I'm a small-town Montana girl, born and raised. Leaving the state was all I could think about when I graduated from high school. But looking back now, 10 years later, all I can think about is my wonderful state. Glory of the west.

Somehow, through a series of not-unpondered decisions, my husband and I ended up in Virginia. We followed my job, taking a risk with him not having one when we made the move. Since that time, we bought a house, had a baby and rolled with the punches, including a lack of traditional employment for Bert. And he started a blog. It's a funny blog, I'll admit. But it's a bit... er... one-sided. And if you know me, you know that I like to give my side of the story. (I think that's part of the rugged, do-it-yourself, change-a-tire then make-a-pie Montana girl in me.)

So, we'll call it tort and re-tort. He writes a blog, I expound with my thoughts.

Bert's from Minnesota, born and raised. He's a hometown boy at heart.

But getting back to my point, I'm from Montana. Where I learned to saddle a horse, cook dinner, shoot a gun, change a tire, pluck a chicken, milk a cow, arrange a bouquet of flowers -- and most importantly, have fun.

I grew up admiring the vigilantes. Listening to country music. Moving cows while on horseback. Getting a live Christmas tree (from the mountains, not a tree farm). Eating meat and potatoes for dinner. Working hard. Playing harder. With strong family ties that bind.

Yes, we have electricity. No, we don't ride horses to school. Yes, I learned to drive on a tractor. No, please don't move there.

If we have a mutual geographic connection, I'll probably ask you if you know so-and-so. Chances are, if we were in Montana, you would know so-and-so. We might even be related.

Minnesota's nice, Virginia is for lovers, but Montana is the treasure state. And unless you've lived there, you don't get it.