Back in the day, Polebridge, MT was a frontier town with more sled dogs than people and the wildest whiskey-dealing roadhouse in three states (and two provinces). That was back when men smoked things called "cigarettes" and sat on logs they cut from "forests". In '65 the first Polebridge Snow Machine Posse was formed to save Old Man Bilderback's prize jumping mule from a 6-day blizzard. Back then, a Polebridge man was a man of action.
Polebridge mountain man James "Man-hound" Hale with a new rifle and trusty wolf-dog, Killer.
For nearly a century, the town had just one law (no speeding) and the Rule of Three D's:
Drankin', Dancin' & Square Dealin'.
In 1978, the 13th Polebridge Snow Machine Posse saved Old Man Griswald's prize buckin' bull from a 2-story ice jam on the North Fork.
Today, things are different in Polebridge. People now ask just how flaky the cinnamon crusty bread is. Back in the day, they asked if Old Flaky Joe Krumblebum and his prize-winning flapjack paddle were for still for rent. The assortment of actual bear paws that decorated the walls of the Mercantile were long ago replaced by $6.00 bear claws in a glass pastry case. Today, you hear half a dozen foreign languages being spoken in the parking lot before breakfast. Back then, Old Mudleg Bill, who could swear in six different languages, would begin each morning by cussing out his riding moose, Milford, who preferred to plant himself in the middle of the town's big puddle (Lake Polebridge) rather on the obvious dry ground near the store front. Mornings back then began the same way, "Dammit, Milford!" Milford was a thinking kind of moose. One who sought to remind town folk that we're all in this thing together.
The path of progress runs past the bakery counter.
The Polebridge Mountain Man has been replaced by the Sticky Bun Millennial. Its all lost, boys, all lost. Let 'er sink...But first, a latte.