For this girl it's a long way from the Bronx to Bigfork

It most certainly was “a dark and stormy night” in 19-hundred-a-long-time-ago when a baby girl was born into the concrete caverns of The Bronx.  That would be me.  

And that would be where I lived until I decided I’d had enough  – enough of living in a city where absolutely everything was available to do - all day, every day.  Being born on the top rung of cities, I had no clue – for such a very long time – just what wonders would await “out there.”

In my memory bank of my years in The Bronx and Manhattan,  Mosholu Park, Botanical Gardens, Van Cortlandt Park and, of course, Central Park, are at the top of my favorites list.  The green and the trees in these parks were all planted, according to a plan.  But, what did I know?  

I loved all of it – and spent a fair chunk of time in all of them.   Living “at the top of the heap” (to quote Sinatra), riding the subway was part of everyday existence – at a time when kids could ride, in a group, of course.  There were Broadway shows (“twofers”, as we used to call them – 2 tickets for the price of one once the show was on the stage for a while – a GREAT way to see so many great shows), winter ice-skating on Wolman Rink in Central Park, the Bronx Zoo, Central Park Zoo, museums, museums, museums – and, oh yes, there were always museums.  

And, once a year, the wonder of wonders would appear, Barnum & Bailey’s Greatest  Show on Earth.  THE circus.  

After many years of mulling over a move – “out there” – I jumped off that cliff.  I landed in San Francisco and lived quite happily there for ten years until the wanderlust bit me again.  And off I went -  to Seattle.     

After several other stops over the years, I found my way “out there” to northwest Montana – a mere 2,389.89 miles from The Bronx.  Wow!  There was simply nothing here that had even the slightest familiar ring to it for this big city girl.  That was a good thing.  Amazing.  

Here, driving is in the sane category.  Here, there are no honking horns a nano-second after a traffic light changes from red to green.  Here, there are trees.  Trees.  And more trees. And, for the most part, they were “born” where they stand – not planted according to a plan. And they still stand – not slated to be chopped down to build parking garages or another Trump Tower.  Nice!!!

There’s always something to be said for convenience.  In The Bronx, we had only two blocks to walk to Mosholu Park – a very long and skinny park that served as a year-round playground for a gazillion kids over time. The Bronx Botanical Gardens (now known as The New York Botanical Garden) was a jump across the railroad tracks to enjoy its 250 acres.   Living in Manhattan, I only had to make a 3.5 block trek to Central Park’s 843 acres.   

In Bigfork, I quickly learned I would have to sacrifice all of that convenience to drive 40 minutes to the entrance of Glacier National Park.  

This wonderfully tiny community of Bigfork has a way of wrapping itself around a beating heart.  In its earlier days, it was a mill town.  

Now, it’s known for art galleries, restaurants, theater, the rushing Flathead River under the iconic old steel bridge, and a general feeling of warmth and comfort.  

I no longer use the word “luck” when explaining certain happenings.  So I will not say I was truly lucky to land here.  Instead, I believe there were rungs on the ladder that I climbed that led me to the rung that was Bigfork.  Aaaah.  A long, very long way from The Bronx.