“When I was 17, it was a very good year/It was a very good year for small-town girls/And soft summer nights.” So sang the Kingston Trio in 1961 and the most widely recognized version was sung by Frank Sinatra in 1965. I’m not sure what any of them really knew about “small-town girls,” but I know a thing or two.
By my senior year in high school in a small Montana railroad town, a circle of girlfriends had grown tightknit. Many in the group had known each other since kindergarten, some since junior high, and the Catholic girls joined us in high school. The initial bond was created our freshman year in a unique group gathering that we are still not sure existed anywhere except our hometown: “pitch-in.”
Pitch-in was sort of a clique, but we didn’t think of it that way (although you did have to get voted in). We gathered together before high school games for a supper prepared by one mom and each girl “pitched in” another dish for the meal. The hostess created “favors” that we wore to the game; some kind of a clever item such as the popular 60s’ troll doll with a saying like “Trolling for Victory” attached.
Aside from school activities, we had innumerable get-togethers: slumber parties, birthday parties, even theme parties. Our indefatigable moms drove us to football and basketball games and tournaments all across the enormous state of Montana, often defying snowstorms and icy roads. (This was before Title Nine, so there were no organized girls’ sports.) We rode horses and bikes, swam, and hiked the hills and mountains that surrounded us. We thought we lived in paradise and we did: Paradise Valley.
When we were 17, we began our senior year of high school. In the blink of an eye, we graduated and said our goodbyes to our bevy of best friends, each headed in a different direction. A big chunk of our posse went into education (one becoming a university department head), one into ranching, another into real estate, another into soil conservation, and one an accomplished artist.
“But now the days are short/I’m in the autumn of the year/And now I think of my life as vintage wine/From fine old kegs/From the brim to the dregs/It poured sweet and clear/It was a very good year.”
Not so sure 2020 was a “very good year,” but it did bring many old friends back together. Most all of my pitch-in girlfriends have remained connected over the years, through class reunions (50th a couple of years ago), Christmas cards, and meetups. It seemed only logical to attempt the new-fangled way of getting together for a Christmas pitch-in — a Zoom meeting.
Eager, eight of us showed up in three different time zones and laughed and chattered in an old familiar way. Life has happened to all of us with tragedies and triumphs. Our children have gone on to do amazing and diverse things: to name a few — a well-known Seattle designer, a Cleveland Clinic surgery professor, an award-winning Plein air artist, a chief technology officer, a director of operations, and more.
Through all the catching up and reminiscing, one thing rose to the top. We all agreed that we had an amazing childhood growing up in Montana. One who has attended numerous Zoom meetings (also, the one with the most compromised health) commented that no one had to be muted by the host for interrupting or talking over other participants like she has seen in other meetings. We postulated that it must be our Montana upbringing where good manners were taught and expected. Of all our parents, only one 94-year-old mom is still living. She’ll smile when she hears of us “girls” having a pitch-in on Zoom. For all the other moms and dads, we were glad they didn’t have to live through COVID.
Happy Holidays to all! Maybe call an old friend.
