mom. My mom was born and raised in Austria when she emigrated here with her parents. She was forced to grow up faster than most nine-year-olds because she picked up the English language quicker than they did. She read the mail, scheduled appointments, and had to navigate the complex systems that came with living in a new country.

And while Austria is where my mom was born, my grandmother used to call former Yugoslavia her home, where she and my grandfather farmed and lived in community with a number of other ethnic Germans whose ancestors had emigrated to Yugoslavia and other countries along the Danube River more than 250 years before. In fact, the impetus for our trip to Austria, from which we were returning to on that airplane, was a research grant that I was awarded as a college undergraduate. I was provided some funding to travel to Austria to interview relatives I had never met before about my cultural heritage, and in particular, how my grandma landed in Austria in 1944 as a war refugee.

My grandmother survived a genocide event that rarely makes it into history books. She fought following the fall of Hitler at the end of World War Two. The communist leader in Yugoslavia, Tito, initiated a massive gradation of anyone with German ancestry. So even though my grandparents had never set foot in Germany, they had German roots, and all ethnic Germans were stripped of their citizenship and property rights and told they had to leave the country. Those who didn’t heed the warning were either faced with torture, death, or slave labor camps. My grandparents were among the lucky, if you can call them that, because they were given three days to leave their land. They packed up their prized possessions in a covered wagon, said goodbye to their farm, their livestock, their vineyard, their friends, and joined a procession of other ethnic Germans headed toward Austria. They were told the trip would take two weeks. In fact, it took a full month, and they survived off the kindness of strangers and off of a single smoked pig that they prepared before leaving Newcastle.

When they arrived in Austria, they had high hopes that they would be able to return to Yugoslavia. But when they started to hear from the survivors there, they learned that there was no home to return to. Their land had been given away to members of the army. This dispossession of land would haunt my grandfather in particular for decades. I remember him as a despondent man whose mind was very far away. But although the army could take away their land, they could not take away their traditions. Some of my fondest memories with my grandfather are sitting next to a bonfire next to a lake in northern Wisconsin, cooking bacon over an open flame. I’m not talking about your typical Sunday morning bacon. I’m talking 4 to 5 a.m. slabs of bacon that you can only find at a butcher shop. My siblings and I would search the forest floor for the best sticks to whittle into skewers for the bacon. My grandpa taught us how to pepper and salt the bacon and cut slits into the slabs and slowly cook it over the flames.

As the bacon sizzled and the grease started to drip, he taught us to catch those grease drippings and slices of white bread that had copious amounts of paprika sprinkled on them. Roasting bacon over an open fire only happened once or twice a year. But I can still taste the charred pork and the greasy, spongy bread.

As the airplane begins to make its descent into Chicago, my grandmother leans over me to ask my mom a question in a mix of German and Italian. “What?” My mom asked. My grandma then proceeded to explain to my mom that her cousin had gone to the butcher shop in Austria and found the choicest cut of bacon to send home with my grandma as a gift from my father.

Now, what prompted this disclosure were repeated announcements by flight attendants, explaining that because of a foot and mouth disease outbreak, certain products weren’t being allowed into the United States, including meat. Now, mind you, my grandmother already had one item confiscated at the airport in Europe. They took a dagger-sized letter opener out of her purse before I was going through security. This, too, was a gift from my father.

And though she could not wrap her head around, after all, it had only been three short months since the World Trade Center had been attacked, and travel security was clearly different. At some point, I should say, my mother must have conflated foot and mouth disease with mad cow disease because I’m sitting in between them, hearing my grandma argue why she should be able to keep the bacon, asking why are the cows mad? And her cows were never mad because she treated them well. And after all, this pork is from the pig, so why should it matter? It shouldn’t be confiscated. I’m in between them, picking up bits and pieces of this conversation. One, because I only understand so much German, and two, because I was somewhat delirious. I had developed a 103 fever on the ten-hour flight home from Europe. I was terribly sick and desperate to get off this plane.

As we were boarding, it became clearer and clearer that my grandma did not want to give up this bacon. My mom was sensing this, and without any warning, she shoved her hand into my grandma’s purse, located the white butcher paper-wrapped meat, and hid it behind the women’s bathroom. I remember thinking to myself, I guess we’re not going to turn this over to the authorities. My grandma and I were at her heels, but by the time we got to the bathroom, the meat was already in the trash can. My mom pushed it way down deep into this large trash can in the women’s bathroom.

My grandma is still protesting. “Does this I know, Zonda, this is a son.” We turned around and headed toward the baggage claim area. I let my mom and grandma look for our luggage. I was feeling sicker by the minute and told them I was just going to sit next to the wall and rest. I hadn’t even gotten settled next to the wall when I saw my grandmother race past me, clutching her purse. I’m a little bit worried about her, so I start to stand up, and I see her run past me again, clutching her purse. This time I notice that there are three beagles at her heels, and they’re tethered to three men in uniform. I started following my grandmother, and I see that she’s located my mom, and she throws her purse into my mom’s face and keeps walking. And I shouldn’t say she was running so much as speed walking. It was as if all of the laps at the mall had prepared her for this very moment. The three beagles stopped at my mom’s feet, sat down, and just looked up at her. She’s holding the purse, humiliated.

I walk over to my mom to help support her in these conversations. She’s been interrogated by these three men in uniform. I was struck that the men were with the U.S. Department of Agriculture and they had guns. I was also struck that they had beagles as opposed to, say, German Shepherds or Labradors. It turns out the USDA detector dogs are known as the Beagle Brigade, and the Beagle Brigade’s job is to find the bacon.

And. Protect America’s food. Supply. My mom sheepishly led the authorities to the bathroom, helped them locate the meat, and our mom and I sat down for what felt like two hours to fill out paperwork for this slab of bacon. Meanwhile, my grandma was nowhere in sight. We finally made it through customs, where we were reunited with my grandma and my dad, who was driving us home.

A few days later, my mom called me to share a story. She said she had just been on the phone with my grandmother and that she was terribly upset because apparently her cousin had called to ask how my father had enjoyed the bacon. She felt like she had to lie and was lamenting that she had to lie. She was yelling on the phone to my mother.

I never heard from under another sin. I asked my mom how she was doing. Where is Momo now? Is she at home? Oh no, honey, she replied. Your grandmother is at confession.

00;17;22;12 – 00;17;47;07
Devin Carpenter
remotely for the University of Wisconsin-Madison as an academic collaborator with the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Kiki lives in Missoula by way of Wisconsin and Washington, D.C., and is a national expert in policy issues that affect our nation’s seed supply. She is passionate about protecting family farms and community food systems from unfair and destructive corporate practices.

Next up is Adria Jwort, who as a trans woman, wrestles with Montana’s anti-LGBTQ climate and complex relationship with her dad. The club Q shooting prompts her to return home, prioritizing family despite ongoing struggles. We call her story from Vegas to Montana. A father’s call. Thanks for listening.

00;18;11;01 – 00;18;41;22
Adria Jwort
And that there was that one time I didn’t want to come back home to Montana. It was, It’s a place it felt like where colonization made me feel like an alien in my own land. but there’s also this saying that I keep coming back to. Including yesterday. Right. we. Actress from Billings. Right. I go to Helena, Missoula, Livingston, Yellowstone Park.

Whoever had taken this trip literally about probably a couple hundred times by now. But when you’re round the bend past Columbus, right before Big Timber, you could see the Crazy Mountains and the view, you know, just so frickin’ magnificent. I remember two weeks ago when I came up here, I just remember the sky was, like, just piercing blue.

I didn’t know how to describe. I’ve never seen the sky that color; it was just described as neon. That made the Crazy Mountains seem 3D. Now let’s get out a camera, pull over, and take a picture. It’s photographic. Can I appreciate the art of it? But for that time, I was just like, you know what? I’m just going to keep this one for my memory.

But going back to the time I didn’t want to come back to Montana. I had been in Las Vegas, writing fellowship, and while there, I just felt like I felt my art had my social tribe, whatever, fellow goth and everything. And I lived in the Arts district, and there was I just felt like safe. And I had just been through hell in Montana the last year.

I’d been through some lawsuit and or like, literally hosting rallies where my name was being projected on screens and everything, and I was getting all kinds of threats. I actually won a libel lawsuit because the guy couldn’t stop threatening me. And like, people were showing up to where they thought I worked and everything. Just calling me a pedophile groomer or whatever.

And they’re going to, you know, fire me, I guess. But anyways, so I won the lawsuit and I’m in Las Vegas, had a settlement, and I just kept driving by apartments, like, wanting to know how I could afford down payments and then maybe get a job here. And it’s all going through my head and everything. I didn’t, you know, but there’s also this pull back to here.

But at the same time, at the end of my fellowship, the club shooting happened. And I remember distinctly, because I had come back from the golf club, and I was just feeling like. So chill, like maybe. Yeah, this is the spot. This is it. I think I want to live here, and I open up my Twitter feed, start scrolling, and right away I see this comment.

It’s like, hey, has anyone seen my friend? They perform at the they perform at Club Q, has anyone seen them? And it was just like weird seeing these three texts. Has anyone seen them? Or they say part of the okay, they perform there? And I was just trying to figure it out. And it all came together that night that there was a mass shooting and, yeah.

And it was just so surreal watching all these stories come together. Just people just like looking for their family, their friends, their best friends, drag performers, lover of the gay club. Shut up. And that Monday there was an anti-drag queen bill introduced. I was like, oh, what good timing. And by that, I was like, yeah, fuck Montana, I ain’t coming back and I know it’s going to get worse.

And I was telling people this and they just thought I was crying wolf, whatever. But it’s like, okay, yeah, you guys can do your own stuff up there. I’m just going to stay here. But that night, my dad called and we’d always had a complex relationship with. By being trans, I mean, the call it complex. Another statement, he was like, comes what?

I cannot trans. I mean, he’s like, kind of in denial of it. I mean, I was just kind of going bathe and whatever. But one day he saw me in the newspaper. I’m also in the newspaper as an activist and was wearing a dress and everything. And then I guess that was basically out of the closet for him, and he just freaked out and everything.

This kid is on the front page of the local state section, as you know. It was a terrible picture. I remember that really. But it freaked out, like bad, like I’m by a stepmother. She texted me saying, I never seen your dad like this. He’s like the strut, his whatever I there is seen him like this often.

His head, you know, and he knows. But anyway, like, hurt really bad because I didn’t expect him to accept that he knows better. Like Evangelia. Cool. Christian, but a deacon of the church. But he’s like a legit good guy. I mean, we were growing up, we used to like take all these kids at this Royal Rangers. It was called those kind of a Boy Scout groups.

He’d take them to the mountains. They’re all underprivileged kids from the poor parts of Billings. And they were just like, you know, he’d take about ten of them in his Volkswagen van. And, you know, that was what he liked doing. He just liked being a good Christian guy, I guess. And, yeah, I just really looked up to him and that there’s like a he also, like, raised us, three of us boys growing up basically as a single father.

Lots of times because, my mom, she would also go on, and say drug benders and what time she left for about eight months. And after a few months, we just cruised around looking for her mother. We pulled out of some downtown Billings bar, and I just seen her pulling her out, and then, these other guys, like.

Hey, get your hands off of my dad. I never seen him get violent before. I really. Cox’s pissed back. And because those are her kids over there, we’re sitting in the back of a truck like the little cab of a Mazda. And then. And then they all just backed off, and then they said, you better go talk to your kids.

My mom came over and it was like, if whenever I want to try like a thousand actresses in a movie, I needed to come up with a scene to make me cry. That would be it. It was my mom saying, I guess this is our final goodbye. Except I didn’t cry. I just like, learned to stop crying right then because my little brother, a year younger than me, he put his head in my lap and just started bawling and I just had to be there and comfort him.

So. And his like little, had cried big tears and it was just so, I don’t know, I just kind of lost emotions for a while. And that’s always the thing that always comes back in heartbreak. But, so my dad, he dealt with a lot of that, and I went to a 40 Under 40 award once, and then they said, who’s your hero?

And I put my dad. That’s an I put it meant it. So for him to just like, just totally just freak out about my being trans was so, just made me very distraught. I think I really said that word, but, anyways, so but that Monday after Club Q shooting, he calls up and I started calling him back after a few months and we kind of restarted a relationship because we always called each other.

It was always like, I mean, we missed each other. So of course he was. He still loved me. He didn’t approve of my lifestyle, as they say, but as I kind of try to explain Gothic, his lifestyle being transitioned. But, you know, he’s old school evangelical. That’s his religious beliefs. And it’s like, come what you like to like, judge and like say, but you know, to him it was just his religious beliefs and I don’t excuse it.

But at the same time, it was just like. You know, he called that. Yeah. Two days after Club Q shooting and after I was decided not to come back. And he was very, very concerned. Like, hey, when are you coming back? I never heard that in his voice before. Okay. Are you okay there? You know. Okay. How are you getting back?

So you’re going to North Dakota after that, but where are you stopping at Salt Lake City? As soon as you get there, call me. Just, you know, he kept saying, call me, let me know where you’re at. And I know it was because of that club shooting, I knew it was because he knew that his kid could die just for being LGBTQ.

And that was in his head. I mean, he didn’t say that, but that I had never heard it in his voice before, and he already had a my little brother who’s a year younger, he’s been murdered and he knew he didn’t want to lose another son. But just our, yeah, son who became our self, so yeah, that was it.

Right? I mean, I was still churning in everything and I said, yeah, I maybe I better come back and get my stuff, you know? But I was still thinking of that. But then I saw this article in the paper, some guy had been shot like seven times. He’d survive, come because he’d been to Colorado.

Had just been there from North Carolina, I believe. All the details. But anyways, he wasn’t even LGBTQ. He just saw this club going on in. It’s hip and happening because as kids we are good at partying and it’s like, hey, cool. But at the end up getting shot seven times left the club made it to two blocks away to 7-Eleven.

They cut his shirt open and everything and everyone in there that 7-Eleven tried to keep him alive and all I could think was, I just want to call my dad. He’s fading in and out, he said. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. It’s like it’s call my dad. That’s my best friend right there. And before I die, I just.

Can you just give it? You know, that’s his only thought and but, you know, and I just felt that so much right there. And it’s like, now what system. Sometimes it’s like we. Yeah. That’s, basically it right there. That’s one of the things I said. I just can’t leave my family, I guess. So that’s why I’m back here.

So thank you very much.

00;28;37;06 – 00;28;45;12
Kera Riverra

Adria L. Jawort is a Northern Cheyenne fiction writer and transgender/2 Spirit journalist based in Billings, Montana. Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Electric Literature, and Indian Country Today, among other publications. She is the Executive Director of the nonprofit Indigenous Transilience.

Marc Moss
We’ll be right back after this short break. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast.

00;28;51;25 – 00;29;16;04
Teri Wing
For seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding and actually I had my kids in hiding to, Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living, my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

00;29;16;04 – 00;29;31;18
Chloe Williams
So I loved Women on Hawthorn and in Portland for eight years. Yeah, there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

00;29;31;18 – 00;29;35;08
Marc Moss
That’s after the break. Stay tuned.

Thank you to our story sponsor, the Good Food Store, helping us to pay our storytellers. Learn more at Good Food store.com. Thanks to Golden Yolk Griddle, who also showed up as a story sponsor. Learn more about them at Golden Yolk griddle.com. Thank you to our accessibility sponsor, Parkside Credit Union, allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event.

In order to be a more inclusive experience, learn about them at Parkside fcu.com. Thanks to our artist sponsor Bernice’s Bakery, who paid our poster artist. I learned about them and their delicious baked goods at Bernice’s Bakery mty.com. Thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula Events, Dot net, the Art attic, The Trail Less Traveled, and Missoula Broadcasting Company including the family of ESPN radio.

The trail 133, Jack FM and Missoula. Source for modern hits you 104.5. Thanks to our in-kind sponsors. Float. Missoula. Learn more at float msl.com and choice of tile. Learn about Joyce at Joyce of tile.com. Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Denison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683.

Tickets are available right now at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter. In order to be informed about all of our events. Welcome back. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m your host, Mark Moss.

In our next story. Teri Wing leaves Butte, Montana for convent life before leaving and finding love and family. Her journey home was a wild ride. Teri calls her story going home the long way around. Thanks for listening.

00;31;28;27 – 00;31;39;04
Teri Wing

Oh my God!

Okay, so I’m, 18 years old, and I’m sitting on a train that’s ready to leave Butte. This was before airplane travel was invented. And I’ve got three people that I graduated from high school with, and we’re kind of terrified. Excited, but terrified and worried about the choice we made. We are headed a thousand miles across the country to Kansas, where we are going to join a convent.

Now, before we left, my best friend hands me a box and she says, don’t open this until Rocker, which is like 20 miles away. So we get to Rocker and we open the box and there inside are about ten baby jars with various forms of booze from her dad’s cabinet, a jar of ice, a packet of sins and breath mints, and a pack of cigarettes.

And so, for about 300 miles after Rocker, we weren’t anxious anymore. It was really, really mellow. So I get to the convent, and there were so many things about it that were kind of weird to me. One of the things was the silence. I mean, I never really had tried it out, and so, but at first it was just an hour in the afternoon.

And so, at a certain time in the afternoon, we were to stay silent. I guess we were supposed to be praying, and then a bell would ring and we would drop to our knees and kiss the floor and just stay like that for a while, you know? So I was fine. Pretty much the silence was all day, except for one hour in the evening when we had what was called recreation, and we could talk to each other.

But the nuns had a real problem with something they called particular friendships. And these were kind of spooky. And so if you were observed during that recreation time on more than a couple of occasions talking to the same person, you were pulled aside and talked to about these particular friendships, and they were not approved of.

And they were very dangerous. I think what they’re really talking about is particularly lesbians.

During the second year that I was there, the superior called me into her office one afternoon to talk about my dad, and she told me that my dad was interviewed at a hospital and he’d had surgery for cancer. And just a short months later, my dad, who had been my rock, my safe harbor, my protector in a dysfunctional family, he was gone at the age of 54.

At the end of that summer, I got the news that I was assigned to go to Independence, Missouri, to a Catholic school to teach fourth grade. And I love that. I love little kids. And we were called a religious community. A religious community. But in fact, we were eight individuals living together under one roof, completely isolated from each other.

And it was really lonely. And so I talked to a friend of mine and she said, you know, I think you need to figure this out, so why don’t you go up to Topeka and talk to Doctor Hall, who’s the therapist? He might help you out. So I go up there and I’m with Doctor Hall for an hour, and he, every five minutes, he says, at the end of the hour, I’m impatient.

I say, tell me what you think. What do you think? So he leans across the desk and he says, well, sister, I think you need to give it another year before you decide what to do. So I thanked him and left, and I’m driving back to Independence, and I feel this rage building in my chest. And I think to myself, Doctor Hall, you fucking son of a bitch.

I have just told you that I’ve been unhappy for six years. And you say, give it another year. So when I got back to Independence, I called the mother house and said, I’m out of here. So they gave me back my $100 dowry that I gave them when I entered without interest. I’m out. And so I had enough to buy a nice dress to get a train ticket.

Still no airplanes. Still a train ticket back to Butte. And as the train is pulling out of Kansas City and I see the station disappearing through the windows, I thought, you know, I’ve really kind of come full circle because I’m sitting in the club car with a bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and I’m thinking, well, hello, Independence.

You know, as soon as I get to Butte and to my parents’ house, as soon as I walked in the door, I knew this wasn’t home anymore because my dad wasn’t there. For years after he was gone, his clothes were still in the closet. His hunting and fishing gear was still there, and I think I had a reaction of some really serious delayed grief.

And so I knew it was not home. So after a little while, I left there and I went to Spokane to enroll at Gonzaga to finish my degree. And so I did that. And then after I graduated, I got a job. I thought maybe Spokane was a place to stay. But one of the biggest challenges I had was dating.

Because you remember the last time I dated I was dating high school boys, and now here I am, and I’ve got no one but two young men. Like, one had a beard, and they’re both interested in me. And I’m really thinking that they’ve got more on their mind than a particular friendship. And I’m still a virgin. And so I was not interested in that.

So I did what any mature, responsible 20-something would do. I backed up my Mustang convertible, my old car, put everything I owned in it, put the top down, and got the hell out of town. And I came to Missoula for the first time. I came here and I enrolled in a graduate program in education at the university.

And after that degree, I had some jobs in Missoula. I got married and had a 12-year marriage that ended up not working for either one of us, but I had two wonderful, sweet daughters, which was a real bonus. And then at the age of 40, to my surprise, I fell in love. And I’m talking I fell really, really in love with Sarah.

And Sarah was a beautiful woman, so, so sensuous. She had these beautiful blue eyes that I could just get lost in. And she was smart and funny. And at the time, though, I was the curriculum director for the Missoula School District, it was the 90s, pretty visible job. And I was really worried about how my living arrangement was going to impact my job.

I was also really concerned about my girls, who at that time were in middle school. And in the 90s, there weren’t that many kids who were open about having two moms or two dads. And so for seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding. And actually, I had my kids in hiding too. Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

And so she moved out and left, and I was thoroughly heartbroken, filled with pain of loss, with regret, with guilt. And so I tried to stay numb as I could using alcohol. But, you know, that doesn’t work at all. And so I checked myself into an alcohol treatment program to get my head straight, to get my feet on the ground.

Okay. And it worked. And so a couple of years later, both of my kids graduated and left the nest. And so at that time, I just didn’t feel like I could stay in Missoula anymore. There was the pain was still too raw of losing Sarah. And so I left and had a couple of jobs that I would try to fit in.

I always felt like a visitor. So in 2014, I came back to Missoula and I bought a house and my daughters by that time were married. They have kids of their own. They’ve got three little boys who have you ever noticed how noisy boys are and they throw things? I mean, we have baseball games in my living room and I’m guarding my windows the whole time.

We’ve got fierce hockey games going on in my tiny kitchen, and for me it is just such a joyful noise. I love, I’ve connected with my former husband and his wife through all of these marriages, births, birthdays, celebrations, soccer games, and I find that I’m part of a really wonderful extended family now and then there are my friends and the people from back 20 years ago welcoming me back to Missoula.

They let me know they still love me. For me, being with old friends feels like slipping my feet into a really well-worn pair of cozy slippers. That kind with that fuzzy stuff inside that feels so familiar and so comfortable. And so years ago, I had left Missoula with a broken heart. Since I’ve been back, I have found more love and community than I ever thought I could experience.

And I am so really, really glad that I’m home.

00;43;24;18 – 00;43;42;26
Devin Carpenter
the mother of two and a grandmother of three boys. Terry is a retired educator who loves dogs and other living things. She hasn’t yet climbed tall mountains, run a marathon, or jumped out of a plane, though she says she may put those on her bucket list.

00;43;42;26 – 00;44;02;13
Marc Moss
Our final storyteller. In this episode, Chloe Williams searches for happiness in love, places and self-expression before finally figuring out what love is and where to find it. Chloe calls her story the rusty screeching turn toward home. Thanks for listening.

00;44;02;13 – 00;44;10;13
Chloe Williams

The journey has been very long to find the answer. I looked for the answer in parents. I looked for the answer in love. And I’ve looked for the answer in places. For me, they were in none of those. The first place that I looked for the answer was in my mom, and she provided a roof over my head. In fact, many roofs, as you just heard. But holding on to her was like holding on to the tale of a burning comet that zigzagged through the world. She had mental illness, and it pingponged her off of men and off of spiritual practices, and then ricocheted her back to earth. And that answer hurt me and left me feeling dizzy and confused.

The next place that I looked for the answer was in the idea of love. And the idea of love was shaped in me by Disney movies. Magenta princesses with huge smiles, and that cheesy music that comes in with the happy endings. So by three years old, I would put myself to sleep every single night, laying my head exactly in the middle of my pillow and strategically placing my hair around my face in a ring, and then folding my hands over my stomach and waiting. Waiting for love to save me. So I loved fiercely, as fiercely as I could muster. The first boy that I loved was Jesse, and he was supposed to be the Prince Charming from one of those movies. In reality, he was just a tall, lanky guy that lived in a basement room, and every time I walked down the dark wood stairs to his room, I thought, maybe this is it.

But all I found in that room was that tinny soundtrack to the Street Fighter game, and then the stale smell of bong water. The next person that I loved was Kelly. The first girl that I loved. And she lived in a really unsafe home. It was dangerous for her there. So we camped out in coffee shops in the Haight-Ashbury, and I would lean in to hear the poetry that she would write to me over the bangs and clinks of the espresso shots being pulled, and that diesel drip smell of coffee that we could afford, and we would crawl into each other’s eyes for safety.

And then I got into college. I got into Mills College, and my mom was so excited. She was like, Chloe, it’s so great that you got into an all-women’s school because you won’t be distracted at all by. Little did she know that a month later I fell for a very cute butch girl, and that girl handed me a book that felt like the manual to who I was supposed to be. So I, oh, the book was “The Well of Loneliness.” And so I wore the makeup and had the long hair and wore the heels, and it really seemed to make her happy.

But the other women at Mills said things like “lesbian until graduation” and made me feel like a trespasser in this world that I really wanted to belong to. So when that cute butch girl took me on a road trip to Portland, Oregon for the first time, singing the soundtrack to “Rent” at the top of her lungs the whole way, I thought, maybe it’s a new city. That’s the answer. And so when I walked down Hawthorne Street in Portland, it felt like the green, beautiful trees that lined that street sort of just reached down and held me in an embrace and an embrace. And I loved it there. The energy was exactly what I was looking for. It was the hub of the queer community.

And I got a job right on Hawthorne Street, washing dishes at the Cup and Saucer Cafe. And I loved it. I washed those white plates, and the steam would rise up into my face. And I just got to watch all these beautiful women coming in and out of the cup. Spiky hair, cargo shorts, glinting eyes. And I remember a few shifts into my job there, I went home. I went to the backyard and shaved all my long blond hair off and looking into the mirror for the first time at myself with a shaved head. It felt like my skin just fit a little bit better. So I stayed on Hawthorne for a long time. In fact, one morning I remember working at the club. I was standing at the counter, waiting for customers to come in, and the cook, who I’d been eyeing for a few weeks, Amanda, came up to do some inventory, and she always wore this cute little train engineer hat off to the side.

And as she was standing next to me, I felt like my cells were vibrating and I wanted to connect. I wanted to reach out and say something, but I didn’t have the script. The script was old. It didn’t work anymore. So I looked around and tried for something and I tried reverse psychology and I said, “Not you again.” And that coy smile that she shot me in that moment, I was like, settled a little bit more into my body. So I loved women on Hawthorne and in Portland for eight years. And there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

But something was missing and I did not know what it was. I got to a point, though, that I thought, well, maybe I’ll try the exact opposite. Maybe I need a dude’s dude. Maybe I need a hard-drinking, hard-fighting dude’s dude. And I found him. I found him in the Sandy Hut dive bar in Portland. And I walked in that night, and there was Crash sitting at the bar. Tattered motorcycle sweater, scarred knuckles. And I thought, he looks like he could keep me safe. But trying to make Crash my answer was kind of like trying to train a wild dog. I had to sort of ignore the frothing and the growling, to really get that horse training in, but I tried for another eight years to domesticate Crash, and with a ring on my finger and a baby in my arms and a house that we bought, I couldn’t ignore the scars that I got from that wildness.

And I followed that wildness all the way to Montana. Well, it turns out that parents are not the answer, at least not for me. And I’ve had to let my mom go for her to just kind of still be homeless and moving around and dealing with her mental illness without me on her coattails. Turns out love is not the answer. Not when it’s the kind of love that you have to sacrifice yourself for. And I had to let the wild dog go. Well, I wanted to let the wild dog go. And to be untamed and happy. And I love my half-wild son more every single day without losing myself. I actually took six years off of the idea of love, because I really had to, like, reframe the whole Disney version and create my own version of love.

And I get to do that today with an amazing woman who I can really be myself in front of. We get to witness each other settling into our skin more each day. It turns out that cities and places—San Francisco, Portland, Missoula—they are just cities with empty houses and empty streets. Unless you know how to make a home. Well, I choose to make my home in Missoula, and I choose to make it in my queer skin, which fits me so well. It turns out that the rusty, screeching, slow turn to myself was actually my home. I had to look away from all the people and the places and the things. And my answer? I am my home, and I’m going home to myself in front of you right now. And I will be going home to myself for the rest of my life. Thank you.

00;53;54;22 – 00;54;07;27
Kera Riverra
Chloe was born in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and raised in San Francisco. She spent some summers on a farm in Illinois. Eventually, she spent 17 years in Portland, Oregon, and ten years ago moved to Missoula.

Chloe has lived approximately 40 different addresses in her life, though she really has lost count. Storytelling was passed down from her mom in the many long car rides of her childhood, and that’s her favorite thing her mother gave her. Only in the last few years has she been called to try storytelling herself. And it feels like something her spirit needs to do.

00;54;29;23 – 00;54;43;00
Marc Moss
Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. This episode was recorded live in person as part of the opening events at Missoula Pride on June 11th, 2024 at the Glacier Ice Rink Pavilion.

00;54;43;06 – 00;54;54;09
Michelle Reilly
It was like looking through the most beautiful kaleidoscope I had ever looked through all these vibrant colors and shapes and patterns of fractals and wonder.

00;54;54;09 – 00;55;12;09
Adel Ben Bacha
As she answers the phone, she softly says hello. And then silence. That silence felt like forever. But she breaks that silence with a delicate sob.

00;55;12;09 – 00;55;23;21
Zeke Cork
I didn’t know what it meant, but I couldn’t shake it. I thought maybe it was about my family, so I try to write about it, but there was always something missing. It stayed with me for years.

00;55;23;21 – 00;55;30;05
Ashley Brittner Wells
The coolest thing you could do in town was go to the games. And I desperately wanted to be cool, so I went.

00;55;31;05 – 00;55;58;02
Marc Moss
Tune in for those stories on the next Tell Us Something podcast. Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Dennison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683. Tickets are available currently at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter.

In order to be informed about events and all things storytelling. Stream past episodes, learn more about upcoming events, and get tickets at Tell Us something.org.

Marc Moss

Tickets are on sale for the next live in person Tell Us Something event. The theme is “Going Home”. In collaboration with Missoula Pride, Tell Us Something is excited to bring you this evening of true, personal stories featuring many voices from the LBGTQ+ community. Learn more and get your tickets at Tell Us something.org.

Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. Tell Us Something is a nonprofit that helps people share their true personal stories around a theme, live in person and without notes. I’m Mark Moss, your host and executive director of Tell Us Something. Sometimes adventure is chosen. Sometimes it’s thrust upon you. In this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast, we delve into the journeys of four remarkable people.

What happens when the things we hold dear start to crumble?  Join us as our first storyteller faces a heartbreaking choice: let go of her family legacy, or fight for a piece of the past while making a discovery about nonperminance in herself. And facing loss isn’t just about places, our next storyteller defies death itself, a therapist grapples with a hidden truth while our final storyteller navigates an unlikely love friendship running out on the trails.

Kathleen Kennedy

I was simultaneously indignant and sympathetic, but I also had this feeling like I would love for squatters to come there and light a fire and burn it down like, problem solved.

Susan Waters

And the voice said, do you want to stay or do you want to go? And without even thinking about it, I said, if I still have work I need to do here, I want to stay. And the voice said, okay.

Annabelle Winnie

I do wonder if what we think of as traits for neurodivergent, if they’re really adaptations, is there ways that the body adapts, behaviors adapt, and even the brain itself adapts to a world that often feels too bright, too loud. It’s just too much.

Amanda Taylor

We were texting each other every day. Morning. Tonight we call them play by plays, which I also loved because it made me feel sporty, like, yeah, we’re sending play by plays.”

Marc Moss

We acknowledge that we are gathered on the traditional lands of the Salish, Ponderay and Kalispell peoples who have stewarded this land throughout the generations. As spring unfolded, vibrant colors and rejuvenates the Earth, we recognize the interconnectedness of all life and the importance of honoring indigenous knowledge and practices. In this season of renewal, let us commit to fostering a deeper understanding of indigenous culture and history.

Take time to learn about the traditional ecological knowledge of the original inhabitants of this land, and incorporate sustainable practices into our daily lives. Together, let us strive to be mindful stewards of the land, fostering harmony and respect for all beings who call this place home. A tangible way that we can do this is to practice. Leave no trace principles when we are outside recreating.

We can pick up our dog’s waste when we are out hiking. Don’t get it on the way back from our hike. Get it when it happens and carry it with us. Pick up trash where we see it. Observe wildlife from a distance and avoid feeding them. By practicing, some of these leave no trace principles, we can be stewards of the land that we claim to love so much.

We take this moment to honor the land and its native people, and the stories and knowledge that they share with us. 

Our first storyteller is  Kathleen Kennedy. Kathleen’s cherished family cabin, a symbol of precious memories, faces the relentless grip of time and erosion. A cancer diagnosis adds another layer of urgency, forcing a confrontation with impermanence. We call her story “Lessons in Letting Go” Thanks for listening.

Kathleen Kennedy

Kathleen Kennedy

When I was three years old, my dad began digging a trench that would be filled with concrete and form the foundation of a small cabin that he built by hand on the coast of Northern California. I can still see him, the shovel in his hands. His foot on the kick plate,  he’s wearing a white t shirt, he’s got zinc oxide on his nose and his hair.

His wavy brown hair is blowing in the breeze, there’s Bishop Pines behind him, and the mighty Pacific Ocean to his left.  My memory might be aided by the 8mm  home movie camera that chronicled much of this process,  but  when I say he built it by hand, I’m not exaggerating. We didn’t have electricity until the mid 90s when we got neighbors, and so every board was cut with a handsaw, every nail hammered in by hand.

And so it was a really slow process, but being teachers. My parents could load us up in the Volvo station wagon each summer, and we’d go camp in the redwoods of Guadalajara. My dad would go up to the lot and build. We were like a little hippie family. My sisters and me, we were wearing our plaid pants, our crocheted ponchos.

We had bandanas taming our really long stringy hair. But my parents were not hippies. They were about as straight as the nails that kept the framing together.  But, Once we could sleep inside the cabin, those times were magical. We could go down on the beach and play unsupervised, explore the tide pools.  We could look for the tiniest of seashells. 

And when the tide came in, we’d just go into the cabin and play. to the second floor and look out these magnificent windows onto the Pacific, and there was always something to watch. We look for gray whales, we watch osprey and brown pelicans, birds that were recovering from the ravages of DDT. And when I think about it, It’s really where I fell in love with the world and it’s likely why I became a science teacher. 

So  one year there was an El Nino event and the heavy rains and surf washed away about the last 15 feet.  long wooden staircase that led us down to the beach. And, you know, we didn’t mind. We just tied a rope around a post, and then we rappelled down. And, and when we did that, we’d go through this, like,  It was like mudstone, like a scree of mudstone.

And we didn’t really pay much attention to it. All of this material that was just kind of crumbling down from the cliff. And, you know, El Ninos occur on pretty regular intervals. So over the years, more of the cliff would erode. And then eventually the top started to erode as well. So, you know. And I distinctly remember sitting in my UM Geology class and learning about slope and a material’s angle, angle of repose and just having this sinking feeling because  suddenly I thought about that material and from that lecture hall I started to worry. 

I always knew I was going to retire there, there someday, you know, I would be content to live that simple life. Um, and I, I continued to visit and I put that out of my mind. But as an adult, my worries really shifted to my parents. And  my dad was showing some signs of dementia. And because I would travel from Missoula to the Bay Area and go up to the cabin to get my ocean fix, I was, I was aware of it.

I, each trip would notice more cognitive decline and I tried to tell my sisters and my mom and everyone was in denial until one day there was no denying it. And a few years later, he died of an aortic aneurysm. And I have to say, somewhat thankfully, he spared us from what would have surely been a painful, long goodbye. 

But,  I continued to go to the cabin. It was my happy place.  My mom, she struggled to get up there. But I would take her when I could.  And one trip I arrived up there and, and the ground was kind of sinking and there was a tree that was leaning one of those Bishop pines and our neighbor’s deck was sinking and they had hired a geotech firm to figure out what was going on.

And I took all these pictures so I could report back to my sisters what was going on. And,  you know, the building didn’t. It wasn’t worth much, but it was my dad’s legacy. And that view was priceless. And I started to really, like, campaign to save the cabin.  And so we did try.  We hired that geotech firm and we got a plan and we moved the cabin  and then we put it on.

Kind of an, at an angle because the lot was getting smaller and smaller, closer and closer to the edge, if you will. And so,  did that on an emergency permit. We couldn’t obtain a full permit until we got approval. And so it was up on these supports.  And then COVID hit, and the county planning office closed down, and they weren’t doing anything.

They were not going to approve any permits because no one was there. When they finally reopened, suddenly the rules had changed. And now the height variance was no longer going to be grandfathered in, and they wanted a rare plant size. survey. They wanted an archaeological survey. Um, they did not like what the geotech firm had proposed for the foundation.

And we were sort of stuck. And you know, the money was going out to sea much like the material from the cliff. And we really didn’t know what to do. There were no more liquid assets. And so we just kind of paused while we gathered ourselves.  And then that cough that I had always attributed to Missoula’s, uh, smoky summer air, it turned out to be stage three lung cancer.

And suddenly, like, my whole world was crumbling. And so,  I was not thinking about the cabin, but I was also thinking how much I would have loved to be able to be there to recover from my treatment, but I couldn’t go because it wasn’t on a foundation and therefore uninhabitable. And about the same time, we had these new neighbors.

They were part of that, like, COVID urban exodus.  And they started to call and email, and they had a lot of complaints and questions and, you know, they were saying things like, hey, this is an eyesore and a fire hazard and we’re worried vagrants or squatters might come. And I was simultaneously indignant  and sympathetic. 

But I also had this I was feeling like I would love for squatters to come there and, and light a fire and burn it down, like problem solved.  So they, they were really relentless and, you know, we’re just like, Hey, she’s dealing with cancer. Like you can’t do this, but they didn’t care. And so finally I said to my sisters, we got to hire a lawyer.

And so we did. And then we, uh, said, hey, why don’t you ask them if they would like to buy it and perhaps deal with the expense, like a demolition permit is really expensive there, as is disposal. And miraculously, they said yes.  And then I had to  figure out how to let go, how to let go of this place that meant so much.

And so I tried to remember all of my Buddhist studies and think about impermanence and non attachment. And I finally came to a place where I was like, okay, yes, this is what we have to do, I understand.  And,  I also couldn’t stand the thought of certain things being demolished, and I had to go to retrieve them.

There were these little wooden, um, plaque pieces, scraps of wood that people wrote messages It was to my dad at his memorial and we were gonna put it in the fireplace there and burn them to send those messages up, but we never did. But I knew right where they were.  So my friend Sheila and I decided we’d go on this retrieval mission.

And we bought hard hats and gloves and, you know, wore these old clothes, and we drove up from our place in Marin, and we had to break in the door, because  it had settled. And when we opened that door, it was like this multi sensory assault.  Um, there were mouse droppings everywhere and mouse carcasses. It was almost like the mice died while they were moving through, scampering across the floor because, I don’t know, it was so clear that it was the right decision.

There was nothing that could have been done to bring that place back. And so I retrieved the things and I went up the stairs and I said, you know, kind of my goodbye and I looked out. The window, it had been turned and I looked at the view and it wasn’t anything like what I loved. Um,  so I cried and I took my leave  and now that I’m dealing with a cancer recurrence,  I’m trying to.

I’d like to just summon those lessons again to remember that clinging to something,  it often just delays inevitable, um, the inevitable and that it can often bring you even more pain.  And that, But the reality of impermanence, there’s no escaping it. So as I move through this next round of cancer, I want to remember those lessons.

I want to let them inform me  and inform how I choose to spend the rest of my days on earth. Thank you.

Marc Moss

Thanks, Kathleen.

Kathleen Kennedy grew up in Oakland, CA, and is a science teacher at Big Sky High School, with 24 years teaching experience. She has won a variety of prestigious teaching awards. She won the EcoDaredevil award in 2009, and in 2011 she was a Fulbright Japan-US Teacher in the Exchange Program for Education for Sustainable Development  She was an Adult Participant in American Youth Leadership Program’s Trip to Thailand in 2015, and continues to be passionate about her students and teaching. When she’s not busy saving the world and working towards a sustainable future, you might find her enjoying the beauty Missoula has to offer, rocking out to Pearl Jam, or dancing along to her favorite Dave Matthews song.

Next we join Susan Waters on a journey that transcends the physical.  Hear the voice that offered a stark choice at death’s door. Susan defies the odds and lives on to continue her work on this corporal plane. Susan calls her story “Fade to White”. Thanks for listening.

Susan Waters

One of the great joys of many outdoor recreationists is mountain biking.  There’s that incredible sense of freedom, being able to go far and fast.  And the burn of the muscles as you grind up those hills. And the precision and the focus it takes to do the single tracks.  And then that screaming exhilaration when you’re flying downhill. 

So it’s September, 2005.  Beautiful, late summer, Missoula day that you just don’t want to let go of.  I had just finished a group trail ride up in Paddy Canyon.  And everybody’s relaxed and happy, and they start heading back into town.  And I lingered behind because I wanted to take some photographs.  So when I was ready to come back down to town, I loaded up my bike, and started heading down Paddy Canyon Road by myself. 

And for those that don’t know, it’s a paved two lane road, generally in pretty good shape, light traffic,  um, but windy.  And I’m cruising along, not a care in the world.  And the last thing I remember is this visceral feeling that suddenly something huge was in front of me. And it happened so fast, and I couldn’t hit it, so I slammed on the brakes,  and black. 

The next thing I know, I’m pulling myself off the pavement,  onto the gravelly shoulder of the road.  And I’m stunned, and I have absolutely no idea what had just happened.  I was there for a while, and this little pickup truck comes up the road.  And a man who spoke very little English asked if I was okay. 

And, you know, stubbornly, I said, ah, you know, I’ll shake it off. I’ll, I’ll just, I’ll be okay. And I tried to get up, and I couldn’t.  So he stopped.  There was another bicyclist that came up the road, and he summed up the situation pretty quickly and took control and said, you need to go to the hospital.  So they load me up in the truck. 

We’re riding down Pattee Canyon Road,  and I keep losing consciousness,  and I manage to crank down the window.  And stick my head out so that the water, the, the air would hit me in the face and keep me awake.  And my consciousness kept fading to white.  And then there was this voice.  And it was genderless,  very kind but neutral, and matter of factly said, you know you can die from this, don’t you? 

And I thought, well, it’s looking a little worse than I thought.  And the voice said, do you want to stay or do you want to go?  And without even thinking about it, I said, if I still have work I need to do here, I want to stay.  And the voice said,  okay.  And from that point on, I had absolutely no fear.  I had an unshakable faith that I would be okay. 

And for once in my life, I surrendered into that. 

And I was at complete peace.  And this was way before the hospital drugs. 

So we have a bouncy ride back down into town.  We hit the downtown traffic, and it’s heavy. So the two guys in the truck are yelling at the other motorists in two languages to get out of our way.  We get to the ER, and things are relatively quiet. And that’s it. And, the crescendo starts building up, there’s more people, there’s more equipment, there’s all these sounds, they’re stitching me up, they’re taking me into scans,  and a doctor comes out, and is very serious,  and says,  you have a concussion, you have broken bones,  and you have severe internal injuries,  we’re gonna have to put you on life flight to go to Seattle. 

And I’m sitting there, taking a minute to take it in, and I’m like, okay.  So I’m laying on the table, they’re prepping me, and there’s two nurses, just right outside the door in the corridor.  And one of them says, I don’t think she’s gonna make it.  She came around the corner, and she saw me looking at her, and she was horrified. 

But I had to smile at her.  And I think I even winked at her. And I wasn’t upset at all.  Because I knew she was wrong. 

So now the hospital drugs are kicking in.  They wheeled me out on the tarmac at the airport  to get me on the life flight plane.  And I’m in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns, you know those really thin ones that make you feel really, really vulnerable?  And there was a big wind,  and my thought was, oh my god, what happens if the plane crashes?

And this is all I’m wearing. 

So the flight,  the pain,  boy, it hits hard  and I’m so uncomfortable and I turn on my side and my blood pressure crashes.  My angel paramedic brought me back  and I’ll never forget looking up at those warm, comforting eyes  that were so reassuring. And his gaze never left mine, that entire flight. 

One of my friends was able to get to the ER quickly, and they talked her into getting on the life flight with me to be my medical advocate.  And at one point in the flight, I looked up and I saw her. She was in a jump seat facing toward me. And she had those big headsets on. And her face was deathly white.

And her eyes like saucers. And she looked so small and so afraid.  And I just wanted to hug her and convince her that everything was gonna be okay. 

Seattle was nuts. Yes. I mean, if ever there was a time to check out, it was then.  There was so much noise and chaos and they were just tossing me around that I just surrendered again into this  peaceful sea of white. 

I regained consciousness about a week later in the hospital.  And then a couple of weeks after that I was released back home to a very long recovery. 

My helmet,  helmets,  and trauma medicine saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful.  The people were so skilled and so caring,  but the system is very strained,  and they don’t have a lot of time  to give individual treatment.  So after about a year of recovery,  An extreme physical therapy, it’s a sport. 

They were proposing some really invasive and scary surgeries.  And it just, down to my bones, did not feel right.  So I decided to go another direction. And I started looking into alternative health.  And there was no stone left unturned. And hey, it’s Missoula, you’re all out there. 

I did mental health therapy, I did eastern medicine, sacred,  indigenous,  all of those medicines  that are ancient and so wise.  And all of these practitioners took the time  And they were really present and really listened. 

I have to acknowledge I have a lot of privilege.  That I was able to,  I had a lot of options.  That not a lot of people have.  And they should.  Equally. 

And I also acknowledge that I had a lot of fairy dust. Good luck to.  So, do I regret  staying?  To be honest, at times, yes.  The following years were the hardest of my life, and it wasn’t just the recovery.  I lost both of my dear friends, lifelong friends, prematurely and tragically. Both my parents died.  I lost several animal companions. 

And I lost my livelihood.  But I’m on borrowed time,  so I have to be grateful, because I got to spend a few more years with those friends.  I got to hold both of my parents hands before they died. 

I played hard with those pet companions in the mountains and in the rivers.  I made tons of new friends, beautiful, wonderful friends.  And my family expanded,  and the love multiplied.  And I was so inspired that I studied and trained and I opened my own wellness practice. 

And  every day,  I’m so moved to be able to help other people find their light and their voice.  And gain the skills they need to navigate through their changes and challenges,  just as my teachers had done with me.  And they,  and beautiful, quirky Missoula and community that we have here,  all rallied together and motivate me every day.

To find joy and gratitude. And to keep looking for all of that work that I’m still left to do. [Applause]

Marc Moss

Thanks, Susan.

Susan Waters is an avid outdoor recreationist, family and friend cultivator, and animal lover. Raised in Missouri and Colorado, she was drawn to the laid-back and nature-focused lifestyle of Missoula in the 1990s. She has had many livelihoods, including working as an artist, writer, filmmaker, photographer and communicator for numerous environmental and social causes. Active in the community, Susan cherishes all of her daily connections and navigates with an open heart and a well earned sense of trust.

Coming up after the break,

Despite professional achievements and a happy family, a deep unease lingers for our first storyteller after the break, until a surprising discovery unlocks a door to self-understanding

Annabelle Winnie

I do wonder if what we think of as traits for neurodivergent, if they’re really adaptations, is there ways that the body adapts, behaviors adapt, and even the brain itself adapts to a world that often feels too bright, too loud. It’s just too much. 

Marc Moss

and our final story about two women exploring a new friendship, running on epic trails, pushing both their bodies and their hearts to the limit.

Amanda Taylor

We were texting each other every day. Morning. Tonight we call them play by plays, which I also loved because it made me feel sporty, like, yeah, we’re sending play by plays.”

Marc Moss

Stay with us.

Thank you to the Good Food Store who, as the Story Sponsor, helped us pay our storytellers. Learn more about them at goodfoodstore.com. Thanks to Spark Arts who provided childcare for the performance. You can learn more about Spark at sparkartslearning.org. Thanks to our Stewardship sponsor, Blackfoot Communications, who helped us to give away free tickets to underserved populations. Learn more about Blackfoot, celebrating 70 years, at goblackfoot.com.

Thank you to the Good Food Store who, as the Story Sponsor, helped us pay our storytellers. Learn more about them at goodfoodstore.com. Thanks to Spark Arts who provided childcare for the performance. You can learn more about Spark at sparkartslearning.org. Thanks to our Stewardship sponsor, Blackfoot Communications, who helped us to give away free tickets to underserved populations. Learn more about Blackfoot, celebrating 70 years, at goblackfoot.com.

You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast where people share their true stories around a theme live in person without notes. I’m Marc Moss. Storytellers in this episode shared their stories in front of a full house on March 26, 2024 at The George and Jane Dennison Theatre in Missoula Montana.]

In our next story, Annabelle Winnie, a successful therapist and mother, grapples with a lifelong sense of dissonance. Despite outward competence, she’s navigated years of therapy, seeking answers for a struggle she couldn’t quite grasp. Annabelle calls her story “Belonging.” Or…”Another Way to See.” Or “Another Way to Be.” Thanks for listening.

Annabelle Winnie

I’m in my new therapist’s office.  We’re sitting under the branches of her indoor ficus tree. Across the room are bookshelves. There’s a sculpture, or maybe it was a print of a caregiver embracing a child. Because this is Missoula, a few of you may be wondering, have we had the same therapist? 

I’d gone to see her because I was having a dilemma of dissonance.  I guess people often see me as competent, composed, confident.  This was about 10 years ago. I was the mother of two young boys, married, and a successful professional.  And yet, I’d been in and out of therapy most of my life. More in than out.

The first time I went, I was seven or eight. My mom brought me because I seemed like a miniature adult. And it worried her. 

Yeah, hi mom, it’s me. I, I, yeah, I’m in my mid forties, I know. We haven’t really talked about this in decades.  But you remember in third grade and sixth grade, I didn’t understand what was happening. I just didn’t get it. It was terrible. It’s still kind of like that, I just fake it,  but I don’t understand what’s going on. 

This is when information about women and autism was just hitting the mainstream media. Because of my job, I had to read about it and I had to understand it. And the more I read first person narratives and interviews, the more I identified. It was starting to tear me up in part, apart, inside.  I tried talking to family, friends, even some close colleagues.

For the most part, I felt like, I felt like I got this look that said,  I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Annabelle, but I don’t see it.  And, and this  just  hit me in a very painful way.  I am a therapist,  and I’ve had a lot of positive feedback pretty consistently about my work. And yet I was understanding myself in this new way that made so much sense to me.

It just organized so many struggles I’d had.  But at this point, I was like, well, If I’m autistic, does that mean I can’t have empathy for other people or I can’t understand other people’s internal world? Here I was, I couldn’t understand my own internal world. I was starting to spin out. It was coming out sideways with my kids.

I was behaving with them in ways that I knew weren’t good for them. And so when this latest therapist suggested, as I myself had done already a couple of times, she is. Suggested that I get assessed, and I agreed. 

03a p2 Annabelle Winnie.wav

 It was kind of like a drug deal.  I had to cross state lines and it was a cash only  kind of a transaction.  I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the idea of going to someone that I might interact with professionally and there’s no way this was going to be on my medical record. So I found a clinic in Denver, I went, I poured my heart out, they talked to my family, I took their tests and then I waited. 

I’m in my car behind my work building when I get the call, I take it right away.  Okay,  email, assessment, next week, talk, thank you.  They diagnosed me with mild autism. It’s still really weird and it was kind of painful.  It made so much sense. For the first time as an adult, I had a sense that there was a rhyme and reason to the ways that I had so consistently struggled. 

I read the assessment further. Yeah. Yeah.  Turns out,  I’m actually really smart. 

This really surprised me because  I knew I was very good at a few things, but I struggled with a lot of things that I didn’t hear people talking about as struggles. 

I’m not very smart visually. So I have a very high discrepancy between my verbal capacity and my visual capacity.  And again, I started to wonder, is this why not once, but twice as a child, I ended up in the emergency room because I kept walking into telephone poles and concrete pillars.  I wondered if maybe my brain just didn’t know what to do with visual social information. 

It’s like, who cares? Words are so much more interesting.  And then maybe my brain doesn’t put energy into my own nonverbal cues,  visual cues. So sometimes I may seem a little flat or wooden. And  I started to think about myself as a plant.  And this was very, very hopeful for me. 

We do share over 60 percent of our DNA with bananas. 

It’s true. 

I imagined, I really had hope, like autonomously as an adult, I had hope for the first time.  Like a plant, if I could just figure out  what are my sensory needs, what do I need to process a little more fluidly? What do I need to learn social, emotional  information or experiences? It’s not intuitive for me.  I imagine that if I understood this about myself and I could develop a deep acceptance, a radical love, that like a plant, I would just  grow. 

Nowadays, I feel more like a dog.  And like a dog shakes off excess water and mud, I just want to shake off preconceived notions, labels.  I just want to be myself.  There is a Maori.  A  linguist and educator who created a dictionary of mental health and addiction terms in the Maori language.  Some of the words he had to create because they didn’t exist in his language.

Takiwatanga is the word that he created for autism and it means in a person’s own time,  in a person’s own way.  He created this definition based on his experience of having been friends with a man with autism from as children and through adulthood.  I do wonder if what we think of as traits for neurodivergence, if they’re really adaptations, there are ways that the body adapts. 

Behaviors adapt, and even the brain itself adapts to a world that often feels too, too bright, too loud. It’s just too much. 

I’m in my late twenties. I’m in an intensive care unit. My grandfather just had bypass surgery. He’s on a ventilator. He can’t speak. His arms are restrained to the bed. My aunt and my mom are there. It’s a mess. I’m holding my grandfather’s hand. He’s he’s looks terrible.  This is my grandfather, a very quiet man. 

His humor was so subtle and so dry, if you sneezed, you might miss his jokes.  He was a physicist and he was a researcher and it wasn’t until after he died that his family, we knew how, um, accomplished he was cause he just didn’t talk about it.  He would reference chaos theory to try to motivate him to do housework. 

I’m going to go make some order out of the chaos, he would say, and rub his knuckles together in this very rhythmic, um, familiar way.  As he would go upstairs to work in his office. So I’m standing there with him, I’m holding his hand, he’s squeezing my hand, I’m squeezing him back, he’s squeezing my hand, and it comes to me in a moment, this is my grandfather who was a telegraph operator, that was his first job out of college.

He’s giving me SOS, I look at him and I say, you’re giving me SOS, and I wonder if he thinks he’s dying. I explain to him what’s happening, he’s on a vent, it’s going to pass. He’ll be able to talk again. And I, I do wonder if these questions of identity become so important for us as humans because it orients us toward where we belong and to whom we belong. 

Marc Moss

Thanks, Annabelle.

Annabelle Winnie has lived in Missoula since 2011. You might find her walking or biking around town, acting as chauffeur for one of her 2 kids, or taming the wild raspberry patch in her backyard. 

Rounding out this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast is Amanda Taylor, who learns that the path to love isn’t always smooth, and Amanda and Heather learn that the most powerful relationships can exist outside the box. Amanda calls her story “Heather”. Thanks for listening.

Amanda Taylor

 I Always thought that I needed to be perfect to be loved  and then I met Heather and Heather is almost six feet tall. She casually looks like an athletic supermodel without trying  she has naturally like white blonde hair and incredible calves  We first met at a Griz game, which is funny because I am not sporty at all. 

And we met at the game, and, you know, we stayed in touch afterwards via social media. And this was about 13 years ago.  And I would see her posting about going on runs, like the Missoula Marathon, or the RUT, which is a, if you don’t know, it’s a race in Big Sky where people pay money to run up a mountain where there’s, like, off the sides and they say that it’s fun. 

Um, and I would just hit love on those posts 

and I would run into her around town and she would say, Amanda, you have to come running with me. And I said, yeah, totally.  It’s like, I, I won’t be running with you.  And then about seven years ago I went through a breakup.  And I decided to reinvent myself as a trail runner.  And I remembered Heather. And so I reached out to her and I said, Hey, would you be up for showing me some trails around town?

If you just show me a few, like you, you don’t have to keep going with me, but if you just go with me like twice and show me where to go, then I can go alone and I’ll stop bothering you.  And she said, sure. And within five minutes, we had plans to meet up that week to go run at waterworks. And we did a loop around waterworks and talked about our jobs.

And I probably talked about dating like I always do.  And she, uh, you know, we didn’t share a whole lot. And then, um, she asked if I wanted to go on a steeper run and I said, sure, if we can go slow and she said, yes. So then we met up a few days later and went up Sentinel.  And as we made our way up, and my calves are burning, and my lungs are burning, and I’m trying to be sporty, um,  We hit this ice field.

It’s like a 3×3 ice field.  And I was like, ah, I’m scared.  I’m like, frozen. And she steps across the ice field with her giant calf.  And she reached across the ice and helped me across. And I was so embarrassed. I figured she would never want to go on an adventure with me again.  And then we got to the top and she went to give me a high five.

And I just did, you know, Cause  I’m not sporty.  And, um,  and then things kind of escalated after that. The next thing I knew, we had a workout schedule Monday through Saturday. 

With, um, runs and weights and yoga and Pilates. And, uh, we were texting each other every day, morning to night. We called them play by plays, which I also loved cause it made me feel sporty.  I’m like, yeah, we’re sending play by plays.  Um.  And then, um, you know, over time and many miles and,  and hours in the woods and up and down mountains and many pairs of shoes, I started to sense that there was something sad about her. 

And you can’t really approach someone and say, why is your soul sad?  So I thought,  I’m going to crack this nut, um,  I’m just going to share everything I can with her.  And then maybe she’ll tell me why she’s sad.  And so,  you know, and we had tons of time out there. Um, so I just shared everything about my life, a bunch of things that I will not be saying into a microphone tonight. 

Um, and things that were really shrouded with shame. And she would take all of them and say, Oh yeah, I could totally see how like given your life and what you’ve been through, like that totally makes sense that you would do that.  I was like, Oh, okay. She’s still here. Cool. Um,  and then she began to share a little bit about the relationship she was in.

And basically the conclusion that she had come to was that it wasn’t really love, like big love that makes your heart explode. It was just okay.  And he was a good person and they had a good life. So that’s what she was going to do.  I was like, ah, that’s where it is. Um, And so also why we were running all these miles is because she had gotten into a 100 mile trail running race and for some reason she thought I should pace her in it. 

And so we were training for this and I was going to pace her for the last 20 miles.  And we went to Idaho for this race, and, uh, during the race, at one point,  you know, she’s at mile 80, and I have fresh legs, so I can keep up, and, um, oh, if you’ve never been to a 100 mile trail running race, it is a spectacle.

Um, So, um,  Everyone starts out super pumped, they’re like full of smiles. And then you meet them at aid stations along this hundred mile route, up and down mountains, through the woods, through the night.  And as they go to aid stations, the life just slowly leaves  their faces.  And their, like, bouncy running becomes like a zombie shuffle. 

And they just look more and more sad every time you see them.  So I was there with her, mile 80,  and by this point she was having a lot of pain in her knees, and we were on a ridgeline, and I just remember watching her moving in pain. And behind my sunglasses, I’m crying. Because it’s so painful to see her in pain, but I’m supposed to be the strong one, like watching my clock, making sure we make the cutoff so she can finish.

So I did my job, I kind of held it together, and you can’t like, when you’re a pacer, you can’t touch them, you can’t hold their hand, you can’t hug them. So I just had to watch her suffer, and it was awful. But I kept saying, we got it, we just have to keep moving.  Eventually, we did get to the end, and, uh, she was the only female finisher of that race. 

Woo! 

And then on the way home, we sat in the back of the car for a lot of the ride, and she slept with her head on my leg. And I remember just wanting to cry about how much I loved her.  And I just thought, gosh, this is a really intense friendship. 

And, um,  It was. 

And then we got home and a couple days later we went for a walk to the river and we sat by the river and debrief the race and how she won and um,  and then she got serious and she said, Amanda, I have to ask you something. I was like, okay. And she said, what do you think about my relationship?  And I said, do you really want to know?

Because this is going to be hard. And she said, yes.  And so I said,  I don’t think that you’re happy and I love you so much that it  causes me pain to know that you’re not happy and that you’re not giving yourself a chance to live your happiest life.  And I said, I can’t.  I don’t think there’s any way I could sit.

Oh, I think I forgot to say, at some point in there they got engaged. So pretend I said that.  Boop! Little rewind. Um, so they were engaged and I said,  I don’t think I can sit at your wedding and watch you knowing that you are not happy. Like, that would break my heart.  And then we just sat there and stared at the river for a while. 

And then in  classic Amanda form, just blurting out things I feel uncomfortable about, um, I just said,  also,  I want to make out with you. 

And she said nothing. 

So I thought, great. I just made the greatest friendship of my life really weird.  Made it weird again. Okay. Bye.  And, um, I said, Oh my gosh, did I just ruin everything? And she just grabbed my hand, and we stared at the river, and she said, You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re fine. I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. 

Which is such an easy task, right? Um, so,  um, I said, okay, and we parted ways. And then later, or a few days later, we met up to go for a run, because a hundred miles wasn’t enough.  Um, and I got to the trailhead, and she said, get in the car. And I said, okay. And, uh, and then she said, Amanda, I’m just gonna tell you everything.

Mm hmm.  And she said, I have loved women since I was four.  And I have loved you from the time that I helped you across the ice.  The timer doesn’t count if I’m trying not to cry.  Okay. 

Um, 

and she said,  I was dying when you wore that black dress to the trail running festival. And I was dying when you hung out in a swimsuit and a flannel all day.  And this whole time I have just been trying to be respectful and not see you like that, because I love you so much.  Whoo,  and then for the first time in my life,  I kissed a woman. 

And her Her hands were soft, and her face was soft, and her lips were soft, and there was no like, scratchy hair 

exfoliating my face. 

And we were basically together after that. And then,  you know, we were late for everything because we were in bed. And um,  And then the bliss wore off  and I was still the person I was with my issues and she was still the person she was with her issues  and the romantic part of our relationship did not work. 

But  we made a deal to be friends and to not give up on one another. And after that was a year, a very tumultuous year, or maybe a little longer of the most difficult conversations I have ever had that I never want to have again.  But,  um, 

now, um, she is the greatest, one of the greatest cheerleaders of my life. And she is living her happiest life with her girlfriend. And. And I am living my life knowing, even though I forget for moments, sometimes I know in my bones that I can be imperfect and loved.  Thank you.

Marc Moss

Thanks, Amanda. Amanda Taylor is a lover of laughter and of love. After sharing a story at Tell Us Something one year ago, she finally followed her dream of trying stand-up comedy. Now she is a local stand-up comedian, even though she feels like an imposter saying that. Amanda is on a lifelong journey of living in alignment with herself, and is forever grateful to each person who has loved and continues to love her along the way.

Please remember that our next event, in partnership with Missoula Pride is on June11 at the Glacier Ice Rink in the Missoula County Fairgrounds. The theme is “Going Home ”.  Learn more about Tell Us Something and get tickets for the next event at tellussomething.org.

Marc Moss: We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Going Home”. This event is a collaboration with Missoula Pride and we will favor folx in the LBGTQ+ community as we listen to story pitches. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected].

The pitch deadline is May 4th. I look forward to hearing from you.

Another important date is on the horizon, too. Missoula Gives & Bitterroot Gives, is an initiative of the Missoula Community Foundation, is a 26-hour celebration of the Missoula and Ravalli communities. It connects generous Missoulians and Bitterrooters with the causes they care about. Causes like Tell Us Something. It is a day to celebrate and support the role nonprofits and donors (like you) play in making our Missoula & Ravalli communities great. Mark your calendars for May 2nd and 3rd and tell your friends about this opportunity to support Tell Us Something during Missoula Gives. May 2nd and 3rd.

Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. Tell Us Something is a nonprofit that helps people share their true personal stories around a theme live in person and without notes. I’m Marc Moss, your host and Executive Director of Tell Us Something! We acknowledge that we are gathered on the traditional lands of the Salish, Pend Oreille, and Kalispel peoples, who have stewarded this land throughout the generations.

As spring unfolds its vibrant colors and rejuvenates the earth, we recognize the interconnectedness of all life, and the importance of honoring Indigenous knowledge and practices.

In this season of renewal, let us commit to fostering a deeper understanding of Indigenous culture and history. Take time to learn about the traditional ecological knowledge of the original inhabitants of this land, and incorporate sustainable practices into our daily lives.

Together, let us strive to be mindful stewards of the land, fostering harmony and respect for all beings who call this place home.

A tangible way that we can do this is to practice leave no trace principles when we are outside recreating. Pick up our dogs’ waste when we are out hiking — don’t “get it on the way back” from your hike, get it when it happens, and carry it with you. Pick up trash where you see it, observe wildlife from a distance and avoid feeding them. By practicing some of these leave no trace principles, we can be stewards of the land that we claim to love so much.

We take this moment to honor the land and its Native people, and the stories that they share with us.

Sometimes adventure is chosen, sometimes it’s thrust upon you. In this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast, we delve into the journeys of four remarkable people:

A mother and daughter in Belize work together to navigate the challenges of entering the country with an expired passport, a determined diver confronts the depths of the ocean swimming against sudden swells and learns some harrowing news the next day when she returns to the water. An artist wrestles with self-doubt and the meaning of success. And a woman on a wilderness adventure faces a grizzly bear encounter, wolves and swarming bees on her ordeal to get out and help with a family emergency.

Traci Sylte: He opens the door and said, you’ll need to go to the U. S. Embassy right away. And talk to the consulate.

Ren Parker: I fight like hell to get up. Everything starts going really fast. I’m breathing air out as fast as I can, and I’m moving and swimming as hard as I can to get to the surface.  When divers dive, they need to decompress as they go to the surface.

Mark Matthews: And I  admitted for the first time that I’d given up the thing I loved. I’m Because I thought I was a failure, because I couldn’t make a living from it.

Kat Werner: I enter Pain Cave. Which is really just  alright, like, suck it up. Full on autopilot,  and I just, you know, one paddle stroke and one step at a time  trying to make it out of there. 

Marc Moss: Four storytellers share their true personal story on the theme “Close to the Edge”. Our stories today were recorded live in person in front of a packed house on March 26, 2024 at The George and Jane Dennison Theatre.

Remember this: Tell Us Something stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language.

Our first storyteller is Traci Sylte. An expired passport throws mother-daughter vacation into chaos! Listen to their dramatic encounter with immigration and how they turned a mishap into an unforgettable experience. We call her story “The Trip of a Lifetime”. Thanks for listening.

Traci Sylte: Descending from 30, 000 feet comes the following across the loudspeaker. Good afternoon. This is your main flight attendant speaking. Soon we will be coming through the aisles to pick up any unwanted items.

Please also have your, your custom form and your declarations formed, picked, filled out because we will be picking those up as well. Thank you for flying with us. We will be landing in Belize City in approximately 30 minutes. Beside me sat my daughter Becca, and it was just the two of us. She was 14 at [00:01:00] the time, and that was five years ago.

Old enough to begin filling out the customs form herself. And so I gave her her own form and she started filling it out. I began filling out the declaration form, making sure we had no, no unwanted fruits, no unwanted plant parts. Certainly nothing over 10, 000 in cash that we were bringing in. And then I started looking down at Becca and she was hesitating.

And, um, she’s sitting right here to the side of me and I’m, she’s, like, not filling out her form. And I look down and I said, Sweets, what’s wrong? And she says, Mom, my passport has expired. Yeah, right? And I say, that’s not true. Uh, let me see it. I look down, and sure enough, it had expired four months prior.

Four months prior, thirty minutes before we were to land in Belize City. Yeah. [00:02:00] And so I thought for a moment about like this, and I looked down at her, and I said, Okay, Becca, I need you to follow my lead. Can you do that, sweets? Just follow my lead. And she goes, Yeah, Mama, I can, I can do that. So we land, the customs line is long, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, because it was long enough for me to think about all the different things I could do to get us through this.

And it came down to one thing. I needed to be an actress, and I needed to be Meryl Streep. And I, oh, no, Jodie Foster. Jodie Foster is really hot right now, don’t you think? Yeah, Jodie Foster. So I had to be my best Jodie Foster. And so we are, we are coming up, and here’s the, up to the time where the, you see the official.

And I give the passports to her, and she looks at mine, asks me the questions, and then she hands it back, stamps it, and hands it back to me, and then she looks at Becca’s. And she looks at me and she says, Ma’am, her passport [00:03:00] is expired, did you know this? And I said, that can’t be. And, and I said, that’s just not possible.

And she says, it’s expired. And I said, that can’t be. Can I see it? So she hands it back to me, and I immediately start sobbing. And if, if, and I’m not an actress, but let me, and you guys probably like me watch movies, how do they do that? Let me say it’s possible you can, you can cry, you can cry. So I’m crying and I’m saying this is not true.

It can’t be, but it is. I don’t know how this has happened. Her dad just gave me the passport last night. We’re divorced. They went to, I didn’t think he’d laugh at that, that part, but yes. Okay. Yes. But yeah, we’re divorced. There’s, there’s clunky things, right? He, he handed me the passport last night. I’m telling the woman this.

And. They just went to Costa Rica last year. Passports don’t, they need to be renewed every ten years, right? And she’s not old enough. And she goes, ma’am, ma’am, [00:04:00] ma’am, calm down, calm down. Passport, and I’m crying, um, Passports need to be renewed for children under 18 years old every 5 years. And I said I didn’t know that.

And then she looks at me really sternly. And then she looks at Becca. And the interrogation begins. Who is this? This is my mama. What are you doing in Belize? We are in spring break. Where’s your dad? Why is your passport expired? Bang, bang, bang, bang. She asked Becca all these questions and Becca did not look up at me.

She just very calmly addressed this woman and after her interrogation the woman signals for another assistant to come and he comes and asks us the same exact freaking questions. Same thing, same response and I’m, I’m still trying to cry although the tears are starting to go away and Same thing, and Terry gets back, uh, and then he makes a phone call, [00:05:00] and he says, come with me.

And so we follow him down this long corridor, and then it turns, and I’m thinking all this time about spy movies and corrupt governments, and And cartels, drug cartels, and, and how vulnerable we are to these people at this time. And then we get to this door, and the door says, Director of Immigrations. And the door opens, he knocks, and the door opens, and this gentleman, let’s call him Raul, um, Raul, um, opens the door, and then he gestures for us to come in.

and sit down at these two chairs that were by his desk, and then he sits behind his desk and he looks at me, and I’m looking at him and I can see on the wall behind him, literally, no joke, there’s a picture of Jesus, and then on top of his file cabinets there are praying hands and I thought, I hope this works in my credit, or to my benefit, but drug cartels and corrupt governments, they’re religious too, so how is this going to work out?

So, he starts interrogating me the same questions, and I answer all of [00:06:00] those, and I’m not crying at this point. And at the end of these questions, I add. I said, I know it seems really stupid. Her dad and I were reasonably smart people, we just made a mistake. And I can tell you this also. Look at all of the consent forms, look at, we’ve got everything in line, and I can tell you that on the customs form it says, it asks you for the date of issue.

Thank you. Not the date of expiration. I never looked at the date of expiration. Neither did her dad. So then he turns from me to Becca. And he starts interrogating her, literally, with all the same questions. Who is this? And, and, and, then it comes, they think that I’m trying to smuggle my daughter in. It’s like, I just want to go out on the island and be with the sun and the sand.

And, and, I look at her and I think. She’s, she’s not looking at me, and she’s answering his questions with such poise and such grace, and it’s like, wow. She’s doing better than I am. And when she’s done with her interrogation, he looks back at [00:07:00] me, and his eyes had changed. At that point, I thought, Or maybe I knew that I was looking into the eyes of a father or perhaps a grandfather.

He literally, he turned and he went to a stack of papers on his desk. Oh, I forgot to tell you, at this point he was on the corner of his desk and he was looking over his eyeglasses like this at me. But he turned and he grabbed this, this, this piece of paper. And he literally ripped, I’m not joking, he ripped off a quarter of that piece of paper and he said, and then he put some of Becca’s passport information on it, he signed it and then he stamped it.

He said, this is your 14 day visitor pass to Belize, don’t lose it.

Yeah, he opens the door and said, you’ll need to go to the U. S. Embassy right away. And talk to the consulate, and don’t lose that piece of paper. So, I [00:08:00] also have to say that in my defense, I had this trip choreographed to the hour. I had two days on the mainland before we went out on the five day island excursion, two days afterwards, and I had to cancel all of that.

All of the mainland excursions that we were going to go on. And in that time, we got the passport application renewal, we got passport pictures, which is not easy to find all this stuff in Belize City in a third world country. It took a little bit of time and it was great for Becca and I, we really got to experience Belize City trying to find these things.

We called, we called her father, um, and got the, um, the, her birth certificate. FedExed overnight, we got, we got out on the island, we had a lovely time out on the island, did a lot of things, Becca snorkeled, and then she learned to dive out there. And while we were in the dive shop, the host of the dive shop said to us, I’ve never heard of such a story.

I can’t believe you’re here. And he said, you are likely going to have trouble getting back into the country.

[00:09:00] And he said, and just know that you can demand with the U. S. Embassy a 24 hour emergency passport. Just remember that. So, fast forward, I don’t have time to tell you all the things about the U. S. Embassy, that would take another ten minutes or more, um, but it was about as daunting. There were long lines, there were glass doors that I swear were three to four inches thick, um, There was, at one point, we heard a gentleman yell and say, if somebody doesn’t do something, somebody’s gonna get shot.

And we are getting the full, full experience here, this 14 year old here listening to all of this. And I also have to tell you that I put my mama bear on, and I, I had to, and I asked for a supervisor and another supervisor, and I demanded that emergency passport, and we needed it. It was, it was daunting.

But I’m here to say that the, but, and we got a private, we had a private host that helped us getting back and forth between [00:10:00] the, the, um, the consulate or the American embassy in Belmopan, which is an hour and a half away from Belize City, and we had to go back and forth several times, but we got to go in caves and visit his family and experience things that we normally would never have experienced.

And we made it. To our boarding gate 30 minutes before departure. Now we got on the plane and then we fly back in and we’re getting back into Missoula. And a lot of you guys can probably attest to this. The smell and the clear, the clear, cool air of Missoula was just really welcoming. And on our drive home, we were talking and reminiscing about the trip.

And, and Becca said to me, she goes, mom, that was the best trip that we’d ever been on. And, and she said. I think it was probably the trip of a lifetime. And I said, well, it was for me. You’re only 14, but yes. [00:11:00] It was a trip of a lifetime. It was epic. And she said, Mom, I gotta tell you something. Can I tell you something and have you not get mad at me?

She’s like, oh, here we go. She has a way of diffusing me before she even says something. And she said, Mom, I knew that the passport was expired before we left.

Thank you.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Traci.

Traci Sylte is a civil engineer and hydrologist who has worked for the U.S. Forest Service for nearly 34 years, and is currently the watershed program manager for the Lolo National Forest. She has a passion to maintain healthy watersheds, valley bottoms, rivers, streams, and wetlands. Traci is the product of two very loving parents.Her father taught her to operate a chainsaw and her mother facilitated dresses and piano lessons for her. The love of her life is her daughter, Becca, who is currently in her first year at the University of Washington. Traci continues to grow deeper in love with Missoula each year, because if one wants to learn to weave a basket with pink polka dots on a Tuesday, there’s someone probably doing it here. When Traci is not working, she is grounded by spending time with beloved family and friends, all things water, fly fishing, hiking, playing hockey with amazing Missoula women, fireside guitar serenades, sunrises, sunsets, all things music, and leaving things better than she found them.

In our next story, Ren Parker embarks on what was supposed to be a relaxing dive off Catalina Island that takes a terrifying turn. After fighting for survival in a desperate ascent, Ren knows that she must get back into the water the next day, and is met with devastating news upon surfacing. Ren calls her story “Deep Blue”. Thanks for listening.

Ren Parker: I am anchored on a small boat on the backside of Catalina Islands.  I’m getting ready to do a salvage dive with the two Johns.  And we’re standing there and looking around. It’s a beautiful sunshiny day.  Um, and we peer down the thing about the back side of Catalina Island is it’s open ocean. And for those of you who haven’t experienced open ocean, there’s nothing to stop the energy from the ocean.

When you are on the shore and you see a wave,  That is stopping all this force, but in the open ocean, it’s just there.  But everything seemed good for the dive that day, and we were about to drop down and get a lobster trap for a friend who had lost it during the lobster season.  As I slip into the ocean and slowly start ascending, descending into the depths, I look around and orient myself. 

On the backside of the island, there’s a shelf that’s about 120 feet.  There are these pinnacles that are about 60 feet that rise up like needles.  It’s very beautiful. If you look out the shelf, it drops down. And often when we speak of the depth, we use the word miles instead of feet. That’s how deep it is there.

You can see shadows moving and you never know what they are.  And as I go down, it gets a little darker and I touch the bottom of the ocean floor. It’s Sandy there.  We have only a few minutes to tie off the flotation device to get our lobster trap up. And, uh, that’s because the deeper you dive, the less time you have on the floor.

So we get that going and we, we, uh, light it up and it starts going up and up and then suddenly the surge hits.  I’m thrown 30 feet back and forth. I’m dodging pinnacles. I’m trying not to get smashed with rocks. I’m completely absorbed in the moment of trying to right myself and find some sense of balance.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with surge.  It’s like an underwater  river, but it goes back and forth and it’s very hard to swim against it. And this one was extremely strong.  By the time I had my wits about me and I’m trying to move around, I realized I’ve been breathing much heavier than I normally would.

And I’m starting to run out of air.  So I look around, I see the Johns. We all make the sign. We need to get out of here. And we start ascending up.  But it’s been really hard to swim and I’m exhausted and I look and I still have quite a ways to go and I’m almost out of air.  I look five minutes, five. Five, four, three, two,  and it’s gone. 

I fight like hell to get up. Everything starts going really fast. I’m breathing air out as fast as I can, and I’m moving and swimming as hard as I can to get to the surface.  When divers dive, they need to decompress as they go to the surface.  Air expands and gases expand in your system as you start going up. 

And if you don’t have enough time to off gas it out of your system, the ones that are stored in your tissue and your lungs, then it can create bubbles in your bloodstream and in your arteries and affect your organs.  I knew all this because I had worked at the hyperbaric chamber. If you’re unfamiliar with that term, it is a capsule that you go in when you get, um, decompression sickness from going up too fast or not fully getting the gases out of your system. 

And they put you back in pressure at depth so they can slowly bring you back up and you can off gas it the way you’re supposed to.  Um, I, this is in my mind, I break the surface  and there is foam and waves and I’m getting thrashed everywhere and I just keep dipping down and there’s no air in the, my vest and my BC.

So I just keep going under and I’m fighting to breathe and to get to the boat and somehow I do.  And I’m thinking about all these things and realize that I may be in some serious trouble.  But I wasn’t. I had done the emergency ascend apparently good enough that everything was okay. And, uh, I didn’t have to go into any sort of treatment.

And the next day, being a good cowgirl, I knew you gotta get back on that horse. And that’s how I was always raised. If something scares you, you go back and you try it again.  So I had decided I was going to go to the front side of the island where it was much calmer, where I had a lot more experience and just drop, drop down about 20 feet, just feel it and then drop back up and get the nervousness out of my system. 

So I walked from the back Harbor cat Harbor over to the front Carver. There’s a little isthmus there.  And as I’m walking there, I run into my friend, Linda.  There’s only about 40 of us that live on this part of the island year round. We’re all really tight. Linda was one of them. And was a good friend of mine.

She was witty and had this fierce sense of humor. She always had these beautiful long nails. Like, we were in the middle of nowhere and that girl looked fierce. Like, no matter what. And she would roll, she rolled the best joints with those long nails. She’d be like, oh, I got it. Just like, fabulous, you know.

I could never.  So I see her, and she’s looking fabulous, and she’s going, and she’s going to, um, get on her paddleboard, and we give, I give her a hug, I tell her what she’s doing, she’s all crazy girl, and I go.  So I get in my dinghy, and I motor out into this little lagoon,  drop the anchor, I have one of the johns in the boat to keep an eye out for me,  and I, I slowly go down into the water.

This area is about 25 feet, and it’s full of kelp, and it’s beautiful. And as you drop down, it’s the, the lighting becomes like a cathedral, or a redwood forest. It’s all dappled, it’s stunning.  And I get to the bottom, And the minute my feet touch the ground,  something is wrong.  I can feel it so deeply. It’s, it’s very upsetting.

So I immediately come back up and shake it off, you know, like I’m probably just still got the nerves.  And I come back and get back in the dinghy and we head to shore.  As I get to shore, I see the dock and.  I see my friend Lori running down it. She’s screaming and crying and she’s so upset. She keeps tripping and I had never seen anyone look like that before. 

So I quickly tied my boat up, walked up to her as fast as I could, and kind of caught her. And she was saying these things to me, but I, I didn’t understand what she was saying.  I kept repeating, what are you, what are you talking about? Finally, she said someone had died,  and I couldn’t understand the name, and finally she grabbed me, and she said, Rin, Linda has died. 

I had just seen her. 

Due to the  respect  I have for the,  for her life, I’m not going to go into details  of her passing, but one thing I will say, I worked in her ritual and I had to be a part of all of it.  So about 30 minutes later, everyone, all 40 of us were gathered  On the shoreline, in silence, nobody knew what to say, looking out at the ocean where we had lost our Linda. 

A woman started walking from the back. She was a local artist. She was slowly taking off her clothes to her bathing suit, and she had a handful of flowers. She started swimming out into the ocean and scattering them, and silently, we all started doing the same.  We got out there together.  And we all just swam in a circle  and spread flowers  and some people came from their boats and started pouring liquor into the water.

I’ve never heard silence like that before.  The next few weeks were a blur.  There was a lot of preparations and plans and trying to figure out this and contacting family and transportation.  I’ve always been the mother hen of everyone around me, and so I was just looking after, looking after, cooking for everyone, checking on everyone, but I had forgotten to check in with myself. 

And I got a call from my friend Chelsea. She had heard what happened,  and she said, Do you need to get out of that town? And I said, Yes. She said, Get on that ferry, and I did.  And she met me in Long Beach.  Got in her car and started driving up highway one up towards Big Sur. And slowly  I started my emotional decompression, which took a long time. 

And looking back, as I tell this story,  I realized that this was this moment, this critical moment in my life that took my trajectory and threw it into this chaotic space that I didn’t know was coming.  But when I look back, I see that that was the thing that brought me here. That was the thing that brought me  to many places within myself and in the planet. 

And I think that moments like that are only truly valued in retrospect.  And when I think back now to that time, what I remember  is how close we all were, how beautiful Linda was and how much we all love the sea. Thank you.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Ren.

Ren Parker is passionate about fostering a sense of community, and brings that enthusiasm to all of her endeavors. Ren grew up in Hawaii and lived on sailboats that she restored on the Pacific Ocean for seven years. She gave up her nomadic ways and moved back to Missoula to be close to family, and has been growing roots here ever since. Ren loves to dance and hike with her faithful dog, Poet, and spend time with her remarkable Missoula friends. She is a regular storyteller at the weekly storytelling event Word Dog, and hosts a weekly storytelling radio show on KFGM Community Radio where she is station manager. Her show is called Once Upon a Radio Wave.

Coming up after the break:

Mark Matthews: And I  admitted for the first time that I’d given up the thing I loved. I’m Because I thought I was a failure, because I couldn’t make a living from it.

Kat Werner: I enter Pain Cave. Which is really just  alright, like, suck it up. Full on autopilot,  and I just, you know, one paddle stroke and one step at a time  trying to make it out of there.

Marc Moss: An artist’s life takes a dramatic turn on a snowy night and a woman stranded in Alaska, grizzly bears on one side, a father in crisis on the other.

Stay with us.

Thank you to the Good Food Store who, as the Story Sponsor, helped us pay our storytellers. Learn more about them at goodfoodstore.com. Thanks to Spark Arts who provided childcare for the performance. You can learn more about Spark at sparkartslearning.org. Thanks to our Stewardship sponsor, Blackfoot Communications, who helped us to give away free tickets to underserved populations. Learn more about Blackfoot, celebrating 70 years, at goblackfoot.com.

We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Going Home”. This event is a collaboration with Missoula Pride and we will favor folx in the LBGTQ+ community as we listen to story pitches. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected]. Learn more and get your tickets for the June 11th event at tellussomething.org.

The pitch deadline is May 4th. I look forward to hearing from you.

Another important date is on the horizon, too. Missoula Gives & Bitterroot Gives, a 26-hour celebration of the Missoula and Ravalli communities. Mark your calendars for May 2nd and 3rd and tell your friends about this opportunity to support Tell Us Something during Missoula Gives. May 2nd and 3rd.

You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast where people share their true stories around a theme live in person without notes. I’m Marc Moss. Storytellers in this episode shared their stories in front of a full house on March 26, 2024 at The George and Jane Dennison Theatre in Missoula Montana.

Our next storyteller is Mark Matthews. Mark’s life takes a dramatic turn on a snowy night. He’s a struggling sculptor with seemingly nowhere to go. Listen to Mark’s story of passion, resilience, and rediscovery of the thing that he loves. Mark calls history “Thanks for This Wonderful Gift”.

Mark Matthews:

Um, on January 1st,  1992, I abandoned a career in art.  About a decade earlier, when I was 30 years old,  I started sculpting full time after quitting a job in Boston and moving to a small coastal village in Maine where everything was wicked good. 

I started my career carving wood, and I loved it. The entire process I would walk through the forest looking for broken limbs from trees or I would salvage a log that was destined for the firewood pile.  I carved many images of dancers. Ballet dancers, uh, dressed in, uh, tights and leotards. Modern and flamenco dances with, um, flowing skirts.

Couples doing a contradance swing or, um, the Cajun two step.  I also did musicians playing fiddles, violins, accordions, and guitars.  Sometimes I would liberate a figure from a single piece of wood, and over time I started constructing  sculptures. For instance, I would carve one leg, the torso, and the head out of one piece of wood, attach the arms in different attitudes, and the other leg could be jutting out in any angle. 

I had a lot of luck showing my work in galleries, and in fact, the gallery owner said,  your work entices people to come in.  And sometimes I witnessed that  after delivering a new piece, I would hang around talking to the director,  and people would come in the gallery and go from sculpture to sculpture saying, look at this, look at this.

And then they’d come up to the owner and they’d say,  We want to buy that painting, it fits the decor of a living room.  And I realized early on that not many people know how to live with sculpture.  But I made enough money, uh, to keep out of the starving artist, uh, category.  And many a day at the end of,  many times at the end of the work day,  I would just say thank you for this wonderful gift. 

In 1989,  I moved from Maine to Montana.  And, at that time, Missoula was a soft landing place for artists, writers, dancers, musicians. There weren’t many jobs, but the rent was cheap. For instance, you could rent a room, uh, a studio apartment at the Wilma Building for 150 a month. 

And, when I started exploring the Rocky Mountain West and the Pacific Northwest, I got my work into galleries in Seattle, uh, Kalispell, Big Fork, Truchas, New Mexico, and Palm Desert, California.  And also, um, a lot of my work was, uh, rather large, from five feet, uh, and I had one ballerina that was on point with her hands overhead that was eight feet tall, but they were very thin. 

But I had to transport them in a, uh, cargo  trailer.  And I wanted to make things that I could just put in the back of my Ford Ranger pickup.  and deliver it to a gallery. So I enrolled in a one credit independent study in ceramics at the university.  In fact, many people enrolled in one credit independent studies in a lot of subjects at that time so that they could get the health insurance. 

Um,  Where was I?  Oh, so I took my portfolio to Beth Lowe and Tom Rapone, and they looked at it and said, Oh yeah, you can work here as much as you want, uh, use as much clay as you want, as long as you mix it yourself. And it was a beautiful community of people, welcoming, supportive people. Uh, Bill and Cheryl West were there from Idaho, working on their graduate, um, degrees.

Uh, Joe Batt, was also working on his graduate degrees. He was the, um, lead singer in stand up Stella and, um,  Glenn and Amy parks was frequent, uh, visitors to the studio as was Jeanette Rakowski. We used to work at the downtown bakery before it burned down. 

There was one thing wrong though. The galleries weren’t selling my work  by the fall of 1991.  I found myself sleeping. And the camper on the back of my Ford Ranger pickup truck is one of those campers with the fold up doors.  And I would park just off campus. It was illegal to park without a sticker. And get up early, shower in the men’s, the old men’s gym, and cook my meals on a camp stove in the ventilated kiln room. 

But still, life was wonderful. I was making art.  And the weather was beautiful. No snow. Uh, no freezing temperatures all winter long.  Into the fall. In the early winter.  And, at the end of the day,  especially when I finish the piece, I would say thank you for this wonderful gift.  Oh, I forgot one little story.

Uh, Tom Rippon invited me to  sit on his sculpture class.  And, you know, I wanted to make these small things. And the first thing Tom said in class was, Everybody’s going to make something over six feet tall this semester.  I ended up making a statue of Hank Williams playing his guitar, seven foot tall, and a Lady Grizz basketball player holding a ball on her hip, and a couple of other pieces. 

So, um,  during winter break, my parents sent me a plane ticket to go visit them, and I got back to Missoula the afternoon of January 1st, 1992. Phew.  You deplaned on the tarmac at that,  at that time. And I walked out into warm sunshine, still no snow in the valley, and  thought, what should I do? For the rest of the afternoon.

Um, I didn’t feel like going to work at the studio. Uh, I usually camped up in, um, Deer Creek on the weekends and I didn’t feel like going up there. I thought I’ll go see a matinee movie.  So I went to the old triplex cinema at the end of Brooks, just before you head out to Lolo. And I chose to see dances with the wolves  about 20 minutes into the film. 

The screen went blank, the house lights came on, and an usher came down the aisle, and he said,  You may want to head home. There’s a wicked winter storm blowing up the Blackfoot. We’re going to get about two feet of snow and freezing temperatures.  I walked out into the lobby, and the wind was blowing so hard it was holding the exit doors open, and I could see the snow blowing parallel to the parking lot. 

Reached the Ford Ranger, got some winter clothes out of the back, and got in and instinctively drove to the ceramics studio, which shares the Quonset Hut with the Grizzly Pool,  intending to sleep there overnight.  I parked right in front of the door, even though I had no parking sticker.  Grabbed my sleeping bag out of the back. 

Reached for the door handle and for the first time in two years it was locked.  Got back into the Ford Ranger. Slowly drove off campus. Came to the intersection of Madison Street and there was a pickup truck.  Just sitting there in the middle of the intersection.  And I left the ranger idling and I went out and, to see what was going on.

And a woman rolled down her window and said, I can’t see anything. And the ice was encrusted on her front, front um, windshield. About a half an inch. So I took her scraper, uh, cleaned her window off. And as I’m doing that, I’m thinking, Hmm. How can I get this woman to take me home for the night? 

I couldn’t think of anything, so I handed the scraper back to her and she thanked me profusely  and drove off.  And I got back into the Ford Ranger and just sat there.  And when you’re homeless, you kind of lose contact with your friends.  And I’d heard of the Parvarello Center, but I didn’t know where it was.

And, and I didn’t feel right. My motto had always been, artists make art, they don’t wait on tables. So I had gotten myself into this situation.  And then I heard a voice. And it wasn’t inside my head. It was coming through my ears.  And it was the voice of Jeanette Rakowski. And she had said, If you ever get in trouble, you can stay at my place. 

So I made it over to her humble abode on the west side  and grabbed my sleeping bag and knocked on the front door and Jeannette came to the door, wrapped up in her bathrobe, opened the door and said, what the hell are you doing out there? Get in here.  She made me dinner. We chatted a while.  She went off to her bedroom to read and sleep.

And I spread my sleeping bag out on the sofa.  And for a while, I just stared at the ceiling.  And came to the conclusion that I can’t do this anymore. And I gave up. Heart. 

Twenty years later,  I’m working as an adjunct professor at, uh, Montana College of Technology when it was out by the, uh, county fairgrounds,  uh, teaching English comp and creative writing.  And I used to go over to the old Salvation Army store, which was also across the street from the fairgrounds.  And I’m going through the VHS  tapes, and I see Dances with the Wolves. 

I said, I’ve never saw the end of that film.  So I take it home and watch it.  Stopped it about half an hour in. And went downstairs to get a snack. And halfway down the stairs, I started weeping.  I’m like, what the hell is going on? The movie isn’t even sad.  And at that moment, all those memories of January 1st, 1992 came descending upon me. 

And I  admitted for the first time that I’d given up the thing I loved. I’m Because I thought I was a failure, because I couldn’t make a living from it.  And as abruptly as I gave up art, I decided I would take it up again.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Mark. Throughout his adult life Mark Matthews has worked as an artist, author, freelance journalist, wildland firefighter, and dance caller and instructor. He currently shows his sculpture and oil paintings at the Roosevelt Arts Center in Red Lodge, and at Manifestations Gallery in Eureka. Over the past dozen years he has visited scores of schools across the state of Montana, for Humanities Montana, teaching children of all ages how to contra and square dance. For more information about Mark’s art, and to hear an epilogue of Mark’s story, visit tellussomething.org.

In our final story, Kat Werner is stranded in Alaska, grizzly bears on one side, a father in crisis on the other.  In the face of fear, and with the help of her hiking crew, a community rallied and shared burdens. Kat calls her story “The Arctic Pain Cave” Sensitive listeners be aware that Kat’s story discusses someone who has suicidal ideations. Please take care of yourselves.  Thanks for listening.

Kat Werner: Kat Werner

I am on the Koyukuk River in the Arctic Circle in Alaska.  I’m with my husband, Curtis, and my friends, Samson and Cody.  For the last four days, we hiked hauling 80 pound packs to get to our river put in.  And it’s our first day on the river,  and we’re about two miles down. And when I look ahead,  everything happens really fast. 

I see a giant grizzly bear covered in blood,  and it’s charging at Samson, who’s the first in line.  And before I know it, something catches my eye on the left, and I look over, and there’s a wolf.  And as I start screaming,  the grizzly bear must get confused because it backs, backs off, and it hauls a massive caribou caucus. 

up the shore,  which gives us a much needed break to get the hell out of there,  take a deep breather,  because that was a close call.  And it was one of seven grizzly bear encounters in a 24 hour period. 

It’s our third morning on the river, and it’s one of those beautiful, sunny camp mornings.  And it’s, you know, it’s, I vividly remember it because the sun is shining, everybody always says, oh, Alaska, there’s all these bugs and it’s raining, but it was just beautiful, and I’m in a tank top, I’m hanging out with my friends, we’re really not in a rush, because we’re in the Arctic, and we have 24 hour daylight.

So we’re just hanging out, we’re sharing stories, we’re drinking tea,  and eventually, we’re like, alright, we should probably get going, it’s like noon.  And so, as we start packing up our stuff, I’m thinking, oh, I should turn on my Garmin inReach. And check if I got any messages.  And so if you don’t know what a Garmin inReach is, it’s a communication device.

It’s a satellite communication device that allows you to send and receive messages and it has an SRS function, but you’re not able to make or take calls.  And so I turn on the inReach and it takes a couple minutes to connect to the satellite  and within quick succession, I get two messages.  The first one is from my mom. 

And it says, bitte ruf mich an,  please call me.  The second one is from my mother in law Michelle.  Cat has to call home. It’s an emergency.  And my stomach just drops.  And I wish I could tell you  that the story I’m sharing tonight is just a good old adventure story.  You know, it’s really challenging physically and mentally, but overall, it’s a really good time. 

And that’s not the story that I’m telling. 

And so, to give a little bit of context to those text messages,  I have to look back at that year, and my dad, back in Germany,  who was having a really challenging year.  Despite any prior mental health issues.  He, pretty suddenly, and within a really short period, developed a really deep and severe depression. 

And so the morning of the day before we were set to leave for Alaska,  I remember calling both of my parents  and they didn’t answer.  And I got this standard, you know, Apple text message that just says, we’ll call you right back. And I’m, I’m already like, that’s weird. Like something’s going on. What’s going on?

I don’t know.  And so,  when my mom FaceTimes me, a couple hours later,  my dad is sitting right next to her and, you know, he doesn’t look, he doesn’t look at me at all, and he’s just in a pile.  And my mom says, you know, we just spend  some time with a crisis therapist who assessed your dad for suicidal thoughts. 

And, right away in my mind I’m thinking,  I can’t go on this trip, like,  what am I going to do?  And my mom says, you know, it’s, it’s okay. We have the support that we need, and we have the services, and you should go on this trip. 

And I do. And Kurt tells Cody and Samson what’s going on, and they’re great.  And the next morning, like 5am, red eye flight out of Missoula, before we leave, last minute I grab my passports, my German and my American passport, just in case.  And so, we head out, we get to Fairbanks,  and I’m just in a really weird headspace going into this trip. 

I’m really, yeah, I’m really just struggling to stay present and, you know, engage with my friends and soak up the beauty that is the gates of the Arctic National Park, one of the most remote places in the world.  And I’m really just worried the whole time.  And then I get those text messages.  Your dad tried to end his life today  and he’s at the hospital. 

And I respond to my mom and I say, I can’t call you.  At a minimum, I’m five days out from calling you.  And that’s five days of  hard, hard, hard back breaking work, trying to make it back to Coldfoot, the last truck stop, about six hours away from Fairbanks.  And so I’m like, well, alright, what do I do? I can’t curl up here on this sandy shore.

I can’t call a heli evac. I have to keep moving.  And, at that point, I enter  what my husband refers to as the pain cave. Which is really just this, like, alright, like, suck it up. So like, just go inside, and And just full on autopilot,  and I just, you know, one paddle stroke and one step at a time  trying to make it out of there. 

And I don’t talk, and I don’t engage, I just function.  And we all come together that morning on the river, and we basically brainstorm. How can we get out of here as fast as possible?  And we put in a massive day on the Koyukuk that day.  We finish the next morning,  and we make it to our exit, the Rock Creek exit. 

And,  I wonder if anybody has ever planned a trip following a blog post?  Especially if that blog post said,  This is not recommended.  It’s actually strongly discouraged.  That was the Rock Creek exit.  And it started out with a hike, well, a hike up a flowing creek.  My left little toe was literally numb for six months after that trip because the water was so cold. 

And you know, eventually the canyon gets really narrow and we get forced up the bank, um, this left, shitty side hill slope, the thickest alder bushes you can imagine, um, we labeled it the schwagadoom because it was, it was such thick alder and it’s hot and it’s humid and, um, We are hauling these heavy packs, and really, any time you needed a break, all you had to do was just go, uh  huh. 

Because it was so thick, you couldn’t go anywhere.  There is miles of muskag, so we’re just sinking into the slimy, muddy water. There’s bugs, there’s bees nests on the ground.  At our best, we’re moving a quarter of a mile an hour.  It was a full on sufferfest. I’m in my pain cave.  We make it. We get to Coltsfoot. 

I call my mom.  And I knew the whole time, really, that I’m, I need to go. I need to get home.  And so, you know, this whole time I’m just consumed with worry. Am I going to lose my dad?  And so after, you know, a pretty long, restless night, the next morning I flagged down the first person that walks.  Out of the Coltwood truck stop, and it happens to be a German dude, and I’m just like hey Can’t make mid name in each most of the house.

I have a problem that I’m yep. All right jump in the car I Get I get to Fairbanks There’s a six hour stretch from Coltwood to Fairbanks where you do not have cell phone reception I get to cell phone reception my phone blows Up hey, did you take the rental car keys with you by chance?  Yep, yeah, I did So I get to Fairbanks Leaving my crew stranded, but it is a trucker route, so thankfully, I’m just like, telling the German guy, hey can you pull over, I need to flag down this trucker, trucker takes the keys back up the road, that all worked out. 

I sleep at the Fairbanks airport, I get to Seattle, I fly to Frankfurt, I jump on a train, I get to my hometown of Nuremberg, my friend picks me up, I get to the hospital, I see my dad.  And the first thing he says, he’s just like, well.  What can I even say?  I just say. I don’t have to say anything.  I just give him a big hug and just,  Hey, I’m just so thankful I get to see you. 

And so when I look back at that experience in Alaska, but really that whole year,  it’s safe to say that that was the closest to the edge I’ve been in my life  physically and mentally and emotionally.  And here is what, over and over again, pulled me back from that edge.  It’s my oldest childhood friend back home who dropped everything  that weekend and that night to be with my mom and support her. 

And it’s my friend here in town who hand bedazzled these solar shields, if you know what they are. They’re these giant grandma sunglasses you can put on over regular glasses.  They’re styling.  Because I was so stressed out that I had a really bad eye infection,  and it’s my friend who left a care package with a note on my patio that said, this fucking sucks. 

I’m here for you.  And my therapist, who reminded me that there’s a lot of hardship and grief that can’t be solved,  but it can be shared.  And Curtis, who keeps planning these miserable epics,  despite everything.  And really, there’s a dozen more people and a dozen more acts of love and support.  And I think, for me, that’s really the beautiful thing about this story, that it’s my story,  and it’s my dad’s story.

And this community of people. that came together for me to rally around me.  That’s my community,  but it’s also my dad’s community.  And you know, his path,  um, wasn’t, wasn’t straightforward. It actually got a lot harder before he got to a better spot, but he is planning his next visit to Missoula this spring. 

Yup. 

He loves Missoula.  Ever since he first came here, he loves going to the break to read his German newspaper.  He loves taking his Harley with a German flag on the back to the locks a lot for a late breakfast.  He loves having a blue moon. I know there’s better beer, but he loves blue moon.  Having a blue moon on the patio with me. 

And so,  if you see him this year, wandering around,  Downtown Missoula, likely wearing some German shirt with like some German phrase or reference to the German national football team.  Please say hi, welcome him back, give him a high five, and tell him, Archie, you’re awesome. Thank you. 

Marc Moss: Thanks, Kat. Kat Werner was a German high school exchange student in South Dakota — some of you might remember her last Tell Us Something story about that experience and meeting her husband there.She has called Missoula home for almost 15 years. Kat is a licensed clinical social worker and faculty member at the University of Montana School of Social Work. Things that fill her soul are: any outdoor or wilderness activity, traveling the world, genuine human connection, cooking and eating good food, and creating and checking off a good to-do list.

Tune in next week to hear the concluding stories from the Close to the Edge live storytelling event 

Kathleen Kennedy: And I was simultaneously indignant  and sympathetic. 

But I also had this I was feeling like I would love for squatters to come there and, and light a fire and burn it down, like problem solved.

Susan Waters: And the voice said, do you want to stay or do you want to go?  And without even thinking about it, I said, if I still have work I need to do here, I want to stay.  And the voice said,  okay.

Annabelle Winnie: I do wonder if what we think of as traits for neurodivergence, if they’re really adaptations, there are ways that the body adapts. 

Behaviors adapt, and even the brain itself adapts to a world that often feels too, too bright, too loud. It’s just too much. 

Amanda Taylor: we were texting each other every day, morning to night. We called them play by plays, which I also loved cause it made me feel sporty.  I’m like, yeah, we’re sending play by plays.

Marc Moss: Listen for those stories at tellussomething.org or wherever you get your podcasts.

Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is June 11th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellussomething.org. 

Thanks to our media sponsors, missoulaevents.net, and The Trail Less Traveled, Missoula Broadcasting Company including the family of ESPN radio, The Trail 103.3, Jack FM, and Missoula’s source for modern hits, U104.5 

And thanks to our in-kind sponsors Float Missoula Joyce of Tile.

When you patronize these businesses, thank them for their support of live storytelling in Missoula.

Please remember that our next event, in partnership with Missoula Pride is on June11 at the Glacier Ice Rink at the Missoula County Fairgrounds. The theme is “Going Home ”. You can pitch your story by calling 406-203-4683, and we encourage our friends in the LBGTQ community to pitch a story.

Learn more about Tell Us Something including how to pitch a story and get tickets for the next event at tellussomething.org

Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge” If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected].

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.

This week on the podcast… “”I immediately get off of the exam table, and I get to the ground.” “Sometimes, a small act of kindness and compassion, as simple as buying a stranger a sandwich, can change someone’s life, and maybe even their death.” “Never forget. On 9/11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity.” “Death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving.”

…four storytellers share their true personal story on the theme “The Kindness of Strangers”. Their stories were recorded live in-person in front of a sold-out crowd on December 06, 2023 at The Wilma in Missoula, MT.

Winter is traditionally a time when we slow down. Our indigenous friends, during winter, share stories that they don’t share at other times of the year. Tell Us Something acknowledges that we are gathered on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Ponder eh, Salish, and Kootenai peoples.

Traditionally, storytelling is reserved for the winter months for many tribes. This was a practical choice given the fact that during the other seasons, people were busy growing, gathering, and hunting food. It is in the winter, with the long dark evenings, the snow and wind blowing outside, that telling stories is used to entertain — and teach the children. Another reason for winter storytelling, is that many traditional stories contain animal characters. To be respectful, people wait until the winter when animals hibernate or become less active so they cannot hear themselves being talked about.

We take this moment to honor the land and its Native people and the stories that they share with us.

Thank you to our Title sponsor – Blackfoot Communications.

connecting people, businesses and communities. They know that strong connections matter. Connecting businesses, homes. communities. Connecting with each other. They keep people reliably connected.

To learn more, visit goblackfoot.com

Sensitive listeners be aware that Tell Us Something stories sometimes have adult themes and storytellers sometimes use adult language and profanity.

Our first storyteller is Erin Scoles, a mother, who, watrches in shock as a terrifying avalanche burries her young son. Strangers and community come together in Missoula to save lives in the midst of chaos. Erin calls her story “Found”. Thanks for listening.

Erin Scoles: It’s short enough.

Um, I’m not a huge fan of winter, and it’s partly due to the fact that I can’t feel some of my toes. I permanently damaged them years ago while searching for my missing son. It was February 28th, 2014, and Missoula had declared it a snow day. All schools were closed, um, and I was a college student at the time, so I was at home.

with my 8 and my 10 year old. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon when they come into my bedroom and ask if they can go outside and play. I of course said yes. Um, I could hear them in their shared room next to mine getting ready and I hear my 10 year old daughter Coral telling my 8 year old son Phoenix to put on an extra layer of clothes because of how cold it was outside.

He of course listened to his big sister. Um, at this time, my partner at the time, Casey, just got home from work. He was able to ski to work that day because of the large amount of snow that had fallen. The kids finish getting ready, and they go outside to play, and I’m in my bed, and I’m watching a show.

And to the right of me is a huge window, and I can see my entire backyard, and I can see my kiddos playing. Um, about ten minutes passed, and I actually start to feel my house shake and I didn’t register what it was. Um, I knew Missoula had earthquakes before. I had, like, have, I have felt them before. And I knew this was not an earthquake.

I then heard it and then I look out. That huge window, and I saw it. And, I don’t know why my brain did this, but it did. And it was two screens, so it was like a split screen. And one screen was this huge white wave. And it was cascading into my backyard. And I couldn’t see my garage anymore. It wasn’t there.

And my neighbor’s house wasn’t there either. On the other split screen, I see Coral and Phoenix. And they’re turned around. They’re looking at this white wave coming towards them. The avalanche. And they start running. I see it hit Phoenix. And I see the avalanche pick him up. And Phoenix gets tossed around a bit.

I remember seeing his orange coat and his black boots. And then I see nothing because the avalanche hits my house. And it knocks me off my bed. And all of a sudden I’m, I’m on my floor and it’s dark and it’s silent and I still can’t register what just happened. I get off the ground and I, I run out of my bedroom in the kitchen and Casey runs right in front of me and we don’t make eye contact.

We don’t even, we don’t even say, we don’t say anything to each other. And I later learned he knew exactly what it was and he went downstairs to grab his avalanche probe and his avalanche shovel. Um, I continued to go through the kitchen to the side door, which is the quickest way to my backyard, and I can’t open it.

There is so much snow, and there’s a canoe in the way, and there’s part of someone’s roof. Um, I turn around and I make my way out to my front door, and I run down the front steps, and I go to open the gate to my backyard, but there’s no gate. And there’s no 12 foot fence either that surrounds my house usually.

At this moment I start screaming, My babies, my babies. And I enter my backyard and Coral runs up to me. She was in the runoff of the avalanche and was able to free herself pretty easily. She was pretty shooken up though, of course. I asked her where her brother was and she had no idea. I started screaming again, and I’m screaming my baby.

My baby, I go more into my backyard and I don’t see Phoenix and all of a sudden there’s like a dozen people, strangers, neighbors in my yard. And they’re asking me, who is Phoenix? And where did you last see him? And I explain these things to these people and they just know what to do. They start digging.

And some of these people have Avalanche shovels. We’re in Missoula, right? Um, and some people have normal snow shovels and I don’t know how much time has passed, maybe five minutes, maybe eight, and a neighbor comes up to me and makes me go inside my house, and I hadn’t realized at this time, but the entire time I was outside, the only thing I had on was a very flimsy, thin, cotton robe with no tie, because that had been lost in the chaos, and it was just flapping in the wind, And so I was completely naked.

Um, You’re welcome Missoula.

Sorry Coral. Um,

Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Um, So I was completely naked, I had no shoes on, nothing. Um, thankfully she makes me go inside and helps me get dressed. She tells me to stay inside, and I don’t listen. I go back outside and And somebody hands me a shovel, and I start digging. That’s what everybody is doing. I, I look around and there’s like 75 plus people in or around my yard.

And at this time, it’s also learned there’s two missing people, more missing people, Michael and Fred, my neighbors who live behind me, whose house I saw that was missing. So we’re digging for three people at this time. And I look around more, and I, I see people with shovels, and the Avalanche shovels, and normal shovels, and people are using parts of my broken fence, and people are using, like, garbage can lids, like, really anything they can find.

And I start to panic, because I realize I could be standing over Phoenix, or Michael, or Fred, and I wouldn’t be able to get to them soon enough. So I drop my shovel, and I start screaming. Uh, that same neighbor comes over to me, and now a firefighter comes over to me, and they tell me I have to leave the scene, that there’s an ambulance waiting for me down the road, and it has Coral and Casey, and we all have to get checked out at the hospital.

Um, they each put an arm around me, because it’s really hard for me to walk. My feet really hurt. So we’re walking down the road to the waiting ambulance, and at this exact moment is when a photographer takes a photo of me, and The very next morning, it’s on the front page of the Missoulian. We get to the ambulance and there’s three EMTs and there’s Coral and Casey and we start making our way to St.

Pat’s Hospital. Coral’s checked out. She’s got bumps and bruises. They’re warming up my feet and the the EMT that is warming up my feet. I remember he had really soft blue gray eyes and long gray hair and He was really trying to comfort and reassure me that there were so many people looking for my son.

And, it wasn’t helpful at that moment. Um, and I looked at him very seriously and I said, If they do not find Phoenix, or if they do not find him alive, Do not let me out of your sight. He knew exactly what I meant when I said that. What he didn’t know was that 11 years prior, I had lost a child. And I knew I could not live through losing another.

We get to the hospital, they put us in a room, they check out my feet more in Quarrel, and in that hospital room are two police detectives. Quarrel, Casey, a friend, a doctor, a nurse, that same EMT. Um, a few minutes pass and that EMT comes up to me and I’m sitting on the exam table and he puts his hand on me and he says, They found Phoenix.

He’s alive. He’s not awake. I immediately get off of the exam table, and I get to the ground. And I get as low as I can get. And I don’t know why I did this. I am not a religious person. At all. Sorry.

And, While I’m doing this, I am explaining it. I need to be in the most humble position possible. That’s all I knew I had to do in that moment. I get to the ground. I’m explaining that. Everybody in that room does the exact same thing. Even the two police detectives. Which I kind of laugh about, which is like really great, but I don’t think I’ll ever experience that again.

We stay in this position until someone comes into that room and says that Phoenix is in the hospital. And he’s receiving fluids, and he’s getting warmed up, and he’s getting looked at, and we can see him really soon. It’s also explained that, when he was found, his body temperature was so dangerously low, that they have to slowly warm him up, as to not cause any more shock to his system.

So they warn us of all the heating pads and blankets that will be surrounding his little body, all of the tubes and the wires, and the neck brace. Coral, Casey, and I walk into the room where Phoenix is at, and we start approaching the bed, and I’m not ready to see it. I’m not ready to see Phoenix like this, because his cheeks and his lips are still slightly bluish.

And that was probably the hardest thing for me to see. I scan his face more, and I, I see dried blood, and I see a black eye, and I see a really long cut. Where the black guy is, and that’s where the avalanche probe found him.

Coral, um, approaches the bed even closer and she grabs his hand and she won’t let go. And she starts saying his name over and over again. Phoenix. Phoenix. And I shit you not, it is just like the movies, you guys. Phoenix opens up his eyes and he looks at his sister. And then he looks at us. Uh, a few minutes later, they’re able to take off the neck brace and the tubes out of his mouth, and he’s, he’s having a little bit of a hard time talking, but he can talk to us, and he remembers everything.

Um, Phoenix was hit by an avalanche just plain in his backyard at almost 120 miles per hour. He walked away with a lacerated spleen, a bruised lung. Nasty concussion, a black eye, and one hell of a story that he now tells ladies in college because he’s doing great. Um, we, it happened ten years ago and we knew this day was coming and he’s, yeah.

Sorry Phoenix. Um, so we stay in the hospital for two more days and we had a lot of visitors at this time. Um, and. One of the visitors was the man who found Phoenix. He actually happened to live across the street from us. We didn’t live in that house for more than five months when it was hit by the avalanche, so we didn’t know our neighbors too well.

He had a son, Phoenix’s age, and when he heard the avalanche, he looked out his window, saw what happened, grabbed his tools, and just ran out there. He put himself in so much danger to search for three people. Those 75 plus other people put themselves in so much danger. That is amazing. That’s Missoula, right?

Um, unfortunately I can’t remember this man’s name. Trauma fucks with your head in a lot of different ways. Um, but I will forever be grateful to him. And not just for saving Phoenix’s life, but for saving mine. Thanks.

Thanks, Erin.
Erin Scoles is grateful to have lived such a full life. She’s given birth to 5 children, hitchhiked across the country, lived in a school bus before it was cool, endured huge loss and loved big. She’s most proud of her Irish heritage and how badass & compassionate her kids are. Erin looks forward to the day where she can focus on just one project at a time and for her kids to finally and truly admit she’s the funniest person that they know. For a link to the Missoulian article and to see the photograph of Erin from the front page that day, visit tellussomething.org.

Next up is Jen Certa

Jen shares her story about how a simple act of kindness helped eventually house an unhoused person, led to closure for a family, and reaffirmed her hope in humanity. Jen calls her story “Life, Death, and Teaspoons of water”. Thanks for listening.

Jen Certa: Sometimes, a small act of kindness and compassion, as simple as buying a stranger a sandwich, can change someone’s life, and maybe even their death. I know that sounds kind of strange, but I can tell you that it’s true. It was a crisp fall afternoon several years ago and my favorite co worker, Rebecca, and I were in the middle of our Friday afternoon ritual, what we refer to as get shit done time, and we were getting ready to kind of start wrapping up for the day when we were interrupted by three strangers who had just walked in the door of our office.

The strangers were a retired couple in their late 70s named Gingy and Pete, and a gruff, middle aged man named Michael, whom they had just met on their weekly lunch date. Gingy and Pete had noticed Michael sitting alone, not eating. He appeared to be carrying all of his worldly possessions in his backpack.

And so, um, They decided to invite Michael to join them for lunch, struck up a conversation, and learned that Michael was currently living in a tent in Greeno Park. He’d been having a really difficult time finding a job, getting a job, because he didn’t have an ID. And in order to get an ID, he needed a copy of his birth certificate, which he also didn’t have.

He had explained that recently he’d actually been scammed by someone in town who had claimed they could help him get his birth certificate for a fee, and then disappeared with Michael’s money. So, Gingy and Pete thought maybe we could help. And I’ll be honest with you. For a minute, I did consider passing the buck.

Sending Michael to somebody else that could help him. Because, technically, it wasn’t actually my job to help a random stranger get a birth certificate from another state. And I did have other slightly more urgent shit to do. But the expression on Michael’s face told me everything that I needed to know.

I could see that he didn’t really trust other people. And he definitely didn’t have much faith that I would be any different than anybody else who had already tried to help him with his predicament. Now, something you need to know about me is that I am pretty competitive and definitely stubborn, and I was not willing to be another person that let Michael down.

And besides that, if someone even so much as hints that they think I can’t do something, then to that I say, challenge accepted. Hold my pile of work I’m supposed to be doing instead, and watch this. I quickly found the number for the Minnesota office of vital records, and dialed, hoping not everyone had gone home for the weekend already.

And miraculously, Debbie answered. Hi, Debbie. My name is Jen, and I’m a social worker in Missoula, Montana. I’m here with Michael, and he has been having a heck of a time trying to get his birth certificate. He really needs it so he can get a job. And Debbie, he has just been given the runaround. Gosh, I just know, Debbie, there has to be something that you and I can do together to work this out today.

I’m really hoping you’re gonna be our gal. Now, Debbie did deliver. She directed us to a form that Michael needed to fill out, and some other bureaucratic hoops to jump through, since Michael didn’t have a permanent address. And it was all hands on deck that afternoon in the office. Anyone who was still there was running around, scrambling, trying to help Michael compile everything that he needed, get it notarized, get it to Debbie before it was 5 p.

m. in Minnesota. And finally, Debbie did let us know that Michael’s birth certificate would be arriving in about a week or so. I took the form that Michael had filled out with his information and tucked it away into a folder, just in case he needed it again, and we parted ways. Shortly after that, Michael did get his birth certificate, and then finally that ID.

And over the next several months, his life began to look a little bit like the opposite of a country music song. He got a job, he got a bank account, saved some money, he made some friends with coworkers, he kept in touch with Gingy and Pete, and eventually, he did move out of his tent in Greeno Park into more permanent housing.

And I wish that I could tell you that that is where the story ends. But on another Friday afternoon, almost about a year later, get shit done time was again interrupted. But this time, it was St. Pat’s Hospital, and they were calling to tell us that Michael was in the ICU on life support. When My co workers and I arrived at the hospital, confused, a short time later, the doctors told us that Michael had gone into cardiac arrest and collapsed, and that there really was little hope that he would ever recover brain function or wake up.

They had found Rebecca’s business card in his wallet, along with his ID, which is why they had called us. And they wanted to know if we had any idea how to contact Michael’s next of kin. Because someone was going to need to make some decisions about end of life care for Michael. And soon. Outside the hospital, buckets of rain poured over my windshield, pounded on the roof of my car.

As Rebecca and I sat inside it. We were absolutely gutted by the thought that Michael could die alone without anyone in his family having any idea what had happened. But he had never really said much to any of us about his past. We didn’t know anything about his family. Except, I still had that form that I had tucked away.

And on it, were his partents’ names and birthplaces. So, armed only with that information, and our phones, we started Googling.

We found his mother’s obituary, which did tell us that Michael had four sisters. Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle. And judging by the order of the names in the obituary, it was safe probably to assume that Michael was the youngest and all of them were older than him. That was the good news. The bad news was that it appeared that all four sisters were married.

No Last names were mentioned anywhere in the obituary, nor were any locations of where they might have lived. So, to recap, we’re now looking for four middle aged women from the Midwest with the names Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle, who may or may not still be living somewhere in the state of Minnesota.

Didn’t really narrow it down a whole lot. But somehow we found a phone, a list of phone numbers with people with those first names and we just started calling down the list. I left dozens of the same message over and over again. Hi, my name is Jen. I’m a social worker in Missoula, Montana. I’m looking for the sibling of Michael Smith.

If, if you know Michael, please give me a call back as soon as possible. Now. Um, honestly, I don’t know if either Rebecca or I truly thought that we would actually find any of them that way. But the next morning, I answered a phone call from a Minnesota area code. And on the phone, on the other end of the line, was Michael’s twin sister, Michelle.

She hadn’t seen her brother in 20 years, and she told me she’d been waiting for him. A long time, dreading getting a phone call like this. Michael’s four sisters all found last minute flights to Missoula, and arrived at the hospital the next day. They spent a long time with Michael, talked to his doctors, and made some really difficult decisions.

And the next afternoon, Michael died, with all four sisters of his sisters by his side. The day after that, Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle met us for breakfast. Though we had been strangers just a few days before, we now gathered together for a meal to celebrate Michael’s life. Gingy, Pete, my co workers, and I shared what we knew of Michael’s last year of his life in Missoula with them, and they shared stories with us about the brother that they had known.

And though it was clear there had definitely been some hurt and relationship rupture over the years between Michael and his sisters, there was also very clearly a lot of love. The sisters expressed their gratitude that they got to have some closure, that they knew with certainty what had happened to their brother, that they had had time to say goodbye and anything else left unsaid.

And that they knew Michael was not alone at the end of his life. And I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. In this particular moment of our collective history, when we are all witnessing, experiencing, enormous amounts of pain and suffering as human beings on this planet. And I don’t know about you, but I have been finding it really hard to not feel like I’m losing my faith in humanity right now.

To Not fall into despair or wonder if anything that I do actually matters in the grand scheme of things. Or if it’s basically the equivalent of trying to put out the massive raging dumpster fire that is the world right now with a teaspoon of water. And maybe it is, I don’t know. But then I also think about how it’s also true that Gingy and Pete saw a man sitting alone offered to buy him a sandwich.

And because of that That stranger didn’t die alone. In the story of Michael’s life and his death, Gingy and Pete, for me, really embody the words of humanitarian Albert Schweitzer when he says, Each of us can always do a little to bring some portion of misery to an end. They remind me that Even a small act of kindness can have vast ripple effects that expand outward further than we can even imagine.

And that, that’s what gives me some amount of hope for the rest of us and our teaspoons of water too. Thank you.

Marc Moss:

Thanks, Jen.
Jen Certa is originally from New York, and accidentally began a love affair with Montana in 2009. She is a social worker and currently works as a therapist with kids and families, which basically means she’ll help you process your feelings after she beats you at Uno. When not at work, Jen can most often be found traversing the trails around Missoula with human and dog friends, guessing people’s Enneagram numbers, and/or running late for something.

Coming up after the break: “Never forget. On 9/11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity.” “Death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving.”

Stay with us.

Remember that we are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge”. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected].

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.Thank you to our Title Sponsor Blackfoot Communications. Learn more about them at goblackfoot.com. Thank you to our Story Sponsors who help us to pay our storytellers. Missoula Electric Coop , a member-owned rural electric cooperative that serves electricity to members in parts of Montana and Idaho. You can learn more at missoulaelectric.com Thanks to our second story sponsor, The Kettlehouse who strives to match the quality of their beers to the quality of the Montana outdoor experience. Learn more about them at kettlehouse.com. Thank you to our Accessibility Sponsor, Reep Bell and Jasper allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event in order to be a more inclusive experience. Learn more about them at westernmontanalaw.com

Thanks to our media sponsors, missoulaevents.net, and Missoula Broadcasting Company learn more about Missoula Broadcasting Company and listen online at missoulabroadcastingcompany.com.

Thanks to our in-kind sponsors: Float Missoula – learn more at floatmsla.com and Joyce of Tile – learn about Joyce and the work that she does at Joyce of Tile.com.

Alright, let’s get back to the stories. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

Next up is Jennifer Robohm. Jennifer recounts her 9/11 experience, witnessing the tragedy, offering help, and cherishing acts of unity amidst chaos and despair in NYC. Jennifer calls her story “As the Dust Settled”.

Thanks for listening.

Jennifer Robham: It was a beautiful Tuesday morning, and I soaked in the sun and the clear blue sky on my way into work. I was already at my desk by a quarter to nine, drinking coffee and chatting with a colleague when we heard a truck backfire really loudly outside. It was so loud that it made us both jump. And then we laughed at ourselves like you do.

We thought nothing of it. Until we noticed the sirens. I called a friend who worked in finance because she had a news feed at her desk. Hey, what’s going on by City Hall? She told me a Cessna had just crashed into the World Trade Center.

My office building was three blocks from where the tower stood. I sat at a cubicle on the 11th floor, but I’d go to a small office to make private phone calls. I loved that part of my job because I’d lean back in my chair and I’d look out the window at those unbelievably tall buildings. They were incredible.

But on the morning of 9 11, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The North Tower was in flames, cut in half by the jetliner. Dark plumes of smoke billowed up into the sky and reams of office paper fluttered downward like falling leaves.

I called my parents and we were just trying to make sense of what was happening when the South Tower was hit. By then, my dad was watching on TV, but I couldn’t see the plane. I thought a fireball had exploded from the first building to the second. My father was six foot four, but his voice sounded small when he begged me to find safety.

But daddy, I don’t know where to go. So I stayed, bearing witness. I was still at my post close to an hour later. No, no, no, no, no, no. Fucking God. Fucking God! Fucking God.

There was a low rumbling, and then the South Tower collapsed under its own weight, pancaking to the street below. A huge cloud of dust and debris engulfed the pedestrians who scattered like ants. The, the cloud overtook them one by one, and then slammed in my window and shook our building. And then everything went dark.

I turned to run and nearly tripped over a Latina woman who was watching over my shoulder. She was now crumpled on the ground, being consoled by a friend. Her boyfriend worked in that tower. We all thought we just watched him and thousands of people die.

A garbled voice over the PA system evacuated us to the basement. We were down there for several hours in shock. I was so rattled, I actually asked if we were going to have our staff meeting.

There were no windows, but that’s where we learned that the North Tower had collapsed. We also heard that the Washington Monument in Las Vegas had been destroyed. I guess imaginations run wild when they’ve seen the unimaginable.

An African American woman burst in through the door from the street. She was covered in dust, her hair, her face, every inch of her clothing. And she was absolutely hysterical. I remember thinking, Jen, you’re a psychologist, do something. So I walked her to a quiet corner and helped her lie down and try to slow her panicked breathing.

Her eyes were wide, but sometimes she’d clench them shut. The images that must have been seared there. She grabbed my hand as she told me about being evacuated from her building and then having to run when the second tower collapsed. And then she collapsed into sobbing.

An older woman knelt beside us. She stroked the traumatized woman’s hair. She whispered as she cleaned the dust from her face. It’s okay, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.

Eventually, they told us we could leave. But the dust covered woman was too afraid. I was desperate to get out of there. The phones were down and I wanted to go and find my partner. But we stayed until we could convince her it would be safe. And then a police officer escorted the woman back out to the street, where it now looked like several inches of dirty snow had fallen.

Um, the older woman and I. We were complete strangers, but we kissed on the lips and we hugged for several seconds before going outside. We were the last ones to leave and I never saw either of those women again.

Back outside, it was chaos. The air was acrid and smoky and the sirens were relentless. The police, uh, sent us toward the Brooklyn Bridge. I changed into volleyball sneakers and ran. I was terrified that another plane would come at any second to take out the bridge or the thousands of people who were streaming across it with me.

Some of them were walking, slowly. They stared straight ahead toward Brooklyn, where the sky was still that gorgeous blue. But others stopped, like I did, and looked back over their shoulders. Where the towers used to be, there was nothing but dust and smoke and debris.

If there is a hell, I know what it looks like. It’s been over

20 years now. I’m getting old.

What I remember most vividly about that fall morning are small gestures of kindness and courage. The man who carried my co worker down the stairs to the basement because she was too grief stricken to walk. My companion who comforted the dust covered woman lying in tears on the floor. The teenagers who sheepishly offered us water on the far side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

And neighbors who lined up late into the night to donate blood, none of which was needed. My first responders were ordinary people. No special training or equipment, just the impulse to do something, anything to make a shitty day just a little bit better for someone else.

After 9 11, I couldn’t cry for days. Not until our sonogram on the 14th made me weep with conflicted joy. We were gonna have a son. I love you, Jack.

It was several weeks before we could return to our office building, and many months before the piles stopped burning and the subways were restored. It was well over a year before we weren’t evacuated constantly due to bomb threats and anthrax scares. And maybe two years before I could hear a low flying airplane without flinching.

Whenever I’d leave New York City, I was surprised to discover that everyone else had moved on. I guess because it was no longer happening to them.

But New Yorkers continued to be kinder to each other. We hugged more. We made more eye contact. We gave up our seats on the train. And when we asked other people how they were doing, we actually slowed down to hear the answer. Honestly, those are some of my fondest memories of the city.

They say, never forget. I wear a subway token around my neck to remind me. I think about that day every September, of course. But I also thought about it a lot during the pandemic, and I think about it now when I despair about climate change and war and the existential threats we’re facing. I can’t help but wonder which version of us is going to show up.

If you’re looking for hope, maybe I can offer you this. On 9 11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity. We worked together despite our differences because we needed each other to survive. We understood that looking out for ourselves meant looking out for other people. And we rose to the occasion, even when really hard things were happening.

In my darkest moments, that’s what I choose to remember. About that horrible, and yet beautiful, Tuesday morning. Thank you.

Marc Moss:
Thanks, Jennifer.
Jennifer Robohm moved to Montana from the East Coast to be closer to her twin sister and to have an adventure. That adventure turned into a life! Jen is a clinical psychologist who’s been teaching at the University of Montana for close to 20 years. She lives in Missoula with her partner, Nadia; her son, Jack, is a UM senior. Jen loves the Missoula community and the Montana outdoors.

Closing out this episode of the Tell Us Something, podcast, Linds Sanders recounts a series of encounters in which strangers share their deep grief with her, painting profound connections amid loss, teaching empathy, and illuminating the beauty in life’s small, poignant details.

Linds calls her story “Peanut Butter & Peonies”

Thanks for listening.

Linds Sanders: Okay.

Eat the mic. That was from our storyteller workshop.

When I was 18, I worked at the KOA call center. People would call in asking for directions to campsites, change their campsite reservation, But most often, they call to get their password changed for their online account. Back then, you couldn’t get a password reset email, you had to call the 1 800 number, and that was me.

I took dozens of these calls a day, and I assured people, I will not remember your password. One afternoon, a man called in, he must have been in his 70s or 80s, to change his password. Took about two minutes, I don’t remember his password. I asked him, is there anything else I can help you with? And almost in response to that question, he let me know this was the first time he was traveling since his wife died.

They started traveling when they had kids. But then their kids grew up and became adults and had families of their own, but they just kept traveling because they loved it so much. She would make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their road trips, and she’d kiss him on the cheek when they crossed state lines.

He’s trying to make those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It should be pretty simple, he says, but they just don’t taste the same. And that’s everything since she’s been gone. Maybe it should be straightforward, but he just can’t seem to do it. He laments that he should probably let me go now, and he hangs up the phone.

There’s this flat screen television above my head, listing my name and my co workers names, tracking the duration of our phone calls. My name is in red, highlighting inefficiency. The 38 minutes.

Fast forward a couple years and I’m a student at the University of Montana. I’m doing an art assignment drawing outside under the shade of a cedar tree. And, uh, there’s a football game apparently. It has concluded. Someone won. And now there’s this ocean of people dressed in maroon and gray leeching out of the stadium in all directions.

I am feeling so grateful that I chose this, like, meandering path that is off of the main arterial sidewalks that leads to the parking lots. Still, a woman straggles from the crowd, comes down my pathway. I don’t look up from my drawing, I figure she’ll just keep walking by. But then I feel her presence next to me.

She says to me, do you know what this building is? Now, there are a lot of beautiful buildings on campus. This is not one of them. It is this anonymous brick rectangle. I tell her, I don’t. She says, this is where my husband worked for 18 years. He was a botanist studying ferns and he died recently. I’m paying attention now.

This building is important. She says to me, my whole garden is ferns now. I tore up all the flowers, it’s all ferns. And when they erupt from the ground and spring and unfurl their leaves, I think of him and I miss him every day. And she’s starting to cry now. And just as abruptly as she’s come into my life, she turns and she leaves, walking down the path, rejoining that ocean of maroon and gray.

Now, maybe this would be strange if it weren’t for this reoccurring phenomenon in my life of strangers telling me their grief stories. Sometimes they last for 38 minutes, sometimes for 2 minutes, sometimes for 2 hours, like it did last summer. I just finished hiking Mount Sentinel, the mountain behind our campus.

Um, I live nearby, so the trailhead is walking distance from home. When I was on the top, there had been a summer thunderstorm that rolled in, and I had to bolt down and gain cover under trees. But now, the thunder had moved on, the rain had subsided, the clouds were still hanging in the air. I came down the trailhead, trekking poles in hand, my headphones in, I’m listening to my audio book, I pass by a man chatting, and he’s talking to me.

I, uh, put on my headphones, what? He asked me, have you seen the peony garden? The man, he’s in his 60s, dark wash, denim jeans. buttoned shirt. Baseball cap on. And the peony garden he’s referring to is the memorial peony garden, with over a hundred varieties of peonies. And they are in bloom and their flowers are the size of ice cream scoops, and they are white, and pink, and yellow, and, I tell him, in fact I have, and it’s one of my favorite places of Missoula.

He says to me, Peony are my wife’s favorite flower, and today is our 40th wedding anniversary. She died two years ago. And this is always how the conversations start, with this blunt admission of death. And that’s death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving. And he’s seeing how I’m going to respond.

Am I going to ignore what he said? Oh, yeah, you know, there’s a western peony in this garden? Am I gonna put up a wall of sympathy? Oh, I am so sorry for your loss, that’s terrible. Or will I lean in? Which is what I try to always do. I learn not only were peony her favorite flower, but turtles were her favorite animal, and he would call her my little turtle.

I learned about the life that they built together, that she was a teacher, that she fought cancer, and I learned of how she died when the cancer returned, and that their back porch was her favorite place to watch sunsets, and how his friends and family rallied behind him when the grief first happened, but now that it’s been a couple of years, he feels embarrassed and like he can’t really lean into their support anymore.

Now, I want to keep talking, but my legs are really tired. I just hiked that mountain. But these transitions are tricky. We can transition deeper, and it’s also a chance to transition out. So I kind of edge towards a bench, and I invite him to sit down, and he does. And there’s this mutual trust between us that we both are enjoying this conversation, and we both want to continue.

And so we do, we keep talking as the clouds turn yellow and orange and underline in pink, leading us to another transition. It will be dark soon. So I offer to walk him back to his hotel. He’s just passing through. This area of town, everything is nearby, and it’s cleaved in half at the Clark Fork River, along which is the bike path.

And so we walk along it together, and we’re talking about poetry and travel and the West Coast, and it might sound like we’re not talking about grief anymore, but that’s the thing about grief. It’s like the central nervous system of a body. If you take away the skin, the bones, the muscle, and leave behind just the nervous system, you will still see a perfect outline of the human body down to the intricacies of a fingertip.

That’s grief. It holds us all together, and some days it threatens to tear us apart. But tonight, I like to believe it held us together and bound us to one another. I say goodbye to him in the parking lot of his hotel and begin my walk home alone, trekking poles in hand, headphones around my neck. And it might sound like I’m the kind stranger in these stories, but I disagree.

It is them who have taught me the importance of buildings that some people just walk on by. How complicated a peanut butter and jelly sandwich can be. And the real beauty of a peony flower. They have taken the time to introduce me to the most beloved people in their life. This world could not afford to lose, but lost anyways.

The thing is, I have my own grief. A grief that has me with one foot firmly planted on this stage and another foot in the land of what if. A grief that has me looking for something I lost and I just can’t seem to find it. A grief that has me against all odds wishing that there was one person in this audience sitting next to one of you.

And I know that she’s not.

That grief can be pretty isolating sometimes.

But as I walk home in the dark, streetlights coming on, I feel a glow. I feel gratitude. And thanks to the kindness of these strangers, I don’t feel so alone.

Thanks, Linds.
Linds Sanders is a Montanan who has a habit of saying “yes” to experiences that scare her such as saving house spiders, learning to rock climb, working with preteens, and–most recently–sharing a story at Tell Us Something. It’s much easier for her to pursue the passions she loves such as poetry, art, traveling, and spending time with friends and strangers alike. Currently, she is in graduate school pursuing a degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling with an interest in grief work. She works as a counseling intern at Tamarack Grief Resource Center where she has the honor of holding close the stories of others. Learn more about Linds at tellussomething.org.

Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is March 266th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellussomething.org.

Marc Moss: Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge” If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected].

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.

This week on the podcast…”But it had the corkscrew off ramp. Which in a wheelchair is amazing! Wind blowing in your hair. Like you’re like going so fast you don’t know what’s going to happen.” “…I finally decided that I needed to do something. I didn’t have my phone, so I couldn’t call anybody…” “And I calmed down eventually and he says, is there anything else?” “I had shown up right before they had pulled a car under 50 feet of snow and a house was being dragged apart as this car was being towed out.” …four storytellers share their true personal story on the theme “The Kindness of Strangers”. Their stories were recorded live in-person in front of a sold-out crowd on December 06, 2023 at The Wilma in Missoula, MT.

Winter is traditionally a time when we slow down. Our indigenous friends, during winter, share stories that they don’t share at other times of the year. Tell Us Something acknowledges that we are gathered on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Ponder eh, Salish, and Kootenai peoples.

Traditionally, storytelling is reserved for the winter months for many tribes. This was a practical choice given the fact that during the other seasons, people were busy growing, gathering, and hunting food. It is in the winter, with the long dark evenings, the snow and wind blowing outside, that telling stories is used to entertain — and teach the children. Another reason for winter storytelling, is that many traditional stories contain animal characters. To be respectful, people wait until the winter when animals hibernate or become less active so they cannot hear themselves being talked about.

We take this moment to honor the land and its Native people and the stories that they share with us.

Thank you to our Title sponsor – Blackfoot Communications.

connecting people, businesses and communities. They know that strong connections matter. Connecting businesses, homes. communities. Connecting with each other. They keep people reliably connected.

To learn more, visit goblackfoot.com

Remember that Tell Us Something stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language. That is especially true for this episode. Our second storyteller speaks frankly, though not graphically, about rape and the justice system. Sensitive listeners, please take care of yourselves. This episode may not be appropriate for children.

Our first story comes to us from Steve Rosbarsky. Steve journeys alone to the Junior Nationals tournament in Minneapolis. The absence of parental guidance sets the stage for a misadventure leading to trouble at a hotel. Stranded without a coach, an unexpected savior, Martin Martin, rescues the young athlete from a precarious situation. A series of escapades involving hotel ice baths, wheelchair races, and rooftop pool revelry culminate in a disciplinary showdown with the coaches.Steve calls his story “Three days, Two Coaches, One Martin Martin”. Thanks for listening.

Steve Rosbarsky: Taxi cabs kind of have a unique smell. When I was sitting in there, I wasn’t sure if it was me, I wasn’t sure if it was him, I wasn’t sure if it was all the people that had been there before me. The plane ride had a familiar smell to it, because it smelled like cigarettes. Just like the bus. Because back then you could smoke in the airplane.

So as I was riding in the cab, I was watching the little mechanical device sitting on the dashboard just roll through numbers. And it reminded me of Back to the Future. I had no idea what the numbers meant. I just knew that I had told him where I needed to go. And we’re on our way there. And when we got there he told me the total, which I don’t know how it added up.

And I filled out my traveler’s checks and signed it and handed it to him. And I got out of the car. And the cities are kind of a foreign world to somebody born and raised in Missoula, Montana. The way that the sidewalks are black and the light reflects off them and I walked into the lobby and the woman was super helpful, helping me check into the hotel.

She was so sweet. And she says to me after I, she gives me my key and tells me where the room is and tells me where the pool is. She goes, and don’t forget honey, you can leave the TV on all night if you want. Now the reason she said that is because I was 13. So, but I also looked like I was 10. So, she was, it was, she was super sweet.

I did leave the TV on, by the way. So, I was on my way to Junior Nationals. So, for us at the time, it was called the Junior Olympics. It was about a 3, 500 kid event that happened. And this time, it happened in Minneapolis. So, here I was, in my hotel room, by myself, with the TV on, which happened to have HBO, which was a bonus.

And then, the next morning I got up. I couldn’t eat that morning because I knew I had to weigh in, but the plan was, I was taking this trip on my own to get to St. Paul, and then I was going to meet my coach at registration. So this is long before cell phones, this time did exist. It was long before the internet, and so as I rolled in there, It was a hope and a prayer that I would meet him at registration, I guess.

I didn’t realize how much of a prayer it was. So I rolled up to registration and I sat there and I checked myself in and at that point for Montana I was a fairly successful athlete. So people from Montana kind of knew me, but I was traveling on my own and I went and I made it through weigh ins and I sat in registration and lunch came and I could eat so I did go eat.

Didn’t have a lot of parental supervision, so I’m sure it was hot dogs or nachos or something fun. And then, it was getting darker, and it was getting later. And my coach had not arrived yet. So I don’t remember being super panicked about this, but I do remember being like, Hmm, I think I’m going to have to go back to my hotel room soon.

So I think it’s four blocks that way. I remember in my head, I was like, I’m pretty sure it’s four blocks that way. Well, in walks this guy, with his t shirt tucked in his sweats, and his belly just slightly protruding from the waistband, and this bold mustache, and he goes, Hey Stevie! What are you doing? I said, Oh, I’m waiting for my coach.

And he goes, Ah, that’s great. Who’d you travel with? I’m like, Oh, I’m by myself. He goes, No, no, no. Like, Who’d you come with? And I go, No, I’m by myself. And no, like, Where are your parents? And I go, no, I came by myself. And he goes, no, you did not. And I go, no, I did. And he goes, no, you didn’t. And he goes, come with me.

And we went to a payphone, which, for you guys that are younger, there used to be this little booth that you would open and walk in and put a dime in, at that time. Dimes are these little silver coins that we, I’m just kidding. So, anyway, using an AT& T calling card, which that’s too much to explain, I called my mother and this person picked up the phone and he goes, Hello, Mrs.

Rosbarski, which was not her name since she very proudly is not a Mrs. Rosbarski anymore. He said, I am Martin Martin out of Butte. He goes, if you want to call a sheriff’s office and find out who I am, you can call them. I do work with them, but I am, your son is staying with me for the rest of his stay here.

And given this was 1989, she went, okay. So what was amazing about this was that Martin took me to my room. We took everything out. We checked out of my room. We checked into his room and he had this whole team of kids, but they also had a lot of rules. Like, you couldn’t swim before you fought, and you had to eat well, and he watched everything they did, and I was like, oh my god, this is so, so impossible to deal with.

But I also held this deep gratitude for it at the moment. I was like, how interesting is this? And he took care of me and included me in this team from the start. From the moment he picked me up in registration, I was part of that team. And everything they did, every practice they had, I was, he just brought me in.

And I didn’t know him very well, but he just brought me in. Well, then it came to be the fight day. When fight day showed up, my coach miraculously appeared. And so my coach showed up for that, and I had I think five to seven fights that day. I had taken bronze the year before, and so I was, I was set on winning this one.

My semi final match was really hard, and back then the referee used to come out and hold your hands like this, and there was no scoreboard. So you just sat there with your hand like, being like, I don’t pray much. But this is my moment, like, please raise my hand. And then you heard people clapping, and your hand was still down.

And you’re like, Okay. But I did get a bronze medal. So I was like, alright, not so bad. No, no, no claps. Hehehe. I was like, okay, not so bad. Um, I will say that one of my dear family friends when I came home said, Didn’t you get that last year? So, so It wasn’t quite what I wanted, so I was really disappointed about it, but also grateful I had something.

Like I said, that was a 3, 500 kid tournament. I felt something great. And then my coach said this. The magic words. This coach that was masterful at using withholding. He was masterful at making you sing and dance and do all the things to try to get any sort of approval. He goes, Stevie, you get to stay in my room with me.

I was like, okay, I’ve made it. And so I went in this room, also staying in this room with us, was actually a future Olympian in Taekwondo. And so I was really excited, like, these are like the people I look up to. And the very first job I had, getting in there, was to fill a bathtub full of ice. Which I kept doing, I had to go to the third floor, and the second floor, and then the fifth floor, to get enough ice to fill this bathtub.

And the part I was nervous about was I was like, I, this was well before Wim Hof was popular, but ice baths did exist, and I was like, Oh God. I really don’t hope I have to sit in here. However, it slowly got filled with these golden bottles of elixir. The champagne of beers, they say. Miller Highlight. So, as it was getting filled with beer, and this huge party was starting to take way, I got to do the one thing that I wasn’t allowed to do up to this point, which was go onto the roof, because there was a pool on the roof.

Which, for anybody from Azula, first, a pool’s amazing. But two, the pool was on the roof. So I got up there, and I don’t know how long I was there, it was blissful. I was just swimming, just taking it in, and when I came back down to go to the room, the hallway looked like the biggest party ever had happened.

There was wheelchairs tipped over, beer cans, no one to be found. And so I steered my way around all of this and made it back to the room. The room also was in the same state of disarray. And I was like, What the hell happened here? Right? Now, given I’d grown up around this tech model group where I’d been at a lot of parties at way too young.

So, I mean, I knew that it was a party, but I was like, this is a party. So I sat down on the bed, and about two seconds later, the door flings open! And these two kids come in, who I didn’t really know, but, you know, I was 14, 13, and they were 17. And they come in, they go, oh my god, Stevie, you missed this, it was the biggest thing ever.

Our coaches were like racing wheelchairs, and they tipped over, and they fell down, and all these things happened. And We should take the wheelchairs to the parking garage. And I was like, deal. Because the parking garage door is right outside the hallway. So we get on the wheelchairs and we’re wheeling down.

Now this parking garage is great. It’s like a Fisher Price parking garage because it Fisher Price were these toys that we Just kidding. But it had the corkscrew off ramp. Which in a wheelchair is amazing! Wind blowing in your hair. Like you’re like going so fast you don’t know what’s going to happen.

You’re trying not to go backwards. And then when we hit the bottom, we were just grabbed. This huge security guard just scooped us up. And we were like, oh, crap. I’ve been in trouble before, so I was like, oh, no. So he picks me up, and he takes us into the, and I didn’t know they had these in hotels. It was like an interrogation room.

It’s a pretty bare, bare table. He’s asking us what we’re doing. We’re like, uh, this thing. And, you know, I don’t know. We didn’t have any supervision. We’re trying to make as many excuses as we can, but in came my coach. And they were pissed. Now, I’ve been yelled at before by them, but they were really mad. So they came in, and we’d go up to the parking garage.

So here’s the unique thing about the parking garage, is that when we got back up there, these are the same people who were racing wheelchairs. They start really digging in at me. Now, I’ve been yelled at enough times that it eventually turns into that Charlie Brown teacher, wah wah, wah wah, wah wah. But at one point, we were stuck doing Pago.

So if you guys have never done Taekwondo, or hopefully you’ll never see this if you do Taekwondo, but there, there is this punishment, corrective behavioral practice that we do in Taekwondo called Pago. So I’m going to show it to you. Pago looks like this.

So Pago provides this amazing time for your coaches to really yell at you. And so I was looking over at this 17 year old boy that was with me, and he’s panicking. Like, I can see him physically panicking. And, and I remember looking at him, and the coaches had gone off to, like, laugh or talk, whatever they’re doing.

And I said, you have to stop crying. And he looks over and he goes, because it only gets worse. And he was like, just deep panic. So then there, my coach’s wise decision then, after they let us up out of Pago and we went through all this, was, you can sleep on the fire escape. So that’s where we slept. And then in the morning I was allowed to come in the room and get my stuff, and I got back in the taxi, back on the bus, back on the plane, made it back to Missoula.

I was kicked out of Tijuana for three months because of that whole event. But here’s where it gets interesting, this guy Martin Martin, coming back to this person. So, I lost track of Martin Martin for about 13 years. We didn’t go to the same tournaments. I had started at that, you know, shortly after that, going to U.

S. team trials and just a different experience. But then in 2003, I finally divorced this Taekwondo family that I’d had for a really long time. I was very loyal to them, so it was a very hard shift. So when I went onto this new organization, who was part of it? Martin, Martin. And so, as I was navigating this, like, Am I not being loyal?

Am I dishonoring this like heritage that I have? Can I do it on my own? The one thing that came back was this guy, and so the very first term I saw him, he came back with his T-shirt with tucked in his sweats and his belly protruded just a little bit further than it did before. His mustache was a little gray and his hairline was gone.

It was high when I met him, but it was gone. Um, but Martin, Martin was one of these people who when he showed up at this moment. That I didn’t know I needed him, he was there. And when I was all of a sudden opening my own school 13 years later, this guy, Martin Martin, that’s his real name, from Butte showed up and he was there again.

And I’m forever grateful for those lessons. My beautiful kids are sitting there. None of what I have would have been possible without people like him. So, so I go. Thank you.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Steve.

Steve Rosbarsky was born and raised in Missoula Montana. He has two beautiful children, Lydia and Eddie. He is so grateful to his partner Gwen and the joy that he feels being the long term parental type figure to Evani and Cecelia. Steve is also proud of his beautiful granddaughter Ronnie. He owns and operates a Taekwondo School here in Missoula. Steve is a sustainable project coordinator for Missoula Habitat for Humanity. He holds gratitude for all the moments this life has provided. Learn more about steve at tellussomething.org. https://www.missoulatkd.com

Remember that at the top of the show I mentioned that our second storyteller speaks frankly, though not graphically, about rape and the justice system. That story is next. It is about 12 minutes long. If you have children listening, you may want to skip through this story.

Maria Merkley’s traumatic encounter, guided by Sammy’s support, led to resilience and empowered her to begin the journey of reclaiming her life after assault. Maria calls her story The Advocate. Thanks for listening.

Maria Merkley: All right. So in the story, Oregon, my favorite red ale is still to this day. Um, they’re, they’re right from buoy. Sorry, from buoy buoy. Um, and the bartender just told me that they were switching out the keg. So I was going to have my second beer. Um, I was alone at a bar, which was usual. Um, I had been divorced for a year.

Uh, when I got divorced, I had told myself like, all right. Whenever I want to go do something, doing it, like, an excuse not to do it, being alone, like, I can’t do it. So, if that’s the only reason to go and not do something, was being alone, like, I had to go and do it. And, I loved it. So, the very first concert that I went to, uh, was a band called Kaleo.

They were actually kind of like part of why I got a divorce. And, um, I know, music is really powerful. Um, and, uh, But their opening band, I’d never heard of them, and they were named Judah and the Lion. And, uh, so that was like my first concert, you know, so ironically, a year later, Judah and the Lion is their opening, like, own headliner.

They’re playing at the Roseland Theatre, downtown Portland. A week before that, I was actually at this same bar, uh, because I had gone with a group of friends to see another band, Iration. I went and saw concerts, like, regularly. Um, and, uh, I, uh, I don’t know if I finished my second beer. Um, I woke up and I was face down naked in a hotel room.

An overwhelming, like, smell of smoke. Like what I would imagine it was what it was like back in the 50s when people just smoked everywhere. Cause it was like, it was horrendous. Um, I saw my clothes. I saw a man I’d never seen before. And I just, like, I had to get out of there. I had to get out of there. Uh, I, as I’m putting my clothes on, they are just vomit all over.

And the smell is just awful. And then my pants were also damp. So I’m putting these clothes on and I just am trying to get out of there. Uh, I get out of there and I’m walking downtown Portland. And I can’t feel anything. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I have is my wallet, and I’m like, okay, like, what can I do?

A snowflake falls, and I’m like, well, fuck, I can’t, like, stand around and walk around downtown Portland. You know, in this condition, it’s gotta be cold. There’s snow. So I get a very expensive taxi ride back to Longview, Washington, which is where I lived. I end up getting with a family friend who had suggested going to my primary care doctor.

And at the time, that sounded, uh, reasonable. Um, this primary care doctor continued to tell me that since I didn’t know what happened, he was labeling it as risky sexual behavior, and then continued, uh, to perform an exam on me. Uh, this exam, after the fact, he realized there was so much trauma to my body that he then suggested that I go to the hospital to see a sexual assault nurse, the same nurse.

I went home, um, because I was distraught. I didn’t know what happened. It was the most horrific appointment I’ve ever had. Um, I don’t remember my rape, but I remember that, that doctor’s visit. I finally decided that I needed to do something. I didn’t have my phone, so I couldn’t call anybody, and I was like, well, you know what?

Okay. What would my older sister do, like, and I was like, okay, she would tell me, like, to go, to go to the hospital, but I was terrified of having the same experience that I had just had. I got there. The nurse was really nice, and she brought in, uh, a sexual assault victim’s advocate, Sammy. This girl didn’t look much older than me, but she had just this kind, understanding empathy on her face, and she I sat through that whole interview with the police officer, and that police officer, to this day, Officer Bestman, he told me words, because I was trying to figure out, like, man, like, I only had two beers, I can drink a lot more than two beers, and like, remember, like, from 6.

30pm to 4. 30 in the morning, there’s nothing, like, nothing, like, that’s never happened before. And he said, Maria, you can go out and have one beer. You can go out and have five beers. You can go out and have 10 beers. That is your right. But no one has the right to take advantage of you. I tell myself those words over the past six years, um,

a lot, um, those words really mean a lot to me, um,

Sammy, uh, my victim’s advocate was just incredible, um, She’d been through most of the process already, so she was able to walk me through it, and was that, like, guiding hand and that shoulder to cry on, and was just able to be everything that I was needing. Uh,

One part of the process, so the officer that, um, made that statement, he was a local officer in Longview, but the crime happened in Portland, so I was dealing with the Portland, um, detectives. And they had told me to try and strengthen my case, um, a good thing to do would be to give a hair sample. Uh, I don’t know if they didn’t know necessarily what that entailed or not.

Sammy had never gotten to a point with another victim where they’d gotten to that point, so she didn’t really know, you’d think, just a couple plucks. We made the 45 minute drive to Portland, Sammy and I, because she came with me to every appointment with my detective. And they had me flip over my hair. I had hair about, like, down to here at that time.

And, uh, they just kept snipping and snipping and snipping. And when I finally, like, lifted my head up, I looked at Sammy and I could just, I knew, I knew that it wasn’t what either of us had thought that it was going to be. And they had taken about baseball sized, like, chunks out of my hair.

That 45 minute ride home, I could just feel it, I could just feel it, like my hair was gone.

And Sammy got me to an amazing hairstylist, Carlina, um, and she gave me the cutest buzz, um, buzz cut, and like it was a bob, and it was so cute. And so then when I touched my hair, I didn’t think about what had happened, and I wasn’t re traumatized.

At the same time, I was facing troubles at work, um, which was really hard for me because I was living in a town where I didn’t have family, and so like, my work was like, my family. Um, and it was Sammy who had told me, like, Maria, that’s not okay, like, they can’t be treating you like that, like, you have rights, and encouraged me to stand up.

She did the same thing about my encounter with a doctor. She told me, Maria. Maria. He had no right to talk to you like that. That is not okay. You can do something about it. I did, um, it took years, uh, but something had come of those complaints. To this day, that hair has not been sampled, um, and the man in the hotel room was not charged.

After that, I was afraid to, like, go places. I was afraid to be alone. I have tattoos. I wore long sleeves because I was afraid to, uh, be able to be identifiable, um, from people. My mental health finally, like, dropped enough that I came back home to Montana.

But Sammy, to this day, um, she actually just came, uh, and visited me and my daughter. And is still such a, like, huge part of my life. She encouraged me to start to do things alone again. I went to New York and went to a concert at Madison Square Garden, alone. I went to Iceland, alone. I went to Tulum, alone.

Every once in a while my anxiety gets the better of me, and I will miss something. But I’m hoping after today that that doesn’t happen again. Uh, that by telling my story of freed myself from this and freed myself from the guilt and the shame that other people put on me, that was not my fault. And there’s other people, this is the most unreported crime.

And I would do it all again because I still hope that one day I get a call from Portland. And they tell me that they actually decided to do something with my case. And that they actually decided to charge the bartender who had slipped something in my drink. Or charge the man who had been nice to give me a ride home.

And I hope that I get to call Sammy one day and tell her this happened and it was all worth it and it was all because of her. She was the best stranger that could have walked into that room that day. I just want to end with the other strangers that have helped me get to this point are my silent, my like, silently paid strangers, my therapists.

Um, I had a great one, Jana in Longview, who I don’t know how I would have managed everything without her. And then here I had Ellie. And then I had, uh, Nicole. And then I had Shelly, and, uh, now I have Liz, and I know that Liz is going to help me be the best mom that I can be for Sophia and teach her to stand up for herself and know that no one has the right to take advantage of her.

Thanks, Maria

Maria LaDonna Merkley is a proud full-time single mother to her beautiful 18-month-old daughter,
Sophia- LaDonna Merkley. Maria was born in Whitefish, Montana, and grew up in Hamilton, Montana, and has had the pleasure of calling Oregon, Arizona, and Washington states home. She is a full-time student at the University of Montana, working on her Bachelor’s degree with a major in Psychology and a minor in History, with a Secondary Education Iie-sen shure !!!!! . She hopes to share her love for traveling with her daughter and travel to all 50 states before Sophia is ten years old. Her long-term goal is to move abroad to live and teach anywhere there is a mild winter!

Coming up after the break, “And I calmed down eventually and he says, is there anything else?” “I had shown up right before they had pulled a car under 50 feet of snow and a house was being dragged apart as this car was being towed out.”

Stay with us.

Remember that we are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge”. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing [email protected].

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.Thank you to our Title Sponsor Blackfoot Communications. Learn more about them at goblackfoot.com. Thank you to our Story Sponsors who help us to pay our storytellers. Missoula Electric Coop , a member-owned rural electric cooperative that serves electricity to members in parts of Montana and Idaho. You can learn more at missoulaelectric.com Thanks to our second story sponsor, The Kettlehouse who strives to match the quality of their beers to the quality of the Montana outdoor experience. Learn more about them at kettlehouse.com. Thank you to our Accessibility Sponsor, Reep Bell and Jasper allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event in order to be a more inclusive experience. Learn more about them at westernmontanalaw.com

Thanks to our media sponsors, missoulaevents.net, and Missoula Broadcasting Company learn more about Missoula Broadcasting Company and listen online at missoulabroadcastingcompany.com.

Thanks to our in-kind sponsors: Float Missoula – learn more at floatmsla.com and Joyce of Tile – learn about Joyce and the work that she does at Joyce of Tile.com.

Alright, let’s get back to the stories. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

Back in 2020, Mandy Northcott faced heart surgery complications. Feeling alone in a hospital amid COVID restrictions, Mandy tries to put on a brave face for her family and friends. Her emotions and feelings build inside her to a fever pitch. A gruff nurse, Keith, changed everything with empathy, teaching her to accept help and cherish human connection. Mandy calls her story “Open Heart”. Thanks for listening.

Mandy Northcott: I was diagnosed with lupus in 2005. Lupus is an autoimmune disease, um, and basically what that means is that your immune system that’s supposed to be protecting you attacks your own body and it can wreak havoc and it did, um, for about two years. And fortunately, I recovered from that, um, to the point that I could live a pretty normal life for the next 10 to 15 years, but it made me very aware of what was going on in my body.

Um, so then in 2019, when I started having strange heart rhythms, shortness of breath, light headedness, I couldn’t finish a workout without, um, having to take a break. I talked to my doctor about it, ended up at a cardiologist, and sure enough, my mitral valve in my heart, um, was not functioning properly and needed to be replaced.

Um, it may have been damaged in that initial lupus flare, not sure, but, um, it’s a pretty good culprit. So, at 43 years old, I was scheduled for open heart surgery. Um, I chose to have my surgery in Spokane, Washington. Uh, for a number of reasons, but one of the main ones is, uh, my sister in law, Michelle, lives in Spokane, and she’s a nurse, and I knew I’d be in really good hands for that critical recovery period, um, when I got out of the hospital.

So, surgery was, uh, February 26th of 2020. Um, everything went as planned. It was five days in the hospital and back to Michelle’s house, house for recovery. Um, about a week later, it was clear that, uh, things were not going the way they were supposed to, um, I couldn’t breathe, I was nauseous, I couldn’t walk to the garage to get in the car, um, and so I was taken back to the hospital by ambulance and it was discovered that I had, um, fluid that had built up around my heart and lungs, which can happen after open heart surgery.

And it needed to be removed, so I had a second surgery, pretty major, on March 10th of 2020. Now, when I awoke from this surgery, I had, um, two big tubes coming out of either side of my body. And these tubes would continue to drain fluid off of my torso, down into these two big jugs. And these two jugs sat next to my bed for the next 10 days.

They were my constant companions. I couldn’t go to the bathroom without them. I couldn’t go for a walk without them. I had to have help. And, you know, things went pretty much as they do in a hospital. Nurses coming and going, doctors coming and going, Michelle bringing me home cooked food because I was on the, like, heart special diet, and the hospital, um, hospital food’s not great to begin with, and the heart diet is, like, The bottom.

So I was like living on, um, those chocolate protein drinks they give you. I think it’s Ensure. It was like the only thing I could palate. Um, so the food from Michelle was really welcomed. Um, but About halfway through the stay, you know, it’s March 2020. It’s COVID, right? So everything starts shutting down.

The hospital shut down to visitors. No more Michelle. No more home cooked food. March Madness was shut down. There was no more Gonzaga on the TV. And, you know, I kind of shut down. The nurses still kept coming and going. And I thought of them as Michelle, right? It was like all these Michelles coming and going from the room, and they were fantastic, but there was more and more of a barrier between me and the nurses.

Um, they were covered in protective gear, and they spent less and less time in the room for safety of me and themselves.

So about halfway through this stay, um, in comes my nurse for the evening, and it’s this old white guy. And he’s not a Michelle. And he does everything different than all the other nurses, right? He does everything wrong, in my opinion. And, um, like, one example is he had his own blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, and he took my blood pressure, whereas every other nurse would just hook me up to the machine that was, like, next to the bed, push the button, write it down, or put it in the computer and, and move along.

And so at one point I called him out and I said, you know, you’re doing everything different than all the other nurses. Like, I really am in this delicate part of my recovery. I’d like things to be consistent, and he looked at me and he said, Well, they do it wrong. I do it right. I get accurate readings. And that was that.

And I was like, okay, there’s no arguing with this guy. I’m gonna let him do his thing and move along, right? You be you. He left, and I hoped he would never come back. And of course, the following night, in comes the old white dude. But I know what to expect this time, so he goes through his routine. And, um, I’m waiting for him to leave so I can get back to, like, Seinfeld reruns.

And he says, let’s go for a walk. Now, at this point in the hospital, I had two jobs. One was to eat, because, like I said, I’d lost my appetite completely, um, from the procedures and the medications. I had no appetite. I was nauseous a lot of the time. Um, so eating was really important, hence the protein drinks.

And to walk. Walking would help facilitate that fluid off of my body, um, and just start to bring back my strength. Um, I had, I was really weak by this point. So, I let him load the tanks, right, my constant companions, onto a cart. We get the IV stand, I’m in my hospital gown, and we go shuffling down the hall of the hospital.

And we shuffle back, and there’s no conversation. And, um, we get back to the room, and he’s getting the bed situated so that I can lay down again. And I’m stopped in front of the sink. And if you’ve been in a hospital room, you walk in and there’s always a sink and a mirror. And I’m looking in the mirror for the first time, like really looking in the mirror at myself.

I haven’t had a proper shower in well over three weeks, so my hair is matted and bed headed and greasy. I’ve lost a ton of weight. Like, I’m kind of scary skinny, and the other time that I was like that was with that initial lupus flare. I got really skinny, and it was really hard to come back from that.

And so I was a little terrified at what I saw in my face. And I’ve got bandages, and, and scars, and wires, and tubes, and shit from my neck to my pelvis. I mean, I’m covered in crap. And I’m looking at myself, and I just go. I’m so fucking ugly. And he hears me, and he says, Let’s get you into bed. So I get into bed, and I’m settling in with my pillows and such, and he goes, What was that about?

And I was like, I, this sucks. I feel like crap, you know? Like, it, it sucks. I’m ugly, and, and this is hard. I’ve been here, and I know what it takes, and it just fucking sucks. And he goes, You know what I see? And so this is when I look at his name tag. It’s Keith. Keith says, I see a really beautiful young woman who’s been through two huge procedures and is having a hard time, but is doing her best.

Tell me what’s going on. And I was like, it’s okay, I’m fine. You can go. I know it’s crazy out there, like, I know you have more patients on the floor that you need to check in with. I’m fine. You can go. And he goes, no, you’re my patient right now. I’m here for you. Tell me what’s going on. And he pulls up one of those, like, 500 pound chairs that’s in the hospital room, and plops down next to me, and just looks at me.

And with him looking at me like that, I mean, I cracked wide open. I just cracked open and started bawling. And I realized how much I’ve been holding. Like, here I’m the patient, but I’m, I’m trying to protect all of my caregivers. You know, they, they’re doing so much for me already, and the world is crazy with COVID, and, you know, I don’t want to worry my parents.

They’re in Utah, and they would love to be there with me. Um, I don’t want to worry my husband anymore, or my five year old daughter, who’s about to be, like, removed from school because of COVID, from kindergarten. I don’t want to worry Michelle, who’s doing her best to smuggle me smoothies through her friends in the hospital.

And I’m, you know, I’m, I’m I’m crying and I’m raging and we’re laughing at some point and, and I realized that he’s holding my hand and that that was good and okay. And I calmed down eventually and he says, is there anything else? I said, no, you know, I feel a lot better. Thank you, Keith. Thank you. He goes, ‘Cause I do actually have to go check in with all the other patients on this floor.

I was like, yeah, you should do that. Um, and he, you know, he proceeds to gather up his blood pressure cuff and his things and walk, he’s leaving. He goes, you know, I’m here all night. Like, call me if you need me. I, I will come right back. And I said, you know, I believe you. Thank you. And he leaves. And I don’t call him.

And I never saw him again. You know, but I’m just so damn grateful for Keith. And him taking that moment, here’s this guy that I judged so harshly to begin with, and yet he was exactly who I needed, um, to, to get through where I was. And I take it as a lesson to myself, um, you know, one, the judgment part, like, come on.

And also just like, in the world right now, the way we are, like, Let’s ask each other how we’re doing. Ask your family and friends what’s going on. And then, listen. Thank you.

Thanks, Mandy.
Mandy Northcott is a mom, wife, pet parent, and general outdoors loving 47-year-old woman.
She left the flatlands of Iowa for the mountains of Montana 25 years ago and hasn’t looked back.
Mandy has been a farmer, tree planter, grocery store clerk, stay at home mom, non-traditional student, and now works as a medical coder and biller.

She loves hot springs, African drumming, dog walks, deadheading flowers, gazing at trees, and the quiet time in the morning before everyone else is up.

Currently, you will find her on the weekends cold dipping in the Clark Fork River and Rattlesnake Creek with like-minded souls. You can learn more about Mandy at tellussomething.org.

Closing out this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast, Katrina Angelina Shull shared her story about a community’s resilience that shines after an avalanche. Strangers become neighbors, uniting in kindness and hope for Missoula’s strength to endure hardships. Katrina calls her story “Extraordinary Neighbors”. Thanks for listening.

Katrina Angelona Shull: Some neighbors are absolutely fantastic creatures. Like neighbors that let you borrow their chainsaw when you’re cutting down a stump. Some neighbors are surly and try to kill your dog when it gets out and chases the deer. Some neighbors are absolutely fantastic. Like the neighbors that gathered around the avalanche that hit on February 28th of 2014.

Neighbors that might not have known each other gathered after a once in a lifetime event happened in Missoula. A snowboarder triggered an avalanche on Mount Jumbo and hit the rattlesnake area. This avalanche buried two young children and two older adults, husband and wife. They were buried for hours, and on that night, neighbors came together to help save these people’s lives.

They probed with the avalanche probes that they had handy because they knew at one point that they might need them and They were digging despite gas leaks despite the negative 20 degree weather They kept digging until all four people were found Michael Colville and Fred Fred Allendorf were buried under their own home for several hours a Young boy Was buried for, for about the same time.

Michael Colville, unfortunately passed away several days later due to her injuries. And I, as a filmmaker wanted to go and capture how many people had shown up just to help these people still after the aftermath, they kept showing up first. It was 50, then it was a hundred and people like Amy Cosio. We love you, Amy.

Tarn Reen, Morgan Nelson, they gathered together and got volunteers, they got EMTs, they got bulldozers, they got police officers. They just banded together and got this whole community wrapped around these people who had lost their homes. And when I showed up three days later, Michael Colville had already passed away.

And I didn’t know how to help other than what I know how to do, and that’s to hold a camera and do my job. And so I created a documentary on this. And I showed up with my camera, and when I got to that scene, I was flabbergasted. I sat there with my camera to my side and was stunned. I had shown up right before they had pulled a car under 50 feet of snow and a house was being dragged apart as this car was being towed out.

This house, Fred Allendorf’s and Michael Colville’s, was completely toppled over. There was rubble everywhere. The house was absolutely destroyed. And I sat there and I clicked into filmmaker mode. And I put that camera to my eye. And I started capturing what I saw. Now, when you’re a filmmaker, you are taught to not be involved.

You are taught to be a fly on the wall, you capture what you see, and you don’t say anything to anybody. But as soon as I saw people working, as soon as I saw people banding together, my heart kicked in, as I’m human. And I busted into human mode. And I stopped and I looked at a woman who was shoveling vigorously after this car had been toned out.

She’s trying to gather some of their belongings. And I just quickly asked, so why are you here? And she asked, I just, she answered, I just want to help. That’s all I want to do is I just want to help. And that was the continual answer I kept on getting. They weren’t there for anything other than to just help.

And I was flabbergasted by this. And as I’m gathering footage and I’m gathering Lots and lots of images of this just avalanche snow is not the fluffy snow snowflake snow. It is compact. It is dense. It is like cement and people are digging furiously with sometimes they were using part of the houses to dig.

Sometimes they were using actual shovels and then there was a bulldozer involved, which did a lot of the work, but I look over and I see this young man who’s furiously digging on his hands and knees with his hands. In cement, basically. And he is digging. And he is digging. And I, my heart just exploded.

And I busted out of filmmaker mode. And went into helper mode. I was his neighbor at that time. I became his neighbor. I didn’t know him, but I saw that he needed help. Of some sort. So without speaking to him, I put down my camera. Might have gotten water damage. That’s fine. I got on my hands and knees and I started digging with my hands.

Because I didn’t show up with a shovel. I showed up with a camera. And I looked to him, and he looked at me, and we just had a moment of silence. And then he finally said, I’m looking for my mother’s last quilt that she was working on. Michael’s last quilt. She was a quilter. She was an artist. And so, I quickly got into adrenaline mode and said, We need to find this quilt.

We absolutely need to find this quilt. So I’m taking parts of the house, he’s taking parts of the house, and we are digging furiously. We had a bulldozer come and help us dig through, and finally we saw two needles, a bottle of buttons, and we knew we were on the right path. And it seemed like hours, but it must have been only about 45 minutes.

We found, we got enough of the quilt to gather it away, and he was so thankful. When I stood up finally, he said, You need to go to the hospital and I said, No, I don’t need to go to hospital. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I looked down and my leg is profusely bleeding. I had knelt down on some glass. I couldn’t feel it at the time.

I just wanted to help. And as his neighbor at the time, I felt like that was the most important thing to do. But I was quickly shuffled off and said, You need to go see one of our volunteer EMTs. And I was I was asked to go to the emergency room to get stitches and I said, no, no, no. And they said, no, there’s a piece of glass in your knee.

You need to get that removed and go get stitches. And I said, no, no, no. Let this be a reminder. Let this be a reminder of the kindness of Missoulians. Because I was born here and I absolutely love Missoula. It would be such a shame to ever have to leave here. But Missoulians, we come together. Even if you weren’t born here, you’re still a Missoulian.

You’re welcome here. We have this Generosity, this heart to just help when it’s needed. And it was so evident in that moment. And as I stood up, I said, Oh my gosh, I need to finish this documentary. And so I interviewed Kjeldikot Dockum, that’s um, Michael Colville’s son’s name. And he was able to give me the most beautiful interview, and we made a documentary called Amplify Kindness.

Don’t look it up, it’s the worst documentary I’ve ever seen. But, the heart was there. And it was amazing to just capture everybody together looking for a solution. And Amy Kosio was so crucial in this. Her kindness, she had a quote in the video. It said like, when somebody stands up and they see a need and they fill that need, it just creates this ripple.

And that’s why it’s called amplified kindness. And you could be such a force of good in this world. If you just stand up for what’s right and do what’s right in front of you that you see needs to be done. And that soul will be gratefully, greatly missed in Missoula. But we can embody that greatness in our, in ourselves and in our children and what we do and when we go out from here, we can be kind.

And I know it’s been hard these last three years, but let’s embody that kindness that I saw that avalanche. And you’ll hear another story tonight about the avalanche in a very different perspective. But for me, seeing people in the negative 20 degree weather coming together to help people they didn’t even know.

That kind of neighbor is what belongs here in Missoula, Montana. Anywhere in the world, if we could take this, I would absolutely love to see this kindness be spread. But for me, as a filmmaker, I felt that that story needed to be told. And the biggest part of the story was how Fred, he moved on with his life, he has another, he has another life, he said, he quoted it and he said it’s like an addition, like a house has an addition, that house is now gone, it’s now rubble, but they built a new house in the spot where it used to stand, and he has a new life as an addition, and he says that the kindness of those people that helped him through that time was absolutely phenomenal, and I just hope that We can show that kind of kindness.

It can come in small little brilliant packages like Amy Cosio, or it can come in forms of 500 volunteers showing up to help neighbors dig out of a snow bank. But I feel like in any form, kindness is possible if we just try. Thank you.

Thanks, Katrina. Katrina Angelina Shull is a born and raised Missoulian who initiated Amplify Film Group in 2009 after studying at the University of Montana. She later worked as a news reporter for KTMF ABC|FOX, focusing on crafting impactful narratives in positive media. Katrina embraces projects with enthusiasm and enjoys aviation, hiking, fishing, and Jiu-Jitsu outside of work. Katrina is committed to visual storytelling, extending her efforts to creative copywriting, and has initiated Be the Light International, supporting communities in need through her team’s work. You can learn more about Katrina and her work at tellussomething.com.

Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is March 266th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellussomething.org.

Tune in next week to hear the concluding stories from the The Kindness of Strangers live storytelling event, “I immediately get off of the exam table, and I get to the ground.” “Sometimes, a small act of kindness and compassion, as simple as buying a stranger a sandwich, can change someone’s life, and maybe even their death.” “Never forget. On 9/11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity.” “Death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving.”

Listen for those stories at tellussomething.org or wherever you get your podcasts.

[00:00:00] Marc Moss: Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Mark Moss. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us something storytelling event. The theme is The Kindness of Strangers. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 4 0 6 2 0 3 4 6 8 3. You have three minutes to leave your pitch.

The pitch deadline is October 29th. I look forward to hearing from you. Tickets for the December 6th live Tell Us Something event are on sale now. The theme is The Kindness of Strangers. We are excited to be partnering with Spark Arts to provide on site child care for humans with kiddos. There are a limited number of slots available for this service.

Three teaching artists will provide engaging art based learning activities at the Wilma while you enjoy storytelling for the evening. To learn more and to get tickets, go to tellusomething. org. Thank you to our title sponsor, Blackfoot Communications. Blackfoot Communications connects people, businesses, and communities.

[00:01:00] They know that strong connections matter. Connecting businesses. Connecting homes. Connecting communities. Connecting. Blackfoot Communications allows its users to utilize the latest technology in voice, broadband, network, and managed services. They keep people reliably connected. Blackfoot serves homes in western Montana and eastern Idaho as well as businesses of all sizes throughout the Pacific Northwest.

goblackfoot. com This week on the podcast La

[00:01:34] Ben Catton: abuela will come out and startle me. It’s like is she suspicious of me? What’s going on?

[00:01:39] Ren Parker: I asked him what he’s doing on the train and He says oh, yeah, I take this train and I go over the border and I get whiskey and cigarettes and things I shouldn’t have in Thailand and then I get back on the train and Bring it back to Thailand

[00:01:53] Abe Kurien: But my dad still kept that van because he worked really hard for it and was really proud of it But if any of you know in [00:02:00] the 80s A lot of the manufacturers for vehicles, they had a paint issue with

[00:02:05] Linda Grinde: the girl in the next bed, says to me, said, you don’t see, I realized she’s asking me if I want to go dancing.

Wow.

[00:02:18] Marc Moss: For storytellers shared their true personal story on the theme lost in translation. Their stories were recorded live in person in front of a packed house on September 28th, 2023. At the George and Jane Dennison Theater at the University of Montana in Missoula, Montana. Telesomething acknowledges that we are on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Pendlay, Salish, and Kootenai peoples.

We honor their resilience and strength in the face of colonization and displacement. We recognize that the land upon which we stand is sacred to them and we are committed to working towards a more just and equitable future for all. We take this moment to honor the land and its native people and the stories they [00:03:00] share with us.

Our first storyteller is Ben Ken. As a tall man in Chile, he tries to connect with a deaf grandmother. And that culminates around a parakeet cage. Ben calls his story, Parakeetos.

Thanks for listening.

[00:03:17] Ben Catton: Hey! I’m in Santiago, Chile, having a terremoto. A terremoto is pineapple sorbet and white wine with some liquor drizzled on top of it.

Berries, depending on where you order one. And it’s as unfamiliar and, uh, interesting and as intoxicating as the rest of the three weeks that I’ve spent here so far. And I’m with my friend Paul, who I just met in the preceding semester here at the University of Montana, in some classes trying to prepare ourselves for this semester abroad experience.

And we’re checking in on, you know, how’s everything going and, uh, comparing notes on the incredible culture shock that we’re going through. [00:04:00] I’m mostly enjoying and laughing to ourselves about all the weirdnesses that we’re experiencing. We’re coming from Missoula, Montana. I guess you call us a city. Here in Montana we definitely are.

But now we’re in Santiago, Chile where there’s 5 million people. It’s a sprawling metropolitan area. I’m getting on a metro in the morning to commute to school, riding these buses. We’re sitting currently on this uh, kind of sidewalk patio. In t shirts and shorts, though it’s January, we’ve just come from 20 degree weather in Missoula, and we’re sweating while we’re enjoying our pineapple sorbet covered in alcohol.

And we’re just enjoying how bizarre everything is. We’re checking in on, uh, we’re comparing notes on the, the way that we stand out here now. I’m, I’m tall, but I’m kind of average tall here in the U. S. But in Chile I’m all of a sudden like basketball star tall. And so I get on the metro in the morning and everybody is packed.

You know, elbow to elbow, and uh, I [00:05:00] don’t feel that claustrophobic because I have all this head room. And I can look over the tops of everybody’s, you know, I just see a sea of hair instead of looking at everybody’s faces. Face to face. And we’re cracking up because the dogs are a real change. Um, Chile’s in this moment of policy.

Chaos about, uh, feral dogs in the city. We’re seeing this on the news and, um, if you take a walk during the quiet hours when there aren’t many pedestrians out, you can pick up a dog on, a dog on just about every block and by the time you reach your destination you have this pack that’s coming with you.

And everything’s gated, wrought iron gates to get into your apartment or to get into the university, so you kind of like, scrape your dogs off as you, as you get to where you’re going. And, and they must just disperse and go back to their block so that you can pick one up again everywhere you go. So this is cracking us up and, uh, the noise of everything as well.

Paul jokes to me while we’re having our terremotos that you could [00:06:00] fart anywhere in the city because it’s so loud and so chaotic and smelly all the time, nobody would ever know. So that’s bizarre and the overnight sounds. Um, it seems that every single car in Chile has a car alarm. A lot of them that you wouldn’t think would necessitate an alarm.

And they’re like aftermarket car alarms and they’re very sensitive. So these dogs that are roaming everywhere are setting off car alarms. And there’s sounds all the time throughout the night. On top of that, I’m telling him I have two parakeets that live. right outside of my window on, on the porch of the apartment and the host family I’m staying with.

And, uh, and by the time that the other noises of the city are kind of coming back on board overnight and traffic noise, et cetera, is kind of drowning out the dog noise and the car alarm noise, the, that’s also when the parakeets are, are starting to come to life too. So we’re asking each other about our host family situations and [00:07:00] Paul knows that.

When I was placed in my host family, um, one of my favorite human beings, a man that, that set this trip up for us through University of Montana, a professor here for a long time, Clary Loisel, who’s awesome, um, he came to me with this kind of coy smile after he’d gotten Um, correspondence through the university about who I’d been placed with and he told me, Ven a mi, vas a vivir con tres mujeres soteras.

You’re going to live with three single women. And then, then he laughed and said, Oh, it’s two sisters in their 40s and their mother who’s in her 70s. They have a couple of dogs, some parakeets, sounds very nice. Uh, and it really was. But I was also experiencing this moment of, um, a little bit of, uh, apprehension there, as explained to Paul, that I’m having a hard time communicating, especially with the mom.

The two sisters names are Gloria and Pilar. And the mother, uh, who I call the grandmother, la abuela, I still haven’t gotten [00:08:00] her name, I’m three weeks in, because I keep just completely, uh, struggling to communicate with her. And I’m embarrassed at this point to ask the daughters, uh, or her. So, it’s an epitome of just, you know, how our communication is going at this point.

And this is a little bit of culture shock as well. I’m living in this, uh, family that is, that is very different from what I’ve been up to for the last five, six years. Uh, I’m a mid twenties person going to college and on this study abroad now. And, uh, so, I’m telling him, yeah, it’s like, I, I try to ask her something, or she tries to ask me something, and we just, we never seem to be clicking.

This is stressing me out because we’re in January, which means it’s summertime in Chile. And we are in all day, eight hour intensive classes of Spanish, um, before the, what is their fall semester is going to begin. And I’m going to be in buried and more difficult classes, um, very soon. So the at home [00:09:00] element is also part of my training, part of my practice, and I feel like I’m kind of failing and flailing.

Um, so, yeah, I’m telling him, yeah, I’ll come home, announce myself, hola, buenas tardes, and, uh, Gloria and Pilar might be at work still, and, uh, I’ll go sit in the living room and then la abuela will come out and startle me. And it’s like, is she suspicious of me? What’s going on? Uh, distrustful? So… I have this great conversation, finish our terremotos, and, and say our goodbyes, get on the metro, ride home, tall, and uh, and uh, sure enough, I go into our 7th floor apartment building, we’re in a building that’s taller than anything we have in Missoula, it’s where we live.

And, uh, hola, buenas tardes, nobody answers, I walk into the kitchen and I almost like run right into la abuela. Hola! And we’re catching up with each other and, um, asking how her day was. And pretty quickly she’s asking me about the parakeets on the porch and do they bother me? Do they [00:10:00] sing too much? Um, do I like their sound?

I’m like, yeah, yeah, parakeets are great. But she doesn’t seem to get my assurance and next thing I know I’m kind of following her out towards the porch. And, uh, we go out there and as we’re going she’s telling me, Están enamorados, están casados, van a ser una familia. She’s really in love with these parakeets.

They’re in love with each other, they’re married, they’re going to have a family. And, uh, we get out. On the porch, there’s the parakeet cage that hangs from the ceiling, and, uh, she’s very short, like nipple high, and so right away we can see the blue parakeet, there’s a blue one and a green one. The blue one is sitting outside of its little house on a perch.

And, um, and it’s chattin away, and so she’s talkin to it right away, makin little kissing sounds, and, and, uh, she says, Dónde está tu amante? Dónde está el verde? Where’s your lover? Where’s the green [00:11:00] one? And, I’m kinda right behind her, and being tall, I can see the entirety of the cage, including the The plastic tray on the bottom that catches the droppings and the seeds and the green one is dead on the bottom.

So I’m standing behind her and I’m trying to gently call her attention to it. I’m like, Oh, he’s on

the bottom. I think he’s dead. It’s like, she’s ignoring me and I’m getting uncomfortable. Like. Am I being framed here?

Is

she thinking I did this to the parakeets? Uh, so finally she’s like up on her tiptoes a little bit and sees it and she just explodes. Dios mio! Esta muerto! Wailing runs inside and I’m feeling horrid.

Uh, but I’m also a little relieved because the intensity [00:12:00] of your reaction makes me think that this isn’t a frame, this isn’t a setup. So, gracias adios, thank god, Gloria, her daughter, arrives home pretty much in this moment and tranquila mama, she calms her down and kind of gets information from us and And I’m trying to explain, uh, you know, I was trying to draw her attention to it.

It’s like, it’s like she just never understands a thing I’m saying. Does she, uh, it’s not my fault. Gloria tells me, Benha, yo te dije muchas veces, ella es sorda. Ben. I’ve told you lots of times, she’s deaf.

It’s this lightbulb for me. I finally understand what she’s telling me right now, because I guess she’s told me this lots of times, but, uh, but I also feel really good in this moment. I get it. I understand what you just told me. I guess I am [00:13:00] making progress. So as bad as I feel for the parakeet, I’m having a hard time not smiling and, uh, grateful for the epiphany.

I think maybe I will survive my classes. .

[00:13:14] Marc Moss: Thanks

Ben. Ben is Missoula, born and raised, but spent the majority of his adult life elsewhere orbiting to Wyoming, Idaho, Wisconsin, Alaska, and Chile. In the midst of those orbits, he studied at the University of Montana to become a teacher, and he has taught high school English in Spanish. Currently he’s pursuing a master’s degree in public administration and is back at the University of Montana.

He and his wife, Jessie, are doing their best to raise two kiddos to be silly, adventurous, kind, and curious. Next up is Wren Parker, who loves slow travel. She prefers buses and trains and one day finds herself in a train to Cambodia, whose tracks end. Just across the border, friend calls her [00:14:00] story, slow travel.

Thanks for listening.

[00:14:10] Ren Parker: It is my last night in Bangkok. All the lights from the city and the exhaust from the scooters and the tick, uh, the tuk tuks is intense. It’s overwhelming my senses. I spent this last month in Northern Thailand in and out of temple stays studying. Meditation and this city was too much for my heartbeat as I’m walking, I go by an open window through it.

I see a woman in a beautiful art deco dress. She’s singing blue moon. And for a moment, I find stillness in the chaos. You see, I have spent the last year preparing for this trip. I taught myself how to code. I sold my food truck [00:15:00] and moved to San Francisco. I participated in hackathons and think tanks until I mastered the technology I thought was going to save the world.

And I got a job doing that, sold everything except for what could fit in my 40 liter backpack. And I just went to Southeast Asia. I had it all planned out that I was going to do it over land. I love slow travel. It gives me a moment to see moments between people that you know. You normally wouldn’t see if you go too fast, a mother braiding her daughter’s hair, farmers tending to their crops, laughter between friends from a hidden joke.

These are the moments that make me feel like I truly connected with the places that I visit. The next day I go to the train station, I’m getting my second train of the leg of my trip. The first leg I [00:16:00] started from Chiang Mai, Thailand, took a train I’m going to Bangkok where I was presently in Chinatown.

And this next one I was going to take from Bangkok over to the border of Cambodia. Now I had this plan all planned out. I was going to go to the border of Cambodia, cross it. And then I was going to get another train or maybe an overnight bus, whatever they had. And I was going to go to Simri, the home of Angkor Wat.

And that would be where I’d be for the next month. I make it to the train station. It’s old. It’s dark green. And I go up. To the ticket counter and get my ticket. There seems to be some confusion about the train I want. And I’m like, no, this is the one. And person looks at me, hands it and it’s unsure. And I go and I find my train it’s old and red peeling paint.

It has these giant windows on the side with no glass. So it’s just like an open air train. And when I go in, there are goats and [00:17:00] chickens. And I am the only foreigner. And I’m like, alright, this is the adventure I wanted, excellent. So I go and I find a little bench and curl up and put my chin on the windowless, um, area and, uh, it starts going and you hear this loud screech from the train.

And we’re off Now as we get going, I’m so amazed because there’s an entire city on the side of the train tracks. It’s like a city within a city. There are gambling halls and restaurants all built from tarps and things like that, and they’re just inches away from my face. So as we wa we weave out of this city, there’s this kaleidoscope of human experience that I, it just absorbs me and I’m, I’m just fascinated by it.

Pretty soon, maybe like an hour or two, we’re out of the city, and it becomes very regular. There’s a, uh, we’re going through the [00:18:00] countryside, and we’re stopping at little, little stops. People are taking their goats out, bringing other things in. There’s chickens, there’s all kinds of stuff. It’s really neat.

And, um, I’m also starting to notice there’s this air in there where, like, if I leave my bag, it will not be there in about two seconds. So I’m like, got it on my thing. But, um, pretty soon, I look up, and… There is this very large man that is walking through. I noticed him right away because he’s so tall and he looks down at me and he has this huge smile and sits right in front of me and he asked me if I would practice, uh, his English with him.

And I said, yes, of course, something to do, you know? So he pulls out this composition book and it’s old. It’s like the one you’d have in fifth grade. It’s very worn. He opens it up and there’s all this writing in it from different travelers. And so we sit down and we practice his sentences and his words.

Things like, where’s the train station? How much for this item? When we get to the end of it, I decide to give him some words [00:19:00] to, you know, add some more texture to his vocabulary. Things like creativity, friendship, joy. And then after we just start conversing and practicing in open forum and I asked him what he’s doing on the train and, uh, he says, Oh yeah, I take this train and I go, um, over the border and I get whiskey and cigarettes and things.

I shouldn’t have in Thailand. And then I get back on the train and bring it back to Thailand. A lot of people here are doing that, and I’m like, oh, I’m on a smuggler train. . Good thing I made friends with one. And I’m like, oh. And he goes, well, what are you doing? And I’m like, oh yeah, I’m just, you know, I’m gonna go to Sim Reap for a while.

I’m gonna go there, get on another train and maybe, or maybe a bus. And, and he looks at me and he goes, the train track stopped before the border there. There’s no. And I’m like, Oh, well, overnight bus. He’s like, there’s none of those either. So I realized that I am stuck going to be [00:20:00] stuck at the border. And right about that time, I look out this, this train tracks, they’re screeching again.

We’re stopping. And I look and the train tracks just stopped just like he said. And I see this crowd of people coming up and they all want something from somebody and there’s yelling and it’s just chaos. And I just realized like, I am in definite danger. I definitely got myself. With my romanticized white girl ideas of like, what things are, you know, really naive.

So, I must have had the panicked look. And Nom, which was the man’s name, looks over at me and he says, You helped me, now I help you. And just like that, he scoops me up and starts walking on the train. And he’s so tall, my feet aren’t touching the ground. And I just cling to him like a little baby primate, like, Please, God, yes, help me.

And he just… He walks out, and as all the people come, he’s all pshh, pshh, pshh, just like partying the way, just slapping them out of the way. And I’m [00:21:00] just like, press my face into his chest, and I’m just like, okay, here we go. And before I know it, he’s tossing me into a tuk tuk, and I feel myself land on somebody.

And I look down, and it’s Grandma. And I’m like, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. And he’s like, sit back down, there’s no room unless you’re on Grandma’s lap. And I was like, okay. So, we get to the border. We jump out, and I’m like, sorry grandma, and uh, there’s a big glass building, one side says customs, the other side has some tie riding, and we both, we enter, I enter the customs, he enters that, and we look at each other through the glass, and I give him a very deep bow, that’s usually reserved just for monks, because he saved me, and that was the last time I saw him, he gave me a big smile and walked away, and I got through customs, and um, I was in a very, uh, And I was like, well, I better get some food because I don’t know what’s going to happen and I should eat.

[00:22:00] Maybe my last meal. And, uh, so I find a Thai restaurant and I’m just missing Thailand and I order my favorite Thai dish which has got like some, um, chicken and basil on rice with an egg on top. And, um, I’m eating and I look over and I see the cutest little girl. And she’s got this gingham dress to her knees and these little, these little pigtails and a shy smile.

And, uh, I start playing with her, you know, peek a boo, and the watchful eyes of her mother look down. She looks happy that I’m playing with her daughter. So soon I’m, like, hanging out, and I go to the mom, and I’m like, Taxi, some reap? And she looks at me like, Girl, what? And then she holds her finger out to say, like, One moment, please.

And she walks to the phone. It’s one of those old phones, you know, that you had to, like, move to the numbers. And pretty soon she’s, like, having an argument. And then she looks. It’s really like, ah, hangs it up and grabs one of the other waitresses who spoke better English. And she said, her [00:23:00] brother was going to take me.

He’s delivering rugs to some rape. And I thought, Oh, thank you so much. So in a little bit, a very grumpy brother shows up like, I cannot believe that you’re throwing this at me, you know, and, uh, I go over in there, uh, into the van and the back is all full of. these rugs and I crawl up on top of the rugs and they’re scratchy and smell like goats and must from the, wherever they have been stored, but I was safe and I felt so happy about that.

And right as I curl up, um, to fall asleep before going to SIM rape, the last thing that crosses my mind is I love slow travel. Thank you.

[00:23:57] Marc Moss: Ren Parker grew up in Hawaii and lived on [00:24:00] sailboats she restored on the Pacific for seven years. She gave up her nomadic ways and moved back to Missoula three years ago to be close to family and has been growing roots here ever since. Ren loves to dance and hike with her faithful dog, Poet, and she spends time with her remarkable Missoula friends.

She found her passion for storytelling in the winter of 2022 in a weekly open mic. Coming up after the break.

[00:24:25] Abe Kurien: But my dad still kept that van because he worked really hard for it and was really proud of it. But if any of you know, in the 80s, a lot of the manufacturers for vehicles, they had a paint issue.

[00:24:37] Linda Grinde: And the girl in the next bed says to me, C’est du dansin! I realize she’s asking me if I want to go dancing. Wow.

[00:24:49] Marc Moss: Stay with us. Remember that the next tell us something event is December 6th. You can learn how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellusomething. org. Thanks again to our title [00:25:00] sponsor, Blackfoot communications, helping us with the heavy lifting of the expense of producing our evening.

Thanks to our stewardship sponsor, Jana Lundquist consulting, helping us to provide free tickets to populations. That might otherwise be unable to attend tell us something events. Thank you to our story sponsor parkside credit union helping us to pay our storytellers Thank you to our accessibility sponsors the kettle house allowing us to hire american sign language interpreters at the events In order to be a more inclusive experience and thanks to our artist sponsor crowley fleck attorneys pllp You are listening to the tell us something podcast I’m your host, Mark Moss.

Our stories in this episode are recorded live in person in front of a packed house on September 28th, 2023 at the George and Jane Dennison Theater at the University of Montana in Missoula, Montana. Next up is Abe Kurian, who shares his story of woe in which his Indian father mistakenly puts sugar daddy on the back of his van, thinking it means.

One who gives candy to loved ones, Abe calls his story, [00:26:00] Middle East meets the Midwest. Thanks for listening.

[00:26:08] Abe Kurien: An hour south of Chicago, a little town called Bourbonus, Illinois. Now the representatives there, they wanted to vote it and go back to the French pronunciation because of the spelling, to Bourbonay. I’m not French, I grew up there as a kid, I still call it Bourbonus. Now. Bobonis has a university called Olivet Nazarene University, and that is a private Christian conservative school.

And it is The community of Bourbon is kind of just like the University of Montana. Everybody in the community kind of gathers around that university. Well, that is, uh, where my parents met. My mom, she’s from Superior, Montana. Now, that is about an hour west of here. [00:27:00] Small community, and, uh, my mom grew up in the northwest, graduated from Superior High School, and because her brother lived outside of Chicago, he introduced her to Olivet.

Now my dad. He’s from India. And so he comes over, he was encouraged to come over, and by some of the friends that he had in India that were already here in the States. My dad was a proud man, still alive today, and I will get to that, but he was a proud man with a few dollars, a couple suitcases, and he makes his trip to Burbonas, Illinois to go to Olivet.

Now my parents met there, and… And, you know, going back through this, my dad comes here and he ends up getting his bachelor’s in psychology, a master’s in counseling from another university outside of Chicago, and in that community of Burbonas, he became very well known. And actually, [00:28:00] if you know me and how outgoing I am, I have to thank my dad for that.

But he was known with organizations. He was in very, various clubs and also very known, um, as being a very Christian man. Now, my dad was also very proud with the work that he did in providing for his kids. Myself, I’m the oldest of five. I have three sisters and a brother that are younger than me. And one thing that my dad wanted to do was always take us on a summer vacation or a vacation somewhere.

And just like the Griswolds and that station wagon, we’re gonna go to the 70s. The 70s… Everybody traveled in a station wagon. And so, we would load up the station wagon, head out to my grandma’s house in Superior, Montana, making little stops along the way. And you gotta remember, my dad, you know, he’s [00:29:00] seeing new sights as he’s leaving the Midwest and coming out towards here to meet and see the…

the west. And so we go, and one of our favorite stops, and if any of you know this, the home of the Corn Palace is in Mitchell, South Dakota. Oh, yeah, we got it. There we go. So now the Mitchell, South Dakota Corn Palace, if you don’t know what it is, they have these murals that are up on the walls and of the exterior of the building that are made from the agriculture from the South Dakota area and surrounding areas with corn, wheat, beans, all that kind of stuff.

But, you know, us kids, we anticipated what the theme was going to be that summer, was we come around the corner. Another great thing about the Mitchell South Dakota Corn Palace is they had a huge gift shop. And if you’re a kid, and you’re traveling, you want what’s in those gift shops. And you know, most of the stuff in there was probably made in India.

So now, we end up continuing our trip to [00:30:00] Superior, Montana to see my grandma. But now, we’re going to move on to the 80s. And in the 80s, we ended up, my dad worked even harder, us kids were growing, and the station wagon wasn’t going to cut it anymore. So we ended up with the conversion van. Now if you know what the conver does everybody know what a conversion van is?

If you don’t, let me describe it. It is slicked out. It is… Silver gray, blue pinstripes, captain chairs, so you know, now that we’re older and, you know, outgrown, the station wagon, but the back seat was a, it turned into a bed. It was pretty sweet. And then, the best thing about the conversion van was it had cable, or not cable hookup because it wasn’t But it had a hookup for TV.

So we had a TV that we would take along, but if you were [00:31:00] stopped, you could get those three channels with the rabbit ears. Otherwise, in the 80s, it was snow and static. So we took this same trip and came out and did our thing in the 80s. Well, in the 90s, we grew up as kids and kind of left the house and, but my dad still kept that van because he worked really hard for it and was really proud of it.

But if any of you know, in the 80s, a lot of the manufacturers for vehicles, they had a paint issue with like GMC and Chevrolet and so the van started to get peely and blistery and paint was, you know, coming off in chunks and it just looked bad. And my dad was like… You know, well one, I called to check in on him, I didn’t live anywhere near the, the house at that time.

I call him up and I said, hey dad, I said, uh, you know, one thing I didn’t explain about my dad, let me actually back up and I apologize for this. But my dad, [00:32:00] his character, has anybody seen The Simpsons? So I didn’t explain this, my dad being from India. is a spitting image of a poo. And I apologize I didn’t bring this up earlier.

I just kind of, I got lost in that translation. So, but here’s, had pun intended. So what ended up happening was my dad That would sound like, would you like to buy a soda pop in a candy bar? Thank you. Come again. And that was my dad’s accent with a poo. But now the best thing about it, he’s in his 80s now and he is a mix of a poo and if you know the boxing promoter, sorry about the pops, the boxing promoter.

Don King. My dad has gray hair that stands up like this. And Don King was outlandish and a little bit of a character, but my dad had his hair. But the look and sound of a poo. And [00:33:00] so, when I called my dad and said, Hey dad, you know, hey, how things going? He’s like, you know, I would like to, uh, With his little accent, he goes, I would like to get the van painted.

The van, it’s all not looking good. And he goes, I think I would like to have that done. And I said, that sounds great, dad. And he goes, you know, in the back of the van, there’s a, there’s a wheel well with a tire cover. And he goes, I would like to put a saying on there, like number one dad or something like that.

Now my motto is keep smiling. So that’s what I would have. And if you guys see jeeps out here in the Northwest, they all have sayings on them. Like, you know, if I’m upside down, we’re having a good time. So, um, I told my dad, you know, dad, I think a great name to put on the back is

I mean, come on. How would that not be perfect? With a conversion van, with a couch that turns into a bed. So, you know, I just laughed it off. I’m thinking that in the back of my head. That’s where [00:34:00] my mind went. And he says, you know son, that sounds like an idea, but we’ll think. So he goes on, and uh, I don’t think anything of it, and uh, I end up visiting, sorry, I end up visiting him about a year later.

About four or five months later, and he comes out and he says, you know son, come see the Vaughn. Come see the Vaughn. I got it repainted. It’s beautiful. So we’re looking at the Vaughn, and the van, because I say van, he says Vaughn. But uh, we come around the back of the van, and I said, hey dad, what happened to your tire cover?

And he goes, you know son, you could, you break your daddy’s heart. You break your daddy’s heart. Basically worked very hard, and I put money into this van, and you tell me to put sugar daddy on the back of this van, and I was actually biting my tongue to not laugh, hysterically. But what [00:35:00] ends up happening is, I said, well, what did you think it was, dad?

And he said, you know, I thought it was a daddy that gave out candy. That makes it even better with the whole van. But, so, you know, I look at it and go, The sugar daddy story, and my dad, I, with all the stuff that he’s done, I’m proud of him, and he worked hard to give us a whole lot of stuff, and I apologize for having him go through that whole thing with the, the repainting of the back of the van.

My biggest regret, is that I never saw him cruising around town in burbonis in a sugar daddy van. I’d like to, uh, thank my beautiful wife, who is the interpreter tonight. And thank you, and keep smiling.

[00:35:55] Marc Moss: Thanks, Abe. Abe Kurian is married to his best friend, Bonnie Kurian, [00:36:00] who was the American Sign Language interpreter when Abe performed his story. They have four children and two grandchildren. He has lived in Montana for the last 24 years. After moving here from outside of Chicago, Illinois, Abe has worked for over 30 years in the film and television industry.

For over 10 years, he has been the camera operator for Grizz and Cat’s football games for the broadcasts on Root Sports, K Pax with Scripps Sports, and the playoffs on ESPN. He also worked on the TV shows 1883, 1923, and currently working as the dailies coordinator for the show Yellowstone, which is shot right here in Missoula, Montana.

His motto is, Keep smiling and his goal is to leave everyone with a smile on their face after meeting them. Closing out this episode of the podcast, Linda Grindy shares her story about a time she was lost in translation. Invited to a disco by French speakers, she ends up breaking into her own hostel to get back in.

Linda calls her story Dancer in a Strange Land or Disco Damsel in [00:37:00] Distress. Thanks for listening.

[00:37:03] Linda Grinde: The boom from the disco floor was so loud that I had to stand up so that the table full of people would even know that I was speaking. C’est très important de, j’ai, j’ai fait partie maintenant. Nothing I tried again.

Um,

I need your help. Still nothing. It was three o’clock in the morning. I’m somewhere in the south of France at a disco with a group of strangers and nobody speaks English. And I have ten kids sleeping in a, in a hostel. An hour or more away, thinking that I’m there and [00:38:00] I’m going to get up in the morning and take them on a 50 mile bike ride in the heat of August in the south of France during high tourist season.

I need to sleep. I want to sleep. Um, je voudrais coucher ce soir. Yeah, that sets off a lot of rapid fire French all around. Punctuated by the occasional English phrase, um, I love you, my darling. Do you want to sleep with me tonight? To be fair, you know, if I was back in the States and there was one French person, I’m sure you would hear, Voulez vous coucher avec moi?

But I’m really stuck. Rewind. Ten hours. I’m 21 years old. I’m leading a bicycle trip through Europe. Scandinavia, Southern [00:39:00] France. For the American Youth Hostels. I have 10, 15 year old kids from Manhattan that I am the guide for. The only adult. We have been already six weeks. on the trail. We’ve cycled over the fjords of Norway.

We have cycled through the farmland of Denmark and, and, and Sweden. And just this morning, we got on a plane in Copenhagen and flew to Milan, got on a train and came to the south of France to Antibes, Cat Antibes, one of the biggest tourist towns on the French Riviera. We’ve bicycled up from the train station, and as we come to the hostel that we’re going to be staying in tonight, I realize it’s a chateau.

To me, it looks like a castle. It’s got [00:40:00] round towers and turrets and arched windows that look out over the Mediterranean Sea, which is right across the street. As we push our bicycles into the courtyard, all cobblestone, we go past these eight foot iron gates with spikes on top. The only thing that’s missing is the moat.

Well, I get the kids settled in their dormitories, they’re tired, and I find my room, which is on the second floor, up a stairway into one of those round rooms, there are five beds, and I, I barely slip my saddlebacks off my shoulder when the girl in the next bed says to me, Fais tu danser? I realize she’s asking me if I want to go dancing.

Wow, I have spent the last six weeks with kids. It would be fun to have some adult time. They’re all settled. Why [00:41:00] not? Oui! I say oui! I reach my hand down to the bottom of my saddle bag and pull out the only dress I brought and slip on some sandals and follow her downstairs. So the first surprise… Is that there were two cars waiting outside, packed with her friends.

We’re not just walking into town for a couple of hours, we’re going somewhere. I climb inside, and after a Very brief conversation about who I am, uh, American, and then I’m on a velo, I’m riding, I’ve exhausted my, my vocabulary. And they pretty much ignore me. And we’re driving further and further away from town and into the countryside, and it’s getting darker.

Finally, we pull into a parking lot and up to a building that is like, Like a [00:42:00] birthday cake, each floor a different color, and it’s pulsing with the sound of disco music, this is the 70s. We enter this amazing structure and start by dancing on the first floor, we have a few drinks, it really is fun. And then move to the second floor, and different tone, and different feeling, and I’m starting to look at my watch because it’s getting close to 10 o’clock, and the rules of a youth hostel is that they close and lock those doors at 10 o’clock.

And I’m looking over at the girl I came with, and she doesn’t seem to be concerned, so I figure, well, I guess we’re gonna break in together. But I do start drinking water. We go to the next floor and continue this rising up through all levels. And now it’s [00:43:00] getting on close to midnight and I really am tired.

I’m ready to go and I, but I figure I, I’m in for the trip. So I have to wait till the bars close at two. And then two o’clock comes, and passes by, and things aren’t slowing down, they’re actually revving up. And that, that girl I came with, she is nowhere to be seen. And suddenly I start to, I start to panic.

I, I don’t even know how to use a French phone, or how to call a taxi, or where I am, or what the name of that hostel was, or, oh, I only have a few francs and a lot of American traveler’s checks, so that’s not going to work. Um, and then I, and then I think, oh my god, what happens if my kids wake up at six o’clock?

I’m not there. They don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I am. [00:44:00] There’s no way to get in touch with anybody. There are no international phones at the time. Or there might be at a post office in some town. There’s no, there’s nothing they can do. I’m I’m freaking out. So, let’s go back to that table. I’m standing there and I’m getting a little crazy.

I keep saying, I have to go, I have to go, in whatever method I can. And finally, a tall, sandy haired guy steps forward. Let’s call him Francois. He wiggles his keys. I think he must have drawn the short straw. Because I had become what you would call a real pain in the derriere. They just wanted to get rid of me.

Relief is tinged by a little unease as we head into the dark parking lot towards his car. I’m following a stranger out into the [00:45:00] darkness and… What else can I do? He’s my only hope. We get to the car, and he walks around to the passenger side and opens it for me, but then pushes me against the door and tries to kiss me.

I push him off. I’m having none of that. He just shrugs and climbs in the car. We have a very long, quiet ride. But we get there, I see the Mediterranean, and that castle, and I’m back. He stops, I jump out, Merci! Close the door, and he speeds off. And then I’m facing the fortress. That big gate now is locked with a big padlock.

And I have to get past it. But I realize that The gate is connected into [00:46:00] these large boulders, and, and they look like they’ve got a good grip, so I managed to get up the boulders and then carefully step over those spikes on the top and hang down and drop into the courtyard, and I figure, okay, I’m in, I can sleep on a bench, I guess, till morning, but I don’t know.

I don’t know. I noticed that there’s a window that’s slightly ajar on the hallway that goes up to my room and there’s a ledge and there’s a vine. I think I can do this. It must be adrenaline that’s driving me. I slip my sandals onto my wrist and climb up the vine and then inch my way along to the window and thank God it opens easily and I slip in and get into my bed.

And I get two solid hours of sleep. Six o’clock in the morning comes fast and I hear the bell of the breakfast ring and I splash my face with water and as I [00:47:00] gather my stuff I realize that girl never slept in that bed. She never made it back. Well, I did the 50 mile ride, got my kids safely to the next campground, they never knew what happened, I’ve never even told this story.

But I have to tell you, in recounting it, I started thinking about that guy, Francois. So many things could have gone wrong. He was drunk, we could have crashed, he could have left me in the parking lot, he could have taken me anywhere. But he didn’t. He left his friends. He left that party. He drove this crazy American off into the night.

He did the right thing. After all these years, I’d just like to say, Merci beaucoup, François.[00:48:00]

[00:48:05] Marc Moss: Thanks, Linda. Linda Grinde keeps trying to reinvent herself, but just keeps coming back to another version of theater. She recently appeared in a multimedia memory piece, Intangible Objects, at the Westside Theater in Missoula, Montana. Originally from New Jersey. She has a master’s degree in theater and has danced professionally in New York and Germany, acted in and directed plays in London, Seattle, Dallas, Hawaii, and all around Montana.

Linda will be traveling to Thailand next year to you guessed it. Teach theater.

Thanks for listening to the tell us something podcast. And thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula events. net, Montana public radio, and Missoula broadcasting company, including the family of ESPN radio, the trail one Oh 3. 3 check FM and Missoula source for modern hits. You want a 4. 5 thanks to float Missoula.

Learn more [00:49:00] at float msla. com and Joyce of tile. Learn more about Joyce at Joyce of tile. com. Remember that the next tell us something event. is December 6th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellussomething. org.[00:50:00]

Listen for those stories at tellussomething. org or wherever you get your podcasts.