I am inside the Bozeman airport, waiting for a flight back to Alaska. The government threatened a suffering of hot weather today but it felt more like a spring afternoon when I walked to the terminal.  

Everyone inside the terminal is wearing a face mask. Everywhere else I’ve visited in the state no one has worn one. In Montana’s big tourist draw towns like Missoula, charged up tourists jammed the streets with their rental cars. None wore masks. Most of the wheat farming country I visited was quiet. We’d drive on a highways for a mile or two before seeing a car. None would pass our family wheat ranch for hours at a time. They were as mask-less as the deer and antelope that we passed near the ranch.