Daniel Anderson, founder of the Common Ground Project
Q: What issue(s) are you seeking to solve, and in what ways are you working to solve them?
Our small corner of the United States – the Greater Yellowstone -- is experiencing intensifying pressure from development, recreation, drought, flood, wildfire, wildlife, politics, culture wars, and more. If you were to place your attention to the myriad relationships at play between people and the land, you might find that we are bound to one another in conflict. This is simply because we are in relationship, whether realized or not.
Imagine an intricate spider web. Now pull on one little piece of silk in that web and watch the whole thing respond. To us, the issues we seek to solve have everything to do with the web; It’s all about relationships.
I’m a growing believer that suffering in the world – whether ecological or cultural or both – comes from people who are not in healthy connection to their families, food, home, heritage, identity, and/or the natural world. Many of these relationships are fractured, faded, and fatigued. Some are overtaken by trauma.
How do we establish reconnection? How do we more gracefully navigate environmental and social conflicts in our communities? And how do we change the regional conversations from being polarized, charged, and dysfunctional to inviting, activated, and generative?
We don’t have a simple answer to those questions, but we’re beginning to see a few key threads that help to build a stronger web and more resilient social fabric. For us, the work is all about creating spaces for people to come together in more effective ways.
The way we gather matters. Where we gather matters. Why we gather matters. Healing can occur through people communing, together, with wild places and storytelling can be a powerful tool to build cross-cultural connection. I have witnessed alchemy at play when a diverse cross section of people gather around a campfire with intention, openness, and vulnerability.
And the greatest gift of all, perhaps the most needed, is watching a group of strangers build a container of belonging over the course of a long weekend. It’s a sign to me that the issues we seek to solve relate to people who don’t have community to connect to or the skills needed to be more effective collaborators, bridge-builders, and advocates for a better world.
This work is not about being inventive, but rather to notice what we're already a part of. Putting theory into action, we inspire, equip, and activate small networks within the region. We then link those networks, facilitate collaborative partnerships, and accumulate resources to support partnerships and individuals who are influencing their communities.
If we are to ignite creativity to address and resolve pressing social and environmental issues, we must first create spaces for deeper connection with one another and the places we call "home." We must save ourselves before we can save the planet. How? By gathering on the land and around food and fire, as humans have for millennia.
Q: What do you find most challenging in your work?
Our ability to facilitate meaningful social and environmental impacts is limited to the degree of financial capacity we have as a small and somewhat young organization. We can’t deny this simple truth: It takes energy to keep the fires lit. It also takes staff to maintain our administrative duties, hold our vision and focus, and keep an eye on where and how our mission is relevant to the region.
To do this work well, we are tasked to establish strong partnerships and fiscally aligned support systems. Much to my chagrin, many of the foundations I’ve had the opportunity to speak with will respond with some version of, “Well, this all sounds like admirable work which is sorely needed in the world… but we just don’t fund gatherings. We’re more focused on tangible projects and measurable outcomes. I’m sure you understand.”
I’ll admit, I do understand. But I also don’t agree. Most of the environmental and social issues of our time are complex, to say the least. Good, meaningful, and lasting solutions to these issues require people coming together, and they require time well beyond 12 month grant cycles.
Our focus is at the foundational level, the building block work that, when successful, inspires and equips individuals with new information and catalyzes new partnerships to do great and meaningful work – But it takes time and resources. Translating this process to funders continues to be a major challenge.
Q: What do you find most rewarding?
The most rewarding aspect of this journey has been in the relationships cultivated around our campfires. A woman from the Aaniiih Nation in Northern Montana came to visit us for a couple nights during our Storytelling Retreat in early August, 2021. Vina Little Owl was born and raised in Montana and spent her adult life as an independent and well-traveled woman, but she had never been to Paradise Valley.
Not long ago, Native people were displaced from Paradise Valley – a place duly named for its epic beauty and gravitas as a major gateway into Yellowstone National Park. Vina hesitated to come here, she said, because loss, sadness, anger, and resentment were likely to take her on a trip she didn’t ask for.
On her second day at the ranch Vina was struck with news that one of her dearest friends back home in Fort Belknap had just died from alcohol abuse. Later that evening in the big tipi, fellow retreaters circled around while she reflected on her friend’s life. For those of us in the circle who were not Native, Vina brought awareness to life on the reservation that none of us had previously known. Throughout the weekend Vina held graceful strength as her own body – nearly crippled from a car accident – stepped slowly and steadily, leaning on her cane, through the grass and sage that blankets our campsite.
Because of Vina’s physical condition, I was the lucky one to be her chauffeur in the ranch’s John Deere Gator side-by-side. On the final day Vina and I were sitting quietly on the seat of the Gator waiting for others to collect their things for departure. We had arrived to the campsite ahead of the group, giving us just enough time for a brief rest, and for Vina to share a few words before heading home to the aftershock of her friend’s passing.
Blue birds fluttered atop the tipi poles. The air was still. The aspens were quiet. The landscape felt as though it was giving a peaceful sigh. Vina looked at me and said, “You know, Daniel, I wasn’t sure what I’d feel coming into this valley. I always thought it would be too painful.”
Then, with a brilliant white smile, she said, “Oh but I was wrong. It’s like I’ve come home.” She paused, lifted her gentle gaze to the sky, and said “You know, I think our ancestors [yours and mine] are up there somewhere looking down on us right now. And they’re smiling at each other, saying, ‘Aren’t they beautiful?!’”
She shared a few more words of appreciation for the landscape around us, and thanked me for inviting her. I reciprocated gratitude for her, and felt every cell in my body buzzing with astonishment for the moment. It is a memory that will forever be with me, and a relationship I will always hold near and dear to my heart.
Q: What do you wish people knew more about the issue(s) you seek to solve?
In recent years I have been drawn to people and organizations focusing stalwartly on conservation issues in the intermountain West – “Protecting” the wild creatures who reside here and “Saving” the last remaining open spaces from ill-willed humans, dysfunctional politics, or the forces of capitalism.
I have also met an increasing number of people who advocate for a rebalancing of power and equity in largely white, male-dominated industries – “Decolonizing” and “Disrupting” the social systems designed to benefit a few at the expense of many others. I am surrounded by bastions for a wild and more just world. And to a degree, I am one of these people.
That said – I am a growing believer in the power of networks and interconnection. I say this because, having been raised in a remarkably wild landscape, I have observed the intelligence of natural systems. Mature ecosystems are dynamic. Social systems can be too.
Social systems that are diverse, interconnected, and adaptable will be markedly more sustainable than those of homogenous design. In contrast, social systems that are power hungry, fractured, and fatigued can result in siloed ways of knowing and being, scarcity mindsets, divisive behavior, and destructive actions.
Perhaps we have arrived at ecological and social crisis, again, because of this dysfunctional pattern. Moreover, we have entered a time when our communities must learn how to build trust amidst varied interests with an aim to establish collaborative cultures. In doing so, we will be exponentially more effective in addressing, navigating, and problem-solving environmental and social issues in our region. Simply put, we are stronger together.
For The Common Ground Project, the issues we seek to solve actually have less to do with saving wild creatures, addressing climate change, or advocating for justice. Instead, we focus on community-building. In community we belong to something bigger than ourselves. In belonging we are more likely to embrace differing worldviews and, therefore, be more aware of the complexity of our surroundings and our own sense of Self.
From this place, creativity can emerge in powerful and beautiful ways. As a result, we will have greater potential to address and resolve – at least more gracefully navigate – the most pressing issues of our time. I wish more of our community would embrace this building-block work; I wish more of our community would gather around the fire with us.
Q: How can people support your work?
We can’t do this work – providing gatherings, workshops, & retreats – without a financial foundation that supports all of the critical administrative, outreach, networking, fundraising, and daily workloads. We also couldn’t provide these experiences to students, young professionals, and people from underserved communities without a scholarship fund.
And we have yet to build a staff team that can handle moving our organization into the next chapter. We have a vision for the region, but it’ll require people to help us get there. All of these activities, and more, require funding that our small non-profit struggles to find.
It is private donors we wish to connect with in 2024, so any and all interested folks are encouraged to reach out to me. I am more than happy to make time to meet. I can travel to you, and the first round is on me. You can also join our newsletter and follow us on Instagram: @thecommongroundproject.
Q: How do you create joy and hope in your life during the ecological crisis?
This is such a good question, and perhaps my favorite within the set. Reason being is simply that we must create joy and hope, among other related things like love, compassion, empathy, bliss, and play in our lives if we are to transform the worlds within and around us.
Being in and responding from crisis plays out like a broken record, and along the way we might find ourselves tired, confused, and angry. Joy and hope, together, are seeds for a better world.
The ways I create joy and hope are many – mostly small things scattered throughout my days. In winter months I sit by a fireplace before sunrise, sipping in the early morning darkness and a freshly brewed coffee, quietly welcoming the day. I listen to the crackling fire and feel its warmth. I see it transform in front of me and imagine the millions upon millions of people who also set their gaze to flames in this era of humanity.
I also run. Moving my body helps to move and release energy, and I always feel a sense of empowerment when my feet hit the ground. This gives me courage, confidence, and clarity, making it all the easier for me to feel hopeful in my day.
I enjoy being generous – buying a round of beverages for friends, bringing chocolates to a meeting, providing large tips for people who work in food service, giving hugs to colleagues, smiling at the cashier at our local grocery store. These are all just little reflections of kindness that make navigating the complexity of this life feel a little more graceful and at ease.
I also find profound connection to our family ranch in Tom Miner Basin. I often walk the land, exploring, looking for signs of wildlife, listening to the many sounds of our wild back yard, smelling the smells, inventorying the senses. I often do this with my wife, Louise, and our four-legged companions. I find it deeply therapeutic to connect to the landscape, and even more so to share that experience with other people – Ergo creating The Common Ground Project as a way to bring people closer to the land and to one another.
Thank you Kelsey & the Biocene Foundation for supporting our work in 2023 – we couldn’t have pulled it off without you!
Learn more and support the Common Ground Project here.