Rudyard, Montana is Not Rudyard Kipling

If you’re ever in northwest Wyoming in early November, watching out the window to see winter starting to come on, you might think there was a cold person out there who doesn’t care much about your feelings, but that might not be the truth. Winter is just being winter, that’s just what winter is, a cold front with a surprisingly warm heart too shy to share with a stranger, and by spring you might actually get to know one another on an intimate, caring, personal basis.

I do remember one winter driving the Hi-Line in Montana between Havre and Chester, making a left turn at Rudyard and not being disappointed, a little treasure of a town—two bars, a store, library, and museum. I was alone that winter afternoon, but didn’t feel alone. You know that old saying? “You have to know somebody who knows somebody?” Alone that winter afternoon in Rudyard I was that somebody.

On a cold April in Cody, Wyoming, I once attended an Earth Day rally in support of environmental justice. Trump’s presidency was in its 2nd year and I fully expected to attend more or less alone. But as I came closer to the event site I saw 2 lines of people, some young, some old, some carrying signs in support of the EPA, climate justice, Greta Thunberg. By noon, at least 100 people had gathered to hear the speakers—wildlife scientists, a park ranger, the president of the local Democratic Club.

I stood behind an older man at the rally. His name was Hans. I thought that maybe if I stood behind Hans I could see through his eyeglasses to see what he was seeing, since I was so hopeful, overjoyed to see so many people out for the rally, thinking that with some luck, some diligent political activity, and some patient devotion to the task, there was a great deal we could all accomplish! Just then, Hans took off his glasses and wiped them clean, finding all the little spots he’d missed.