City Boy, Country Boy

"See the USA in your Chevrolet
America is asking you to call.
Drive your Chevrolet through the USA
America's the greatest land of all."

     Chevrolet Commercial, sung by Dinah Shore, 1953

So happy. So upbeat. Seeing the USA was a pleasure trip. One nation, indivisible. Click

It is different now. 

Nick Kristof, a candidate for Oregon governor, is attempting to bridge the divide between city and rural. He grew up in rural Yamhill, Oregon, found success at the highest levels in the educated, professional, urban world, and now hopes to use his bone fides as a rooted country boy to bind the wounds of a troubled Oregon. I would like Kristof-- or someone else-- to pull this off. Like him, I grew up on a family farm, worked on it in summers, had a fancy education, and then came home to do politics and farming. Like him, I now own the family farm. 

Kristof campaign photo

I sometimes feel like a foreigner on my farm. Town and country are different worlds. Precincts in Ashland registered an 85% vote for Biden in 2020. Two precincts over into a rural area, the voters gave Trump 74% of the vote. Ashland skews toward educated, professional people--people doing well in the world where Kristof thrived. Outside Ashland, rural people skew heavily toward the people Kristof grew up with, less educated, poorer, people who often work outdoors. If Kristof communicates that he is an anthropologist, an observer of rural disfunction, he will surely lose big. No one wants to be an exotic specimen or an object of pity. He needs to pull his past into the present and be credible in both worlds. He is on a tightrope.

John Coster

John Coster is a city boy and part of the "knowledge-worker" world, where he, like Kristof, succeeded greatly. He manages high-technology electrical contracting projects around the world. Coster has also done missionary projects in Latin America, Africa, and Central Asia. He wrote me about feeling like an outsider in his own country.

Guest Post by John Coster

Working in different countries over the years has taught me the importance of learning the cultural norms and values of the people in each place. One of the biggest challenges is decoding their rules of logic. 

I was recently surprised to find how little I really understood about a big swath of American culture – the rural kind. Most of my professional life has been around industrial construction and technology and usually in large metropolitan areas. My connection with nature has mostly been with sports like boating, skiing, scuba diving, and backpacking (or as my son would say “rich people pretending to be homeless, but with really nice gear.”)

Recently I have been getting into archery. I have never hunted but fortunately a friend was willing to coach me. His property is in Northeastern Washington State – about a 5-hour drive from Seattle and about a million miles away culturally. I decided that I would immerse myself and learn how local people have done this for 100+ years. This meant scouting out promising spots and talking to other hunters I’ve met in the woods and in the surrounding small towns. 

I think of the world I inhabit as the life of the mind. It’s about evolving ideas, innovation, technology, geopolitics, economics, philosophy, and even theology. My connection to the land and place is limited to my little backyard garden, the local farmers market, and trying to buy fair-trade and organic produce. 

What strikes me about places like Colville, Kettle Falls, Chewelah, and Deer Park in eastern Washington is how closely tied everyone is to the land and place. Most private jobs are in timber, lumber mills, mining, ranching, farming, and trucking. People work on their own cars, trucks and farm equipment. It’s not just how people make a living; the land is a core part of their identity and rhythm of life, and it has been so for generations. They actually hunt, fish and garden (and can) for food. Real (physical) self-sufficiency is a good and noble thing, and they are proud they can do it.

The numbers tell an unsurprising story: Stevens County is significantly older, whiter, less mobile, and less economically well-off than the rest of the state. Most of the population lives in less-dense unincorporated areas of the county. You can buy 20 acres of land for under $100K.

Many with whom I spoke think the problem with government overreach comes with increasing environmental and other regulatory rules that have fundamentally curbed their freedoms and threaten their livelihoods. The signs of long-term economic decline are everywhere. Many people remember when these places saw better times and most blame big government. They see everything through a pragmatic lens. They don’t have the luxury of living the life of the mind.

When I asked people what they liked and disliked about living here, I was told (often with averted eyes and hushed tones) that it was pretty idyllic until politics made things ugly about five years ago and even more so with the Pandemic. In small towns everyone knows each other, and neighborliness has a kind of social currency. But civility is more fragile than many thought and I was told by two young mask-wearing baristas that they were often verbally assaulted for wearing them by otherwise pleasant middle-aged people--some of whom they have known for years.

I haven’t seen one sign for a Democrat.