One of the best features of our community is the most difficult to measure. While we can cite symphonies, recommend fine restaurants, and calculate the distance to skiing, spring creeks, and Gallatin Field, how can we calculate the value of trust?

The implicit ability to trust others facilitates social interaction. Trust reduces the costs of transacting and monitoring agreements. Trust is elusive, and perhaps ephemeral, a victim of growth. Of all the qualities that merit preservation, trust ranks near the top. Here are two events that prompted this column.

Ramona and I have several ponds on our ranch, sparkling beads on a spring creek. Each summer, I use a tractor to prepare this area for Eagle Mount’s “Big Sky Kids.” Essentially, I clean, mow, and level the banks to make them readily accessible.

I was doing just this when my backhoe, an 18,000-pound machine, fell into the lodge of a bank beaver. One rear wheel sat in the water while the front was about to drop. I anticipated a diesel machine glugging into the depths. Not a good way to start the morning.

Although I was in no personal danger, my backhoe clearly was. This was potentially quite serious -- and embarrassing. If it tipped in and landed in six feet of water, how could I get it out?

While I’ve transported farm and logging machinery, and in an earlier life retrieved log skidders from tough places, this was a new experience. I needed help. Fast. This was the time to rely on neighbors, not the Yellow Pages.

Fortunately, I had a cell phone and immediately called a nearby friend. “Richard, I need help. Now.” Although I tried to sound calm, my voice projected panic. Self interest rarely lies. Before I could explain my problem, he replied, “I’ll be right there.” And then, “What’s wrong.” Notice the order. Trust was expressed on several dimensions.

First, I had full confidence in his competence. Second, he believed I had a serious problem, not a trivial travail. Third, I trusted him to respond. It all worked. Thanks to Richard, and his skill in orchestrating deployment of serious iron, we averted disaster. This is community in action.

Here’s another, less dramatic, but equally revealing event. Because we’ve changed irrigation systems, we had a rack of surplus hand-line to sell. I explained this to Mike at AquaTech, our irrigation supplier. Mike said he’d tell customers who wanted used pipe.

A week later I received an inquiry from a man who needed a quarter mile of pipe. He came to look at it that morning, found it acceptable, and promised to return with a pipe trailer and a helper before lunch. He arrived in a beat-up F-250.

I was working away from the pipe stack and asked him to select what he wanted. He loaded the trailer, found me, and wrote a check. I thanked him and put the check in my pocket. Done deal.

Why is this noteworthy? First, I didn’t know the man or his helper. Second, I didn’t consider counting the pipe he loaded, but assumed he gave me an honest count. Third, I didn’t think of asking for his ID. Implicit trust triumphed. Only later, when I handed his check to Ramona for deposit did I reflect on the wonderful implication of this experience. Trust prevailed and I again witnessed community in action.

Our county is attracting many new citizens and becoming more materially wealthy. I’m confident this is partially due to folks intuiting our community of trust. This resource is ever scarcer and merits serious preservation efforts.

Just as we are stewards of our natural resources, we should be stewards of this vital community resource. As our town grows, it would be immensely beneficial if newcomers were party to the collective trust that has evolved and adds so much to our community.

We hope to include new arrivals in this community. I suggest encouraging newcomers to experience the ambience of Main Street, the Farmer’s Market, and the Sweet Pea Festival. Participation will probably encourage a sense of belonging and the building of trust. It is essential to a healthy society and economy.