Montana Move, Snow Delays and Building Dreams

I blinked, got military orders, packed the truck, loaded the pups, pointed everything north, and somehow landed in Montana before my brain had fully updated its own mailing address.

So much has happened since the last update that it feels like three chapters of life got stacked on top of each other and shoved into one very full suitcase. The big news is this: we made it. Me, the dogs, a mountain of gear, and all the hope that comes with starting over on a piece of land that still exists mostly in my head as a dream with a very long to-do list.

The move happened fast. After waiting and waiting for orders, they finally came through, and within a week I was on the road. That sounds efficient if you say it quickly. In real life, it looked more like controlled chaos with snacks, dog hair, weather checks, and me repeatedly asking myself, “Did I pack that?” while already hundreds of miles away.

But we are here now. Home base is officially Montana. The property is real. The dogs have inspected it. Snow has already made several appearances. My knee has been repaired. Football season is in full swing. And the shop, the structure I have been dreaming about for what feels like forever, is still the big bright goal on the horizon.

The pups getting their first official look at all that green.

We finally made it to Montana

Getting here felt like crossing a finish line, except the finish line immediately handed me a shovel, a knee brace, and a calendar full of travel.

Still, arriving mattered.

For months, the property was something I talked about, planned around, worried over, and tried to manage from a distance. From New Mexico, every decision felt like it had an extra layer of difficulty. I could make phone calls. I could send emails. I could look at maps, pricing, weather, and contractor timelines. But I could not stand on the dirt and point to the exact place where something needed to happen.

That changes things.

There is a huge difference between saying, “The shop will go somewhere over there,” while looking at a screen and standing on the land thinking, “Okay, this is where it starts.”

Bringing the dogs out there for the first time made it feel even more real. These are desert dogs. Their normal world has been dust, sand, dry brush, and the kind of terrain where green things appear only if they have signed a very strict water contract.

Then Montana gave them grass. Actual grass. Everywhere.

They were suspicious at first. Then curious. Then fully committed to the idea that maybe this strange northern place had some perks. Watching them bounce around the property made me laugh harder than I have in a while. They had no idea what to do with all that green, but they were very willing to supervise it.

There is something grounding about seeing your dogs explore a place you have been dreaming about. They do not care about permits, excavation, utility lines, or build schedules. They care about smells, space, and whether you brought snacks. Honestly, that is probably a healthier project management model than mine.

The hurry-up-and-wait life continues

The tricky part is that the timing, in true life fashion, is not simple.

Because it took so long to get my orders, I landed in Montana right as football season hit full speed. That means I am finally home based here, but I am gone nearly every single week. In a way, I have run straight into the same issue I had while living in New Mexico: I still do not have consistent eyes on the property.

That is frustrating.

I knew building out here would take patience. I knew there would be weather windows, budget realities, contractor schedules, and the regular surprises that come with raw land. What I did not fully appreciate was how much being physically present matters, especially at the beginning.

The early work is not glamorous, but it is important. Dirt moving. Site prep. Underground work. Utility planning. Access. Drainage. All the things nobody puts on the dreamy vision board, but every future comfort depends on.

This is the phase where small choices can save a lot of money later, or create a lot of headaches if they get rushed. I want to be present for that. I want to ask questions while standing in the actual spot. I want to see how water moves, where equipment can turn around, and where the snow settles. I want to be able to say, “That does not look right,” before something gets buried and becomes a very expensive guessing game.

Instead, I am living out of bags again, flying to the next stadium, checking weather reports, answering emails between work commitments, and trying to keep the build moving in whatever small ways I can.

My life right now is a strange blend of Montana farm stay plans, veteran work, dogs, ranch projects, and travel. It is not exactly the calm, rustic montage I pictured, but it is honest. It is also temporary, even when it does not feel that way.

Then Montana reminded us who is in charge

We got our first snow.

Then the second.

Then the third.

At that point, I stopped treating it like a cute little seasonal milestone and started looking at the property like it had entered negotiations with winter without inviting me to the meeting.

Snow is beautiful. Snow is peaceful. Snow also has absolutely no respect for excavation schedules.

The plan had been to get moving on the dirt work and underground work as soon as possible. That work is still the goal, but weather is now a major factor. When the ground starts freezing, when access gets messy, and when snow keeps piling up, certain projects become slower, more expensive, or just plain unrealistic until conditions improve.

I am learning to accept that “possible” and “wise” are not always the same thing.

Could I try to force some of it? Maybe. Would that be smart, cost-effective, and good for the long-term build? Probably not.

This is one of those moments where the best decision is also the most annoying one: wait.

That may mean waiting for a good stretch of weather. It may mean waiting until football season slows down and I can actually be there to project manage. It may mean some of the bigger work slides into next season.

I do not love that. I want momentum. I want progress I can see. I want a machine on the property moving dirt so I can stand there like a proud, slightly limping goblin and say, “Yes, this is happening.”

But land does not care about my preferred schedule. Weather does not care about my spreadsheet. Montana, respectfully, is going to Montana.

The first snow arrived, then a few more reminders that winter gets a vote.

I am choosing the positive angle, even if it takes effort

I am trying hard to look at the delay from a positive place.

Some days that comes naturally. Other days it requires tea, a deep breath, and a firm talking-to in the mirror.

The truth is, more time can help. If construction slows down now, that gives me more time to save. More time to apply for funding. More time to tighten the plan. More time to make sure that when the right weather window opens, I am not scrambling to figure out the next step.

I would rather be ready and delayed than rushed and underprepared.

That does not mean I am thrilled about waiting. I am not going to pretend I have reached some enlightened level of patience where snowflakes fall and I whisper, “What a gift.” Sometimes I look outside and think, “Cool, cool, love this for my construction timeline.”

But there is a real upside here. If I can keep working, saving, planning, and applying, then the day this project can move forward, I may be able to pull the trigger on more at once. Instead of chipping away with stress and uncertainty, I might be able to knock out key pieces faster and with better planning.

That thought helps.

Right now, the rhythm is grants, money, earning what I can, and staying focused on the build even when the visible progress is slow. I am still applying for grants. I am still working to bring in what is needed. I am still looking for every responsible way to fund this without getting ahead of myself.

The dream is not paused. It is just in the budgeting, paperwork, healing, and weather-watching phase.

Not the sexiest phase, I admit. Nobody puts “waiting on underground work while icing a knee” on a postcard. But it is part of the story.

The knee is (mostly) repaired, and I am slow but not stopped

Speaking of icing a knee, I finally had surgery.

That has been another long-awaited box to check. I knew it needed to happen, and now it has. Recovery is not exactly convenient when you are trying to build a property, travel for work, and keep two dogs from treating you like a human jungle gym, but I am grateful to be on the healing side of it.

I am slower right now. There is no way around that.

I have to be careful. I have to listen to my body. I have to accept help in places where I would normally try to muscle through, which is not my favorite character development arc, but here we are.

The good news is that I am not down for the count. I am moving, healing, and adjusting. I am learning which tasks can wait, which ones can be done from a laptop, and which ones are absolutely not worth risking just because I am impatient.

The knee surgery also lines up with the current pace of the build, whether I like it or not. If the property work is delayed by weather and travel, then I might as well use this time to heal properly. That way, when things do pick up, I can show up stronger and with less pain.

At least that is the responsible framing.

The less responsible framing is that I would very much like my knee to hurry up so I can go stand dramatically on the property and point at things.

Both can be true.

The shop still feels like the big turning point

More than anything, I am excited to get the shop up.

That structure has become the mental turning point for me. Once something is standing on the property, I think a weight will lift off my shoulders. I will be able to look at it and say, “Okay, this is real. This is happening. We are not just planning forever.”

Right now, so much of the dream exists in documents, calls, estimates, lists, and imagination. Those things matter, but after a while they start to feel heavy. You can only stare at plans for so long before you want to see walls.

The shop is not just a building. It represents forward motion.

It means storage. Workspace. Shelter. A base of operations. A place to organize tools and materials. A place where the next phase can begin. It is the first big physical sign that this crazy, beautiful, exhausting plan is becoming something you can touch.

I think that is why I am so anxious to see it happen. Once the shop is there, I will be able to dream again with a little less stress sitting on top of the dream.

Right now, I still dream. Of course I do. I picture the finished property. I picture guests someday. I picture mornings with the dogs, tea in hand, watching the land wake up. I picture the kind of place that feels peaceful, useful, and rooted.

But I also picture invoices, weather delays, equipment schedules, and all the unknowns that come with building from the ground up.

A structure would help. A structure would say, “Keep going. This is not just an idea.”

I am still here, still working, still grateful

I know I have been quieter than I planned.

Every time I think I am about to settle into a better update rhythm, life hands me another airport, appointment, weather delay, or recovery milestone. But I do want to be better about keeping everyone posted.

Maybe things will slow down a little. Maybe they will not. Maybe these updates will start coming from planes on the way to the next stadium, typed with one knee carefully positioned and a very overpriced airport tea nearby.

Honestly, that might be the most accurate version of this season.

What I can say is that the project is still alive and moving, even when the movement is not always visible. The move is done. The dogs approve, though they remain confused by excessive greenery and snow. The knee is fixed and healing. The land is waiting. The shop is still the next big dream. And I am doing everything I can to be ready when weather, work, funding, and timing finally line up.

Thank you for following along through the quiet stretches, the messy middle, and the parts that do not look very polished from the outside. The emails of encouragement mean more than I can explain. They truly keep me going on the days when the dream feels heavy.

This season may be slower than I wanted, but slow is not the same as stopped. We made it to Montana. The next chapter is coming. And when that shop finally goes up, I promise you will hear me celebrating from wherever I happen to be, even if that is seat 14C on the way to another football stadium.