Missoula, Montana: A Great Family Destination

by Jamie Rhein on

In the midst of time we spend in Philipsburg, Montana every year, we make sure we have a day or two designated for Missoula. This year we spent more time then planned because of fires elsewhere. No matter. It’s a perfect place for families with multiple ages and interests. We’ve done most of what there is to do over our years of visiting.

This is a town where you can hook up with an outdoor company for float or a rafting trips of the Clark Fork or Big Blackfoot Rivers, visit Fort Missoula established in 1877 and now a museum, and ride on the Carousel for MIssoula with a wooden dragon that has a plastic sleeve with rings in it coming out of its mouth. Riders who score an outside horse attempt to grab the rings each time they go by until the last one is gone. The last ring is a golden. Whoever gets it gets a free ride. I tried this yesterday, and grabbing those rings is easier than it looks.

The carousel itself is stunning in the artistry of its horses and it goes a bit faster than most-often there are as many adults on it as kids. I wasn’t the only one. Adjacent is Dragon Hollow, a wonderous playground with outdoor musical instruments and art tiles as part of the play structure.

Another thing we’ve done a couple of times is hike up to the large white M above the University of Montana’s campus. The switchbacks make the climb not so dreadful and the view is wonderful. The town is filled with events year-round and downtown Missoula has some terrific stores for browsing. Made in Montana goods are easy to find and no matter where you shop, there’s no sales tax.

The best store, though is Rockin’ Rudy’s. There is a medley of stuff from Made in Montana goods like huckleberry jelly and candy to politically incorrect gee gaws that make fun of politicians (before the last election both George Bush Jr. and John Kerry were equally parodied in card games, chewing gum and bobble-head type stuff), great jewelry, music and videos, joke shop items, luscious smelling soaps, clothing and racks and racks of greeting cards. You really have to go there to understand the beauty in its bounty.

Here’s the “2007 Best of Missoula” article that lists what folks in Missoula like about their town. It gives me some ideas of where else to head the next time.

Thin Green Line

by Erik Olsen on

I go on and on here about how much I love our country’s national parks. I don’t have a particular fondness for the National Park Service’s parent agency, The Department of the Interior (where I worked for two years and which, under the Bush administration has become, according to some, a wretched hive of scum and villainy). But the real people who make the National Park Service run are the rangers, the guys who are on the ground, taking care of the parks and making sure that visitors are both safe and educated about the value of the parks.

Well this may come as a surprise, but lots of other countries have national parks as well. And they have rangers too! Fancy that. And as you might imagine, each of these rangers has a story to tell. And what better way to bring that story to you, dear consumer of visual media, than through a movie.

And so, starting its grand unveiling today a new movie called The Thin Green Line is Out to tell the stories of rangers around the globe. From parks in Africa and Australia to those right here at home, the film is an epic document about how those people on the ground, are taking care of these vital resources. It’s an appropriate day to do this, by the way, because today is World Ranger Day, easily Yogi Bear’s most favorite day of the year…after World Honey Day, of course. Oh, and National Picnic Basket Day.

So take the time to head to a park this summer, and shake hands with a ranger.

Band on the Run: The Gatineau Choo-Choo

by Ember Swift on

I just got back from a weekend in Wakefield, Quebec. I’m at home for one day between tours and as I’m typing this, the train whistle is calling me from across the fields through my open windows. Whenever I hear it, and provided I’m not completely indisposed, I go to the window and watch the train pass. I love watching it flicker through the trees, emerge along the neighbouring fields and then disappear into the distance.

The country is beautiful out here.

Trains are also amazing pieces of machinery. In Wakefield, they have a century-old steam train – one of the few remaining working steam engines in Canada – that runs up and down the Gatineau Hills. It is a tourist attraction and I was right in there too, snapping pictures and smiling. I especially loved the sounds it makes. It really sounds just like a cartoon train with its “choo choo” and “chug-a-chug-a.” You can almost hear it whispering “I think I can, I think I can” as it gathers speed and rolls away.

Wakefield is its turning point (i.e. it actually turns around in Wakefield), which is a sight to behold.

The train gets turned around on what is called a train turntable. When the engine is pointing back the other way again, caboose taking up the rear, it chugs on back to whence it came.

The people working on the train helped to push it around, including the musicians. I couldn’t resist the punny jokes about musicians being turntablists on the side. Imagine being employed to strum your guitar on a train with the caveat that you had to be on the “train turning” crew at half time! Such a mixed list of workplace expectations! It made me smile.

My friend works at CN and talks regularly about the environmental impact of planes and automobiles versus the lighter footprint of rail travel. Trains use up to 70% less energy and cause up to 85% less air pollution when compared to a jet. They use 17 times less fuel versus a jet and 5 times less than a car per passenger kilometre. (source.) Think of how many tractor-trailers we could take off the road if we were to put more of our tax dollars into repairing rail lines and renewing efforts to promote rail transport! It boggles the mind.

I was walking alongside of this tourist train with my friend Virginia and her son, Rowan. Virginia is my drummer Cheryl’s partner and together they have this perfect three-year old whose little voice saying “choo choo” was enough to melt me into a puddle of goo right there. He was so excited about the train, (which he was correctly calling a “steam engine,”) that we had to walk its length so we could see it all as it was preparing to roll away. He kept saying “Look Mommy! It’s the conductor!” or “Look Mommy! Look at the steam!”

I followed them slowly, snapping photographs and feeling wistful. My friend’s father drove trains for a living and he passed away a few years ago now. She’s told me stories about getting to ride with him when she was a kid and I wondered if she was as excited as Rowan was right now, exclaiming the whole time to her “Papa” about what she was seeing around her. What a thrill it is for a kid to just see a train up close, let alone get to ride with the conductor! I made a mental note to ask her about those experiences the next time I see her.

When we got to the engine it was giving off shimmering rays of heat, so much so that I had to stand back a bit out of its aura. The conductor, wearing the requisite overalls, sat in his little area in the engine car equipped with a window opening large enough for him to lean out of, one summer-tanned arm dangling over the edge like the train were his personal roadster. He tipped his striped blue and a white cap for the tourists and pulled the whistle from a string above his head, just like in the cartoons, and the steam billowed upwards with a woosh. It was all so storybook-like that I just stood there gaping at the thing, captivated.

As it pulled away, we waved to all the strangers who smiled and waved back. Each face looked happy to be waved at, as though they were the only ones we were seeing and bidding farewell to. The illusion was perfect; everyone could feel special when we were waving from the platform because (separated by the tall seats) they couldn’t see their fellow passengers waving back as well. Though regardless, the smiles were genuine. I think the charm of the experience reflected in everyone’s eyes. How could it not?

When the caboose finally passed by us it was like the flop of a dragon’s tail before it disappeared into the ocean. The sound of the train moving into the distance bounced off the river water – the perfect reverb on the fade-out to a perfect evening scene. We watched it weave around the angles of the river and leave Wakefield behind. Rowan was sad to see it go and wanted to follow it, but his Mommy reminded him that there’d be another one the next day and we could see it again. He perked up quickly. Not much keeps that little voice from sounding sunny.

And now as I’m writing this, I’m wistful again. There’s something about having been around the new joy of a three-year old that can remind a grown-up exactly how beautiful everything really is. Well, that’s what it did for me.

As I leaned out my upstairs window today and watched the train, I thought about how every moment can be complete if we just give it the space to be filled. Watching the train pass by at my house takes about two or three minutes, but they were the best three minutes I have spent all day.

I’m glad I took the time.

Quick Road Trip: Washington, D.C. Part Two

by Jamie Rhein on

Washington, D.C. is the perfect place for a spur of the moment trip. [See Part One] The only thing I had planned when I loaded up the car to head out of Columbus was visiting relatives and friends with my daughter and her best friend. Our first view of D.C. was similar to this shot by husar on Flickr. Wrong season though. That tree had leaves. It was dark when we arrived in the Georgetown section of D.C. Just like in this photo, M Street was bustling when we drove down it to get to my friend’s apartment building.

1. Coffee at friend’s apartment. My friends were at work when we got up, so I browsed their shelves for a guidebook of D.C. hoping to get ideas of what we might do. Good hosts–they had one. Took the guidebook and walked out the door about 10:30 AM.

[My friends were staying in a place similar to this one in the photo by Rictor Norton and David Allen, posted on Flickr.]

2. 11:00 AM–Picked up friends who were visiting from Vietnam via Atlanta. He’s on a Fulbright and his wife and two kids are in to the U.S. for the summer. Lucky for them–were staying at the townhome of a friend’s mother while she was in France.

3. Dropped wife, two kids (ages 4 and 11) and two teenagers (age 14) at the Chesapeake and Ohio (C&O) National Historic Park Canal Boats while we found a parking spot. Finally, I relented to the lack of available meters and parked the car in a nearby parking garage. One price for all day–$16.50.

4. 11:30 or thereabouts–Hooked up with wife, kids and teenagers and bought tickets for 1:30 PM canal boat ride then headed to M Street to scout out breakfast which was now lunch. Friend had guidebook and coffee, the most essential things, but no food. Teenagers left sandwiches in cooler all night, so they were no longer a breakfast option. Ate lunch, 1 gyro and 2 BLTs at Mon Cheri Cafe, 3051 M St. NW. French fries were free since the head cook liked us. Three sandwiches and six drinks, about $30. There are several places to eat along M Street. We’d have gone for Vietnamese, but our Vietnamese friends said, “We get that all the time.”

Teenagers drooled at shopping spots along the way and again noticed that Georgetown is pretty darned swanky. Here’s Georgetown through 14 year-old girls’ eyes. “Look at the bus stop signs. They have ads for Bebe. Gee, in Columbus, our bus stops have ads for Department of Social Services and food stamps.”

5. 12:50 PM–Stopped in The Old Stone House for a quick tour since it was only a couple doors up from the restaurant. This is the oldest house in Georgetown, and one of the oldest in D.C. You can still smell the smoke from when the fireplace was used for cooking. The park ranger tour guide happily gives talks to whoever walks in. The house is set up with period furniture just the way it would have been when people first lived in it. There’s lush flower garden outside that we didn’t have time to walk through. I love this stuff. The house is now part of the National Park Service. Free.

6. 1:30 –Canal boat tour: The tour gave a history of the canal and Georgetown and a lesson in how locks work. We went through the locks, a process that raised the boat 8 feet when the water was let in. The kids on the boat got to wear period hats and accompany the tour guide in period songs by playing instruments he passed out. Price of boat ride. Adults, $7; teenagers and 11 year-old $5; 4 year-old, free.

The canal boat is actually a reproduction. The original had space for an extra mule and didn’t have a top. During the time period that the canal was in its hey day, Georgetown was a real dump. Not anymore.

The boats are pulled by two mules. The tour guide explained how a mule is made–female horse, male donkey and that during the days of the canal, kids as young as 11 years-old would guide the mules several hours a day. The canal almost was paved over to be used as a highway until it was decided that it ought to be a National Historic Park.

The teenage girls enjoyed the park rangers dressed in period costumes, particularly the guy on the right. I’m pretty sure this is the same guy we saw.

7. 2:30 PM–Walked to the George Washington University / Foggy Bottom Metro subway stop. On the way, bought strawberry and chocolate and banana crepes from a fundraiser/hotel promotion for charity. Two for $3. Spent too much money at the Metro stop for tickets since I misunderstood the system. Unlike New York City subways, you pay different prices for different distances. I put $10 on one ticket thinking we could share (my daughter and her friend.) Each person needs his or her own ticket. The one-way fare to the Smithsonian was less $1.35

8. 3:15 PM.–Arrived at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History. Since the 4 year-old and the 11 year-old don’t know English, this was a great choice. Dinosaur skeletons and animals are easy to recognize. My son would have loved this. Jeff Kubina has some wonderful photos on Flickr of this exhibit. Here’s one of them.

My favorite part was the “African Voices” exhibit. Through interpretive signage, artifacts and videos, it presents an excellent overview of African history, geography and culture and its world-wide influences. I could have spent most of my time here, but 20 minutes had to do. This wood carving is by Lamidi Olonade Fakeye, a Yorube master scuptor. You can see more of his work on the Web site by clicking on The Focus Gallery section and then going to “The Carver Among Us.”

We also went to the IMAX movie Sharks 3-D– very cool. The jelly fish part in the beginning was pretty wild. It looked like they were floating all around us. Admission to museum, free. Imax. $8.50 for adults.

9. 5 PM –Left the museum when it closed and wandered over to the Smithsonian National Gallery of Art. There was a live music concert and people picnicking among the outdoor sculptures. My Vietnamese friends were enthralled by the crowd, the music, the art–basically, the whole thing, particularly since we came upon this scene without knowing about it beforehand. If you’re in D.C. on a Friday, head here. We snacked at the Pavilion Café on bread bowls (boule) filled with spinach and artichoke dip to tide us over until we met up with my cousin and his wife for dinner. I needed a pick me up cup of coffee. Bread boules: $8.50. Coffee: $2 ? Concert: Free

10. 7:15 PM –Met my cousin and wife at the Thai restaurant, Rice. We took the Metro from the Smithsonian to Dupont Circle. The restaurant was a bit of a hike from the metro stop (blocks and blocks), but the food was excellent. This is a very hip part of D.C. with many outside dining offerings and places to mill. Entrees at Rice ranged between $15 and $17. Thank you, cousin for treating the gang. Not cheap–but not over the top for a yummy meal.

11. 9: 15 PM–Headed back to Georgetown after walking from Rice back to Dupont Circle. We took a shuttle bus shuttle that dropped me, my daughter and her friend off at the corner near the parking garage. Remember the car? Our friends stayed on so that the bus could take them on down M Street. (When I said bye to my cousin, I handed him my leftover metro ticket. About $7 remained.

12. 10:00 PM or thereabouts–Arrived back at friend’s apartment in Georgetown for more catching up.

(We left D.C. the next morning after a quick trip to see my cousin’s new house.) Since this trip was mostly to visit people there are a number of things it would have been great to have had the time for. This was a spur of the moment, quick trip occassion. Next time, I’ll head back to the African Voices exhibit for starters. The smartest move I made was parking the car.

Band on the Run: Normal in Normal, Illinois

by Ember Swift on


The musical traveller, Troubadour. Road Rat. Whatever you want to call it, this blog will hold the stories that take place when travelling musicians are not on stage. What happens between the shows? What happens behind the scenes? Ember Swift, Canadian musician and touring performer, will be keeping us up-to-date on what it’s like to tour a band throughout North America. Having just arrived back from Beijing where she spent three months (check out her “Canadian in Beijing” series), she offers a musician’s perspective on road life. Enjoy!

Normal, Illinois is blessed with a conversational name. I’m sure that every resident has heard this question more than once: “why is this town called ‘Normal’?” I, of course, had to ask also, but I consistently asked people who were also visitors like me. I got several shrugged shoulders, some snickers at the irony and one set of rolled eyes before I got any kind of real answer.

You see, we were in Normal, Illinois for the National Women’s Music Festival. This festival has been going strong for over thirty years and traditionally is a gathering place for women who are not considered “normal” by the status quo: strong women, independent women, bisexual women, lesbians, etc. I’m talking messing with gender roles here.

You get my point. Of all places to bring a women’s festival, I think this is the town. How to normalize non-traditional choices, identities, behaviour? Bring the gathering to a town called Normal and think nothing of it.

Just act normal.The town of Normal is relatively small with only about 50,000 inhabitants. It is called “Normal” because this was the site of a major teacher’s college, or “normal school” as such a school was called a hundred and fifty years ago. The original teacher-training school that became the town’s namesake was Illinois State Normal University, which later evolved into the general four-year university it is now and dropped the “Normal” from its name: Illinois State University. (source)

We arrived by plane into the little airport in Bloomington, Indiana (Normal and Bloomington are like “twin cities”) and, like many travel experiences via United Airlines or American Airlines (this was the latter), I received only one of my two checked bags. Thankfully, the one I received was my guitar and so I still had the means to do my job. . .

just no clean underwear or toothbrush.

Exhausted and needing a nap before the gig, I piled into the van that picked us up and lay horizontal on the bench seat as we drove the full fifteen minutes across the state line into normalcy. When I finally sat up, the van was parked outside of a university dorm where all of the attendees and the performers were being accommodated. Here we were at the famous Illinois State University and most of the students were gone for the summer.


(For those of you who have followed my writing, I just spent three months in Beijing living in a dorm room at a university there. Now that I’m back on the road with my band, I was prepared [excited?] for a hotel situation. Funny how the minute you imagine going up in the world, the world reminds you of what level you’re meant to be at.)

I hauled myself and my guitar up to the 7th floor via the clunking elevator that smelled suspiciously like sweaty gym socks, along with Lyndell Montgomery, my fellow band member who had just travelled in with me. Lyndell was still gratefully chatting with the festival rep who picked us up and who was escorting us to our dorm room. In fact, Lyndell had been carrying on a cheery conversation with her during the whole drive back. I had become monosyllabic due to lack of sleep and she was filling in the social gap extremely well. I made a mental note to thank her for that once I woke up.

We lumbered down the dark hall of the seventh floor and we were greeted by sweet notes taped to the door from our drummer (Cheryl Reid) and our two beautiful crew members (Desdemona Burgin and Julie Turner, photographer and stagehand, respectively) who had already arrived the day before. A friend greeted us in the hallway with hugs and love (and two shiny apples to snack on!) and she offered to help me find whatever I was missing from my undelivered luggage. I smiled my gratitude weakly but sincerely and everyone ushered me and my weary eyes towards the bed inside my dorm room. I must have looked terrible because there were several concerned faces bent on getting me to sleep!

When I woke three hours later, there was a toothbrush, clean underwear (brand new from the DITC vendor in the craft area) and a new t-shirt (from the same vendor) waiting for me to put on before we had to file down towards dinner and our performance. Not only did they want me to sleep, but they wanted me to smell better too! Can’t blame ’em!

I was so touched. Thank you.

The concert went well. We had two excellent guests join us on stage: Trina Hamlin on harmonica (she’s AMAZING) and Zoe Lewis (who does a killer fake trumpet sound). Both musicians expertly filled in some melodic holes for us in two of our songs. Both were a joy to share the stage with.

After the concert, we returned to the dorm and a huge pile of the festival performers all had a serious game of ping pong together. In fact, this was a full-out tournament that included six simultaneous balls in the air, four players on each side (two front players with paddles and two back “court” players to catch the stray balls using rolled up cardboard or other paddle replacements). There were mountains of screams cascading with laughter.

Scenic despite the scenery.

The concrete walls and fluorescent lighting of the basement recreation room in this dorm building had never seen such sunshine. We were recreating the space with every flying ping pong ball and yelp of fun.

Here we were on the grounds of the school that started the town – the original “normal” school. I love that this location (not just the town!) was the site of this year’s National Women’s Music festival. A place of learning and teaching hosting an event that offers the same: workshops and performances by women who have strong voices, who reach outside of traditional roles and prescribed behaviour and seek new ways to express, to be, to live.

The National Women’s Music Festival is a great experience, for all. Men can attend the musical performances as well; it is not an exclusive event. That’s what makes it revolutionary, I feel. This is what separates it from other women’s festivals and elevates it, for me, regardless of having to sleep on a campus for one more night this summer.

I eventually did get my luggage, just before pulling out of town the following day with our whole crew piled into my drummer’s van. We drove the full ten hours back to Canada sharing lively stories from the past three months of everyone’s separate adventures. It was great to be reunited again.

Back on the road.

Celebrating women’s music and women’s issues by simply being us — being normal.

In Normal, Illinois.

(Group shot above from left to right, back row: Martin Locke, Tret Fure / second row: Jane Weldon, Lyndell Montgomery, Me, Desdemona Burgin, Trina Hamlin, Julie Turner, Cheryl Red / laying on top: Jamie Anderson.)