Beanie Weanie for the Boys in Montana

Beanie Weanie for the Boys in Montana

1. Decide on one of the four slow cookers. Plug it in.

There are four dusty crockpots shoved into the corner of the kitchen house on the Sweet Dreams Ranch. The kitchen house, a wood structure, is elevated at least two feet above sage brush. “Don’t worry I killed all the mice before you got here,” Max says as he opens the fridge to show me where the weaners are stored. But when he opens the cabinet door, the shelves are bare.

“Let’s go down to the store,” Max leads me out to my family.

I follow Max outside to what seems like the set of Yellowstone, a big sky, and pastel sunset. I search for cowboy boots and stetson hats, but I don’t see any. Instead I experience a topsy-turvy rustic version.. There are no Stetsons, no hot tubs and no cook.

I am here for a family vacation with my husband and kids. I was told there would be a pool for swimming. I was told there were horses for riding. I was told that Glacier National Park was an hour away. But none of that was true.

Max is the owner of the Ranch and a millionaire. He greets my family with creased eyes and a soggy cigar, that he uses as a lariat to herd us into the many out buildings.

“Here’s where your kids will be sleeping.” He plops folded sheets from the top bunk onto the mattress below. “Wash these before you leave and Swiffer the floors.” He plugs in an air conditioner and snakes the vent through the window.

“The teenagers can sleep here and the couples can take the other cabin.”

He drags his right foot through gravel and limps up the stairs to the next little cabin. “This is the bath house. See we have indoor plumbing.” Max pushes against saloon doors where a toilet, shower and sink reside. We herd in behind him each taking a peek.

“Follow me to the trailer,” Max waves his cigar like a wand. “I keep the grass short, rattlesnakes.That’s why you need the boots.”

All eyes survey the grass. “Only baby rattlers now. I cleared this whole compound,” he waves his tobacco baton,” this place was a mess when I bought it.”

We follow Max into a double wide. He struggles on the stairs, he clings to banister. “Darn leg,” he grumbles. Six rifles guard the front door. I’ve never seen so many guns and I can’t take my eyes off of them. Max taps on a wooden shingle. It reads; “Leave your boots here, partner.” We all step out of our eight inch tall boots that none of us wanted. Max’s rule.

“Your parents will stay here,” Max tips his chin at the log bunkbed.

“I get the top,” I say as my husband slumps and forces a smile.

2. Forage for provisions.

This is Max’s ranch and everything you need is right here. One whole building is dedicated to provisions. The hand built rough hewn structure was erected by Max and the Amish.” You know those people don’t like to fly. I had to pay for them to ride a train all the way from Pennsylvania,” Max lifts an eyebrow as if the thought of never flying is ridiculous and unsustainable. His life and livelihood depend on air travel.

Early the next morning Max leads me to the supply building, “Grab a bag over there,” He barks.

I pull a grocery bag from a nail hammered into a two by four. As I look around I see shelving units stocked with Windex, Tide, Swiffer pads, paper towels, toilet paper, bottles of water, canned tomatoes, canned corn, canned green beans and canned beans. Doomsday prepping? “Take those and don’t forget to grab some bread from one of the freezers. The boys are hungry.” Max circles his cigar and a trail of smoke follows. The boys are his son, Max Jr. and his friend Jason.

3. Line up four cans of Bush’s Baked beans.

When everyone is up, around half past nine, Max rumbles into the kitchen house demanding breakfast. “Make sure the bacon is crisp. Use one of those grill irons out there.” I didn’t know that breakfast was included, as in, I am required to cook it on my vacation.

“Don’t forget to make the Beanie Weanie,” he taps the cans. “And by the way my wife is coming today,” he pulls a seat up and lowers himself slow and steady using rigid arms. “She figured if you could stay overnight with your girls she would try it. It’ll be her first time sleeping here.”

3. Dig out a rusted can opener, clamp down and twist the knob till a jagged metal lid pops.

That afternoon as I open the beans, a black SUV careens along the lumber fence with a plume of dust in its wake. I swear I’ve seen this in a movie where the wicked witch appears. Iris has arrived.

“Is he eating bacon?” I don’t know how to answer when Iris asks if Max is eating bacon. I don’t want to be in the middle of a fight. I don’t want to say, Max sends me out to the grill to crisp fatty bacon up for him. So instead I widen my eyes and say, “Yes, he likes his bacon crisp,” as if I am Chef Gator on Yellowstone,” But as she takes a puff from her jewel I think she can see through me. I think she can see into my soul. I think she knows what’s up.

“He’s full of shit! Make him do it. He shouldn’t be eating that anyway. And is he smoking!” Iris opens the fridge. I twist my hair around my fingers. I’m not ready for an interrogation. I’m on vacation.

“What’s all this?” She pulls out containers. “How old is this?” She dangles a container of sour cream in her pink manicured fingertips. They look like the pincers of crabs.

“ I don’t like all this junk here. That’s why I never stay. It’s dirty. There are too many rattlesnakes and mice,” she shivers. Then with a Swiffer pad on each hand she downward dogs across the floor.

When the cleaning jag is done, Iris peels a cloudy ziplock bag open, pulls out a tube of frosty lip gloss.

“Any plans for the rest of the week?” she asks as she swipes her lips with pink frost gloss.

“A day trip to Glacier National Park,” I say feeling like a hostage.

“A day trip? To Glacier? Impossible. Who said you could?” She fumbles with an e-cigarette and takes a drag.

“Max.”

“No way. You need hotel reservations. It takes five hours from here.”Iris snaps to her feet.

“Where’s my map?” She pats the shelves. “See, I hate all these papers and appliances. He’s got doubles and triples of everything. I’ll bring my car map tomorrow.”

4. Cut the hotdogs into bite size pieces.

By sun-up her map draped the kitchen table. Iris points,“We’re here. There’s no marker, but somewhere at this parallel. And Glacier is way over here by Washington State.”

My eyes follow her finger. I think that I should be making the Beanie Weanie before Max makes an appearance. I open the package and start slicing.

Iris continues. “Two days is the right amount of time to see the park, but it’s impossible to get a place now. You have a room in Great Falls right?” Iris turns to me.

“Yes, I’m leaving the following day?”

“Well now all you have to do is drive five hours,then through the reservation, drive the park then three more hours south to Great Falls.Yeah, leave early. Seven, the latest.”

“How can I do that when Max expects me to wash the sheets and Swiffer the rooms?”

“Well my sister Judy washes her sheets the night before and sleeps on top of them to get an early start.”

The thought of sleeping on used pillowcases made my head itch.

“And you want to hike at the ranch too?”

“Yes, we’d like to see something.” ‘Besides this compound. The last part I keep to myself.

“There’s a spot on the property, tall pines. I’ll tell Max to take you.”

My feeling of being a sacrificial lamb fades as I conspire with a like-minded individual. I hope she stays longer than one night so we can make more plans, but in the morning I hear Iris yelling from the hallway.

I don’t have to listen to you, Max," minutes later I hear tires spitting up gravel. Iris escapes like a maverick kicking down the barn door.

5 Add ⅓ cup brown sugar, a few squirts of Classic Yellow Mustard and ½ a teaspoon of garlic powder.

The next day I gather everyone's sheets into the double wide laundry room. I want to go with Iris’ sister's plan. I want to wash, dry and remake the beds so I can make an early escape.. The washer fills, but then stalls. I track down Max.

“Oh that happens,” Max said. “I’m gonna replace that washer on Saturday. I’m behind schedule. You know, I haven’t been well”

I scowl. I know a bit about his health, but I’m not sure I should talk about it.

Max resets the dial and the water spins out. Now I see that every wash needs two steps. Meaning I have to be close, but today is THE big hike. I also can’t forget to add sugar and mustard to the Beanie Weanie. Max deserves a little sweetness.

6. Pour everything into the pot. Cook for hours.

With a punishing sun and ninety eight degrees we strap ice and snacks into the back of the quad with bungee cords. We stuff our day packs with sunscreen and bug spray. I remind everyone to bring hats and wear our mandatory jeans and tall boots. My Wyoming born husband wears jeans even though he knows wool is best at wicking away perspiration. When I ask him why he didn’t bring a pair of his wool pants he answers, “I don’t want to fight with Max. You can see how he makes you do things you don’t want to do.” Strangely, I think. No one makes my husband do anything, except Max.

Dust and sage kick up as we bounce along in the quads. Max Jr. and Jason straddled ATVs masked with bandanas and aviator glasses. Rumor has it that Max plans to leave us to hike alone, without Max Jr. and Jason. As soon as the quads and ATV’s stop I stomp over to Max.

“Excuse me? I thought the plan was for the boys to act as guides and security,” I tell Max.

“The boys will leave two quads and take me back on an ATV to clear brush from the property.”

My head is buzzing with electricity.. I shriek. I have to speak my mind. I can’t depend on my husband. He won’t confront his business associate even for his family. I envision our group being mauled by bears and mountain lions. I recall the waiver I signed on the first day, relieving Max and his heirs from any recourse.

“The trail is over there somewhere,” Max points. “Go over, find the path. It’s…”

“Max, I'm not comfortable with this arrangement. Leave one of the boys with us.”

“No. They’re with me. You’ll find your way - the trail starts beyond the creek.”

“No. You said we couldn’t go anywhere without a gun.”

“Renae. You’re fine. Your husband has a side arm.”

“A gun!”I feel my eyebrows unfurl. “ He won’t know how to use it.”

“He shot guns yesterday.” Max lunges out of the quad.

I recall how the day before we blasted guns: AR 15s, the Judge and a Saturday Night Special. My fourteen year old daughter was the best shot. I would entrust my life to her before anyone, especially my husband.

“Where’s this path?” I say, buying more time, hoping he changes his mind.

“You’ll see it over there. Your husband can do this. He’s been all over the world.”

“Max, he’s terrible with directions.”

“Well, he always makes his way home. Doesn’t he? You have five kids.”

“Max I didn’t say he couldn’t find the hole?” I shout, my cheeks flaming, my head lit. I feel like I am cooking from the inside out.

“Well you said it. I was going to, but you did it.” A sly smile spread over Max’s face. He unplugs his cigar and lets out a loud laugh.

“Max,” I scream, fury pulsing through my temples. “This is a big mistake and I’m gonna sue you.” Thoughts of mountain lions leaping from boulders, rattle snakes coiling and striking and all of us sending up flares to attract life saving helicopters.

“You can’t sue me. I have better lawyers.”

After a long hike with searing sun and no sightings of snakes, bears or mountain lions, we crossed the stream where the quads were stationed. I was happy to see those dusty work horses. Churning and chugging sideways along the range over more sage and clumps of grass we make our way back..

“Oh you made it.” Max sends smoke circles into the air. “We would have come to get you if you weren’t back by seven.”

That night I grilled steaks for dinner. Max sits at the head of the table. He regales us with hunting stories about Botswana.

“That thing was on its way down a bank, charging right at me and I hit it right between the eyes,” he shoots out a finger. “The hippo fell inches from my feet.”

Max takes a sip of whiskey and muses.

“I haven’t been doing much hunting lately. You know I had a stroke on a plane and they brought it down.” His eyes welled up with tears.

Out of the corner of my eye I see my daughters glance at me for an explanation. I nod back and forth. I shrug.

“If it wasn’t for so many people praying, I wouldn’t be here. God wanted to give me another chance.”

7. Ladle into bowls. Serve with warm bread.

Before breakfast we depart for Glacier National Park. Max, Max Jr.and Jason, wave farewell under the gates of the Sweet Dreams Ranch. Reveling in the cool mountain air of the park, we hike groomed trails, eat salmon and sample fine wine at a gourmet cafe. We even find a use for Max’s boots and jeans when we slide on a snowy glacier. I think of the ranch and the Beanie Weanie and the crockpot with the note that says, “Serve yourself, Boys.”