Mountains on Memorial Day

My apprentice, Hannah, and I enjoy talking about policy as we work.

My bottom line is that I don’t like authorities to tell me what to do.

Hannah’s bottom line is that we need to take care of people.

Generally, we agree on policy goals, but sometimes our paths to reach those goals are different.

At 26 years old, Hannah has yet to experience our nation’s ability to compromise.

She has lived through polarization and heavy-handed, extreme policy swings.

I, on the other hand, clearly remember hands reaching across the aisle at the local, state and national levels.

Our perceptions of our nation’s strength and innate goodness are very different because of how politics has played out during our adulthoods.

I see politics as a pendulum, swinging back and forth over the center. Sometimes the pendulum arcs high before returning, but it returns.

Hannah sees politics concentrating power into fewer hands that become more corrupt.

I thought about this as I hauled livestock to my beef and lamb processor, 180 miles away over the Continental Divide.

The majestic, snow-capped mountains rose from the plains with so much permanence and power and grandeur.

I sang America the Beautiful loudly and joyfully.

My dog howled.

Then traffic slowed and orange signs warned me of a wreck ahead.

A semi-truck loaded with hogs had crashed through the guard rail, rolled and almost slid into a creek.

A motorcycle helmet perched on the guard rail.

I don’t know why.

A line of pickups with horse trailers crowded both sides of the highway.

Portable panels corralled the area between the tipped semi and a horse trailer so people could load surviving hogs into trailers.

Flaggers directed traffic.

Their coats were emblazoned with their volunteer firefighter logo.

These volunteers – probably 25 drivers, flaggers and wranglers – had dropped their busy schedule to come help however they could.

Four hours later, when I drove through the scene again, the semi was upright, strapped together with ratchet straps.

The cab looked as if it had protected the driver.

All of the live hogs were gone.

Volunteers still guided traffic and worked around the semi.

Regardless of politics, this was the real America, full of people who will do whatever is needed for as long as it takes.

Miles later, a young woman and her puppy stood beside the road.

She held her thumb out.

I haven’t seen a hitchhiker for quite a while.

I pulled over.

She loaded her backpack and her puppy into the cab and began to tell her story.

She has been traveling across our nation for seven years.

She finds adventure, hope and despair wherever she goes.

She celebrates the kindness of strangers and worries about her safety.

I don’t know her name.

She wanted to get to Great Falls so I dropped her off near the interstate.

As I pulled away, I thought about the people who have died so she has the freedom to explore our country.

Those men and women stood in front of a bullet or a bomb, doing whatever was needed for as long as it took, so the rest of us have the opportunity to sell hogs, rescue our neighbors or find adventure, all on our own terms.

Our economy might not offer a level playing field, but it functions.

Policy that provides safety nets has gaping holes, but individuals drop what they are doing to help strangers.

If a woman wants to travel our country for seven years, nobody stops her.

Without people who protect our freedoms, we would enjoy none of these privileges.

These majestic mountains of opportunity rise from the solid shoulders of the people we honor on Memorial Day.

Celebrate them this weekend.