"It gets late pretty light here." -George Everett
I spent my last evening in Butte with the Everett family, dining at the Uptown Cafe that offers "civilized dining in the wild, wild, west." George and his wife Barbara are two of the prime forces in bringing the National Folk Festival to Butte. Their commitment to the event was in ample evidence by their tireless efforts during the event to make it a success. They might question the sanity of their decision tonight, but when all is said and done and the money is counted, they will know it is a good thing and that Butte benefited in ways they can't imagine. Besides, there were sightings of Clint Eastwood and Michael Keaton enjoying the festivities. I wonder if they got any of that elk bratwurst or some of that reindeer sausage.
George is one of the good guys and an old friend. I regret that such distance separates us, and we don't have more opportunity to enjoy one another's company. You can always tell a true friend by that fact that no matter how much time has passed since you last saw one another as soon as you do, that time melts away like an ice cube on a south-facing, summer Baltimore sidewalk.
I'm leaving with their promise of letting me return the hospitality by giving me the chance to show them around Baltimore, land of the weird and home of the depraved.
Tomorrow I fly home, wishing I had time to visit the Lady of the Rockies, take an underground tour, tour more of the architectural sights and surrounding natural wonders. Maybe I'll start planning next year's trip to the first Montana Folklife Festival. Consider that fair warning, George. See you in Baltimore, hon.
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