It's Day 444...it's also July 23 2020...And we are in Craig Montana

It's Day 444...it's also July 23 2020...And we are in Craig Montana…

Craig Montana...finally! Been itchin to get back here since we drove through last year. I've talked in previous episodes about my fascination with towns that have my name....but Craig Montana is different....I not only share it's name...it is...my name....literally.

Warren and Eliza Craig....pioneers....and prospectors....travelled from Peoria Illinois to file a gold claim in Montana in 1886. They would build a log cabin on the site that would become Craig. As the community grew...the couple would become key players in the establishment of the town....while raising their seven children. They are also...my great....great....Grandparents.

My first memory’s of “Craig Montana” coming up in conversation were in the late summer of 1977. It had been a tough year…my moms marriage was ending, California was still recovering from gas shortages and drought, Elvis had just died and as if to ad insult to injury my grandparents had decided California was not the place to be and were moving back to “the homeland”…with my brother, my mom…and myself…in tow.

The details of how exactly we skipped over the “homeland” and ended up in a place called North Branch Minnesota,,, were details apparently not shared with a sulky teenager who thought the idea in general was the most absurd thing his young mind had ever been forced to contemplate.

So absurd, in fact....that this sulky teenager would plot to run away from home in protest. Needless to say the ploy failed... and I’m pretty sure now that everyone knew I was camped out in the crawl space below the house the whole three days. In the end... this angst filled teenager was dragged off kicking and screaming... (well ok…pouting)... the entire way to what I would begin referring to as the “frozen wasteland”.

In the midst of all my angst and anger, there was one bright spot in that summer. It was the time we spent in Helena Montana. This is when I first saw, and heard…or maybe just the first time I actually listened to what adults around me were saying…about a place…a cabin. Even if un-knowingly I began committing to memory, names of places like “Helena, and Wolf Creek, and Cascade, and Boulder, and Great Falls…and yes…Craig”

Then there was that hot afternoon when I went with Grandpa for a drive up to “The Cabin”. As cliche’ as is sounds, that afternoon was forever imprinted in my head. I am not sure why…then…or even all these years later…but it is as clear today as it was that day that this place meant something.

In the mind of a 13 year old…things are bigger. It is well documented that juveniles are experts at burying the important stuff like where we actually are, how we got there…or why we are there…and replacing them with things like “keep an eye out for bear…or stay out of the grass behind the root cellar cause rattlers like it back there.” This California kid did not even really know what a bear or rattler was…but both sounded adventurous and new…and maybe even dangerous so indeed…”look out” I would.

I remember standing in front of what grandpa would call a “root cellar”…even though he told me twice what it was I don’t think I grasped the concept…or believed him even? “You guys used to put food in a hole in the ground, for consumption later” I thought? Pretty sure I chalked the concept up to the notion that the adults in my life had completely taken leave of their senses.

Mostly I remember standing in front of this “cabin”. Gazing at the detail as grandpa explained to me how Grandma Johnson and Grandpa Gus had built it log by log and later on they would save enough money to have plumbing brought indoors. “As if outdoor plumbing was an option”…I thought…yet still there was a “building” over there indicating that perhaps outdoor plumbing once was the only option. The screened in porch held the wringer washer and a rocking chair. I imagined sitting on that porch, protected from the mosquitoes from that river at the bottom of the mountain and those pesky “rattlers” he kept telling me about.

Nearly 40 years later I am here in Craig. I do not have benefit of the knowledge my grandfather could have provided so I will do what I can to find things on my own. At this point I have no way of knowing if I will ever see that cabin again…but I know that this place is more than connected to me, I feel like it “is” me…and I just wanted to know why.

We arrived in Craig mid-day... I immediately started wandering..... Exploring. Maybe even trying to channel my grandfather? After all…how hard could it be to find a cabin in the woods in the heart of Montana?

Turns out…about as hard as you might think. Throw in the “Private Drive” and “Keep Out” signs and it quickly became obvious that in the land of cabins…I had unknowingly embarked on a search for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

And then....2nd day in Craig......After a certain series of events.....I realized.....I’ve given up on trying to understand why we are where we are at certain times. There is just no explaining or understanding it beyond it is meant to be…so ya just go with it.

A day that started with wandering down a dirt road out of Craig called Craig River Road…led us to nothing but more dirt road and endless farmland and mountains with the Missouri River always just below us…but this day...would become so much more.

Most everything that is not a main road these days…of which there are many…is marked “Private Property”…making one wonder how many times I might have driven past the very road that went to that cabin.

And then...after about 15 miles on Craig River Road, I came out on a highway and took a right. A few miles up the highway I could feel that I was driving away from Craig…so when I saw a dirt road with the name “7 Mile Road”, I made that right hand turn. A long and slow 7 mile drive through ranches and hay fields ended when we rounded a bend and I was faced with a weathered old sign that read “Craig Cemetery”.

At this point...I was flooded with a weird range of emotion as I passed under the sign. On one hand I thought…why did I not think of that? The cemetery could hold a great deal of information…on the other hand I thought…weird that I would just....randomly.... end up here!

I also contemplated the irony in it all.....driving into a place that most consider....the end.....

For me....would likely be....the beginning.

I parked.....and started walking up and down the rows of the carefully maintained grounds. Nearing the front row I stepped out to the point where I could see the entire town of Craig Montana, population 43, sitting quietly on the banks of the Missouri River below us. It was beautiful. I snapped a couple photo’s then turned around to start back up another row…lost track of where I had left off so I backtracked a little and then I saw her…the stone read “Nellie Craig Johnson”. It all suddenly was coming back to me. I did indeed know her name all this time…so why could I only remember “Grandma Johnson”? None the less…there they were, Nellie and Gus Johnson, side by side in the front row with this beautiful view of the town they helped build. I gazed upon the rows above them where there were three more generations of the Craig name. I captured names and dates and was suddenly obsessed with learning about these people that I had never met…yet were it not for them…I would not be standing here this very moment. As I backed up a bit and started to turn I looked at a beautiful granite stone etched with the name “Spry”. Below it read “Kenneth Craig and Esther Irene”…I had been standing right next to grandma and grandpa this whole time! Next to them my grandfathers brother Clifford, and my aunt Marylin. It suddenly hit me that with my presence there on this day there were six generations of the Craig name in Craig Montana.

I felt pretty damn proud, and even more humble in that moment. I sat down next to grandma and grandpa and told them how good it was to see them…and how good it felt to be back in Craig. I spent a wonderful afternoon on that mountain above Craig Montana just absorbing. As I left I patted grandma and grandpa on the headstone (pun intended) and promised I would visit again before I left…at that moment I randomly wondered…”If I left”?

It was then that I read the last line on their granite stone....it said that this monument had been placed here to commemorate their time here on earth while their ashes were set free on the Beartooth Ranch…where Kenneth worked as a young man.

“Beartooth Ranch” I thought…and I got that tingly feeling all over as I wondered....could it possibly be that there was a correlation between that ranch…and the Beartooth Wildlife Management Area that I just spent the previous night on?

As soon as I got back to the RV park at the bottom of the mountain I asked the camp host if he knew where the Beartooth Ranch was…his response…that about 30,000 acres of that ranch had been sold to a Wildlife Management Area that now bore it’s name. He went on to explain that the ranch was originally named for the Beartooth Mountains that it sat at the base of. It suddenly became clear that I had spent more time with grandma and grandpa then I even knew over the past couple of days. ...I'd also not only just camped near their final resting place....I'd also walked with Dougie in the very footsteps of my grandfather.....the footsteps he'd left as a young man...working on that cattle ranch.

Another fun fact…the camp host also explained that what remained of the Beartooth Ranch was purchased by a guy you might have heard of…Mel Gibson…in 1988. The ranch is currently on the market again…asking price? 29.6 million.....looked like property mighta gone up a tick or two around here in Craig.....since that log cabin.....That Warren and Eliza had built.

The information just kept coming as later that evening I walked up the road and across the bridge into town for a visit to “Uncle Joes”…the town watering hole. A couple of beers later I set out on the walk back to the RV park. Upon my return an elderly gentleman named Bob from “just up the road a piece” was emptying his trash in the dumpster at the RV park and shouted out…”How goes it old timer!” Doing well I answered and we struck up a conversation….albeit from 6 feet apart…damn pandemic! I described my search and recent discoveries and while he did not recognize or seem familiar with any of the names…beyond Craig naturally…he instructed me to visit the Cascade Memorial library, speak with Jodi Campbell, and check out a book called “Mountains and Meadows” I thanked him and assured him I would.

The very next morning we made the 21 mile drive up the road to Cascade. Jodi pulled the book I was looking for and as I began to read she went off in search of something else she thought might help. I opened the book and began to scan. The title read “Mountains and Meadows…a complete history accounting of Craig, Wolf Creek, and Dearborn Montana” and the table of contents was a list of names. When I read “Warren Craig” I flipped to page 134. I knew from the cemetery that Warren Craig was Nellie Craig’s grandfather. At the top of page 134 it read “How the town of Craig got it’s name and History of Warren Craig’s Family” By Nellie Craig Johnson! The gravity of what I had just read pressed me back in my seat as if the roller coaster ride had just crested the peak of the rail and plummeted downwards. There in her own hand was nearly everything I wanted to know…and things I did not even know I wanted to know…and yet now I did. I could not read fast enough…and I read it twice. Then took a picture of it. In a split second I no longer needed the internet, county records, or any other resource rather than the one I held in my hand. I plied Jodi for info on how I might obtain a copy of this book. She said she knew that the libraries and some of the historical societies had a copy available for check out but that she knew not where you could buy one. In the information age and the wonders of the internet…the power of the written word, and a book in my hand was never more important to me.

A few moments later Jodi returned with a book called “Deaborn County…A history of the Dearborn, Craig, and Wolfcreek areas”. Another gold mine of information that went into a great deal more detail of how Warren Craig…my great, great, Grandfather had indeed staked a homestead claim in the area that would later be named for him…”Craig Montana” All confirming what grandma Johnson had just got done telling me.

Another incredible afternoon absorbing, learning, feeling…I felt so “full”.

While I still had not found the cabin…what I had was so much more.....I had knowledge...I had understanding.

I know understood that the cabin I had visited as a kid.....that wasn't the original homestead claim that I believed it was...it was instead...a cabin built as a second home...by my great grandparents. The original family homestead was now...the entire town...of Craig.

I spent an entire afternoon in that library....learning of how the arrival of Warren and Eliza...and those 7 kids....one of which a daughter....who would grow up...mary a guy named Spry.....and have two sons of her own. And one of those sons would grow up to marry a German immigrant....Esther Irene.....and have their own 3 kids....on one of those three...the youngest daughter....would become my mom...in 1964.

But of everything I read....my favorite.....is how Great grandma Nellie ended her writing...just after having moved into that cabin full time....and I'll quote....

"it was a good life…a life I loved…fresh air, spring water, and good friends. “I guess I’ll probably die here” close quote

She wrote that at the age of 88…and indeed she did...die here…in November of 1982 at the age of 94.

The next several days were spent exploring everywhere from Lincoln, Wolfcreek, and Cascade…to Great Falls and beyond. All the names I now remembered hearing as a child. Places my grandparents and their parents would call home for so many years.

Funny how a place that can be considered the middle of nowhere....and nothing.... to one person…can be the center of the universe for another person. I don’t think I’ve yet fully wrapped my brain around how Craig Montana became so big, so important…so quickly in my universe, but yet it did…and it was there this whole time.

So much more than the little cabin I had remembered.

I'd spend hours on that hillside.....just below the cemetary.....gazing out over Craig....and imagining....picturing....

134 years ago....A couple of true pioneers.....would travel over 1 thousand 500 miles ..... before rolling into the valley below me....in that covered wagon.....They stake a claim...and a homestead not 4 miles from here. Then they'd cut a deal with another homesteader....which essentially made them the owners... of what would become the town of Craig.

How he then went about his trade as a blacksmith while moonlighting as the areas first real estate agent selling off parcels of land to newcomers.

At the same time donating land to the first mercantile in town and the space carved out for the cemetery on this mountainside....right where I'm sitting.

How his son John picked up the torch and in unison with other hard working locals helped transform Craig into a thriving community becoming known for its production of ice blocks and lumber thanks to it’s proximity to the Missouri river and the bounty of the forests to the west. At one point, Montana school district #26 in Craig Montana had 76 students enrolled, indicating that in a time before population and census data was collected in detail, the town was becoming substantial in it’s own right.

But then...they'd watch...as so many of the time did...as technology... and time...took their toll....

Frontage roads, wagon trails, and ice boxes gave way to railway, interstates, and fancy plug in refrigerators and seemingly, before folks knew it, there was no need for this perfect stop off midway in the 90 mile stretch between Great Falls and Helena. The commerce that once originated here…now passes by within sight, but does not stop. And this is how it would be... for so many years...here in Craig. Generations moving away...like my grandparents...forced to seek a living....and a future....somewhere else.

But unlike so many other small towns across this country....here in Craig Montana.... there would be a second act.

As the country entered the 21st century Craig would start to see a different kind of boom. This Missouri River the town sits next to would become known less for its ice production in the winter and it’s ability to move lumber in the summer…and more for it’s bounty of Blue Ribbon Trout.

Avid fly fishermen would come from near and far to learn what the locals always knew. And if fly fishing isn’t your game, a guide is happy to drive you 8 miles above town to Holter Dam and then float the river with you while telling you all about the history of this land. As summer transitions to fall and winter…the fishermen cast aside their fishing poles and vests for ear muff’s, a coat,gloves... and a rifle... for some of the country’s most active water foul and game hunting areas.

Serious big game hunters wait for years to “draw” a permit to participate in a program that Montana carefully administers which helps to balance the population of the areas Grizzly, Moose, Mountain Lion, and Big Horn Sheep.

There are even some species of big game that can be found nowhere else on the planet…but in this special place in Montana, where they are protected.

So while the towns year round population of 43 seems small…and indeed it is…these 43 folks played host to over 40,000 visitors in 2017 and the number is growing, the future is bright.

And thinking through.....how I am here today…travelling this journey because folks like William, Nellie, Calvin, Kenneth, Clifford, John, and so many others came before me, saw something here, worked hard, and cleared a path.

Craig Montana has taught me many things in the past few days.

I think above all I found the beginning, and clarity. While the name Craig goes back far beyond Montana…deep into the Scottish countryside where it is said that the family tree branches all the way to Mary Queen of Scotts (perhaps an adventure to decipher another time)..

But when it comes to the Craig name in America…a random series of events led a sick and wounded Union Soldier by the name of Warren Craig to this place in Montana that he would call his own, and raise his family.

Above all it has taught me that there is no end....really? Is there? There are only beginnings.

So....Here’s to beginnings.