Last May, I packed up all my things and moved to a lake in Lincoln County, Montana in the middle of nowhere to work for Wilderness.  I had been to this area of the state maybe three times total over the span of my life before that.  I knew that a massive environmental and health crisis had occurred in the area.  I knew that bigfoot had been known to make occasional appearances.  And I knew that I was moving to a place where guns and survivalist prepping were common.  I was not expecting a warm welcome.  

I think that one of the most astonishing and best experiences I had moving to Lincoln County was joining the Kootenai Kiwanis Club.  The outgoing club president, an original resident of the area, took me in straightaway.  I learned she had been a hardworking single mother, was involved in politics as a Democrat in her younger days, and that she was now a stark Republican.  For whatever reasons, we were immediate kindred spirits; I felt seen by her and welcomed by the group (who include but are not limited to a married lesbian couple, an animal rights activist, a former Marine Corps Sergeant, a former Australian ex-pat, and a chicken farmer).  Overall, from this experience I learned not to judge a room (or a county) by its appearance.    

There also were the Farmer’s Markets.  I would set up my booth with information and maps of the proposed Scotchman Peaks Wilderness every week in either Libby or Troy.  To be sure, I liked talking with tourists and locals about our conservation work, but what I genuinely loved was wandering about to chat with other vendors during lulls.  I learned that G had an incredible mind for philosophy, had been in pizza management until the leadership went awry, and was now kickstarting a coffee company with his friend.  I learned that E and her husband were former law enforcers from California but had a daughter working in the Peace Corps in Africa.  And although L sold baked goods at the markets, she was truly talented at sewing.  What I learned from the Farmer’s Markets was a little about the complexity of human beings in the sense that we are not always who we seem to be.      

The Libby Chamber of Commerce became a surprising ally.  When it became apparent that my internet at the lake would not suffice for online meetings of particular importance, the manager let me use their board room. I first encountered Myranda on a committee to plan the Kootenai Harvest Festival, and I was struck by her capacity to support every kind of business in the community regardless of her personal affiliations.  One lesson here is that support can come in unexpected ways from unexpected places.  Best not to make assumptions.  Indeed, it was a warm welcome I received.