Why are we doing these things? In every instance we are actively protecting our own interests. Such interests include health, love and esteem, financial security, a solid family, and minimizing big bills from unplanned events. There is one interest we tend to overlook, however. Yet it is the primary reason most of us live in the Kings Beach—Tahoe—Truckee triangle. We are immigrants by choice. We are here for a reason that transcends health, financial security, proximity to family members, and various flatland conveniences. We came for the livability here at 6,000 feet.

I recently put a question to a cross-section of residents: In addition to the natural wonders of this place, what single, everyday thing do you like most about living here? Following is a sampling of the answers.

“I can get an appointment with my doctor on short notice, and I can talk with her one-on-one. She knows me; I know her.”

“There are very few billboards screaming at me to buy things.”

“We have an unpretentious golf club.”

“Many stores have local ownership—people who are invested in this community.”

“At the post office and the grocery I always bump into people I know and like, including people who work there.”

“It’s relatively quiet most of the time.”

“Unobtrusive police.” (Sheriffs).

“I can be independent without being anonymous.”

“We have serious seasons with big changes; summer is summer, winter is winter, spring and fall are quick but noticeable!”

“I can look in any direction, any day, and see scenes that make me say, ‘o yea.’”

These ten samples don’t tell the whole story, of course, but chances are good that some of the answers resonate with you, as they do with me. Like the presence of lakes and the river, mountain crests and deep valleys, these ten responses stake out some of the dimensions of livability in our 100 miles of the Sierra range. Are these dimensions—and others like them—worth safeguarding, just like our health, family relations, and tangible assets such as homes and cars? You bet. But when it comes to doing something to actually hold on to livability here, many of us tend to back off; we silently hope someone else will take care of it. Livability is subjective in nature; it is awkward to define and talk about. It is even harder to defend in public. But undefended, it will quietly disappear like mist on the river as the morning sun erases it. The dissipation of livability as we know it today is guaranteed if we merely sit on our duffs and hope.

We know what to do to protect our health—foods to eat, exercise, etc. The same is true for our tangible assets. What about our 6000-foot way of life? There are at least four relatively simple actions each of us can take:

1. Vote aggressively. Once or twice a year we each receive an allocation of votes we can cast as we see fit. With them we put people in office, tax ourselves, and in some small ways nudge the course of history here in our region. People promoting propositions and various candidates running for local offices have different views on livability. Most ignore it. Some want to change it to make Here more like There (where she or he came from). We need to press proponents and candidates on this issue. Find out where each one stands on the question of livability. Note, too, that if we don’t take the trouble to use our allocation of votes, they count anyway—against our interests. Your or my unused vote doubles the impact of a vote used by someone else in opposition to our values.

2. Support local merchants. To be a viable community we must have an economic backbone. Otherwise our slice of earth will become a high-altitude suburb suffocating with autos. Many years ago the backbone was provided by lumbering and even agriculture. Today we are in transition, and retailing, along with construction, is the economic centerpiece. The more business each of us can do with our local merchants, the less need they have to seek and depend on imports, i.e., visitors. Un-muzzled tourism is not compatible with the continuation of life as described in the survey above. A shift is in the offing: We are likely to see an increasing portion of our total economic pie being provided by permanent residents, not by visitors. This is the case with other special places, e.g., Aspen and Jackson Hole. They are being reinvented—by chance or by plan.

3. Pay attention to, and participate in, major land use decisions. The way land—including river and lake shoreline, meadows and valleys—is used is the single biggest factor in the long-run survival of a unique piece of geography like this. The total number of homes, B&Bs, condos, commercial sites, golf courses, government facilities, etc. directly influences the eventual size and mix of our region’s population.

4. Hold our many nonprofits accountable. Our triangle of earth is somewhat isolated—the price we pay for living Here and not There. Most of us pay the price with smiles on our faces. However, at least on the North Shore—including Martis Valley—and down the Truckee Gorge, we are not only isolated but also quite fragmented in terms of governing ourselves. A large portion of political/money power resides down the hill in Auburn or Nevada City or Sacramento. This leaves us heavily dependent on our local nonprofits and small, taxing-district boards to make desired things happen. These efforts, although usually earnest in nature, tend to be sporadic, semi-organized, lightly funded, and under-managed in the face of big issues: Burton Creek Watershed, Truckee River Corridor, Rec Center Construction, Wildfire Protection, and so on. The only practical solution any time soon is to make our nonprofits—associations, agencies, districts, and groups—effective and efficient. When they are “Effective,” they focus on doing just a few, right things; when they are “efficient,” they do things right. Boosting their performance is a complicated task.

We live in a theater and are part of an unfolding drama as we interact with the abundant natural surroundings and one another. We are generally self-contained here. We have to be. Because we are, we can speak with our doctors person to person. We can have unobtrusive sheriffs, bump into people we know and like all the time, and set our own pace. These are some of the big dimensions of our adopted home. They can shrink, however. All it takes for this to happen is for enough good locals sit tight.

Copyright ©2009 Steven C. Brandt