The Best is Yet from Montana

Today is 9/11, a day I remember more for my sister’s birthday than
the tragedies that occurred in the US in 2001. Paula Johnson was
born on this day of 1944 in Gainesville, Texas. My father was away at war, on the Navy ship the USS Enterprise. He didn’t meet his apple cheeked daughter with the golden curls until she was 18 months old.

Paula turned into a gorgeous woman, impressing many with her artistic talents from an early age. Still hanging in my mother's living room is a beautifully framed oil still life of flowers in a vase that Paula painted around age eight. My own house looks like a gallery for the artwork of this sister, with a collection of pieces from more than four decades.

In her late thirties this sister decided to legally change her name to Billy Rae Montana. By then she was picking up a pen as often as a paintbrush, composing some poetry that read with a simplicity and clarity that allowed even her words to turn into pictures. I remember her sitting in front of an old Royal typewriter with tall circular keys that needed a punch to get the ink on the almost transparent typing paper.




I’ve watched this sister for many years, coursing through two marriages and a few other relationships, always loyal to her partners and loving with a ferocity. She’s tenacious, and tried to make her relationships last just as she has been dedicated to every job she has ever held.

BR, as I like to call her, lives alone now with three curious cats and a stodgy old cattle dog, Sargent Pepper. They are an active, homey family, this bright, eccentric sister of mine and her satisfied canine and felines, talking and singing and taking care of each other lovingly.


Billy Rae Montana says she is going to do more artwork soon, choosing to retire in March of 2010 from her work with the small north Texas town of Whitesboro. I am ever so hopeful that her lines of poetry and colors on a canvas will soon grace the world and enhance our perspectives. But like a dear friend and writing colleague of mine recently said, we have to “stay in the room” to establish the discipline necessary for accomplishing our art.

Maybe my sister will use the shed outside her house to set up a space like the author Annie Dillard constructed: no windows, no distractions, nothing on the walls. Annie says from a space of nothing her creativity finds the room to move and grow and expand, allowing her to fill her little work shed with the necessary perspective and the sharp focus that allow her art to form.

This, more than the tri-level, multi-faceted kitty gym that my sister Pamela and I already gave our older sister, is what I wish for Billy Rae Montana on this, her 65th birthday. To “stay in the room” and once again write and paint and allow her creativity to soar across southwestern skies. (photos, including older ones, by Patricia and artwork by BR Montana)

In the Glow of Pegasus

(all photos taken during my wanderings at Graceland)

Storms roll into the San Luis valley mid to late afternoon as shadows lengthen. Wind rushes down the slopes and through the pines thumping the trailer at regular intervals. Scrub jays caw and call along with a swoosh of breezes. Grasses dance like a thousand conductors’ batons keeping beat for nature’s symphony.

Such a contrast to mornings when an idle stillness allows me to hear air slipping through the feathers of crows in flight. Fingers of sunlight slowly stretch across the valley floor, bringing an enticing warmth after a crisp early fall night.

Last night a full show was delivered right around dusk, just a few hours after my arrival here at Graceland, our blessed spot here in this southern Colorado valley. Thick bolts of lightning screeched across the skies leaving the air tingling. I found myself holding my breath while sweet Amber cowered in her doggy bunk, her head buried in pillows.

The beauty of wide open spaces thrills me. Maybe it’s all those years in Texas. These vast places allow me to feel like I can empty out all the clutter from living, enough to then fill up with deep breaths for the month ahead.

Crickets, coyotes, and owls drape the night over me in such a way that sleep comes with ease. If my eyes open while I’m turning in the night, I find the entire universe peering through the open windows on three sides. The Milky Way decorates the dark sky and both familiar and unfamiliar constellations fill any gaps. Presently Pegasus glitters gracefully.

A little more than a couple of decades would suit me fine for the rest of my lifetime. Filling those years with time here in the valley reading, writing, gazing, hiking, looking closely at everything, birding, and being with people I love sounds incredibly rich. Though I still care to travel, having a magical place such as this to surround myself with quiet and mystery and stillness appeals to me now. I feel this all seeping into my cells and then hear my breath slow and deepen, becoming acutely aware of a steady, even pounding of my heart. This, I think, is what allows me to feel so thankfully passionate about being alive.