fragments
Back Roads And Deeper Stories
Photographing the Helena Valley
For me there's something somewhat magical about driving back roads. Creatively I often stumble upon interesting subjects to photograph, but moreover it's just a way for me to get to know a place and slow down.
My partner and I were following one such road on the outskirts of Helena, Montana, searching for a trailhead. The setting sun was casting this beautiful light. Hermanos Gutierrez playing on the radio. Then I see these beautiful old stone buildings—no signs, no clear owner, and no idea about the history of these structures.
The golden hour light on weathered stone felt like a gift, the kind of serendipitous moment that makes wandering back roads worthwhile. I made several exposures, drawn to how the warm light played against the rugged textures and the way these buildings seemed to emerge from the landscape itself.
Later research revealed what felt like a deflating truth: this plot appears to be owned by the Army, with a military base nearby. What had felt like discovering some forgotten piece of Montana's past suddenly became entangled with contemporary military infrastructure. The romantic notion of stumbling upon forgotten history gave way to the reality of institutional ownership and restricted access.
But perhaps that disappointment was premature. This land carries stories far deeper than any single ownership or use.
Helena itself stands on lands traditionally used by the Bitterroot Salish (Séliš). The valley also lay within the seasonal hunting grounds of the Niitsítapi (Blackfoot/Blackfeet) and Crow (Apsáalooke), making this a place of long-standing overlap and movement.
Long before European settlers came to Montana—long before these stone buildings were considered or built, long before military bases claimed the territory—this land carried deep histories. The layers of meaning here extend far beyond what any single photograph might capture, reminding me that every landscape holds multiple stories, often in tension with one another.
With respect, I share below an excerpt of a Salish creation story, one way into understanding the deeper meaning carried in this place:
According to Salish legend, our story began when the Creator, the Maker, put the animal people on this earth. The world was not yet fit for mankind because of many evils, so the Creator sent Coyote first—with his brother Fox—to this big island (as the Elders call this land) to free it of evils. The brothers were responsible for creating many geological formations and for providing special skills and knowledge for mankind to use. However, Coyote—being Coyote—left many faults such as greed, jealousy, hunger, envy, anger and many other imperfections that we know of today.
At the core of this story is the fact that we are all made by the Creator, and we must respect and love each other. All creation consists not only of mankind, but of all creations in the animal world, the mineral world, the plant world—All elements and forces of nature. Each has a spirit that lives and must be respected and loved.
The Elders tell us that Coyote and his brother are at the edge of this island, this land, waiting. When Coyote and Fox come back through here, it will be the end of our time, the end of this part of the universe if we do not live as one creation—all part of one big circle. We must always work for a time when there will be no evil, no racial prejudice, no pollution, when once again everything will be clean and all will be beautiful for the eye to behold—a time when spiritual, physical, mental, and social values are inter-connected to form a complete circle.
—Salish Culture Committee (cskt.org)
Driving those back roads, I was seeking something I couldn't quite name—perhaps that sense of connection the creation story describes, where all elements form "one big circle." Even if the buildings I photographed represent just one layer in this place's complex history, they're part of something larger, part of the ongoing story of how we relate to the land and each other.
The photographs remain, imperfect captures of a moment when light, landscape, and wandering converged. Sometimes the stories we discover along the way matter more than the subjects we set out to find.