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RENDEZVOUS

Of Gravel Roads and Open Spaces

by Jim Carlson, Executive Director, RMBM

It’s not for everybody.

Back in the 30s and 40s the lower Snake River on the Oregon/Idaho border was home to only about 350 people who were scattered along a 100-mile stretch of truly wild, rugged country. Their determination to stay and desire for solitude was understood by Kyle and Florence McGrady, Lewiston entrepreneurs who delivered mail upriver every Wednesday and Saturday. Their friend Ruth Sapp was a local grocer who worked with the McGradys to provide goods and services to the "river livers" so they could avoid coming to town. According to Snake River of Hells Canyon (Cambridge, Idaho; Backeddy Books, 1979) authors Johnny Carrey and Cort Conley, the McGrady/Sapp team "was trusted by every rancher, herder and miner on the upper stretch of the river. McGrady would bring their gold dust and want lists to [Sapp’s] market. She would shop for those items she didn't have — size twelve socks or the latest True West magazine, a house cat or a birthday card. For 39 years she fulfilled their requests with exactitude.

Meanwhile, the river pilot would bank their money, pick up pension checks, pay bills, and drive his truck to load their groceries. On the trip back upriver, the Irishman... was busy delivering mail, selling stamps and money orders and notarizing papers" as well as handling cargo. "In this manner, McGrady’s River Transport obviated the need for any residents of this remote canyon to make their way to civilization—most were immensely grateful for the favor" (page 79).

You’ve got to want to live that way.

All of western Montana is aware of the 1990s population boom. Recent census data indicated that Ravalli County’s Stevensville led the state in growth during the last decade with a 70% increase! People move this way who want more space and fewer hassles; it's a "quality of life" thing. Computers and modems and retirement pensions make it possible for many to afford to live in what has always been a low-income, "countrified" area.

But most folks don't move to the really tiny, remote places, and of those who do, not everybody stays very long. Gravel roads chew up tires and fling mud while potholes and washboards take a toll on vehicles and drivers. The distance to the mall or the job becomes wearisome, especially when roads are icy. During a drought year the grass is literally greener elsewhere. Forest fires burn too close for comfort, filling the air with smoke, blocking the picturesque scenery. And, of course, people still have problems with one another. People are people.

If a person does not grow up in a rural (or even a small town setting), the adjustment can be very difficult. The degree of difficulty is normally related to one’s distance from "civilization:" the further out in the sticks, the tougher it is to adapt. Vast, open spaces can make us feel small, vulnerable, and lonely; high mountains covered with tall, dark timber can make us feel claustrophobic. Other factors include lack of lights at night, hearing no traffic noises, being hours from an airport, incessant wind with little rain, water tainted with alkaline, sage brush. Then there are natives who are wary of newcomers, and churches which seem to move too slowly. Living literally out of the mainstream of our fast-paced, market-driven culture can cause a person to feel that life is passing him by, that he's forgotten , his contribution insignificant, and he is missing something critical by not being nearer to the action.

Obviously, rural life and rural ministry are not for everybody. For the rest, it's the perfect place to be. As Ray Calentine knows, the battles are as fierce here as anywhere. As Dave Knight points out, the challenges of ministry may be worked out on a different playing field, but they are quite real. And as Cindy Snyder testifies, people here matter to God, as do people everywhere. People are people.

And here’s one more thought: remember how Elijah "went rural" to meet with God following the showdown on Mount Carmel? (See 1 Kings 19.9-13.) God took the prophet ‘way out in the sticks to talk to him. And the voice of God did not come to Elijah in the tornado, nor in the earthquake, nor in the raging fire. God spoke in the quiet, and it’s quiet where we are.