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“Won’t You Meet Me In Montana?”

By Benjamin Groff II GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

October 12, 2026

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No, I won’t meet you in Montana. Especially on Monday.

The National Weather Service has issued winter storm warnings for parts of the state through Monday morning. An earlier forecast called for 10 to 20 inches of snow in some areas, with isolated totals approaching 30 inches in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

Thirty inches. That is considerably more wilderness than I require.

NBC Montana also reported that the Beartooth Highway’s closure was moved up to Friday because of the approaching winter weather. When even the highway is closing early, I consider that a fairly clear invitation to stay home.

Some folks see that forecast and think, “How beautiful! Let’s pack up and spend the winter there.”

I admire their enthusiasm. From Arizona.

Desert living suits Steve and me just fine. Give me a wide horizon, a warm afternoon, and a winter wardrobe that doesn’t require instructions.

Somewhere in my head, the Green Acres theme is playing while I compose my own little tribute to staying warm. Steve has probably heard enough of it already.

I have gone north in November. I was younger then. I didn’t know what I know now.

The sky would turn gray, and the weather forecaster would assure us that we were expecting wind and cold. Then we would wake up to waist-deep snow.

Apparently, the snow had neglected to attend the briefing.

I remember drifts deep enough for cattle to walk over barbed-wire fences and wander miles from where they belonged. Across that stretch of country—Texas, the Oklahoma Panhandle, southwestern Kansas, and into Colorado—winter could make a fence seem more like a suggestion.

The cattle weren’t respecting property lines. They were looking for somewhere better to stand.

I understood their position.

I have also gone into Wyoming in December, when the forecast called for “a dusting.”

A foot of snow later, I began to suspect that Wyoming used a different measuring system.

I was young enough to tolerate it then. Or at least young enough to claim I could. There may also have been a few questionable concoctions involved that improved my opinion of the situation without improving the weather.

They didn’t melt the snow. They merely made being trapped indoors seem briefly like something I had agreed to.

Meanwhile, the snow kept piling up outside, and the roofline began looking uncomfortably close to ground level.

These are experiences that build character. I believe I have accumulated enough character to remain in Mesa.

So, no, I won’t be meeting anyone in Montana on Monday. Not for snow, a sick moose, or a lost tourist. Send photographs. I will study them from a comfortable chair and express the appropriate concern.

I moved to the desert to stay warm, and that decision continues to hold up beautifully.

If I get too warm, I can daydream about lounging beside the pool, with my broken leg propped safely out of the proceedings. Otis will be looking at me as though I’m the household misfit.

This from a dog who considers running through the house at aircraft speed a reasonable afternoon activity.

In my version of the pool scene, he eventually joins me, dog-paddles back to his float, and settles beside a water bottle with a little umbrella attached.

He has no job, pays no bills, and somehow ends up on the better vacation.

That is life around here, folks.

Monday, October 12, 2026. I checked. It is Monday.

Mesa may have a few showers in the forecast, but nobody is predicting that I’ll need to shovel my way to breakfast.

Montana can keep the snow. I’ll keep the coffee.

And if you need me, you know where to find me.

Somewhere warm.

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