Fournier: What exactly does a county commissioner do?

Ask a random room full of people what a county commissioner does, and you’ll get a mix of answers:

“Uh … something with roads?”
“Are you like the sheriff’s boss?”
“No idea, but I think I voted for you.”

Fair enough. Honestly, before I became one, I had a solid understanding — but I wasn’t entirely sure either. No one really is until they sit in the seat. I’m still learning new parts of the job every day.

County commissioners are kind of like the operating system of your local government.
We’re not the screen. We’re not the flashy apps. But if we crash? Everything else goes down with us.

It’s not the most visible job in public life. In fact, the better county commissioners are doing, the less visible they often are. But it’s also one of the most impactful — especially in a place like Thurston County, where more than 300,000 people rely on our decisions every day, whether they realize it or not.

We oversee an approximately $600 million budget. That includes everything from public health to parks, land use to emergency response, elections to jails. If something touches daily life in this county, odds are it goes through the county commissioners.

We help set policy, shape long-range planning, approve spending, and, yes, occasionally argue about roundabouts and gophers.

If you’re wondering who decides:

• Whether your road gets plowed after a snowstorm
• Where affordable housing can be built
• How to balance development with conservation
• What happens during a local disaster
• Or how to support mental health, small farms, flood zones, and clean water ...

That’s us, county commissioners.

And while it sounds like a lot (because it is), what the job really comes down to is listening, problem-solving and staying curious.

One of the hardest — and most important — lessons for new public officials to learn is that they don’t need to be a subject matter expert. I need to be a good listener. And that’s harder than it sounds.

Many people come into office with strong backgrounds in law, finance, health care, planning. It’s easy to assume their expertise is what qualifies them to lead. But leadership isn’t about being the smartest person in the room. It’s about asking the right questions, knowing when to step back, and creating space for the real experts — often our frontline staff — to do what they do best.

I’ve spent nearly 30 years in Fire and EMS. It’s a big part of who I am.

But when public safety comes up in my commissioner role, I make a deliberate effort to show deference to the people who are living that reality every day. No matter how much I think I know — they’re the ones solving problems in real time. My job isn’t to dominate the conversation. My job is to support it.

Most days are filled with public hearings, budget meetings, internal briefings and coffee with constituents. I’ve read 100-page planning documents. I’ve been cornered in grocery store aisles about zoning. I’ve sat through public comments about taxes, roosters and how I sit in my chair (yes, really).

I have to know a little bit about everything — the economy, the environment, public safety, behavioral health, broadband, agriculture, housing, transportation, stormwater.

I also have to be honest — and OK — asking questions about the things I don’t know. Yet.
It’s not glamorous. There are no red carpets or motorcades. Just spreadsheets, site visits, long emails, and the weight of real responsibility.

But it matters.

I took this job because I care what happens here — and I believe local government is still the best place to make a tangible difference. Rarely, people call just to share their great experience with the county or our hardworking staff. Not because they aren’t having great experiences but because they don’t realize that their pothole-free road, health-inspected restaurants or their maintained county parks fall into the responsibility of a county commissioner.

I don’t get fanfare. I get responsibility. I get late-night emails about drainage ditches and early-morning calls about snowplows. I get people who are frustrated — and people who just want to be heard.

But I also get the chance to build something lasting.

To help a place grow without losing what makes it feel like home. That’s why I do this work. Not because it’s easy. But because it matters.

Here’s what people often miss: County government touches your life more than almost any other level of government.

It’s where the rubber meets the road. Where we plan for tomorrow while fixing today’s problems. Where we stretch limited resources across a growing, evolving region.

And if we do it well? Most of the time, you won’t even notice your county commissioner.

You’ll just live in a county that’s safer, healthier, more resilient — and a little more human.

So, I’ll keep showing up, reading the spreadsheets, asking the questions, supporting county staff and listening to anyone willing to talk.

Because that’s what county commissioners do.

Even if no one’s quite sure what we are.

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Wayne Fournier is a Thurston County commissioner, former Tenino mayor, firefighter and lifelong community advocate. He believes that small towns are the last frontier of big ideas. He shares stories of civic creativity, leadership and community-building in his regular newspaper column.