A wife, a pink bear cub, and four dead white guys carved in a rock

This morning when I would have been writing about state laws concerning LGBT equality, I was busy troubleshooting the blog. My friend Lauren was kind enough to text me that our About page was down. It turned out to be an easy fix–all I had to do was delete a problem plug-in–but I figured it out by trial and error. So it was a time-consuming easy fix.

Now we’re in a new state. We entered South Dakota via Highway 16, with no notice at all. There was a sign telling us we were entering the Black Forest, which I almost took a picture of, but no mention that the west end of the Black Forest was also the western border of South Dakota. So, as briefly and completely as possible (likely not really either), I will try to cover the marriage and other LGBT equality laws in the three states I have neglected.

But first I want to direct you to a great post on fivethirtyeight.com. It’s mainly about the likelihood of Maine’s Question 1 getting defeated (the odds are good), but there are some great points about what makes a state more or less likely to pass such initiatives or other legislation. Nate Silver is dazzlingly mathematical, but here are the main points concerning all states, filtered through my humanities brain:

• At the polls, marriage equality bans fall 1.9 percentage points every year.
• Ballot measures that include civil unions in the ban fall 5-6 points each year.
• The two strongest predictive factors for a marriage equality ban succeeding are the religiosity of the population of the state, and when the election happens–since every year the support wanes, and in off years, only the predominant party’s base voters come out to vote.

Now, back to ID, MT, and WY.

Idaho

• As of 2006, when Amendment 2 to the ID Constitution passed at the polls, 63% to 37%, “A marriage between a man and a woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be valid or recognized in this state.” Both civil unions and marriage are prevented by this amendment. [via CNN, Wikipedia]
• After they try to call your parents, your spouse (?), your guardian, or your relative, your same-sex partner can make medical decisions for you.
• Any adult can adopt a minor, and while there is no law prohibiting same-sex couples from jointly adopting or adopting each other’s children, it has never been approved or denied in the courts.
• In Idaho you may not amend your birth certificate to reflect your sex reassignment.
• There are no hate crimes laws concerning LGBT people.
• Nothing prevents discrimination against you for sexual orientation or gender identity.
• There is no safe-schools legislation for LGBT kids. [all of the above via HRC, except as noted]

Montana

• As of 2004 when a Initiative 6 passed at the polls, 66% to 33%, and the Montana State Constitution was amended, “Only a marriage between one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in this state.” [via Wikipedia] There is no legislation concerning civil unions.
• Same-sex partners may not make medical decisions for you unless a written declaration authorizing those decisions is provided–it must be signed and witnessed by two people.
• Unmarried adults can adopt children, and while there is no law prohibiting same-sex couples from jointly adopting or adopting each other’s children, it has never been approved or denied in the courts.
• After sex reassignment surgery, you may get your Montana birth certificate changed to reflect your true gender.
• There are no hate crimes laws concerning LGBT people.
• Nothing prevents discrimination against you for your gender identity. Sexual orientation is protected for public employment only.
• There is no safe-schools legislation for LGBT kids. [all of the above via HRC, except as noted]

Wyoming

• This is the biggest news of all of the research I did tonight: maybe we were married in Wyoming! Same-sex marriage is not permitted in Wyoming. However, twice legislation was introduced to ban recognition of same-sex marriages from other states. And twice it failed. First it died in committee in 2007. And in 2009, an amendment to the state constitution was considered and defeated in the House, 35 votes to 25. So it doesn’t mean we were married. It just means we were not not married. [via Wikipedia]
• A same-sex partner may make medical decisions for you in Wyoming, but practically everyone else in the world (spouse, adult children, parents, adult siblings, grandparent, grandchildren, mailman, housekeeper) has priority. (Those last two are a joke. Just wanted to see if you were still with me.)
• Anyone living in Wyoming for 60 days can adopt children, and while there is no law prohibiting same-sex couples from jointly adopting or adopting each other’s children, it has never been approved or denied in the courts.
• After sex reassignment surgery–and a court order, you may get your Wyoming birth certificate changed to reflect your true gender.
• There are no hate crimes laws concerning LGBT people–or any other group. [via Wikipedia]
• Nothing prevents discrimination against you for your gender identity or sexual orientation. [via Wikipedia]
• There is no safe-schools legislation for LGBT kids. [all of the above via HRC, except as noted]

So there you have it, folks. The legal lowdown on being queer in ID, MT, and WY.

Do you live in one of these states or have an experience concerning the laws or communities in these states? Leave a comment if you have an addition or correction.

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Welcome to Idaho! (Can't you read it?)

What I called our first mistake happened twice today. I’d mapped a dog park along the way to Idaho, one called Ringer Loop in Ellensburg, WA. It sounded like a dream: river access, lots of room to run. We were worried our dogs would be too full of energy, stuck in the car all day like they were.

We headed off the highway, onto one, then another road, passing a salvage yard with rusty, unrecognizable contraptions looming over the fence. The train tracks made us nervous. More nerves: the road abruptly turned to gravel. But we kept going.

Finally we arrived at what seemed to be our spot. A tiny, RV-unfriendly parking lot and a wooden kiosk like they have at every dog park I’ve ever been to. I got out to look at it, but it had no identifying sign, and said nothing about dogs. It only said what you couldn’t do at the park. Shooting was the top item.

I shrugged back at Ami, who had wisely chosen not to enter the parking lot. I looked at our map again and decided the entrance to the park would have to be a little further down the road. So we bounced and shook our way over the gravel until we reached a much smaller, also gravel road. Here we were advised by multiple signs that we couldn’t park wherever the road ended without a permit.

To our left was a field with an irrigation system set up at the far end. To the right were woods. The field had some fencing, but most of it was wide open to the road we were on and another, busier road on the other side of it.

Esmerelda, our puppy, is fixated on Hank. Hank is a runner. Open the door too wide and out he goes. But we’ve had limited success with letting him run around on beaches when we’re the only ones around.

I unstrapped the baby from her car seat and held her in one arm. We stood outside the car, looking from one end of the field to the other. “I’m sure he’ll come back,” I said. Then, “Aren’t you?” If she was, I definitely was sure.

“No,” Ami said. “But if you are, that’s fine.”

So we opened the hatch, and out the dogs came. Esmerelda ran out on one side of the trailer, Hank the other. She circled around the back of it, and joined up with her paramour. The two took off.

Straight down the road.

Ami called them. She honked the horn. I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

Finally I yelled to her, “Get in the car and go get them!”

She took off with the jeep and the trailer, and Frances and I started after them. I saw her get all the way to the larger road and turn. Coming in the other direction was a car with lights on top of it. “Sherriff,” I read when it got closer.

Now, rural Ellensburg is not a place you often see a woman in Crocs walking down a gravel road with a baby, not a single house around. The sherriff stopped when he reached me and rolled down the window. Politely, with a smile tweaking his mustache, he asked, “Everything OK?”

I smiled back. I didn’t laugh. Miracle. “Yes,” I said, maybe a bit enthusiastically.

He nodded and kept going. Our Jeep turned back onto the road, coming towards me. I noticed that the hatchback was lifted. I wondered why the Sherriff didn’t stop and ask her if everything was OK. Poking up in the front seat next to Ami were two panting dog heads.

That’s when I pronounced it our first mistake.

Later, when we pulled in at the RV Park, conveniently located within listening distance of the highway, we let the dogs in the trailer. “This is where we live now,” I told them. Ami and I tried to leave the trailer again to get some more stuff from the car, and both dogs made a break for it. All around the park were nice, early-to-bed campers cursing us from inside their RVs as we whisper-yelled, “Hank! Esmerelda!”

When we got them back, finally, I told Ami, “They’re gonna get us kicked out of here.”

The above picture was taken as we entered Idaho. I swear it says Idaho in big bright letters on the sign. I sat with my iPhone propped on the dash for at least a half mile waiting for it. I made Ami drive 45 on the Interstate while I waited for it to come into view.

She offered to drive back around in the morning so we could try to get the shot again. “No,” I said. “It won’t be night time then.”

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