Choosing a home—or deciding where to settle—can be an expensive and challenging journey. Adding the dream of starting a farm into the mix only makes it more complex. Initially, we believed Eureka, Montana, would be the perfect spot for us. However, after moving here and renting for a few months, we’ve come to realize this isn’t the town—or even the state—for us.
When we left Arizona, I thought transitioning to a more conservative state like Montana would be a positive change. But I quickly learned that extremes, no matter which side of the political spectrum they fall on, aren’t ideal. This realization played a significant role in our decision to leave Montana, and I’ll share more about how these factors influenced our thinking later in this post.
There are a few key criteria that any potential town must meet for us to consider it. We want to be close to an airport and a major city—but not too close. Maintaining that rural lifestyle is still a top priority for us.
Eureka, Montana
There’s no denying that Eureka is gorgeous. This valley is surrounded by rolling hills, with lakes and streams seemingly everywhere. The fishing here is great—if you’re into trout fishing, that is. The town itself is quaint and small, with a charm that includes not even one stoplight on its main thoroughfare. But to be honest, it feels a little run-down and could use some TLC.
I did my homework during the two years we prepared for this move. I knew Eureka had a local farmers market, as well as another one in Kalispell, the nearby bigger city. Kalispell gives off a higher-end vibe, but it too feels a little run-down, with some nicer pockets here and there.
Then there’s the real estate. Eureka’s housing market is insane—actually, most of Montana’s real estate is. You’ll find a double-wide on ten acres, and because it’s in Montana, someone will slap a $600,000 price tag on it. It’s hard to justify those prices for what’s being offered.
I also did my homework on the local airport, which is a big factor for us since my daughter flies out several times a year. Glacier Park Airport is, without a doubt, the nicest worst airport I’ve ever used. There are zero direct flights, and something is always late—either your flight or your luggage. While the airport wasn’t the main reason for our decision to leave, it certainly didn’t help.
The Issues with Eureka
Eureka’s small-town charm came with small-town issues. Being a more conservative town, you’d think people would want to mind their own business. But small towns have their quirks, and Eureka is no exception. While I’m not talking about drama—though there’s plenty of that on the local Facebook community board—there’s a deeper issue with how the community operates.
Many of the town’s businesses are part of a local co-op, which is largely run by the main church here. From what I’ve seen, it feels like if you’re not part of the co-op, it’s easy to get pushed out of the community. If being part of the church is your thing, that’s fine—do what works for you. But don’t tell me how to run my farm.
Ultimately, I don’t think this community has the demographic we need to make our farm successful. This realization was the final nail in the coffin for us.
Hope, Idaho
Hope did not float. While exploring our options in Northern Idaho, we came across a house on 10 acres. The catch? The house was only half-built. It still had weather barrier wrap clinging to its weathered plywood exterior—a sight that hadn’t changed in two years. My wife and I had actually looked at this same property two years earlier, and there it was, still in the same state, still for sale.
The land itself was perfect, once used as a hay field. But back to Hope. On our drive home to Eureka from a weekend in Spokane, we stopped at a gas station near Naples. While filling up, I noticed the guy next to me wearing a “Insert Generic Business Name Here” T-shirt. The design caught my eye, so when we got home, I gave him a call to see if he could give me a bid to finish the house on those 10 acres.
We had a good conversation—he seemed like a nice enough guy. He even mentioned he’d considered buying the property himself, finishing the house, and flipping it. Then, he pitched me another idea: he had a 10-acre parcel of his own for sale and could build a house for us on it. My first thought? Of course you do. But I was open to hearing him out, so we agreed to meet and take a look.
We’ll call him Chad. Chad seemed like someone I could trust. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, and for a moment, he had me convinced. But then things started to shift. The property was initially presented as having its own well, which, as first owners, we’d have full control over. But the next time we talked, the story changed: now we’d have to pay for the well, and he’d use that money to drill another one for the neighboring parcel. That was my first red flag.
From there, the goalposts kept moving. The price for the land and house package started at one figure, then jumped by $250k the next time we spoke. This happened a few more times, and I finally decided it was time to walk away. I’m always upfront with people about my intentions to manage expectations, and I let him know we were going a different route. That’s when he made a backhanded remark that sealed the deal for me—I was done.
And so, we moved on.
Bonners Ferry, Idaho
I’ll admit it—I’m definitely guilty of being misled by all the farming influencers on Instagram. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds 😅. They’ll tell you all about how the USDA has a ton of programs just sitting there, waiting for the taking. And, of course, there’s always a convenient link in their bio.
More to come on that topic soon.
” Nothing worth doing is ever easy. ~Theodore Roosevelt 1884″
Bonners Ferry was the town just 20 minutes down the road from the 10-acre unfinished house we had been considering. Then, we found a 14-acre parcel that seemed to have it all—though not without a few drawbacks. Located about an hour and 40 minutes outside Spokane, the property’s location right off the highway had its pros and cons: great exposure, but the noise wasn’t ideal. The land was once an old blue spruce tree farm, which added to its charm.
At the time, we were in contact with the USDA loan manager for the area. To even apply for the loan, we had to make an offer on the property since the USDA doesn’t offer pre-approvals. Thinking that my wife and I’s combined experience would qualify us, we decided to go for it. A few days after submitting the application, my wife followed up—and we got the news. We didn’t qualify because, apparently, we didn’t have enough experience.
So, let me get this straight: to qualify for a USDA loan, I either need to make almost nothing or already have experience running a farm to start a farm. It’s the classic government red tape—making zero sense. After that slap in the face, we moved on.
This weekend, we’re heading to Washington to check out some property. I’ll write an update on how that goes soon.
The lesson here? Do your own additional, additional research, and don’t take other people’s words as stone.