Consumed By Wanderlust in Wibaux
Midday, Memorial Day Weekend 2018, Wibaux Street feels like classic Americana with a touch of nostalgia.
Meet Wibaux; pronounced Wee-boh. This little-known town is located about as far east as you can go in Montana without being in North Dakota. Its population is about 610 and it's just slightly over 1 square mile in size. Its nearest dry cleaner is over 50 miles north in Sidney, Montana.
While cruising through Big Sky Country one gorgeous spring afternoon, just before Memorial Day Weekend, Highway 7 turned into North Wibaux Street—Main Street, USA—a trip down memory lane, but not my own. The town was quaint, charming, and seemingly deserted. A swarm of cotton-like balls blowing playfully in the breeze enticed me to pull over, park, and stay a while. When I stepped out of my car, the fluff rushed in. A sea of dandelion puff-like things raced through the sky and all around me. They made their way into my car and ears, my hair, and almost in my mouth. It was like being inside a big, wide-open snowglobe. But one that wouldn't make me motion sick. It was playful and fun.
I hadn't planned on stopping here. I was just passing through on my way to Medicine Rocks State Park. But it was 78 and sunny and this cute, tiny town felt just like the 4th of July. Except there weren't any people around. I could feel that small town, American spirit coursing through the streets, but there wasn't a soul to be seen. It felt like having the playground all to yourself. It wasn't a ghost town, it just seemed as though everyone took a long lunch at exactly the same time, left the keys to me, and told me to have fun. It might be hard to imagine a town being friendly without any people around, but somehow it just felt warm and welcoming. Kind of homelike. A familiar place of the past. Like a neighborhood, childhood friend's place that you just loved being in.
Most businesses were closed. The Shamrock Club, the Stockman Bar, the Palace Cafe, the bank, the library, the antique shop—all closed for the holiday weekend. But the Wibaux General Store was open, and a charming, young, red-headed woman very sweetly greeted me as I walked through the door. She had a one-of-a-kind, contagious smile and her curls were as bouncy as her personality. She seemed happy, warm, and laid back in her faded blue jeans and red, white, and blue flannel button down. And even though her store was filled with hardware, gardening gear, back-to-school supplies, and things I really had no use for, two days into my road trip, I walked each and every aisle, taking my time, adopting the Montanan pace of life. Enjoying every step, every sight, and every breath—because that's what I so naturally do on a solo trip. I become more present, more self-aware than ever. It's a beautiful thing.
But anyway, I was determined to buy something in that store. Partly to have a piece of memorabilia from the town, but mostly because I couldn't imagine little Wee-boh drumming up much business that day, so I thought I'd contribute. I found some seeds for growing wildflowers like I'd never seen before. I spotted a funny, black and white postcard that had a photograph of some people in old recliner chairs with a coffee table, big-back TV, and a dog all planted comfortably on the back of an even older flatbed pickup truck. The caption read, "Montana Stretch Limo."
I brought my goodies up to the register where that sweet, friendly woman was eager to meet me. She was so interested in what I was doing in her hometown and where I was headed next. She was so kind and pleasant to be around – and it was so easy to make her laugh. I didn't even realize I was being funny, but she was really getting a kick out of me. I told her where I'd been and where I was bound to go. We chatted for a while. Then I roamed around for a while. Time just kind of stood still in that town. Maybe it was because it felt like a step back in time, from the minute I stepped out of my car to the minute I scooted back into it after thirty minutes, an hour, three hours—I honestly have no idea how long I was actually there.
Before I left, I asked my new friend, "What's all that fun, fluffy, white stuff flying around outside?" She responded without hesitation, "Oh, that's our cotton!" Puzzled, because I hadn't seen any cotton fields in Montana, and wasn't expecting to until I hit Arkansas about nine days from then, I asked, "Really? It's cotton, not pollen?" She assured me it was cotton. And being born and raised in Wibaux, certainly made her more credible than me. But from time to time I wonder...was it really cotton being carried by the wind or was it an obscene amount of pollen fluttering all around? Or perhaps something else altogether. If there really are cotton fields in Montana, they've left no digital footprint whatsoever. (Yes, I investigate it every now and again.) Watch the video and tell me what you think it was. Cotton? Pollen? Some other kind of airborne fluff?
