Polson MT Funeral Homes
$20 OFF
Heart-felt tributes to honor a dear friend or loved one who has passed away
101 6th Avenue East
Polson, MT 59860
(406) 883-2808
Hillcrest
Polson, MT
(406) 883-4777
Polson MT Obituaries and Death Notices
Monday, March 27, 2017Normally, we would save our splurge for the tail end of a trip, but after so many hours (and days) on the road, a steak dinner had become our finish line reward.In Polson (the nearest town), a local recommended 101 Main St., a steak and seafood restaurant that dry-ages its own beef. For the price of a mediocre plate of pasta in Manhattan, my husband, Tim, and I shared a large, tasty ribeye — praised by our waitress for its “flavorful fat” — and spoon-fed Roxie our mashed potatoes.But it was our server, Leslie, who was the highlight of the meal. She wore a pink head scarf over dark braids and doted on Roxie, bringing her a rattle and entertaining her as we ate. At the end of dinner, Leslie lifted Roxie into her arms and walked off with a casual, “Do you mind?” She knew we didn’t. It was the kind of thing that would never happen in most places. This unaffected warmth made as much of an impression on me as Montana’s dramatic vistas.Our motel, the Islander Inn, was one of the few I could find that came close to my $150 budget. From the outside, it looks like a classic midcentury motor lodge, but each room is named for an island — Bali, Zanzibar, Crete — and decorated in the spirit of that place. Our room, “Jamaica,” had deep blue-accent walls, white wicker furniture and evocative paintings of Caribbean palms. Just east of Bigfork in the enclave of Woods Bay, the Islander was across the street from the Raven, a turquoise-painted waterfront restaurant with a shaded patio and a dock where motorboaters tie up and go in for a drink.Though Flathead Lake Brewing Co. recently opened a huge new location in Bigfork, the original taproom, next door to the Islander, is the kind of local bar where customers greet one another by name and discuss livestock futures over a pint of craft beer.The next evening, our first night in Woods Bay, Tim was struck by what felt like a vicious case of food poisoning. Roxie and I went exploring by car on our own, eventually finding our way to the Echo Lake Cafe, an out-of-the-way roadside restaurant that has been serving local specialties like Flathead cherry cobbler and huckleberry ice cream since 1960.Our plan had been to go kayaking, but with Tim sick I wasn’t comfortable taking Roxie out on a tiny boat on such a large, unpredictable lake. It would have been largely a lost day. But that afternoon, while Tim and Roxie napped, my dad’s cousin, LouAnn, whom I hadn’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral, offered to give me a tour. An elegant woman with short blond hair, she swept me up in her silver SUV.Worth every dollarWe passed a large pond choked with tall reeds, and LouAnn said with a mischievous smile that her grandfather, my great-grandfather, “lost more than one car in there.” We went to meet Dorothy, the last of my grandmother’s seven siblings, who had turned 90 the previous month. She didn’t say much, but she shared Roxie’s birthday and my grandmother’s smile.On our way back to the Islander, LouAnn took a sharp turn down a narrow road through scraggly pines to the property where my grandmother was raised. She pointed to two tall trees in a clearing beside a sprawling ranch house. “There used to be a house — a shack,” she said, correcting herself, “right there.”When Tim recovered the next day, we rented a tandem kayak at a rental shop down the road, across from a small, private beach. The sturdy red vessel was stable enough for me to sit in the back, with Roxie between my legs, while Tim paddled in front. Wearing a wide straw hat, he navigated us through the placid water. Often, the wind ramps up in the afternoons and the Flathead can quickly get rough. But after our bad luck the previous day, we were treated t...
Monday, March 06, 2017Wednesday morning, March 1, 2017 at his home. Paul was born on July 17, 1926 in Hanlin Station, Pennsylvania, a son of the late John and Clarice (Sinclair) Buchanan. He was employed at Polson Rubber and Ravenna Arsenal in Ravenna, Ohio and at Champion Township until he retired in 1995. He enjoyed spending winters in Florida for 21 years with his wife Jane. While in Florida, they enjoyed playing horseshoes and shuffleboard, camping and riding their three wheel tricycles. He was also a member of the Roving Buckeyes.Paul will be deeply missed by his wife, Jane (Clark) Buchanan, whom he married on June 21, 1985; his children, Bonnie (Lloyd) Nichols of Leavittsburg, Ohio, Linda (Paul) Parent of Florida, Vanessa (Brian) Bachman of Vienna, Ohio, Lonnie Buchanan of Champion, Ohio, Susan Persino of Champion, Ohio, Debbie Carpenter of Parkersburg, West Virginia, Ken (Jackie) Lamb of Youngstown, Ohio and Michael (Janet) Lamb, of Texas; 12 grandchildren; 18 great-grandchildren and many nieces and nephews.Besides his parents, he was preceded in death by his first wife, Edith (Gatrell) Buchanan; two brothers, Marvin and John and one sister, Betty. Family will receive friends from 11:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m. on Saturday, Ma...
Monday, February 27, 2017Stillwater, Minnesota; four sisters, Linda Gensert of Wardsville, Mo., Tammy Weddington and her husband Fred of Osage City, Mo., Donna Yates and her husband Marty of Kansas City, Mo. and Debbie Polson of Moberly, Mo; eleven grandchildren, Brian and Joey Scanlan, Zachary, Harley, and Landen Waggoner, Wendy and Rachel Bailey, Katie Usher, and Janie, Woody, and Danielle Buck; eight great grandchildren, Ryan Kordonowy, Tallon and Gracie Buck, Ryliegh and Raelynn Buck, River and Avianna Scanlan, and Trevor Usher.She was preceded in death by her parents, one son, Billy Joe Buck, and one brother, David Mickelis.Visitation will be at Freeman Mortuary from 10:00 until 11:00 am Monday, February 20, 2017.Funeral services will be conducted at 11:00 am Monday, February 20, 2017 in the Freeman Chapel with the Brother John Stroup officiating. Interment will be at the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery on Boone County, Mo.In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions are suggested to the Peggy Mickelis Memorial Fund. Funeral arrangements are under the direction of Freeman Mortuary.
Monday, October 24, 2016Normally, we would save our splurge for the tail end of a trip, but after so many hours (and days) on the road, a steak dinner had become our finish line reward.In Polson (the nearest town, 15 minutes south) a local recommended 101 Main St., a steak and seafood restaurant that dry-ages its own beef. For the price of a mediocre plate of pasta in Manhattan, my husband, Tim, and I shared a large, tasty rib-eye — praised by our waitress for its “flavorful fat” — and spoon-fed Roxie our mashed potatoes. But it was our server, Leslie, who was the highlight of the meal. She wore a pink head scarf over dark braids and doted on Roxie, bringing her a rattle and entertaining her as we ate. As we handed back our check at the end of dinner, Leslie lifted Roxie into her arms and walked off with a casual, “Do you mind?” She knew we didn’t. It was the kind of thing that would never happen in most places. This unaffected warmth made as much of an impression on me as Montana’s dramatic vistas.Throughout our week in Flathead, I heard my grandmother’s voice everywhere. Over dinner at 101 Main St., we made small talk with the next table over, where a woman from San Diego who had grown up in the area told us she was revisiting her “ruts,” a pronunciation of roots that reminded me of my grandmother. I heard it in the cafe at Echo Lake, when a child was admonished, for giving his mother “guff.” And I heard it two days later, when we ordered a lunch at Saddlehorn Bar and Grille, where we had kayaked from across the bay, only to realize that neither of us had brought our wallets on our watery outing. “We trust you,” our server said. “Come back later, there’s no hurry.”Our motel, the Islander Inn, was one of the few I could find that came close to my $150 nightly budget. From the outside, it looks like a classic midcentury motor lodge, but each room is named for an island — Bali, Zanzibar, Crete — and decorated in the spirit of that place. Our room, “Jamaica,” had deep blue-accent walls, white wicker furniture and evocative watercolor paintings of Caribbean palms. Just east of Bigfork in the enclave of Woods Bay, the Islander was across the street from the Raven, a turquoise-painted waterfront restaurant with a shaded patio and a dock where motorboaters tie up and go in for a drink.Though Flathead Lake Brewing Company recently opened a huge new location in Bigfork, the original taproom, next door to the Islander, is the kind of local bar where customers greet one another by name and discuss livestock futures over a pint of craft beer, their personal mugs hanging overhead.The next evening, our first night in Woods Bay, Tim was struck by what felt like a vicious case of food poisoning. Roxie and I went exploring by car on our own, eventually finding our way to the Echo Lake Cafe, an out-of-the-way roadside restaurant that has been serving local specialties like Flathead cherry cobbler and huckleberry ice cream since 1960. Our plan had been to go kayaking, but with Tim sick I wasn’t comfortable taking Roxie out on a tiny boat on such a large, unpredictable lake without a second set of hands. It would have been largely a lost day. But that afternoon, while Tim and Roxie napped, my dad’s cousin, LouAnn, whom I hadn’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral, offered to give me a tour. An elegant woman with short blond hair, she swept me up in her silver S.U.V.We passed a large pond choked with tall reeds, and LouAnn said with a mischievous smile that her grandfather, my great-grandfather, “lost more than one car in there.” We went to meet Dorothy, the last of my grandmother’s seven siblings, who had turned 90 the previous month. She didn’t say much, but she...
Polson News
Monday, March 27, 2017Normally, we would save our splurge for the tail end of a trip, but after so many hours (and days) on the road, a steak dinner had become our finish line reward.In Polson (the nearest town), a local recommended 101 Main St., a steak and seafood restaurant that dry-ages its own beef. For the price of a mediocre plate of pasta in Manhattan, my husband, Tim, and I shared a large, tasty ribeye — praised by our waitress for its “flavorful fat” — and spoon-fed Roxie our mashed potatoes.But it was our server, Leslie, who was the highlight of the meal. She wore a pink head scarf over dark braids and doted on Roxie, bringing her a rattle and entertaining her as we ate. At the end of dinner, Leslie lifted Roxie into her arms and walked off with a casual, “Do you mind?” She knew we didn’t. It was the kind of thing that would never happen in most places. This unaffected warmth made as much of an impression on me as Montana’s dramatic vistas.Our motel, the Islander Inn, was one of the few I could find that came close to my $150 budget. From the outside, it looks like a classic midcentury motor lodge, but each room is named for an island — Bali, Zanzibar, Crete — and decorated in the spirit of that place. Our room, “Jamaica,” had deep blue-accent walls, white wicker furniture and evocative paintings of Caribbean palms. Just east of Bigfork in the enclave of Woods Bay, the Islander was across the street from the Raven, a turquoise-painted waterfront restaurant with a shaded patio and a dock where motorboaters tie up and go in for a drink.Though Flathead Lake Brewing Co. recently opened a huge new location in Bigfork, the original taproom, next door to the Islander, is the kind of local bar where customers greet one another by name and discuss livestock futures over a pint of craft beer.The next evening, our first night in Woods Bay, Tim was struck by what felt like a vicious case of food poisoning. Roxie and I went exploring by car on our own, eventually finding our way to the Echo Lake Cafe, an out-of-the-way roadside restaurant that has been serving local specialties like Flathead cherry cobbler and huckleberry ice cream since 1960.Our plan had been to go kayaking, but with Tim sick I wasn’t comfortable taking Roxie out on a tiny boat on such a large, unpredictable lake. It would have been largely a lost day. But that afternoon, while Tim and Roxie napped, my dad’s cousin, LouAnn, whom I hadn’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral, offered to give me a tour. An elegant woman with short blond hair, she swept me up in her silver SUV.Worth every dollarWe passed a large pond choked with tall reeds, and LouAnn said with a mischievous smile that her grandfather, my great-grandfather, “lost more than one car in there.” We went to meet Dorothy, the last of my grandmother’s seven siblings, who had turned 90 the previous month. She didn’t say much, but she shared Roxie’s birthday and my grandmother’s smile.On our way back to the Islander, LouAnn took a sharp turn down a narrow road through scraggly pines to the property where my grandmother was raised. She pointed to two tall trees in a clearing beside a sprawling ranch house. “There used to be a house — a shack,” she said, correcting herself, “right there.”When Tim recovered the next day, we rented a tandem kayak at a rental shop down the road, across from a small, private beach. The sturdy red vessel was stable enough for me to sit in the back, with Roxie between my legs, while Tim paddled in front. Wearing a wide straw hat, he navigated us through the placid water. Often, the wind ramps up in the afternoons and the Flathead can quickly get rough. But after our bad luck the previous day, we were treated t...
Monday, March 06, 2017Wednesday morning, March 1, 2017 at his home. Paul was born on July 17, 1926 in Hanlin Station, Pennsylvania, a son of the late John and Clarice (Sinclair) Buchanan. He was employed at Polson Rubber and Ravenna Arsenal in Ravenna, Ohio and at Champion Township until he retired in 1995. He enjoyed spending winters in Florida for 21 years with his wife Jane. While in Florida, they enjoyed playing horseshoes and shuffleboard, camping and riding their three wheel tricycles. He was also a member of the Roving Buckeyes.Paul will be deeply missed by his wife, Jane (Clark) Buchanan, whom he married on June 21, 1985; his children, Bonnie (Lloyd) Nichols of Leavittsburg, Ohio, Linda (Paul) Parent of Florida, Vanessa (Brian) Bachman of Vienna, Ohio, Lonnie Buchanan of Champion, Ohio, Susan Persino of Champion, Ohio, Debbie Carpenter of Parkersburg, West Virginia, Ken (Jackie) Lamb of Youngstown, Ohio and Michael (Janet) Lamb, of Texas; 12 grandchildren; 18 great-grandchildren and many nieces and nephews.Besides his parents, he was preceded in death by his first wife, Edith (Gatrell) Buchanan; two brothers, Marvin and John and one sister, Betty. Family will receive friends from 11:00 a.m. – 1:00 p.m. on Saturday, Ma...
Monday, February 27, 2017Stillwater, Minnesota; four sisters, Linda Gensert of Wardsville, Mo., Tammy Weddington and her husband Fred of Osage City, Mo., Donna Yates and her husband Marty of Kansas City, Mo. and Debbie Polson of Moberly, Mo; eleven grandchildren, Brian and Joey Scanlan, Zachary, Harley, and Landen Waggoner, Wendy and Rachel Bailey, Katie Usher, and Janie, Woody, and Danielle Buck; eight great grandchildren, Ryan Kordonowy, Tallon and Gracie Buck, Ryliegh and Raelynn Buck, River and Avianna Scanlan, and Trevor Usher.She was preceded in death by her parents, one son, Billy Joe Buck, and one brother, David Mickelis.Visitation will be at Freeman Mortuary from 10:00 until 11:00 am Monday, February 20, 2017.Funeral services will be conducted at 11:00 am Monday, February 20, 2017 in the Freeman Chapel with the Brother John Stroup officiating. Interment will be at the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery on Boone County, Mo.In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions are suggested to the Peggy Mickelis Memorial Fund. Funeral arrangements are under the direction of Freeman Mortuary.
Monday, October 24, 2016Normally, we would save our splurge for the tail end of a trip, but after so many hours (and days) on the road, a steak dinner had become our finish line reward.In Polson (the nearest town, 15 minutes south) a local recommended 101 Main St., a steak and seafood restaurant that dry-ages its own beef. For the price of a mediocre plate of pasta in Manhattan, my husband, Tim, and I shared a large, tasty rib-eye — praised by our waitress for its “flavorful fat” — and spoon-fed Roxie our mashed potatoes. But it was our server, Leslie, who was the highlight of the meal. She wore a pink head scarf over dark braids and doted on Roxie, bringing her a rattle and entertaining her as we ate. As we handed back our check at the end of dinner, Leslie lifted Roxie into her arms and walked off with a casual, “Do you mind?” She knew we didn’t. It was the kind of thing that would never happen in most places. This unaffected warmth made as much of an impression on me as Montana’s dramatic vistas.Throughout our week in Flathead, I heard my grandmother’s voice everywhere. Over dinner at 101 Main St., we made small talk with the next table over, where a woman from San Diego who had grown up in the area told us she was revisiting her “ruts,” a pronunciation of roots that reminded me of my grandmother. I heard it in the cafe at Echo Lake, when a child was admonished, for giving his mother “guff.” And I heard it two days later, when we ordered a lunch at Saddlehorn Bar and Grille, where we had kayaked from across the bay, only to realize that neither of us had brought our wallets on our watery outing. “We trust you,” our server said. “Come back later, there’s no hurry.”Our motel, the Islander Inn, was one of the few I could find that came close to my $150 nightly budget. From the outside, it looks like a classic midcentury motor lodge, but each room is named for an island — Bali, Zanzibar, Crete — and decorated in the spirit of that place. Our room, “Jamaica,” had deep blue-accent walls, white wicker furniture and evocative watercolor paintings of Caribbean palms. Just east of Bigfork in the enclave of Woods Bay, the Islander was across the street from the Raven, a turquoise-painted waterfront restaurant with a shaded patio and a dock where motorboaters tie up and go in for a drink.Though Flathead Lake Brewing Company recently opened a huge new location in Bigfork, the original taproom, next door to the Islander, is the kind of local bar where customers greet one another by name and discuss livestock futures over a pint of craft beer, their personal mugs hanging overhead.The next evening, our first night in Woods Bay, Tim was struck by what felt like a vicious case of food poisoning. Roxie and I went exploring by car on our own, eventually finding our way to the Echo Lake Cafe, an out-of-the-way roadside restaurant that has been serving local specialties like Flathead cherry cobbler and huckleberry ice cream since 1960. Our plan had been to go kayaking, but with Tim sick I wasn’t comfortable taking Roxie out on a tiny boat on such a large, unpredictable lake without a second set of hands. It would have been largely a lost day. But that afternoon, while Tim and Roxie napped, my dad’s cousin, LouAnn, whom I hadn’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral, offered to give me a tour. An elegant woman with short blond hair, she swept me up in her silver S.U.V.We passed a large pond choked with tall reeds, and LouAnn said with a mischievous smile that her grandfather, my great-grandfather, “lost more than one car in there.” We went to meet Dorothy, the last of my grandmother’s seven siblings, who had turned 90 the previous month. She didn’t say much, but she...
