To the bemusement of all, the chickens quickly went to work ridding Aunt Betty and Uncle Jimmy’s garden of bugs. As we headed east on I-90 towards Montana with our two mini Aussies and 3 polish chickens my wife looked vaguely amused. At least that’s what I went with as twilight approached and we began to climb Snoqualmie Pass with a jeep load of animals. In 1910, my great grandfather homesteaded in Charlo, Montana, the heart of the Mission Mountain valley. Every August since I can remember, we traveled to "the ranch" for a family reunion with the Steindorf clan.
B Master B strikes a pose against the Mission Mountain Range.
Married, living in Seattle it became more and more difficult to make it over each August and before I knew it, almost 10 years had passed. As August neared, the family hinted strongly that we were long overdue for a visit. Point taken, we packed and headed east. The 3 B’s were 6 weeks old at this point and weren’t old enough to stay home. What better place to take them than to the family homestead? The urban chickens could see how their country counter parts live. As we arrived at the ranch and began to unload Uncle Jimmy (think George Bush Senior’s twin but ultra liberal) pointed out that the city folk had brought the only livestock on the ranch. Apparently, the homestead while a working farm was now without any farm animals.
Uncle Albert hypnotizes B Diddy at the family picnic. Uncle Albert is an expert Chicken hypnotist. The urban chickens’ arrival was a big hit with the family Steindorf and I think we will go down forever in infamy. Now we aren’t just the city folk; we’re the incredibly ECCENTRIC city folk. Not sure what we’ll do for an encore.
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