Familiarize yourself with me or my family for about all of thirty seconds, and you will also familiarize yourself with the passion we all share – passion for a lovely last best place better known as Montana. You would be surprised to know how many Houstonians hardly can find Montana on a map. It’s low profile. It’s a secret gem. It’s the other half of me – actually, it’s nearly the whole of me. I really don’t have words that would begin to describe it. I don’t have adequate descriptions. I have the way my heart thumps when I think about it, the one-breath-away memory of the glacier air hitting my face from pastel skies on winter days, the quiet acoustics of a snow cloaked forest, and the warm touch only a small town offers. I have the color of the snow: multi-faceted, prismatic color kaleidoscopes falling onto a white bed that moves the light around in that way only a pristine snowfall can. And that’s winter alone. When the valley sheds its coat in the spring, it’s an entirely different place, a place the people that live there or visit frequently grin in a knowing way about – because they know they have found the proverbial ‘it’ that so very few know about. I have something there that remains there waiting for me each time I leave, until I return, and I wish with everything in me I could describe it you, but I can’t. All I can do is pass that on to you in hopes that one day you will make the unrivaled journey there yourself. Meet Montana.