Whitefish a century ago was described by writer Dorothy Johnson as a place where “every adult there had been born somewhere else.” Kind of like today. Except now locals drive Subarus loaded with bikes, kayaks, skis, and at least one dog. I’m not sure where I fit into the scene, driving a Jeep and failing to own the requisite canine, but Whitefish is the place I’ve called home since the early 1990s. While I live outside city boundaries, I eat, drink, shop, ski, hike, bike, and kayak in its environs. And like many here, I battle Bambis chewing up my garden, smell like a DEET factory during mosquito season, “call in sick” with six inches of powder, and marvel at living lower on the food chain than grizzlies.
After stints working in Glacier Park and at Big Mountain and a previous life as a teacher, I finally put the proverbial ink to page. While writing for magazines such as Backpacker and Cross Country Skier, I authored Moon Handbook Glacier National Park (see www.beckylomax.com). As my husband remodels our kitchen with two cats underfoot, I type from a cluttered home office on an unfinished plywood desktop. It’s a good place for conversation. I invite you to join me here.
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