Monster!

“Monster! Monster!” shrieked the boys, in a pitch only first-grade sopranos can achieve. “Let’s get her!”1

I ran as fast as I could, considering my large red rain boots. They were the kind with a triangular flap that folded across the front, held in place by an attached elastic looped over a single side button. The plastic bread bags, held on to my legs with rubber bands, were supposed to keep my shoes dry in spite of the holes in the boots. They also made running more difficult, as the bags would slip around inside the boots.2

At last the bell rang. I eagerly escaped into the three-room Daly school house. The presence of adults adjourned the chase.3

It was deliciously warm inside, and smelled of lunchbox apples. Dozens of noisy children would pull off the obligatory boots, coats, mittens, scarves and hats, revealing crisp cherry noses, cheeks and ears. The large entry hall served as cloak area, and shortly smelled of freshly forming puddles and wet dog. Those coats (wool, I guess) with the doggy smell you tried to avoid hanging yours next to, but sometimes it was too crowded to choose.4

Often, during the long Montana winters, it would still be gray-dark outside. The bright classroom lights beckoned us from the dim foyer, and once shed of our outdoor chrysalis, we homed to them like moths.5

My bundling consisted of coat, mittens, aforementioned boots, and my despised nemesis. Even then, I couldn’t hate it---it was too cold!6

When Mother outfitted me for my very first year of school, the most extraordinary item was the combination hat and scarf. It was white, machine knit, two layers thick (and therefore warm), and shaped something like a capital letter ‘P’ with a second leg opposite the first. The top circle was filled in, and covered the back of the head. The attached scarf covered the top of the head, ears, and then came down in two white-fringed tails that could be crossed under the chin and wrapped around the neck. Some creative soul (who I imagined did not like children!) had added to the plain white circle the attraction of a face, stitched in black. It had two full lips, a double fish hook nose, and sleeping eyelids. A golden yellow fringe framed this face, and cheek spots of the same color finished the job. Mother called it “a sleeping sun.” The boys who chased me every recess called it “Monster.”7

The small population that had settled in the little Bitteroot Valley in the lap of the Rocky Mountains formed a close-knit group. As Dad would say, you could always count on each other, because you had to in order to survive. Even if you couldn’t stand someone, you would be there to help raise their barn or put a fire out, and they would be there for yours, too.8

Money was tight in 1965. Dad had ridden roundup in the fall, and been kept on to “ride fence” through the winter. This consisted of saddling up a sturdy horse and riding for miles in the snow to find and repair breaks in the fences through which cattle might escape.9

So it was with unhappy resignation I learned that my headgear couldn’t be replaced. There weren’t funds for that, especially when I already had a perfectly good scarf-hat.10

Spring gradually brought its violets and grape hyacinths, white blossoming orchards, and snow retreating to crunchy muddy patches under trees and on the north sides of buildings. It also brought the promise of warmer mornings, when my Monster could be left at home!11