It has come to my attention that there are rumors suggesting the gas station on the corner of Main and Rouse is, as they say, “living on borrowed time.” Some people point to the encroaching glass structures nearby and whisper about the “highest and best use” of the land. I find this quite baffling.

When I purchased my home in 2006 for a normal amount of money—a price I believe was perfectly reasonable and accessible to anyone with a steady job and a bit of thriftiness—the gas station was right there. It has been there for as long as I have been a tax-paying resident of this valley. It is the anchor of our downtown.

People talk about “revitalization” as if the downtown needs to be brought back to life. I walked down Main Street just yesterday, and it seemed very much alive. There were people buying hats that cost more than my first car and others buying single-origin coffee that requires a degree in chemistry to order. If that isn’t prosperity, I don’t know what is.

However, amidst all this progress, we have forgotten the simple utility of a gas station located exactly where you might, theoretically, need to put gas in your vehicle. I often stop there to fill my tank, pay my normal price, and look at the Bridgers. It is a quiet moment of reflection before I head back to my house, which I bought for a normal amount of money, a fact I mention to remind others that this town was once a place where things were attainable.

I spoke with Gary, who has worked the counter there since before the condos started appearing like wildflowers in June. Gary told me, “Howard, people come in here for motor oil, a candy bar, and a place to turn around when they realize they’ve accidentally driven onto a one-way street.”

Gary is right. Where will the lost tourists turn around if we replace the pumps with a luxury lobby that requires a security key fob? Where will the local contractors buy their morning beverage of choice, usually a large soda, before heading out to work on the very houses that have made “normal” an obsolete term?

Some say the gas station is “out of place.” They argue it disrupts the aesthetic of the brick facades. I disagree. I think it provides a necessary contrast. It reminds us that Bozeman is not just a postcard; it is a place where engines run, tires rotate, and people occasionally need to purchase windshield wiper fluid at six in the evening.

If we lose the gas station, we lose a piece of the geometry of our daily lives. We are essentially saying that we prefer the concept of a neighborhood over the reality of one. I am sure the developers have beautiful renderings of what could go there—something with “urban density” and “mountain modern” accents—but I fear it will lack the soul of a place where you can get a bag of ice and a map of the county.

I worry that if we remove the last practical thing on Main Street, we will wake up one day in a town that is perfectly curated but entirely unusable. We will have ten thousand places to buy a hand-poured candle and nowhere to buy a quart of oil.

I bought my home for a normal amount of money, and I intend to keep it. I also intend to keep the gas station. It feels like the only thing left that doesn’t require an appointment or an app to access. It is simply there, waiting for those of us who still remember how to operate a fuel nozzle without needing a tutorial from a concierge.

Maybe we should focus less on what we can build and more on what we are choosing to ignore until it is gone. A city, in my view, is defined by the things that don’t change, rather than the things that are constantly being listed on real estate websites.

Howard Benchpress owns a home he bought in 2006 for what he describes as ‘a normal amount of money.’ He brings this up frequently.