“The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” – Nelson Henderson

6 months ago I wouldn’t imagine that I’d be moving to the Flathead Indian Reservation in the beautiful state of Montana and living there for a year.

In the last year, I haven’t lived anywhere for more than 2 months at a time. I traveled to Iowa, South Dakota, New Jersey, and Georgia doing construction projects with a band of misfits as part of my service with AmeriCorps NCCC. 

When the pandemic hit, we were told we’d be sent home early from the program. I didn’t really have a home to return to. For the next few months I jumped around from St. Louis, MO, my hometown in NJ, and my grandma’s 200-year old house in Cape Cod, MA. 

I spent the summer sleeping on couches, floors and borrowed beds. I played Animal Crossing, started a poetry club with my friends around the country, and ate popsicles with my grandma while we bonded over dog shows and horse races. I rode my bike to the beach, restlessly applied for jobs and religiously wrote in my journal.

Quarantine meant time slowed down significantly, and with the future so unsure, I really had to live in the moment with the people I was hunkered down with.

And yet, I always knew I wouldn’t stay in any given situation for long. It’s easier to tolerate anything when you know it’s temporary. The concept of committing to one place for a year, planting seeds in a community and sticking around to nurture them, was still foreign to me. And I know in the grand scheme of things, a year isn’t really that long. 

My first week in Montana consisted of staring in awe at the never-before-seen Rocky Mountains, “helping” my roommate herd some cows, and getting my car stuck in a ditch. Growing up in a small NJ suburb outside of Atlantic City, it became obvious I was definitely out of my element here. But after 3 months of my new life, I can say I already feel myself putting down roots in some ways. I’ve bonded with my host family to the point where I feel like we’ve known each other for years. I’ve adopted a dog. I volunteer for a community food distribution in my free time so I can understand the need. My brain is already swirling with ideas of forestry and farming internships in the summer of next year.

Given that my VISTA service thus far has consisted of working from home in the middle of a pandemic, I’ll admit that things have been a bit of a struggle. And because the nonprofit I’m serving with is newly established and doesn’t have any programs off the ground yet, I am sometimes challenged by not seeing the fruits of my labor. But that doesn’t mean I don’t keep chipping away. I’m determined to make the most out of my time here, even if that means I can’t sit in the shade of the trees I’m planting.

And honestly, that’s not what service should be about. It’s my hope that by being here, I can lay the groundwork for the community to lift itself up. Or at least gain a better understanding on how to do that in the future. But in the meantime, I’ve had an invaluable experience getting to know the Flathead Indian Reservation. I feel so blessed to be welcomed in the way I have and to be given the opportunity to serve. 

When I’m not researching grants, crafting spreadsheets or whittling away at emails, I’m carving pumpkins with my host family, taking long walks with my dog down dirt roads framed by lakes and mountains, basking in the sweetness of Flathead cherries or the tartness of huckleberries for the first time, and learning to keep the fire going in the wood stove so I’m not wearing 5 layers and still shivering in my room.

Regardless of how brief my time is in Montana, I’m committed to getting to know my community as intimately as I can. And I certainly hope I end up giving more than I take.