The Lost Art of Community

By Tricia Cook

Once again, I find myself living at the end of the road. This time beneath an untamed mountain that looms and beckons, we call it Last Chance, and just up from a truly wild river we call Lost. Last Chance and Lost are ominous monikers. And I believe it is by no mere coincidence that this is where I find myself hanging my hat and stowing my slippers, hopefully sinking deep my roots and calling this place home.

Photo by Tricia Cook

Besides me and my two big dogs, and two small cats that are also worth mentioning, a few more hearty souls call this place home. There are two small families, an octogenarian who still flies his biplane on occasion, one young couple down on the river and two up on the taxiway, and four of us singles, three of whom are men. Then there are the part-timers. Most of the homes in our small community, and all of the fancier ones, are owned by folks who have homes and lives somewhere else. They say they envy those of us who have figured out a way to make work it here year-round, but I think few of them would actually try to do it.

Surviving here at the end of the road, in the long bony arms of the big bony mountains, takes tenacity, and patience. And good luck. The winters can be brutal, and often are; the snow stacks high, closes roads, and takes lives. During spring melt, the rivers run big. Summer can be choked with wildfire. But here you can ski tour, hike, climb or kayak — depending on the season — from your creaking back porch to altitudes easily above seven grand (here you start around 2k), and in rivers as free as your spirit. There are plenty of opportunities for solitude. In fact, here there are more opportunities for solitude than there are for social engagements. It is best if you enjoy your own company and the hushed silence ringing in your ears.

The few jobs around are all down-valley, and few of them pay a living wage (unless you work construction). To make one end meet the other end takes creativity, the willingness to work hard, and often holding down more than one or two jobs at a time. While there may be countless mountain trails, you would be hard pressed to find one single career path.

While most of us are not rich with bank, we are rich with community. And I could tell you stories…

Like the one about the young boy who stayed crouched in the snow with a grieving neighbor as his father dug her husband out from beneath a collapsed shed. The young boy rubbed her back and comforted her as his father worked his back and shovel, finally able to attempt resuscitative efforts on the man buried beneath the broken boards and stacked snow. After the 911 call, it took more than forty minutes for medical help to arrive. We are a long way out here and sometimes it is too late…

Or the one about Joe, a young father who needed a new kidney. He needed one fast so a neighbor offered his. Over the summer, in the big city on the other side of these mountains, in one of those big hospitals, the gift was given. This past fall Joe, all rosy cheeked and sparkling, was busy trimming the tall trees around our small community store. This winter he skied a little. His daughters are growing taller and his wife is smiling wider.

And finally, about our resident extreme backcountry skier finding a man living under Silver Star Bridge just after the pass closed in November. For days, Steve brought him meals and took the time to hear his story. Learning that the homeless man was a Vietnam vet, Steve hooked him up with the county’s veteran services and they managed to locate one or two members of his family. All that even astonished me.

Work parties arrange themselves to shovel snow, replace roofs and stack wood. Meals are brought to ailing or injured neighbors, and potlucks become events. Folks gather together to play music, celebrate births and weddings and to mourn deaths. I hear the part-timers say that you would never experience that kind of unity, that feeling of community, in the frenetic and populated places they call home most of the time. I don’t know about that, because people can surprise you. But, I always seem to find myself living some place small, tucked in cozily at the end of the road, up against the mountains. I pretty much know who my neighbors are, even if they live twenty or more miles down the road. And while at times familiarity may breed contempt, like the scarce but brutal winds that find their way down from the mountaintops, that too will pass and be replaced by something a little more tolerant.

There is, however, the danger of becoming somewhat of an elitist when you are part of a tight mountain community. Your mountains become taller, and loaded with better routes, untamed adventure, more powder caches. Your mountains become bigger, steeper and more valid than those the next range or two over. And finally your own mountain community becomes more free spirited, talented and tougher than those mountain communities tucked away in less important ranges… ranges outside of yours.

Don’t forget, it is a great big backwoods cornucopia out here filled with mountains as mysterious and amazing as the motley collection of folks wrapped up in the raw wildness of it all. MG