Leaving Montana...

Missoula greeted us with a haze in the sky.  Only the outline of the mountains was visible, as if hiding behind a thin white bedsheet.  At times, a campfire smell was strong in the air.  I thought it was out of the ordinary, but according to the locals, the smoke appears almost every summer.  “This year is worse,” they told me, “but from late July until September, or sometimes until the first snow, nearby wildfires drop a blanket of smoke in the valley.”

During the first week we saw no blue sky.  Everything looked dingy and dusty, a dryness I have never known.  One morning we awoke to find our car lightly covered in ashes!  I thought to myself, “Twenty years ago, I traveled to Montana during early June.  The rolling hills and mountains were green like the lawns that people fertilize because they want perfect grass, except in Montana it was natural and beautiful, teeming with life and not forced and fake.  What had happened to this beautiful landscape since then?”

A growing city of around 75,000, Missoula did not leave a good first impression.  A large number of homeless loitered in the downtown streets and in the parks, some of them living out of their cars or old, vividly painted school buses and campers.  Rundown buildings and homes were scattered around town.  Old and new structures conflicted as if there had been no sense of foresight during development, no zoning plans whatsoever. 

Yet the drive to Missoula and everything around it had been so amazingly stunning.  From Mississippi through states like Missouri, Minnesota, Wyoming, and the Dakotas we traveled. I was pleasantly surprised to find beauty even in the endless green cornfields of Iowa.  In our minds, we were hoping we had not made a mistake by choosing Missoula as our first destination.

Before we realized it, the city had grown on us rather quickly and for numerous reasons. Surrounding us were areas chockfull of natural beauty like we had never experienced: wildlife everywhere; clear and pristine lakes, rivers and streams; glorious mountains rising to reach the big sky.  Places like Glacier and Yellowstone National Park, God’s playgrounds, were only a short drive away. 

Even inside Missoula the culture began to take hold of us.  The people were eclectic and unpretentious.  They were friendly and accepting, with no look of suspicion in their eyes.  Every type of character fit in, from the most conventional to the most bizarre.

The neighborhoods had small yards and overpriced homes, but every inch was utilized for vegetables or some other endeavor.  Permaculture, homesteading, and mindfulness were not taboo or new age vernacular but a way of life.  Pedestrians had the right of way, and there were so many bikes that shops such as Free Cycles give them away!

Instead of the typical cookie cutter businesses were local indie bookstores, coffee shops, breweries, and the like.  They thrived because the locals fervently supported them.  In parts of the city chain stores existed, but not as many and not at every corner like in so many other towns and cities.

Almost all of the vehicles had some type of extra rack for luggage, bicycles, kayaks, or whatever else screamed to play outside.  No one seemed to care for luxury vehicles or fancy clothes, as long as they got to spend time in the outdoors, so passionate about nature.

 I saw kids that could barely walk riding their bikes and attempting to rock climb.  Students played in the chilly rain at recess while the teachers watched.  The weather did not bother them!  Hardy, tough Montanans, at all ages.  I was so jealous at first.  “They get to grow up here,” I thought to myself.  “Why can’t I have been that lucky.”

Children are malleable and even my daughters became tougher in Missoula.  When we first arrived, they went to a week-long camp, MOLA, and every day they engaged in a different outdoor activity – whitewater rafting, kayaking, rock climbing, hiking, swimming.  Again, I was so jealous!  The camp sparked a fire in them.  Ever since they have played outside more than they ever did back in Mississippi. 

Every place is unique, but some possess an energy and capture your soul, your imagination.  Missoula is one of those places.  The city will always hold a special place in my heart.  And my family and I just may return one day soon.