There's a few brief moments throughout the year that Flagstaff is just magic. Of course there's fall when the aspens light up and filter the most delicious golden light through their gradually expiring leaves. But before the year's golden hour in autumn, another sea of yellow invades the town. Coming back to our little mountain town after a few weeks in lush northwest Montana was rough. Flagstaff in reality is really just a pile of old volcanic rock without any sources of water that for some reason people decided was the perfect place to put down roots in brittle, crumbling soil. The only things that made the transition a little easier were the fields of sunflowers that pop up in early August and a few rainy days. Behind a toppled over barbed wire fence along the way to the ski hill is a sea of yellow. No one's really sure if the field is a happy, natural accident or if some kind, beautiful citizen has taken it upon themselves to spread seed and smiles to locals and visitors alike. The evening of Johnny's birthday happened to be perfectly overcast and cool after a few days of rain so with an hour to spare before our takeout would be ready, we headed up highway 180, camera and tripod in hand. Joined by a couple photographers, amateur (selfies x1000) and more professional, we spent close to an hour waist deep in flowers with Mt. Humphrey set perfectly as our backdrop. A few last sunflowers can be found on random street corners throughout the city but as the temperatures drop and hit close to freezing overnight, they're quickly being replaced by windblown, golden aspen leaves. As much as I wish those fields of gold could stay year round, I'm itching to head up the mountain to Lockett Meadow to catch our first glimpse of a real, Flagstaff fall next weekend.
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Nights at the lake have always been associated with star gazing for both Johnny and myself. Weather permitting at my parents lake home in rural South Dakota, my dad would build us a fire and we'd spend hours counting satellites simultaneously scanning the skies for the occasional shooting star. While days spent basking in the sun and cooling off in the lake were the highlight of my summers growing up, nights watching the skies and talking about life became an equal favorite and something I cherish dearly now that we live 1,500 miles from home.
Before we left for Big Sky Country, we made sure to do our research on how to get the perfect night sky shot. Luckily for us, there's a wealth of knowledge surrounding night sky photography right here in Flagstaff being that it's the first International Dark Sky Place. We're by no mean experts after a few nights shooting the expansive Montana sky but with our F-stop open wide, ISO up high (~1000+), shutter speed around 20 seconds, and our lens stretched out to focus on infinity (∞), we managed to get a handful of satisfactory shots. Two years ago I first visited Montana and traveled US-93 north of Missoula. I had my little point and shoot Fuji glued to the window as we passed stagnant ponds on the side of the road reflecting mirror images of the Mission mountains. Up over the hill I got my first view of the Flathead Valley and I knew why Johnny's heart had never truly left Montana. Two years ago, when we were just newly engaged, I had a great time picking cherries, spending days on the water, and exploring Glacier with Johnny and his family but our visit to Montana this summer was different. My heart too fell in love with Flathead and the rest of northwest Montana and leaving it after two weeks was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I miss waking up every morning to pick cherries right off the tree. I ate so many my belly ached almost every day we were there. I miss the stained fingers and Winslow rolling around in the grass beside me as I stood on tiptoes reaching up past the low hanging branches which had already been harvested by the locals - and by locals, I mean deer. I miss the big sky sunsets and nighttime shows when satellites and meteorites collided in a sky filled to the brim with twinkling white lights and fading color. And I miss the golden fields of wheat set against the dramatic, dark, rolling Missions. Mostly, I miss the quiet time spent on the dock. Alone or with family, listening to the waves roll in interrupted only by the chatter of a squirrel or a sharp "Winslow!" to dissuade his terrier instincts. Of course my view of Montana is highly romanticized because life in Montana is easy. It's a vacation. But that's the way I like it. Filled only with beauty and adventure, family and good times.
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