My younger sister Margot calls the people cruising too fast down the road in bubbly SUVs with California licence plates “outsiders,” a joking insult that reflects a common but fading attitude. The tight local loyalty in Montana is bitter towards the world outside the ring of mountains, but the tourists’ SUVs are harbingers of the bright future that is infiltrating diversity into the Treasure State.
It is a good move, one that is exemplified in a story by William Faulkner. “Relinquish [the land],” the patriarch McCaslin says in “The Bear.”[1] He moralizes that at the moment when his ancestors exchanged gold for the land of the patrimony, an erroneous ownership was claimed.[2] The fear that influenced McCaslin was the temptation for a land-owner to consider himself as god of the territory, a temptation that comes easily to any existence that relies heavily on domination of land. Man among other men – other cultures, other peoples – is in his proper place, and this is where Faulkner puts him.
The developing Montana culture is like a trapper coming in from the mountains: he confesses that he is not god of the land, and can not live man contra mountain. Shining up cultural features to lure tourists is a healthy stride because it marks a care for other cultures while encouraging appreciation for Montana’s awe-inspiring natural assets. The moral of the story? Look outward, and you will look better.
[1] William Faulkner, “The Bear,” The Portable Faulkner (New York: Viking Press, 1965), 290.
[2] Ibid., 291.
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