About a year ago, an article caught my eye about a small town in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It claims it’s suffering from too much love.
“We have a love-hate relationship with the tourism industry,” Marquette City Manager Karen Kovacs told the newsletter Bridge Michigan.
Marquette faces a Catch-22 that has become all too familiar across America. Communities and natural spaces are “loved to death” by visitors. And yet, those same visitors are a financial lifeline for local economies. On one hand, towns like Marquette rely on tourism as a critical source of revenue. It keeps small businesses afloat and provides seasonal jobs. On the other hand, the sheer influx of people strains local infrastructure, frustrates residents, and sometimes deteriorates the very charm that drew visitors in the first place.
As we’ve traveled across the country, Jessi and I have noticed this same conundrum present itself in small towns, state parks, and even iconic national treasures. Locals often describe tourists as rude or entitled. But beyond that, their deeper concern usually boils down to respect—or the lack of it. Too many visitors view these destinations as temporary playgrounds rather than fragile ecosystems or tight-knit communities that require care and balance. Trash left behind on a trail, graffiti on rock formations, or excessive Airbnb development slowly chips away at the identity of these places.
Why This Problem Is Growing
Several factors contribute to the intensifying strain, a few of which we’re involved with personally.
Social media exposure can turn a hidden waterfall into a crowded parking lot overnight. That’s why we always walk a fine line when sharing some of the amazing places we visit. We want others to be able to experience them. But if we draw too many visitors there, are we contributing to its demise?
The rise of remote work and increased internet connectivity enables longer stays in areas that were previously inaccessible for people who needed to stay connected to work.
Many small towns and parks were never designed to handle today’s level of tourism. This raises issues from parking shortages to waste management, not to mention wear and tear on things like campsites, electrical connections, water systems, and more. And the larger size of newer RVs isn’t helping.
And while tourists are excited to experience an area for the first time, they get to leave. They don’t have to deal with the long-term consequences of environmental wear.
This all creates a vicious cycle. If tourism declines, locals lose a source of income. If visitation grows unchecked, the area loses its charm, or worse, its ecological stability. That is the essence of the Catch-22.
Preserving Charm Without Closing the Door
The fundamental challenge is to preserve what makes places like Marquette special while not shutting out the world altogether. Locals deserve peace, access, and cultural integrity. Visitors deserve a chance to experience the natural beauty and hospitality of a region. The connection between the two can only thrive through shared responsibility.
The phrase “loved to death” doesn’t have to be the destiny of our most treasured towns and landscapes. With thoughtful planning, firm boundaries, and a culture of respect, it’s possible to navigate this Catch-22. Can we redefine tourism not as a burden, but as a partnership?
We always try to treat an area as our home, even if we’re only living there in our RV for a month, a week, or a couple of days. We want to be welcomed back, and, more importantly, we want that place to still exist for others.
But sometimes we feel like we’re just not doing enough. So you may find us doing a bit more promotion in our videos and posts. We should be encouraging others to treat places they are visiting as if they are the area’s only hope. If enough people start to act that way, then finally we may all be doing enough.
We shot the video above on impulse after we found graffiti and other damage at White Rock Cave in Texas. Unfortunately, we may have to do more of these for a while.