Shelby, Montana. The land was still flat and endless, so flat it felt like if I squinted hard enough, I could see next Tuesday.
Shelby sits at the junction of two major rail lines, which made it a key stop as far back as 1892. It was named after Peter O. Shelby, a big deal in the railroad world back then. These days, Amtrak’s Empire Builder still rolls through daily.
Apparently, the freight yard here is called the Port of Northern Montana. “Port” feels like a stretch. There’s no water. Not even a suspicious puddle. But I’ll allow it.
Shelby made national news in the early 2000s for something way better than trains or ports: Camp Collie. A dog camp that helped rescue and rehabilitate mistreated collies. It ran during the summers, probably in that brief window between the spring snowstorms and the summer hailstorms. Weather around here does whatever it wants.
I didn’t see any collies, but I did see a sign for Dairy Queen.
