I fell in love with Montana in the fall of 2013. Four years later, in 2017, I made it my home. Six years on, it’s changing faster than I imagined it would and I’d like to provide a sliver of insight on the ongoing changes, for better and worse, and life in the Last Best Place. And I caveat this all with the recognition that no single snowflake (I am a millennial, after all) sees itself responsible for the avalanche. As a California-born, Missoula real estate guy — I’m, like, many snowflakes.
In 2013, my soon-to-be wife, Lindsay, and I had just returned from two years in Amman, Jordan. We set out on a road trip across America to rediscover our homeland. The most memorable experiences we had, while traversing America’s highways, byways and county roads, were our interactions with Montanans in the towns surrounding Glacier National Park.
After spending the previous week and half transiting Nevada, Utah, and Southern Idaho, we drove to Kalispell, Montana via Highway 83 (or, “the 83,” for those Californians reading this), through the Swan Valley. To call this stretch of highway God’s country is adequate at best. Flanked by the looming and mighty Swan and Mission mountain ranges, the highway terminates at the north end of the thirty mile long Flathead Lake, and opens up into prime farmland. Haying season was just finishing, so miles of freshly rolled bales of alfalfa picturesquely dotted our drive north. When we rolled into Kalispell, Main Street was lined with American flags; few if any chain stores and restaurants were in sight and it felt like we had entered a time capsule of a bygone Americana.
We scoped out accommodations and found the Aero Inn — a very, very budget-friendly option. We were greeted by an eccentric, joyful hostess managing the front-end, with her two dogs as co-managers.
One afternoon, just outside Kalispell, we went to at an independent grocer and farmer’s market, whose owner was hosting a customer appreciation day. The owner was grilling burgers and hotdogs in the parking lot, and it seemed like the whole community had gathered to pick out farm-fresh produce and mingle with their neighbors. And the stories revealed to us by patrons at a local winery (palatable wine, wonderful company) about life in the Great American West pined for an America seemingly lost to the age of instagrammed restaurant dishes and the rising insufferable politicization of, well, everything.
Lindsay and I camped for two nights on the East side of Glacier National Park, fished for trout (unsuccessfully) in Saint Mary’s Lake and made limited hikes with our Jordanian Canaan dog, who barked at literally everything, everywhere, all the time. When she saw a big horn sheep as we drove through Logan Pass, she barked so loudly for such a sustained period, I still have tinnitus. Our time in Montana was pure magic.
Of course our perspective was also filtered through rose-colored glasses — we had just returned from a moderately hostile experience abroad. But the fact that public life in Montana’s towns was friendly and gracious instead of obsequious and resentful like that in Jordan was seriously impactful.
There’s something else I’ll never forget about that 2013 trip. While stopping for gas in St. Regis (on the Idaho/Montana border), I entered the adjacent bar & casino to use the restroom and observed that the bar was filled with patrons at 11:00am on a Monday morning — the vibe was despair, not cheer. Though I suppose everyone knew each other’s name.
Lindsay and I schemed for years on what it would take to move somewhere in Western Montana. We also recognized some of the deepest truths about this place: work opportunities are limited, housing is tight, and life in Montana can be very, very hard. You’d better be well-situated before you just show up. It’s not like Jordan, where I could buy a one-way ticket and things would just work out.
In 2017 Lindsay got a job offer in Missoula at a local health center making $19/hr, so we packed our 500 square foot apartment in Los Angeles into a U-haul and drove north. A few weeks later, after spraying my resume at every prospective employer in a 100 mile radius of Missoula, I was hired as the Missoula Goodwill Store Manager. I quit my six-figure job in commercial real estate to make $48,000 per year managing a thrift store — and I couldn’t have been more grateful. Everything is relative — we were now in the top 20% of income earners for Missoula County, with the median household income approximating my salary. We purchased our modest home a month later and settled-in for a life in small-town America. We found exactly what we had aspired to in coming here: a community of good friends, snowshoeing winters, river floating summers, group hikes on Saturday’s, BBQs on Sundays, and maybe the opportunity to travel abroad every few years with enough savings. Our American Dream.
I even enjoyed my job as a thrift store manager. Because I worked retail in college, under various excellent and terrible supervisors, I simply applied this question to everything and acted accordingly: “what would I want my manager to have done in this situation?” Sometimes, the customer is not always right — and they need to be reminded of that when they think of bullying retail workers.
Over my tenure of three years, I worked hard to make it the most profitable Goodwill in Montana, Utah, and Idaho. Instead of exploiting WEX personnel (Montana’s work-for-welfare program), I hired them almost immediately if they showed any interest in full-time employment. I hired refugees, because how the hell were Syrian, Nigerian, and Eritrean refugees supposed to make it in a state that was already prohibitively challenging and expensive to people who speak the language? Whoever thought it was a good idea to make Western Montana a landing point for international refugees must not be aware of the absolute poverty so many locals suffer under. At least the human interest stories IRC publishes are, like, super inspiring. I offered jobs to transients “flying signs” outside Walmart and Costco – I hired a few; a couple left involuntarily after helping themselves to donations; another disappeared when his back-due child support was garnished. C’est la vie. I believed in the mission.
I enjoyed managing people, and having so many employees made me feel strongly connected to the Missoula community. We were always on the lookout for “lizards” — meth’d-up shoplifters. And I came to be on a first name basis with most of the shoplifters in town. It was a fun cat-and-mouse game and all my front-end employees were star players.
In early 2020, I had 56 employees — most of them making $9.75/hr working for the most profitable Goodwill store in our 19-store region. Many of my employees were life-long Montanans who needed the consistency of a steady paycheck; I tried to offer as much overtime as I could (which is a double-edged sword of “generosity”). I had zero control over wages, and I fought hard to improve them — basically shoving my monthly P&L statements in the faces of company leadership and saying “you can pay these people more, you know.” No. They knew best. That’s what their $130K-$275K salaries were for. Read the 990 tax filings. I did. Every year.
The only way I could show material gratitude was to throw pizza parties — which was very annoying, having been the recipient of work-sponsored pizza parties in the past. The only proverbial piece of pie anyone really wants is a pay-raise as a result of their increased productivity.
And then one day I fired everyone.
It was March 27, 2020. Something about sheltering-in-place and the end of the world. For the month of April, I spent seven days per week at the store, sifting through refuse, illegal dumping, and other “donations” with my assistant manager. The company’s response to the pandemic was amongst the worst I had witnessed. We terminated all the employees, then made them re-apply for their jobs a month later. Those who didn’t re-apply for their old jobs were eligible for unemployment benefits. Those who did re-apply had to come back and lost their unemployment benefits — which was literally 2.5 times higher than their hourly wages. How could those who returned not be resentful?
Simultaneously, I saw first-hand the influx of urbanites who’d left major metropolitans for obvious reasons, and the ensuing decimation of the already unaffordable housing market. The Great Migration was in full-effect. I saw the writing on the wall and decided that I could either sit on the sidelines, wring my hands and complain about the situation or I could jump in and provide some value to a market of Buyers and Sellers, where I had foundational experience and knowledge.
I never thought I’d go back into real estate, because when I was a commercial real estate guy in my 20s all I really wanted to be was a tool of the oligarchy that controls U.S. foreign policy. Live and learn.
Just as I entered the residential real estate market in late 2020, prices went off the chart, literally. Here’s a nice visualization of Missoula County’s median home prices from 2011-2024. Yes, that’s real; I pulled it from the MLS yesterday.
And folks, it ain’t a bubble. The demand for this place will outpace supply for a long time coming. Once people discover there’s a Costco and TWO Walmart locations in town — they will gladly make the move to the rural, rustic West.
These last few years have brought a feverishly passionate cadre of New Montanans to the state. Whether it was covid, or the summer of love, or the election, or muh freedom in general; people came because they wanted their parcel in heaven. And unironically — they’re all Americans, so they’re entitled to it, damnit. But there is a trade-off for this passionate influx and growth. The Montanans who stay in their lane, literally and figuratively, the ones who made this such an attractive and wonderful place to live are being priced out forever. And they are understandably resentful. One sympathizes. I was priced out of my hometown. I will never be a homeowner in Pasadena, California and I thought that was a birthright growing up. LOL at my parent’s neighbors selling a shack for $2M. But I’m sure someone who grew up in Missoula is saying the same thing about the homes I’m listing today. GTFO, you say. Respect.
What’s so great about Montana anyway?
It’s not the weather. Winter lasts about 7 months in Missoula and the inversion layer lasts a majority of the fall, winter, and early spring. Then, when it’s a beautiful summer day, you’re probably choking on wildfire smoke from Canadian wildfires caused by (((climate change))). Montana’s beauty is inarguable — but you can’t eat the scenery, as they say.
It ain’t the job market. NAFTA killed the logging industry. Missoula used to be a logging town. Then the mills closed, and the middle class jobs the industry provided turned into retail, food service, tourism and hospitality. I know. I employed a few former loggers at Goodwill; they were barely keeping their heads above water pre-2020. Agriculture is the other major industry — it’s hard work with diminishing returns. No one moves here to be a farm-hand. Any local tech employer pays a fraction of what you’d make in most other markets; college grads from the local universities have bar tending and food service as their primary post-graduation occupation, and that industry is getting crushed by inflation. Then people have the gravitas to complain about the exodus of workers. Or that “they don’t want to work anymore.” There’s some truth to that, and Zoomers can be very, very needy. But, when a 1 bed 1 bath rents for $1,500, you can’t work for less than $17/hr. I hear the Boomer echo chamber— “just make more sacrifices”. Yes, let’s race to the bottom — that’s the country I want to live in…
I wouldn’t even call Montanans ‘friendly’. They’re not gushing Southerners who fawn over you while telling you off to your face. Boy, when I learned what “bless your heart” meant, it reshaped a lot of my memories of traveling through Tennessee and Kentucky. Montanans are guarded and polite, sometimes humble to a fault; but they’ll also stop on the side of the road to help you if you appear stranded and they’ll get you back to town and remind you not to be a dumb-dumb.
So what is it? In large part, it’s the spirit of Montanans that makes it so attractive. Yes, you hear a lot of “I’m ‘x’ generation Montanan,” as if that is supposed to mean something to me, a super cool broker-bro from SoCal. But it does mean something. These people are the living legacies of actual rugged individualists who homesteaded here with tremendous courage, taking overwhelming risk to settle this landscape. The eastern portion of the state is completely inhospitable today, even with my puffy North Face jacket and Gore-Tex lined boots — these peoples’ ancestors came here with canvas and twine on their feet (I assume). They tamed a wild country, built cities, mined enough copper to wire the entire United States of America. They also killed most of the buffalo and poisoned large swaths of land and bodies of water in the state — in perpetuity. Omelet, meet egg. So it goes. And the relationship between ‘native’ Montanans and Native Americans is, well, tenuous. There’s a lot of history that I’m not going to unpack here, mostly as a result of my ignorance of the subject.
What I do know is that there’s something meaningful to the people who claim generational residency. Don’t we all want a place to call home for our children and grandchildren?
Montanans can be busybodies, but only because they expect you to take care of things as well as they would; they’re rule followers, not hypocrites and virtue signalers. There is a real sense of “my word is my bond” — which I know is a trope, and I work in a business that exclusively utilizes legal contracts because history proves most people’s word is, in fact, not their bond. However, I know plenty of people here who still leave their doors unlocked and demand the same high-trust society they grew up in, even as things change. Unfortunately it seems not for the better.
That fabric of a high-trust society withers and tatters every time it’s unreasonably taken advantage of. A local cattle ranch has an unstaffed farm-to-market stand, stocked to the brim with grass-fed organic beef. Inside you’ll find a deposit box for cash and a jar for change. When I started shopping there in 2018, I could break a $100-bill after spending $70 on meat. There were no cameras and the store operated 24- hours per day. I always thought you could never do this in California. On the chalkboard which advertises the weekly specials is the tagline “Integrity - it’s what you do when no one is looking.” Is it possible they were inspired by one of the speeches I wrote for an obscure “good governance” workshop in Aqaba, Jordan? Maybe…probably not. After dozens of thefts, the owners of the shop limited the hours of operations, installed cameras and remote locks, and only have quarters available for making change. You can’t un-ring this bell.
It’s the little things you really come to value. You feel the love people have for the outdoors and nature, especially on the trails. I remember hiking Griffith Park trail in Los Angeles, running across an endless stream of thoughtless hikers, playing distorted music through their Bluetooth speakers at max volume. It engenders more than anger — it engenders disgust. Some people’s kids, man. It’s simply known not to do this in Montana; like people were raised with a sense of self awareness. Shucks, the way things oughta’ be. But just in the last couple years, I’ve heard at least a few Bluetooth speakers on the trails. One is too many. Next thing you know it will be no-cash bail, then human sacrifices in the streets. Slippery is the slope.
Of course, someone will invariably read the above and want to reply with “but what about ‘x’ negative statistic about Montana.” Drunk driving stats aren’t great. I get it. Bad things happen here too. Meth isn’t making things better. “People are jerks everywhere…” blah blah blah. Spare me. There’s a reason the population here is growing and why places like California are shrinking. People want to belong to a place where they feel a sense of community, and that starts with a baseline of respect for those around you.
A couple days ago I came across this guide to land stewardship: Living Flathead - A Neighbor’s Guide. I am in no way affiliated with the organization, I just value the message. It’s a-political and perfectly practical to anyone who’s thinking of moving here.
The r/Montana subreddit has a pinned post with the same title as this article, and it was acerbic, straight to the point, and grim. The post has changed in recent years and is less in-your-face than the 2013 version, at at time when it should be even more cautionary.
So, if you want to move to Montana, consider, then answer, the following three questions.
Do I have a job, a viable business concept, or deep pockets?
Employment here is extremely challenging. The reasons why real estate used to be so “cheap” is because wages were so low. When I moved here, my salary was $48K and median home prices were $250K and interest rates were ~4% . Now the median household income for Missoula County is roughly $68K while the median home price is $540K. Interest rates today are 7% for well qualified buyers. If you can’t do the math, then you can’t afford a house here, and you’re going to struggle with rent. I can’t stress this enough. People are hurting here. 1 in 5 households in Missoula County visited the food bank in 2023. I’m the One-Way Ticket guy — don’t come without a plan.
Am I willing to forego the charms of the place I’m leaving and embrace the opportunities here?
Please don’t move here for the nightclub and restaurant scene, despite an increasing list of great options. America has major cities with hip restaurants where you can order deconstructed flan and a potpourri-infused tarte flambee. We have a few really good steakhouses that serve boiled vegetables on the side of your perfectly grilled steak, with neon-green mint jelly for dessert. It’s fun. You’ll love it. Or start your own business (the Montana equivalent of “learn to code”). Syndicate money, get a loan, convince someone of your grand idea and put it into action. That’s what these guys did with The Camino. It takes monumental risks to open a restaurant and succeed in general; and particularly in Missoula. My point here is: spend some time learning what makes Montana special; it’s not like the place you’re leaving and no one wants it to be, for better and for worse.
Am I prepared to be a steward of my community, to be proactive in making things better?
This is more nuanced, but it boils down to this: don’t be a jerk and take responsibility where you might otherwise not have. Turn off the blue-tooth speakers. Respect the rules of the trail. Leave things better than you found them. Clean-up, even if you personally didn’t leave the mess. There’s no one else to take care of it but you. Integrity - it’s what you do when no one is looking.
Population growth is here to stay, there’s nowhere left to be “discovered.” Montana really is the Last Best Place — be part of the reason people still believe that’s true.
I write for fun, I negotiate and sell for a living. If you’re looking to buy or sell real estate look me up - there’s only one Warren Altounian (for now) in Montana.
Loved the read, even if it was the first time in my life I had to identify in any context as a snowflake. Of course, I'm not the cause of the avalanche! ;)
Great advice !