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Central Montana Gumbo

by Jerry Hitchcock/Staff Writer
| March 7, 2014 8:00 PM

It's that time of year in North Idaho, and for that matter, most of the Northwest.

Yep, time for drizzle, mud, cats-and-dogs rain, submerged lawns, and all the mayhem that accompanies the wetness that is more regular than a prune juice tester.

And, if you happen to live in Central Montana, this is gumbo season.

If you're thinking, "ooh, gumbo - how tasty," you couldn't be more wrong.

No, my friends, this gumbo is void of seafood, veggies and all the delectable culinary delights of the southern favorite. Central Montana gumbo is not only not a food, it can make your stomach turn if you have to endure too much of it.

I grew up with this gumbo, and I can tell you that anything you've heard (or are about to hear) about its deeds is true. The stuff is no joke.

So what exactly is this gumbo? Well, there's a certain amount of clay in Central Montana soil, and as such when it gets wet it tends to accumulate on pretty much any surface that comes in contact with it.

Any dirt road in the region that has not been prepared with gravel will be a nightmare to navigate once Mother Nature gets ahold of it. Also, adding just a little gravel won't matter - it'll just sink down beneath the surface after the first hard rain, kind of like the actors in quicksand on those old television comedies.

The road out of our ranch had been prepared with copious amounts of gravel, but we still had to grade the road a few times in spring and summer, since the gumbo will work its way through the gravel and still produce ruts that, when dry, are impossible to navigate and play hell with front-end alignment on your vehicle.

I remember times when I'd be driving through sticky gumbo, and the stuff was flying in the air off the tires, as high or higher than the vehicle. If you were turning a corner, or into the wind, you might end up with a windshield full of the stuff.

And it was always in your best interest to hose the stuff off as soon as possible, before it hardened. The stuff would stick like glue to fenderwells, and the stream from a hose of moderate pressure would only amuse the clusters of clay.

If you were to hose off your vehicle in the same spot every time, soon you had two raised stripes of gumbo that you had to park on top of.

Galoshes were a necessity for anyone trying to navigate through gumbo. A mere sneaker or boot had little chance against this quagga-mussel-of-the-mud-world.

Nope, the stuff would just adhere to whatever you had on your tootsies, and after only walking 20 feet or so, you'd just added 20 pounds of mud down there. I will have to admit - it was a great workout. Also the stuff was very slippery, so you had a chance to develop a lot of leg muscles if you happen to be out in the stuff for an hour or more.

Once you got back from your chores, you sat down in the mud room (another necessity) and shed your galoshes, you then hosed them off as soon as possible. If for some reason you didn't have a chance the flexibility of the rubbers made it possible to rid them of the stuff with a few shakes back and forth.

No, I never came up with a good use for gumbo. I once tried to make some art projects out of semi-hard chunks, that when dried were almost as dense as a kiln-dried ceramic.

Now if I had boundless artistic talent, maybe I could have sold some of those "projects" and developed my own signature line.

But I recently realized that the best thing about gumbo is that it is still in Central Montana - causing angst as much now as ever - and I'm here slinging mud that falls off much easier.

You can attempt to reach Jerry Hitchcock at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, via email at jhitchcock@cdapress.com or on Twitter at HitchTheWriter.