By Nick Bennett | November 1st, 2024
There is something special about being on the road here in Montana. In such a vast state, with large distances between population centers, the road inevitably becomes a key aspect of your life. Where I serve, in the northern Hi-Line region near Canada, travel takes a considerable amount of your time. For nearly a year now, I have been based out of Havre where I serve in a food sovereignty program for the Rocky Boy and Fort Belknap communities. Rocky Boy lies about 30 miles to the south, nestled in the Bear’s Paw Mountains, and the western boundary of Fort Belknap sits about 80 miles east of Havre and covers two counties. I spend a lot of time driving from one end of my region to the other. Outside of service, the region where I reside lacks a true metropolitan area, which means any “big city” necessities requires a journey to the base of the Rockies in Great Falls. This is a two-hour drive that always feels longer than the time may suggest. Alongside my frequent local travel, AmeriCorps has had me journey across the state westward to Helena and Missoula, as well as through the southeast to Billings. I’m not complaining though, I have embraced these traversals as they have gifted me with unique experiences, taught me a great deal about this massive state, and given me the space and freedom I’ve needed to orient my mind for civil service.
There is always something to see on the road here. As a Mississippi boy that grew up below sea-level in pine-blanketed swampland, the landscape here always blows my mind. I find myself in awe of the expanding prairies, the rolling hills and badlands, and most importantly the mountains. The mountains always make me smile and feel like an adventurer passing through a mysterious and wild land. I often wonder if the people who grew up here feel this way about the mountains or if they are just accustomed to having grown up around them? The road is not just a tapestry of landscapes though, it’s also brimming with life. You must keep your eyes peeled out here as deer run amok, cows often escape their barriers and take afternoon walks down the highway, and all manner of critters will attempt to cross the street as you approach. I saw pronghorns for the first time on a drive to the town of Big Sandy and I was compelled to stop and observe them. I watched in amazement as these bright orange and white, cartoonish animals with serpentine antlers performed their prancing ballet in an open pasture. On another occasion I stopped to watch a lone horse strike an epic pose atop the summit of the Saddle Butte. It almost feels as if the animals here in Montana know that they are magnificent.
The sky also offers rewards to travelers on the road. One of the most beautiful things I’ve gotten to witness here in Montana has been the Northern Lights. On a slightly chilly May night I had heard they would be visible, and I jumped in the car, heading north towards Alberta in hopes of getting a good view. The road did not let me down; as I left the light pollution of Havre and approached the border, I saw the sky gradually transform with faint lime-colored streaks blossoming into a full cosmic display of green, pink, and purple that made me feel as if I was driving through another planet. The lights aren’t the only sky-born phenomenon I’ve witnessed here, there is also something unique about the clouds. At one of our gatherings, an AmeriCorps comrade mentioned how he felt like the clouds were closer to the surface here, as if they were pressing down on us. I haven’t been able to shake that idea since I heard it, it seems to me that you could almost touch them if you climbed high enough. Sights such as these keep the road interesting and make the long drives feel so full and vibrant.
The road also tells you stories and gives you glimpses into the diverse lives and cultures of the people of Montana. As I drive through, I always try to take in the types of buildings and structures of the towns I pass by, hoping to learn something about life here. Many of the towns in the Hi-Line are built around the railroads and agriculture, easily demonstrated by the grain elevators that flank the train tracks and the sprawling cow pastures speckled with hay bales, cattle guards, and tractors. The houses you see show the economic diversity of this rural section of the state. In the same mile that you will pass an opulent ranch with a grand gateway that guards an extravagant home, you will also see old HUD houses from the 1980s that were hauled up from Helena to “combat” the housing crisis that lower income residents of the state struggle with. Roadside historical monuments and public fishing holes stand amongst oil derricks and various processing plants, leaving you to ponder the history and struggles of civilization trying to stake a claim on this wild land. This sense of storytelling pervades the rest of the state as well. As you travel west towards Helena and Missoula you see cities nestled into the mountains, amongst miles of national forest. Within one of these forests is a sleepy and quaint log cabin town called Lincoln which, despite its cozy appearance, happens to be where the infamous Unabomber was apprehended. To the east you drive through great expanses of prairie where cities seem to emerge out of nowhere, such as Billings tucked neatly beneath its Rimrock. For me, this way that civilization has built itself around nature and the ways in which all walks of life converge here instills wonder and curiosity and tells the story of humanity’s struggle to thrive and survive. As I drive prairie to city and mountain to forest, I find myself playing historian as I consider the stories of Montana.
There is also something to be said about what the road does for the mind. I have enjoyed my first year of service enough that I am signing on to do a second, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it has been easy. On the contrary, it has been challenging and mentally taxing. Self-doubt, stress, feelings of uselessness, and the daunting task of building food sovereignty in a historical food desert have all accompanied me this entire time. Thankfully, I have the road on my side. There are wonders to be seen and stories to learn on the road, but it is also a place where you can breathe and let your mind open, much like the infinite horizon of this beautiful state. The long drives help me think through my challenges and give me an open battlefield where I can grapple with my self-doubt. The majesty of nature you encounter centers you, the vestiges of civilization you see encourages you to be strong and persevere, and the horizon reminds you that there are things greater than yourself. I’ve found that even on my toughest days, the road can reward and rejuvenate you. Recently I left a meeting on the Fort Belknap reservation feeling completely useless. I witnessed others contributing ideas and the results of hard work and I felt as if I had nothing to show at this meeting, leaving me with a feeling that I wasn’t contributing to our mission of food sovereignty in a meaningful way. As I drove across Highway 66 headed back to Havre, with a feeling of defeat hanging over my head like a smoggy halo, I saw something that made me immediately pull over and take a moment. There before me, in a pasture of deep yellow grass with the Little Rocky Mountains as a backdrop, stood the most important symbol of food sovereignty there can be found in Montana: the Buffalo. There are two large herds at Fort Belknap, but I had never gotten to see them in the wild until this moment. At a point when I was feeling as low as I had ever felt during my service, the road gave me a gift. As I watched these majestic, almost mystical animals graze, I felt my heart and mind fall at ease. I sat there on the side of the road observing them for nearly an hour and, I kid you not, my spirits lifted. The return of the Buffalo to these lands holds deep meaning for the Fort Belknap community and seeing them there, in my moment of despair, reminded me of my mission, my values, and why I wanted to be here in the first place. When I needed it most, the road revitalized me.
Service is an adventure in every sense of the word. You face challenges, odds that are stacked against you, sights of un-describable beauty and wonder, the majesty and adversity of the landscape, the stark reality of socio-economic divides, and the imperative to persevere through it all. On my own adventure, I have found the road to be one of my greatest teachers and allies. Service relegated to a single city, or a smaller state may be easier on the body and mind, but I wouldn’t trade my travels throughout Montana for anything. I am grateful for all that I’ve seen and will see in my next year here and I value the time and space that travel gives me to center my heart, mind, and soul for service. To all my current and future AmeriCorps comrades in arms; I implore you to truly experience the journeys you embark on here, to let the horizon temper and free your thoughts, and to respect and learn from the road. It is one of the threads that literally connects us, after all.
