Swan Valley O-mok-see: Small Town Snapshot Sunday

A note: These photos are old and not that great, but they are a part of my family's history and I am proud of them ... especially Loretta.

My dear mother-in-law, Loretta, turned 70 this last month. She grew up in Swan Valley, Montana. Most people just call it The Swan. It's bordered by the Swan Mountains (Bob Marshall Wilderness) on the east and the Mission Mountains on the west.

Currently the nearest stop light is 70 miles away. The nearest gallon of milk is 25 miles away via winding roads and a seasonal choice of tourists or ice.

In the early 1950's folks in The Swan made up an arena near Liquid Louie's Liquor Lounge for rodeos and O-mok-see's.

O-mok-see's are basically horse games. Barrel racing, pole bending, something involving a watermelon and whatever was dreamed up in Liquid Louie's the night before.

Loretta's horse was Gibby. He was A Good One.

Loretta got the signal honor of riding out with the flag for The Swan's first O-mok-see.

Barrel racing. Note all the horses tied up to the right. O-mok-see's weren't and aren't just for girls. They do divide up into age groups, but on a horse, everyone has an equal shot at the prize.

And here is Loretta's granddaughter, Mariah, competing in this year's O-mok-see. She's followed Loretta in her love of working with horses and is something to see. This year she won a trophy (gold and sparkley) for the highest over-all points.


There's not a lot of "planning" that goes on in The Swan. If you're looking for something like signs to tell you that the school is ahead on the right or that this is the last gas station until Big Fork, you'll be disappointed. Usually someone has to actually die before warnings are posted. And even then ...

My point is that with all the live-and-let-live-or-die-or-whatever attitude, the O-mok-see is still a big part of the year. The people of The Swan get it together and rake the arena and water it down.

After the sister of the guy who is home from Iraq sings the Star Spangled Banner (quite well, I might add), you lean on the rails, watching the riders and eating dust. The folks next to you sitting on their coolers are critiquing the riders:
"Is that Debbie's youngest?"
"Yeah. Cindy. Looks like her mom, doesn't she."
"Yep; sawing away at her horse's mouth. Where does she get that from? Her dad doesn't do that."
"Well, her grandad did."

I love that.