The high humidity of the past few days made me remember the summer we drove to Montana to visit Susan when she lived there. A wind blew all the time – all one had to do to cool off was sit on the back steps a while. We hung wash on the line at 10 am and were able to bring it in, dry and ready to fold or iron, by noon. There were few trees anyplace where we were, by the Canadian border, but still there was that constant breeze.

We all remember the thunderstorms that we had in Montana. The wide open spaces made it possible to see the storm coming while it was still quite far away. Twice we were lucky enough to see a rainbow that was sensational. The arch was visible from one horizon to where it settled against another horizon. I tried to take a picture, but on a modest camera it wasn’t possible. I ended up photographing the two halves of the rainbow.

We experienced another weather “first” on the way home – the name of the small town has escaped me. I went into the only general store to buy a couple of bottles of soda for the car ice chest. “Are you from around here?” asked the clerk casually as I paid for my purchase. “No,” I said, and she proceeded to tell me the area was under a tornado alert and she told me what we should do in case we saw one approaching.

One afternoon out west, we went with our hosts on a ride away from the city and toward the Black Hills. I’ll never forget the big meadow full of smartweed in full bloom that we happened upon. I got out to pick a stem of this huge plant – the stalks were over my knees and the color was brilliant. I remembered the small, skinny plants of smartweed I had pulled out of my flower garden, while weeding it. Such a great difference seemed impossible.

Another day we went into Canada to visit the museum of the Canadian Mounted Police. Soon after we crossed the border into Canada, we began to drive between acres and acres of blue flax, in full bloom. It was also where a bluebird house trail had been established on every fourth or fifth fence post. An occasional flash of blue in that field of flax was a sight to inspire an artist.

It is interesting what a person remembers most vividly while visiting museums or fairs or festivals in other localities. The flower gardens surrounding Campobello, the summer home of the Roosevelt family, on the island off the coast of Maine, were outstanding. The vivid colors and variegated plantings are outstanding. This historical place is managed jointly by the United States and Canada. The home itself is very modest and I was impressed to find that the dining room chairs were exactly like the ones in the Danbury house where I grew up.

Another summer we visited Lake Placid and prowled around the city and the outskirts, trying to recall what it had looked like as we watched the Olympics two years earlier, in the winter. It was hard to believe, as we rode to the top of the big ski jump area, that anyone would actually don skis and jump off the edge into a world of white, below. Each public building in that city had a television mounted somewhere, at eye level, playing over and over the jubilant result of the hockey game won by the United States at the Olympics. We stood still and watched it several times. That day I think we learned exactly what the word “pride” means.

The column ended last week with words by Booker T. Washington.

Who said: “Genius is one percent inspiration, and ninety nine percent perspiration”?