Hangovers are called mornings, and mornings go well with diners. So with Sunday mornings, we took the long way through the high ground in Bozeman to get to an institution, a spot for ‘recreational restauranting’ that’s only open twice a week. The Stockyard’s owner has a firm smile, a backbone of solid steel, and she cares less than Challenge cadre about people’s feelings. Naturally, we all love her and wish it were requited. In the meantime, her acceptance of us, and our mornings, is much appreciated.

So she walked up with her smile. And slid a note my way, and then I got another smile. The last shot (below) I snuck in is probably the last photo I’ll ever take from the Stockyard. And I’m not ashamed to say I was a little nervous when I did.