A Few More Sentences – 44

Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. In this case, I am happy to present the FORTY-FOURTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. For those of you new here this monthly edition, where I post the daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, is based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018.

It’s simple and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. This remains the best and most consistent aspect of my writing efforts (often the only aspect, aside from the embarrassingly infrequent instances of this newsletter), and something within the reach of anyone who simply wants to be a more attentive participant in their own life. I think the practice is increasingly difficult for most of us in our current nightmarish epoch, which is all the more reason to double down to it. I know I find myself increasing the effort and it isn’t easy.

Speaking of doubling down, how about making time for attention? To that end, registrations for the workshop I’m leading each Monday in July, starting on the 6th and running every subsequent week (four in all) to the end of the month via zoom from 7:30pm - 9:00pm Mountain Time, are going well, but there is still totally room for YOU. The workshop is called A Return to Attention, and you may see more details related to, and enroll, HERE1. Materials for the first week for those registered will be available starting this coming Friday, July 3rd. Registrations will be available through Sunday the 5th. After that, it’ll be too late2. There’s a decent number of people registered already so it should be a lively discussion. I’m looking forward to it!

As always I deeply appreciate your time and attention and support! I fear I’ve confused people a bit with all of my recent yammering about paid subscriptions and where the money goes and all that. As a reminder, you can still support me via Substack by initiating a paid subscription – financial support really keeps me going. You may do that here:

Meanwhile, would you like to support my work but don’t want to subsidize the “dirty money is still good money” villains who run Substack? You can always do so via Buy Me a Coffee HERE. As always, I am eternally grateful.

2026_0601: Exploiting a break in the deluge, the eastern kingbird hovers over the steaming field near the fox den, hunting bugs.

2026_0602: Astounded once again at the generosity of people bearing unexpected gifts.

2026_0603: No need for a roadside nap this time with Mishomis at my back, Bozeman to Missoula.

2026_0604: An unscheduled day in a society that relentlessly bleats that time, like freedom, should never be free.

2026_0605: Forget doomscrolling, the unrelenting roil of commercial television is a diabolical seed of disenchantment planted in the subconscious of anyone who even so much as dabbles in it.

2026_0606: Not surprised to find that the green weeds rising up between the cracks in the flagstones surrounding the shrine to Yum Chenmo only make the place feel that much holier.

2026_0607: Spirited and warm conversation with smiling people half a world away is a momentary respite from the encroaching doom thinking that arrives whenever I contemplate the unfettered tech fealty that drives almost everything.

2026_0608: Two hummingbirds actually sharing the feeder is either a beacon of hope for a future of peaceful togetherness or a true sign of a looming apocalypse.

2026_0609: I’ve never had opportunity to be cheered on by enthusiastic onlookers lining the shoulder of any route I’ve ever lumbered over, but today, with 3/4 of a mile to go on my training ruck, and a dark cloud promising wind and deluge looming, the brilliantly gorgeous western tanager who swooped in and perched on the willow branch not two arm-lengths away to watch me pass is close enough to capturing that experience for me.

2026_0610: Channeling me at my worst, Flathead Lake is crabby when she’s full early.

2026_0611: Two stops in on a morning seething with odious tasks, I’m grateful I’m not among the abundance of Costco denizens whose primary goal seems to be the achievement of peak rudeness toward their companions.

2026_0612: Plunging into the ominous cloudscape, the hail storm just passed.

2026_0613: In the waning moments before dawn, the delightful wake-up call of a solitary Savannah sparrow.

2026_0614: Even at their highest fidelity, no digital recording can capture the wondrous song of a Swainson’s thrush as it trills and echoes through a still forest.

2026_0615: The daily rollercoaster of frustration, outrage, and joy was particularly heady this day, the first that truly felt like summer.

2026_0616: Wide beams of light slanting through the clouds and I wonder how many others over countless centuries of people looking north and east in their early day have paused to ponder the magnificence of this creation, no matter the random act of universe or deity they might believe responsible for it.

2026_0617: The greatest distance the weight has been hauled to date, accompanied by the most vicious degree of shoulder chafage.

2026_0618: Oh, exhausted voice, I’m surprised you’ve not abandoned me entirely after what I’ve put you through.

2026_0619: Hot evening, one more turtle guided to safety.

2026_0620: At 8:22pm, the actual Solstice this year, Mishomis emerges from behind a cloud to blind me magnificently.

2026_0621: Packing for the trip, hoping to leave behind the burden of deep disappointment.

2026_0622: I cover ground in a single day unimaginable to the old monk in both ease and distance, yet the head that hits the pillow in gratitude for a place to stay is no less weary.

2026_0623: The room is awkward in its near emptiness until, suddenly, a crowd.

2026_0624: I’m relatively convinced the California DOT employs more people as highway constructionists than the entire resident population of Montana, whether before or after the tourist hatch.

2026_0625: Sidewalk-side dining, every passerby judged in furious silence.

2026_0626: Peeling the itchy contacts from my eyeballs is a ritual performed every single evening and never more joyfully than tonight.

2026_0627: I wish I’d bothered in my youth to learn a bit of Morse Code rather than scraps of HTML, if only so I could understand what the light taps of morning rain on the roof of my shelter might be trying to tell me.

2026_0628: Clandestine night mission to lure a gnome out of hiding in the wilds of the feral corner.

2026_0629: As rain continues to fall in the early morning, The Seer tugs up his blanket to seek more sleep.

2026_0630: Second straight day of too much time out in the scrum of human activity, where absolutely no one seems remotely happy, including the old poet.

Last year for IPFEST we had shirts for our volunteers and were urged to make them available to everyone, so that’s what we are doing this time around. In the above image, the left is the front, the right is the back. In an effort to assess how many shirts to order, we are offering a pre-order HERE. They cost $36, which includes shipping. They’ll be available for $30 at the event but when they’re gone, they’re gone, with pre-orders closing on July 7th. That means you have barely a week, and if you want to be certain to get one, especially in your size, ordering one ahead of time is the way to go.

Friends, this is a big deal. I will feature this in more detail in a soon-to-come newsletter, but for now, I need you to know: one of the most pivotal books to inhabit my life, long out of print, is being republished by the Montana Historical Society. This is the book, by Nicholas Vrooman, that launched my effort to write Becoming Little Shell. The good people at the historical society asked me to write a new introduction to this edition, which I was deeply honored to provide. The book is now available for order, and you can get a copy HERE with my signature. It’s not an inexpensive book (still less than the upwards of $1000 people have had to pay for a copy online the last few years) but it’s huge and the new edition is magnificent. I hope you consider picking up arguably the most important book in the history of my people. More to come, but if you want to get out in front of the stampede, get it now. Additionally, I will be speaking at release events in Great Falls (July 21) and Helena (August 20).