Me and Billie Lou
Play Mingles with Work in Montana’s Wilderness.
I WAS BORN IN 1921 in Los Angeles, California, but my family moved to Butte, Montana, before I turned 2. What a change it must have been for my mother, I’m sure—there were almost no trees and no grass where we lived at the time. My father worked for a produce company, and we became friends with the business owner, Bill Sweet. He had a ranch about 50 miles northeast of Butte.
My dad eventually had his own grocery store, and every Saturday night after closing time we traveled to the Sweet ranch. There the men fished, hunted and trapped. My dad trapped beaver to make my mother a fur coat. The men relaxed and played a lot, but they also ran cattle and horses. Me and Billie Lou—Bill and Lou Sweet’s daughter—loved to sit on the fence and watch them.
The house was big, with a covered porch around half of it, where we all
slept. The eating table was very long, and I could choose a spot. I remember going around the table, picking out what I thought was the prettiest plate and putting it next to my mother’s.
The ladies worked all day in the kitchen getting breakfast and then dinner. It was hard work with only a wood stove and no running water. They drove about 2 miles to a spring to fill 10-gallon milk cans with water.
In the winter, it was quite an adventure to make the trip through Elk Park, where many snowdrifts crossed the road.
The men would get out and shovel snow every few miles.
When the weather got so bad that we couldn’t drive, we would take the train, which was so exciting for a 6- or 8-year-old. The conductors were always good to us—they would stop the train near the ranch to let us off. Then we scrambled down the bank from the tracks to the house, using kerosene lanterns to light our way.
The next day there was lots to do—cattle to take care of, snow to shovel and, of course, all the ladies had to tend to the cooking and cleaning. Me and Billie Lou, we just played and had fun. After dinner, it was time to go back up to the tracks to meet the train, where we all relaxed for a good ride back to Butte. We were tired, but happy. This was the way and the why of life in the 1920s in Montana.
Maybe it’s because I grew up with the outdoors as my playground, but I still love to be active. At 99, I swim nine laps most days and teach a baby swim class—for soon to be 52 years now. My husband, Clayton, turns 100 this summer. I feel we have been blessed. We have much to be thankful for.