It's Complicated

"Love me better." Ariel Beesley on behalf of the Methow Valley

It’s the last day of October and the first time in nearly a decade when I haven’t been paying attention to the fundraising progress of our local drive for all the non-profits in the valley.

When school started again after a summer of putting off work that didn’t need to be done at that moment, I was elated to have more time and spaciousness for my own thoughts. I could let my mind wander, dream of new endeavors, and set plans in motion.

In my small writing group, one of the women was remarking how busy a time it is for her as she starts fundraising and preparing all the communication for the Montessori school she leads. it dawned on me as she spoke that the spaciousness I felt was from not having to do any of that, something I’ve done for the last many years.

The Methow Valley is home to about 6800 people, and forty-eight non-profit organizations, which must be some sort of record for per capita NGOs. These organizations are the lifeblood of our community. Their work makes it the place we love and I can’t overemphasize the importance of what they do. In addition to environmental, arts, and recreation organizations that enable rich, healthy lives in which we can connect with our creativity and the natural world, they also provide vital social, economic, educational, emergency medical services, and serve many other roles. With low populations, municipalities and taxes can’t cover the costs of community needs, and non-profits take up the slack.

It’s complicated. Like many mountain towns in the west, the Methow is changing. While we rely on tourism more and more, places we love are no longer the quiet respites they once were. The solitude many seek isn’t found in the places it used to reside.

Localism has a different definition depending on the scale. Newspaper articles highlight surrounding peaks for readers several hours away, yet as a region (and ultimately in the country as a whole), our surrounding public lands are no more ours than the ones in Alaska I wrote letters to protect years before ever setting foot in the state.

The lure of wilderness and the west is woven into our country’s lore and is the backdrop of many of our minds, whether we live in a rural place or in a city hours away by car or plane: public land is all of ours.

My undergraduate degree was in environmental studies. My naive 21 one year old self wanted to save the world and thought that the way to do it was for people to see it themselves, or rather see themselves in it: to develop a sense of place in the natural landscape and thereby fight for it. Then I became a massage therapist because I wanted to help people be more at home in their bodies; because how could people connect with the Earth if they were in pain? Next, after treating injured people on my table, I wanted to catch them before that point, and became a coach.

Then I moved to a little place on the eastern slope of the North Cascades and became involved with various non-profits. Over the course of the almost two decades that I’ve been here, Seattle continues to be one of the fastest growing cities in the country. Combine that with the outdoor recreation becoming a 800 billion (!!!!) dollar industry, the internet and social media, the barely known place is no longer that. The local economy now supports a cinema, boutique, bike shop, amazing Asian take out, a yoga studio, and a grocery store that stays open past seven, among other amenities that were once tradeoffs to live here. Life is good.

Tourism campaigns and Instagram posts worked. More people love and visit this place than ever. I know the feeling. I finally visited Alaska and instantly fell in love, just as I did when I first came here and made plans to move months later, before I had family or other responsibilities anchored me in place. I came home from Alaska with more empathy for the visitors who love this place, and I’m thrilled more people can live where they want with the flexibility remote work gives.

And we need help. We rely on tourism now, but visitation doesn’t pay for social services, put money in our school district, or help workers find a place to live. If the Methow is a place you love, please help us ensure our organizations can keep taking care of all of us. This community is yours too, and part of what makes it great is that we all pitch in.