In this issue I interviewed a tree.
Obviously not quite literally, but I did write a profile about one. Gus is a local wonder, the world’s largest larch tree. At over 1,000 years old, Gus is a truly remarkable historical figure. Right here in your small town is a natural feat of incredible height. Something profiled by many publications before this one.
I want to express what a joy it is to find something so novel and have the absolute privilege to see it first-hand.
I found Gus simply by accident. I was trying to find a street address on a Google map, and I ended up exploring the entire area by satellite imagery (what a wondrous age we live in). It looked random and to be honest, it looked unremarkable. But I have learned in my travels to always lend curiosity to the strangest of public landmarks. (The world’s tallest filing cabinet, South Dakota’s Corn Palace, The La Brea Tar Pits, or the entire Seattle Gum Wall.)
The fact that nobody had thought to mention this oddity to me is not surprising. It highlights a very interesting attitudinal trend of those of us who live among striking natural beauty.
That being our internal normalization of said beauty. We often lose sight of the wonder when we see it day-in and day-out for long enough.
We forget to appreciate our surroundings and we surrender them to our internal process of background. These unique pieces of our landscape become just another line of color in the forest. In this case, we literally forget to stop and smell the Larch.
I’ve experienced this before.
One summer when I lived on Mount Desert Isle in Maine, I asked my friend Cory to show me around his hometown. He was annoyed by the request at first. The idea of curating a tour of a small fishing village seemed boring and maybe even frustrating. But he relented and one night we walked around the coast and the docks probably drinking secret beers as 20-year-olds are likely to do.
Before long he was rediscovering things he’d forgotten about. Seeing them with a renewed perspective and revived enthusiasm, brought forth an appreciation he hadn’t felt for a long time. Acting as tour guide, and showing this space as new reminded him of how remarkable it really was.
Seeley Lake, as small as it is, is full of new people. The town is host to thousands of summer tourists, conservation workers, seasonal employees, and J1 visa workers- mostly for Paws Up.
Many of these people have never seen your town before. They’ve not seen the historical museum, they don’t know the names of the mountains. They don’t know all the things this area has to offer.
As you head into another summer tourist season, I implore you to take a day and show your hometown to someone new. Revive your enthusiasm for pieces you’ve probably forgotten were there.
When you get stuck in line behind a foreign worker from Paws Up, tell them what you love about the lake. Tell them your favorite view. Tell them something about Montana and Seeley Lake.
Reader Comments(0)