Dear Sagebrush Sally,
I keep hearing certain folks in town complain about “too many newcomers,” but it seems like what really bothers them isn’t that new people are arriving—it’s that they’re not the ones who invited them. It feels like some residents want to control who counts as “acceptable,” as if belonging in Tecopa requires their personal stamp of approval.
I understand wanting to protect the character of the community, but this selective gatekeeping seems to create more division than unity. Isn’t Tecopa supposed to be a place that welcomes people who care about the land and the town, no matter who they know?
How do we handle people who claim to love the community, but act like they’re the gatekeepers of who deserves to live here?
— Locked Out of the Welcome Committee
Dear Locked Out of the Welcome Committee,
You’ve noticed something real—and touchy. Every small town has its gatekeepers, but Tecopa seems to breed a special kind. Maybe it’s the isolation, maybe it’s the heat, or maybe it’s that fierce love people develop for a place they feel they’ve earned the right to call home. Whatever the reason, you’re not wrong: sometimes the loudest complaints about “too many newcomers” come from folks who just want to be the ones holding the guest list.
It’s an old story out here. People arrive seeking solitude, freedom, or a new start—and then, once they’ve settled in, they start guarding the gates like they built the town themselves. It’s not always malicious; sometimes it’s fear in disguise. They’ve seen people come and go, take and not give, change things too fast or without understanding. But the desert has never belonged to one kind of person. It’s too vast, too unpredictable, too humbling for ownership.
The truth is, everyone here was a newcomer once. Everyone had to learn the rhythm of this place—the heat, the wind, the way kindness is both currency and necessity. The measure of belonging isn’t who invited you or how long you’ve stayed. It’s how you show up for your neighbors and the land, day after day, when no one’s keeping score.
When you meet that kind of gatekeeping, don’t mirror it. Be curious instead of defensive. Ask questions, offer help, and let your actions do the talking. Time has a way of softening even the most territorial souls. And for those who never come around, well, the desert will outlast all our egos.
Tecopa doesn’t need bouncers—it needs stewards. People who tend, protect, and care without claiming ownership. If everyone who loved this place tried to make room for one more good-hearted neighbor, we’d have more helping hands, more community, and fewer fences (literal and otherwise).
The beauty of the desert is that it welcomes anyone who can withstand its truth: you don’t conquer it—you coexist with it. And the same should go for each other.
— Sagebrush Sally
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