It's really never too late to fall in love with Libby

I love Libby.

The slogan, I’ll admit, didn’t mean much to me 11 years ago when I was a young reporter at The Western News. Libby was a great place, indeed, but I couldn’t understand why people were so eager to plaster those “I Love Libby” stickers all over their vehicles and storefronts. 

My boss at the time, Roger Morris, tried to convince me that Libby was special. He showed me his favorite backcountry. He introduced me to some very unique and free-thinking people. And he tried to explain that loving Libby was perhaps the only thing that everyone here had in common. 

The young me still didn’t get it. I was an ambitious 23-year-old who wanted more than Libby had to offer. Big cities. Metro newspapers. Swimming pools and movie stars. 

So, eventually, I left Libby and accomplished most of the things on my career bucket list: 

Work at a 300,000-circulation daily newspaper in the Bay Area – check.

Own a fast car – check.

Run the editorial department of a political newspaper in Phoenix – check.

Win national journalism awards – check.

Buy a house before my 30th birthday – check.

Start my own newspaper in my hometown – check.

I believed all of those things would make me happy. I thought I was doing what I wanted. But the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about Libby. 

I was living in Lake Havasu, Ariz., when I first realized I missed Libby. My girlfriend and I were talking one evening about all of the places we had lived, and then ranked each city from best to worst. Independently, we both put Libby at the top of the list. 

It’s difficult to explain why Libby stood out as the favorite. Sure, it’s rugged and beautiful. And it’s not pretentious like Aspen or Whitefish. But there was also something about the place that couldn’t be put into words, some sort of unspoken quality that made it feel like home. 

When the opportunity to move back to Libby finally presented itself, it didn’t take long for me to decide to return. It was hard to leave behind the successful newspaper that I had founded in Bismarck. It was gut-wrenching to say goodbye to my family. But, in the end, the decision was a no-brainer.

So, with all of my belongings packed into a 26-foot U-Haul and two mid-sized vehicles, I set out on a 20-hour journey from my actual hometown to my adopted hometown. By the time I passed through Browning and got my first glimpse of the Cabinet Mountains, all doubts had faded away. 

The only thing I could think about for the next few hours, while my motorcade passed through the wilderness, was how much I loved Libby. It wasn’t like moving to Oakland, Phoenix or Bismarck. None of those places really felt like home. 

After 11 years of wandering across the West like some sort of nomad, I finally got back to the place where I intend to grow roots. No more moving. No more starting over. 

If I had listened to Roger in the first place, I would have never left Libby. However, like most 20-somethings, I was blinded by all the stars in my eyes.

But now I get it. I love Libby. I really do this time. And I have a bumper sticker to prove it. 

Matt Bunk is publisher of The Western News