I don’t know a single local who doesn’t have a story about hitting a rock with their boat. Parts of Whitefish Lake get surprisingly shallow If you grew up here, you learn where they are. If you didn’t, you usually learn the expensive way.
That’s July around here. We spend as much time on the water as possible. My family lives near City Beach, so a lot of my summer days involve getting the paddleboards on Whitefish River with my husband and son. If we have the time, we’ll head up to West Glacier to get on McDonald Creek. When we’re lucky, we’ll hardly see another person. Sometimes maybe just a beaver.
And because it’s outside the park entrance, we skip most of the traffic. The rest of it is the things you learn growing up here: where the rope swing is, the log sticking out of the water that’s perfect for tying up and jumping off or anchoring the pontoon at the north end of the lake where the river runs in and turning the whole day into a beach party.
July is also when the valley hits full speed. There’s Under the Big Sky, farmers markets, family visiting from out of town, and more people than you can count, trying to fit every Montana experience into a single week. Downtown gets busy. The lakes get busy. And the locals get a little busy too. It’s wonderful, and it’s a lot.
For most people, the Fourth of July in Whitefish means fireworks at City Beach, and for good reason. Whitefish puts on a fantastic show. This year we’ll be in Bigfork instead. My husband is serving on Whitefish Winter Carnival royalty as Prime Minister, which means parades all year long. The royalty travels everywhere—Bigfork, Eureka, Great Falls, Butte, even Canada and Washington. It’s funny how far a little Whitefish tradition can travel.
If you’re going to treat yourself to dinner this summer, make it count. Right now, my pick is Herb & Omni. Chef Earl James Reynolds is a local guy with a James Beard nomination, and every detail—from the service to the cocktails—is worth the reservation.
When people talk about community pride, it can sound a little cliché. For me, it looks like the Great Northern. I’ve been part of that crowd on and off since 2005. We used to call it the center of the universe. Plenty of people still call it the office. I can walk in there alone at any time of day and end up in ten different conversations. That’s community.
I spent nearly twenty years in Los Angeles before moving home. What I appreciate most about Whitefish isn’t the scenery, although we’ve certainly got that. It’s that I can still walk down the street, pull up a chair in a neighbor’s yard, watch fireworks, and feel like I belong.
That’s the version of Whitefish I hope never changes. The one built on neighbors, traditions, and people who still stop to talk to each other.
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