FEW places have seen as much change in as short a period of time as Minot, a town of about 50,000 in North Dakota (slogan: “We’re ready for you”). Much of the city is descended from Norwegian stock. The biggest event on its cultural calendar is a celebration of Nordic culture (slogan: “Pure Scandimonium!”). Until about a decade ago, it was the sort of place where people left their homes unlocked and their car keys in the ignition.

Then came the oil boom, spurred by the discovery of new oilfields in the Bakken rock under the ground to the west of the town. That brought with it money and migrants, but also crime and inflation. In the four years to April 2012 the median house value in America fell by a fifth. In Minot it jumped by nearly a third. In the same period Minot’s population grew 14%, compared with 3% for America as a whole. The Hispanic population grew even faster. “The shock for this community came from the diversity of colour and language,” says Tom Barry, the city manager.

After oil, the deluge. In 2011 the Souris river burst its banks and flooded the valley in which the town sits. Overnight 12,000 of the city’s then 40,000-odd residents found themselves homeless. “There wasn’t a spare couch in town,” says Thomas Schmidt, a retired high-school teacher whose house was flooded. It took weeks for the waters to recede, and several months more before people could move back into their homes. The after-effects can be felt to this day. Empty, water-damaged homes still dot the landscape. In March the city broke ground on a new flood wall.

The people of Minot had barely recovered from these twin shocks when they faced another test: the car park debacle. In 2011 the city council approved a $10.5m project for a developer to build parking downtown. It was meant to take three years, but work stalled and in 2015 the city paid the developer another $2.5m. The parking lots were eventually completed, at twice the original budget.

Like much of the Western world, Minot was reeling from rapid change, immigration and inefficient government. For a deeply conservative town in the middle of North Dakota, it was all too much. In 2016, a few months before a political tidal wave hit America, Minot took a radical step of its own. Spurred by a citizens’ initiative, the city voted to overhaul its government, halving the size of the council to seven. Previously only four the 14 aldermen had to contest their seats and Chuck Barney, the mayor, ran unopposed. That has changed.

It seems to have worked. The new council is younger and more dynamic, emphasising the importance of being able to walk around, of making Minot more pleasant and reviving its centre. Despite grumbling by a few older residents about changes—a plan for new rubbish bins echoed previous grievances—the city seems upbeat.

“People are more optimistic today because of the change in the nature of city government,” says Michael Sasser, the editor of the Minot Daily News, a conservative local paper. The long-awaited car parks are functional and local elections on June 12th are attracting competition: three candidates are running for mayor and three open council seats are being fought over by six contenders.

Oil prices are rising again, which could lead to a boomlet, but the town is keen not to repeat the mistakes of the past. It is investing in its downtown and hopes, if not to attract office workers from elsewhere, at least to offer a life vibrant enough to persuade its own educated young people to stay put. Bars and cafes have started popping up. And it is more diverse. Grocery stores selling foreign foods have proliferated, says one councillor proudly, and foreign languages no longer elicit surprise. Minotians once travelled to the Chinatown in Winnipeg, Manitoba—not exactly a metropolis—to shop, says Josh Wolsky, an alderman. But “now everything you can get in Winnipeg you can get here.”