The American Prairie Foundation (APF) may be America’s most ambitious conservation organization. I’ve long admired it from afar, provided modest support, and hope to visit the area again. Getting there, however, is quite the trek.

Here’s how the Spokesman Review described the reserve’s location: “To reach the refuge, tourists are going to have to travel down 50 miles or more of gravel roads that turn to impassible gumbo in wet weather.” A Washington Post reporter said: “The soil is bad, the weather worse and the landscape achingly dull. ... The population peaked a century ago and remaining ranchers cannot stop their children from running off to a less lonesome life.” Note the last sentence, it’s key to the saga.

The goal of APF is to preserve some three and a half million acres, more than half again as large as Yellowstone Park. APF’s president, Sean Gerrity, said that if their goals are met, over 90 percent of northeast Montana would remain in livestock production. However, “APF will continue to purchase strategic private lands that can be linked to existing public lands in order to provide the best possible habitat for wildlife.”

Ramona and I come from a long line of farmers and ranchers. We have a small ranch near the huge Flying D and celebrate its conservation success. The huge majority of the D is in an easement with the Nature Conservancy; this seems an ideal outcome. Most neighbors agree.

APF wants to replicate such sentiments: “As a private landowner, APF seeks to be a good neighbor to those who call the six-county region in which we are working home, and we desire to make a positive contribution to the local communities that we impact.” Alas, the situation around APF’s holdings is, for a while, quite different. The Ranchers Stewardship Alliance has organized families who don’t want to sell their holdings to the APF. Vicki Olson, owner of the Double O Ranch, was quoted saying: “I guess the point that I keep hammering at is that if they succeed, that means all of us third- and fourth-generation ranchers are gone.”

I’ve pondered such feelings for a long while and the answer came from our minister’s homily last Sunday. The question posed seemed simple, what gives satisfaction to living?

The pieces were no secret; I knew all the elements, but I found their arrangement revealing of a big truth. Together they help explain the angst plaguing the good ranchers of the Malta area. Essentially, a sense of wellbeing comes from overlapping hope, identity, and community. The success of APF is a highly visible threat to these three values.

As with nearly every place, Northeast Montana was settled with high hopes. However, a conjunction of economic and cultural forces, local climate, and geographic realities augured against success. The area peaked a century ago.

As a result, the self-identity of their community as a thriving rural culture is unsustainable in today’s world. Shared values need a critical mass to be sustained. Young people, especially those with the greatest promise, are lured to places with greater opportunities for fulfillment.

All of this threatens the locals’ traditional set of hope, identity, and community. This process would work its course independent of APF’s existence. APF, however, represents a readily identifiable alien force against which locals can mobilize.

I expect APF to ultimately foster wellbeing. The Malta area lacks many of our amenities. Its website notes that: “Visitors to American Prairie Reserve will stimulate local economic activity when they contract local guides and patronize local establishments.” Surely it brings tourist and hunters’ dollars and scientists. Consumer amenities, better shopping opportunities, and other advantages, including access to medical care, will likely follow.

Not all good things go together. Locals may feel disadvantaged by change. This is probably temporary. Given the quality of APF’s staff, and its Montana roots, there is hope for an emerging identity and community.