Massachusetts rebels against British tyranny. Mississippi goes hunting with the president. Michigan refuses to leave Toledo. Minnesota celebrates Christmas with friends. And Montana listens to a war story. These are the stories of the 50 States of A...
Montana. The 41st state is named after the Spanish word for mountain. Pretty ironic considering she's not located in a mountainous region nor does she have much Spanish influence. There were other names she could've chosen rather than "mountain", yet she stuck with the name ever since. Despite not being known for distinct mountains, the state remains unique through its rich, Western culture.
Interesting enough, one of the aspects of Montana's Western culture, cattle ranching, wasn't exactly natural to her. Cows were rare in the Northwestern states, so when the first cattle drives came to her home they were an immediate success. When Texas came to deliver her longhorns, she was taught the ways of the cowboy.
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December 1866 ~ Paradise Valley, Montana
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Some call her loud. Others call her obnoxious. Many call her rebellious.
I call her...Texas.
"Howdy! The name's- BLEH!" The cowgirl coughed up blood before collapsing off her horse.
Our first meeting is something I'll never forget. It was the only time I saw Texas this vulnerable.
"What are you doing here?" I questioned, lifting her up off the ground, getting her back on her feet.
She grinned with a trickle blood dribbling down the corner of her mouth. "Business baby- Pffft!"
"Jesus Christ!"
"It's okay. I'm fine."
"Vomiting up blood isn't fine!"
After a moment's rest, Tex finally explained her visit. Nelson Story, a modestly rich gentleman, bought over a thousand longhorn cattle in Texas. As an added bonus, beneficial in her recovery from the Civil War, Tex got the military general's permission to travel with a bunch of cowboys to round up Mr. Story's cattle to market. Their original destination was Kansas and Missouri, but Mr. Story had other ideas. He made the ambitious decision to head up to my home, spending nearly six months herding his cattle down the Bozeman Trail to my home. Runaway cattle, hostile natives, Jayhawkers, the U.S. Army, the only casualties lost were a couple of cattle and one cowboy. All that trouble paid off well in the end.
For the first time in my life, I got the chance to see the famous Texas longhorn. Other than their giant, curved horns, they acted and looked like the cows I've came across back in the East. Cattle were a rare sight in this part of the region. Plenty of deer, elk, antelope, and a few buffalo were left. Yet, all I kept hearing down at the mines were complaints of a nice T-bone steak. At first, I didn't get what the big fuss was about. Men were buying Mr. Story's longhorns at ten times the original price. Why were they willing to spend hundreds on a few, expensive cattle when they can easily go hunting for the cheaper, more abundant wild animals in my home?
I finally knew why.
"So big..." I drooled.
I couldn't help but marvel at the medium rare, 12 oz. slab of cow meat dripping in its sizzling fat and juices, overshadowing the small servings of mashed potatoes and caramelized carrots along the sides of the plate. The warm, smoky smell overwhelmed my senses throughout the wait, making the pit in my stomach grumble with anticipation to this new experience. With a knife in my right hand and my fork in my left, I cut into the steak. I sliced off a piece, taking a quick look at its pinkish interior before plopping the small, savory morsel into my hungry mouth.
