Fall Schedule

Our next show will be in Glendive on the 16, 17, and 18 of September.

Check out our End of Summer Special at: http://www.montanasoaplady.com

Summer's End

I can feel it in the early morning...it is a crispness. We have had a bumper crop of cucumbers, and lots of tomatoes. Many are still green.

I remember years ago my father was doing carpentry work for Peterson's Chicken farm. One day he brought home a load of chicken manure. Holy amonia it smelled. We all worked to spread it over the garden, and I was more than glad when it was covered with snow a few months later. The next year we had the most amazing garden. The Missoulian newspaper came to take pictures of it, and my sister, Eloise, had a grand champion Hubbard squash at Lake County Jr Fair. I remember piles of pumkins sitting out by the road in the hopes that folks would stop and take a trunk load full.

Fall, for us, was always marked by pheasant hunting. Our community hosted what seemed like at least dozens of pheasant hunters. We had a regular group of hunters that came from Missoula every year. Me, and my siblings, must have driven them crazy with all of our visiting in their camp. That is what happens when you don't get out much. It was that year that the PTA, or some other civic group, built a little building by the school from which we could serve lunch to the hunters and bring in revenue. I ate my weight in pie and chili that day... Also, as I was waiting on the cars and delivering orders I received a very strange order. One of the pheasant hunters wanted a piece of "apple pie alamo." I had never heard of such a thing and the kitchen workers were all busy bustling around; I didn't see anyone I could ask. They provided me with a piece of apple pie with vanilla ice cream beside it; still it didn't look right. So I concluded...Alamo...the Alamo was a mess so I stirred the pie and ice cream up good before I delivered it. I don't recall that there were any complaints. Hmmm.

Have a wonderful fall. Best, Rusty

Once Upon A Time...

I added this photo to the website today. It is one of my treasures. This was taken in 1953. My sister, Pat, was nine; I was five; and that little cowgirl, Eloise, on the horse we called Ranger was two. This is my favorite picture because it depicts 'the way we were.' We certainly look like a happy bunch, don't we? Still, it is one of my favorite things.

I hope this finds you doing well. We have been busy this summer, and I haven't posted for awhile.

July & August, 2011

July 30, Miles City Farmer's Market

August 6, Miles City Farmer's Market

August 12, 13, 14 Livingston Gun Show

August 19, 20, 21 Sidney Gun Show

August 26, 27, 28 Billings Gun Show

Have A Great Week and God Bless! Rusty

May 27, 2011 Friday

I hope this finds you well. My hope and prayers go out to all the people all across America who are trying to cope with the extreme weather. Wednesday night I called my daughter in Oklahoma because the weather there was so intense. She told me her husband, Tommy, was enroute to Oklahoma City and together we talked on the phone and watched the weather channel. Tommy called her while we were on the phone and we learned that he, and twelve other truck drivers had pulled over in what they thought was a protected place only to be informed by a highway patrolman minutes later that they had parked in what would soon be the direct path of the storm at Ardmore. Thank God for this public servant! Tommy is now home and safe.

The weekend of June 10 will find us at a gun show in Forsyth. It is going to be held at the Haugo Center and is a new one for us. I look forward to seeing everyone there.

Stay safe and dry (if you can), Rusty

Miles City Bucking Horse Sale...3rd Weekend in May!

The third weekend in May is just around the corner...that always means that it is time for the Bucking Horse Sale. This is a very big weekend for Miles City. Every year we take the soap to the park where elbow to elbow with the other vendors, we get a front row seat for the parade...visit with friends, and we always manage to sell some soap. There are so many things to see like a park full of artists each creating art for the Quick Draw contest. We hear the ear splitting sound of the massive steam tractors, and watch as contestants for the pie making contest pass us by with their wares. No pie, and no calories for us.

That's the memory...we are hopeful that the weather will cooperate this weekend. It looks like to might be a wet weekend. Soap is always available at Discovery Pond and online at http://www.montanasoaplady.com

Saturday Night at Rusty's...

I think spring may be thinking about coming to Montana. Yesterday it snowed, but the sun was out in a weak sort of way today. It was nice. So far there are some buds on the trees, but no leaves. It is a good time to read a book and right now I am reading Jean Auel's Land of the Painted Caves.
Funny story about two old codger dodgers...We were all packed and ready to leave Friday morning for the Great Falls Gun and Antique Show with our soap. Friday was a snowy, blowy blustery day. Now, my Sweetie will cancel a craft show if he sees a snow flake (I have told him this...and he didn't deny it), but a gun show...not so much. Still the weather was not good, so finally he called to cancel the space at the gun show only find that it isn't until next week. So we are 'on again.' Was it Betty Davis who said "Getting old isn't for sissys?"
My sister, Missy, purchased a pony for her grand daughter, Maria, who is 4...and tomorrow is the Big Day when Maria will discover her new horse, Taco. That is going to be an exciting adventure and I can't wait to hear how it went and see some pictures. There is going to be a party to celebrate Maria's birthday, so Missy has been cooking and cleaning and making preparations all week. It will be a birthday to remember.
Remember? Did you ever think that after all we do to build a life, and gather possessions, all we ever really have is our memories?

The Log House in the Valley

Today I visited with my sister. We talked about the old days and the things we can't explain. The house we were raised in still stands on her ranch. It was a log house with a 15 x 30 livingroom, and a large bright kitchen. It had one bedroom downstairs, and four upstairs. In the fall in the early days we would take a picnic to Horse Shoe Bend and spend the day loading the wood my dad cut. Once, I remember, my brother, Jim, was walking in the back of the pickup and stepped in the chocolate pie. I am sure we checked it over and ate it anyway. We would gather the pumpkin, corn, and squash for the winter. I remember how much I hated washing quart jars. They came in an endless stream at canning time. I would stand at the galvanized tub in the back yard it would seem for hours. My sisters spent plenty of time washing jars, too. I don't remember them complaining. In the long nights of winter my parents would take turns getting up to make sure the fire in the wood stove had plenty of fuel. I would take a brown bleach bottle filled with hot water and put that in my bed about an hour before bedtime. I thought it was heaven to climb into that warmed bed. Sometimes in the morning we would awake to a skift of snow on our beds, and there is nothing in the world like stepping out onto ice cold linoleum in the winter.

As warm and cozy as our parents tried to make this house there was 'something' there. We, the six of us, seldom agreed on anything, but I think we all agreed that the house we were raised in had a presence. Home alone in the evening I could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. They seemed to stop at the third step from the bottom...the one with the knot. Most, if not all of us, have seen someone smoking in the darkness under the eves. The red end of the cigarette would go bright when the smoker inhaled and dimmer on exhale. Brighter and dimmer in the darkness. I could smell the smoke. My sister has remodeled the smaller house across the pasture, and I understand they don't go to the home of our childhood except rarely, and never at night. We all grew and moved out into the world. Our parents have passed now.

When I take my soap to gun shows, and craft shows sometimes people tell me stories about their childhoods. Sometimes they begin by saying "My Grandmother burned my hide off with lye soap," and they move on, the memory still etched on their face. Other times they stop and talk about their memories of the old days. One woman from North Carolina told me about the Haints of her childhood. She spoke of swamp lights, and ex-convicts hiding in the church as they walked by in the darkness. I love to hear the stories.