Sometimes I sit down to compose this blog and all I have to draw on is random stuff, small bits that pop into my head over the course of a day or two. Often I’ll discard that, deciding it’s not enough, or not substantial enough.
Today I’m giving you those scraps — a whole lot of not much.
The state of Montana captured my soul 50 years ago — I’ve never been anywhere else as grand and as beautiful as The Big Sky. And for the longest time, I was sure that I’d move there someday and end the story of my Life amid its rugged peaks and clear-running streams.
When Deb and I spent a month there two years ago, however, I couldn’t help noticing that it had changed — and not for the better.
The culture had been californicated. Decades of scars left by immigrant liberals were everywhere. Gone, for the most part, was the easy-going, tough and welcoming vibe I remembered.
Native Montanans had changed, too, a great many of them adopting an angry, isolationist, go-home-or-go-to-hell attitude. The harsh winters no longer are the only inhospitable thing about the state.
I don’t blame the natives, really, for being cranky. But if they took a hard look in the mirror, they might realize that they themselves bear most of the responsibility for what’s happened to The Last Best Place.
It reminds me of the pissing and moaning I hear about how China seems to make everything and own everything in America these days. Naturally, that makes China evil. Or it’s government’s fault for not stopping it. Or something.
A more intellectually honest assessment would be that China makes everything because Americans don’t. China owns what it owns because Americans sold it to them. It’s as much a failure of American business and culture as it is the success of a predatory foreign actor.
In the same way, Montanans have done a lousy job of preserving and defending Montana. They chafe and they whine about damnable out-of-staters when much of the blame belongs with them.
They’re a stain on their own land, an insult to those who came before them. They seem to think they can fix what’s broken by becoming assholes, as if complaining accomplishes anything.
It doesn’t. That’s not how it works.
Arkansas isn’t Montana, of course, but I want to compare the two based on our experience.
Deb and I aren’t from here, obviously, and we meet fellow “transplants” everywhere we go. With a few miles of The Mountain (inclusive) are naturalized Ozarkansans who emigrated from Ohio, West Virginia, South Carolina, Florida, Wisconsin, Michigan, Louisiana, New Hampshire, New Mexico, New Jersey, New York, California, Texas, Missouri and probably more that I forgot or simply don’t know about. And in this small, tight-knit, conservative locale, we’re all accepted as part of the community.
There’s no stigma and no “but” — we don’t carry the weight of a qualifier. We’re not subtly urged to GTFO. We’re here, and we’re welcomed.
No doubt there are some locals who feel differently about outsiders, especially us Yankees who’ve migrated past the Mason-Dixon. We haven’t met those people, though, and that attitude certainly wouldn’t reflect what we’ve experienced in Ozarkansas.
Deb and I always have been made to feel like we belong here as much as the born-and-raised crowd. That wouldn’t be close to universally true in Big Sky Country.
Anyway, Montana, thanks for the great memories. We’re stayin’ right where we’re at.
Speaking of Arkansas (and China), Governor Sarah Huckabee-Sanders announced yesterday that the state is ordering a Chinese-owned seed producer to sell 160 acres of farmland it owns in northeast Arkansas within the next two years.
The landowner’s parent company is on the DoD’s list of firms linked to the Chinese military that pose a demonstrable threat to US national security.
“Chinese-owned state corporations filter that technology back to their homeland, stealing American research and telling our enemies to target American farms,” the governor said. “This is a clear threat to our national security and to our farmers.”
Arkansas is the first state to take such action.
So in case you were wondering how it’s done, that’s how it’s done. Defend what’s yours.
It’s a start.
I keep looking for new words to express how I feel about being here, the sense of rightness dominating my days. This morning, a couple of sentences formed in my head:
I spent a half-century longing for all the places I wanted to go. I ended up in a place I never want to leave.
Maybe there’s a better way to say that, but I seriously doubt it.
Deb brought a folding chair out into the driveway this afternoon, set it in the sun and basked in good medicine. I sat with her for a little while but was restless. I had to go for a walk.
I hopped over the open trench that’s still in our driveway (scheduled to be filled in tomorrow, by the way), passed the picnic table and slipped into the quiet woods.
This was the short trail to where we’ll build our first fire pit. I carved the path several weeks ago and cleared the spot where soon we’ll enjoy warm fires on cool evenings.
What struck me most about being there was, believe it or not, that I created this. What had been near-impenetrable tangle became the wide and easy stroll I’d imagined.
In the clearing, I took note of nearby rocks I’ll appropriate to build the fire ring. I’ve already set aside a handful of log lengths, waiting to be bucked into fuel.
My time on the path and in the clearing was secluded, peaceful — exactly what I needed in that moment.
We closed our Wednesday with a flashback to our days at the KOA in Harrison. The Canadian couple who were our campground neighbors for so many months were passing through the area, and we jumped at the chance to get together, however briefly.
They visited us on The Mountain first, which let us show off the progress we’d made. Afterward we adjourned to Crooked Creek Pub for beers, dinner and long-overdue conversation.
Great friends. Great time. The perfect way to end the day.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB
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