The Bee publishes letters from readers across the Gallatin Valley. Letters are edited for length, never for truth, because we wouldn’t know where to start.
The North 19th construction rhythm
I’ve been tracking the traffic patterns on North 19th for three weeks now, and I’ve concluded that the construction crews are actually conducting a symphony. If you time your approach to the roundabout perfectly at 8:00 AM, you can sit perfectly still for exactly twelve minutes. It gives you plenty of time to contemplate your life choices or finish a thermos of coffee. Some folks honk, but I think that ruins the ambiance. If we all just committed to staying in our vehicles until at least noon, I suspect the infrastructure might eventually catch up to our collective patience. It’s about the journey, not the destination.
— Gary Huckleberry, Belgrade
The audacity of the neighborhood elk
My neighbor, who moved here from California in 2019, recently put up a lovely decorative fence to keep the elk out of her prize-winning petunias. Yesterday, I watched an elk simply step over the entire structure as if it were a minor suggestion. It is quite rude of the wildlife to ignore the clear aesthetic boundaries we’ve established in the historic district. We moved here for the mountain lifestyle, but nobody mentioned that the locals—the four-legged ones—haven’t read the zoning laws. I suppose I will have to buy more marigolds, as the elk seem to have a particular palate for the expensive ones.
— Susan St. James, Bozeman
The wind is blowing my shed away
I woke up this morning to find my garden shed shifted six feet to the west. I didn’t move it, and neither did my wife. I believe the wind in Livingston has finally reached a velocity that qualifies as “relocating furniture.” It’s an efficient system, really; I don’t even have to walk to the woodpile anymore if I just wait for a stiff breeze. My only concern is that my truck might end up in Big Timber by Tuesday if I don’t park it facing the mountain. I hope everyone has their chains ready, or at least some heavy rocks in their pockets.
— Dale Miller, Livingston