I have long believed that gratitude is a discipline like fence-mending or sourdough making — best practiced regularly and usually neglected until it’s nearly too late.
Thanksgiving gives us a chance to remedy that. And given the state of national politics, which increasingly resembles a traveling medicine show selling cure-alls made of kerosene and sage brush, we in Wyoming ought to take a moment to count our political blessings.
Now, Wyoming is not perfect. Some days the wind alone could drive a philosopher to drink. But we have things about which we can be thankful.
Wyoming is small. We can talk to our politicians. Whether they listen, or not, is judged at the next election, but our politicians do not come from some ruling class, but from our friends and neighbors throughout the state. We know our politicians. And we should be thankful we do.
When we are leaning on the bed of a pickup, shooting the breeze, we have to be nice. Owen Wister knew about small town Wyoming, when he said, “When you call me that, SMILE!”
In Wyoming, one might argue face-to-face over the bed of a neighbor’s pickup and then dig that same pickup out of a drift a week later. We can have our disagreements, but we are always there for each other when it counts.
We are pretty welcoming to folks who move into our state. If they put their shoulder to the plow, they will be welcomed into the fold.
But if those folks try to change Wyoming into the place where they came from, they will soon be shown the door. One of my favorite oil field bumper stickers is, “We don’t care how you did it in Texas.”
In Wyoming, we do things our way.
In the short term, we might elect someone who promises us the moon. But, if you speak one untruth, you’ll be defeated by someone whose dog everyone knows by name.
There is something marvelously democratic about a system where voters recall not only your political positions, but whether you returned a borrowed post-hole digger in good condition.
In many places, public meetings are attended only by officials and the custodian. In Wyoming, people own our government. And, if someone abuses our trust, they are shown the door. Self-government is not a spectator sport, and Wyomingites, being by nature industrious, are reluctant to sit it out.
We do not argue in abstractions here. Energy is not an academic theory — it is a livelihood. Wildlife is not a political symbol — it’s that bull elk blocking the driveway again. Water is not poetry — it’s survival.
This grounding in reality is a tonic against grand foolishness. It prevents us from drifting too far into ideology and reminds us that ideas must eventually work on real dirt.
Every state has its share of sky-watchers who believe contrails hold mysterious powers.
But Wyoming’s practical streak has saved us from being overrun by such notions. Most folks here know that if the government truly wanted to influence the weather, they’d start by figuring out how to stop the wind in Rawlins for a single afternoon — a feat never yet accomplished by man or machinery.
Until that miracle arrives, we remain safe from aerial plots. Besides, if contrails could control minds, they’d have convinced at least one Wyomingite to buy an umbrella.
Yes, tempers flare. Meetings get loud enough to rattle windows. But even our fiercest disputes usually end with a handshake, a muttered apology, or at the very least, a nod indicating that the argument is over until next Tuesday.
The greatest blessing of all is that common sense — extinct in some regions — still roams Wyoming freely. It’s not always majestic; sometimes it limps. But it lives. And as long as it does, we have a chance to keep our politics honest, humble, and rooted in the reality of wind, work, and neighbors.
This Thanksgiving, let us be grateful not for perfection, but for possibility.
Wyoming’s political culture, like its prairie, can withstand rough weather — but only if we take care of it.
If we keep talking, keep showing up, keep laughing at ourselves, and keep our feet on the ground instead of staring suspiciously at the sky, we will have much to be thankful for long after the turkey sandwiches are gone.
Tom Lubnau served in the Wyoming Legislature from 2004 - 2015 and is a former Speaker of the House. He can be reached at: YourInputAppreciated@gmail.com
