Sunza Beeches Bozeman, Montana 2012
Breakfast with the boys, a traditional geezer activity all across this country–one which I participate in myself almost weekly. One of the guys shown here was relating an incident that occurred to him recently. He was burning the weeds along an irrigation ditch when one of his new neighbors from out of state came over and started complaining that his fire was also burning some fence posts that may or may not have belonged to the neighbor. (The two had strikingly different opinions on that.) The guy telling the story objected to his neighbor’s attempted interference–strenuously. After some choice personal accusations suggesting the neighbor participated in questionable sexual activities with family members, he started on a more general rant that I’ve heard regularly since moving to Montana thirty years ago. It goes something like this: “I wish they’d build a fence on the god-damned border and keep those sunza beeches from California out of this state altogether. All they do is drive up the damn property prices and try to change every damn thing from the way we’ve been doing them around here forever.” In spite of not being a Montana native no one’s ever called me a sunza beech for moving here–at least not to my face. I think they more gladly make room for you if you grew up in a place like Kansas as I did because, out here where mountains are considered a form of supreme being, anyone coming from such flat country is considered a refugee.]]>
Love it, my grandfather and cousin felt/feel the same way today about strangers in the Bittterroot Valley
You had me wondering what a Sunza Beech was. Fun story. I can just hear the conversation. Glad you’re not considered one of them!
This cracked me up! Whenever I first see your titles, I imagine what the subject of the photo will be. Considering your often used woodland genre, I thought of little beech tree sprouts. But wait, those would be birch, not beech around there. The picture does tell a story on its own, but I really like the addition of your narrative. Our restaurants here have similar scenarios, but I think the intruders here are more often referred to as “those big city slickers”. Meanwhile, after this shallow analysis, I’ll go back to mulling over your “What it Means to be a Photographer”. Lot’s of food for thought.
Kinda like the great divide in Michigan between the peninsulas. The folks in the U. P. (pronounced You Pee and referred to as Yoopers) hold anyone who lives “down below” in great disdain and refer to them as “Trolls” because they live below the bridge.
Fun to read the responses to your post. Guess this is not just a local issue. In Texas, the gathering place seems to be Dairy Queen. We have walked into several small town DQs and received that “You’re not from around here” looks!
Great photo and even greater story (and comments)! 🙂 I especially like the phrase “out here where mountains are considered a form of supreme being” since I feel that way myself. I came to MT 16 years ago from Illinois by way of Las Vegas (desert) so maybe I’m a flatlander too! BTW, in Illinois the divide is between Chicago and everywhere else in the state.
Oh…and in the vein of a photo critique, I’d consider cropping out that big white rectangle (light?) at the top left. It pulls my eye away from the men.