When one mentions Utah, the hearer’s mind usually goes in one of two directions. The hearer either pictures the famous national parks in the south of the state or more likely, they think of Mormons and all associated with the religion. When one goes so far as to say that you have chosen Utah as your spring break destination, the questions abound. This past spring break, I enjoyed one of my favorite vacations in a land overflowing with God’s incredible handiwork as well as thought-provoking history.
The first park we visited, Zion, we spent the shortest amount of time exploring yet it provoked quite a few contemplations. We entered the park and it took our breath away from the first moment we saw the majestic mountains tower around us. The colors painted on those rock faces astounded us in a way we could not capture by our puny cameras. We learned that the park had its origins in the paintings an artist made and took back to Washington. The people who viewed these paintings believed the artist must have imagined the scenes; he could not possibly have painted these images from real life. These colors could not possibly exist in reality. They sent people to check out the area. These eye witness reports convinced many that the area should be preserved for all future generations. I also had a thought, based on the “Rise Up” t-shirt I wore that day. Our founding fathers, when they set in motion the events that eventually led to the creation of our country, had no idea what unspeakable beauty, lay with in its eventual borders. Mind. Blown.
We next headed to Bryce Canyon for park number two. I knew little about the park, or any of the parks we visited, so when we first saw the canyon, I squealed in delight, literally. Astounding beauty met our gaze everywhere we turned. If we could not comprehend the beauty of Zion, we could only approach the stunning splendor of Bryce Canyon full of hoodoos, wind-weathered rocks jutting up from the canyon’s sloping surface, and bright red rock alternately painted by snow yet to melt for the summer.
A little bit of history appeared on the radar as we walked from Sunrise Point to Sunset Point. A trailside sign told of the origin of the name, Bryce Canyon. In the late 1800s, a Mormon couple by the name of Bryce, settled a nearby town building a church structure that still exists today. Their own home, however, lasted only for the short time the couple and their growing family lived there before moving on to other untouched areas of Utah to establish churches and proselytize. The sign also displayed photographic images of the two buildings placed side by side. This sign showed the enormous influence of Mormon pioneers. Even in the most remote areas of Southern Utah, their influence seeped around every corner. This steady creep of settlers easily spread the religion geographically due to the lack of already established people groups in many of these areas.
After the majestic grandeur of Bryce, we next visited Capitol Reef, a park situated in a remote valley amongst mountains full of stone used to form the grand, white facades of capitol buildings. The other half of the name comes from the etymology of the word reef meaning a barrier to movement, more commonly used to denote landforms underwater. On the map, Capitol Reef ranked as the smallest park we would visit. The experience Mom and I had in the park, however, ranked as our favorite without question. A quick initial glance showed a historical town, Fruita, nestled into the widest portion of the valley. This town existed for about seventy years, never growing beyond approximately twelve Mormon settler families. They eked out an existence with what they farmed, primarily fruit tree orchards still bearing fruit today. The first historical structure we encountered, a blacksmith shop dug out of a hill, held testimony from one of the former residents. He described the utter isolation of the town and the interdependence of the residents; you got along because you had no choice. Settlers accessed the town via a wagon road until well into the twentieth century. We marveled both at the voluntary isolation of the settlers and also at the surrounding brilliance.
At one point, I continued on a trail to a vista point overlooking the Fremont River valley and the town. I paused a few times on my trek to gaze in wonder and ponder whether any of the kids growing up in Fruita had ever explored this trail on a summer afternoon or if they had become numb to the beauty and history ever present around them. Later that day we viewed, in quick succession, a one room schoolhouse, petroglyphs that pre-dated known Native American tribes that once lived and traveled through the area, and petroglyphs of much more recent origin, the Mormon pioneers that settled the area. We drove out of the park reflecting on the natural beauty and the chosen isolation of the former Fruita residents contrasted by our arrival in Moab, an oasis of civilization near the peak of its population thanks to Jeep Week.
Over the next two days we visited one of Canyonlands’ three distincts and arches. I will admit that after Capitol Reef, my brain had reached peak stunning landscape image input. By this point, Mom and I repeatedly commented on our disbelief at just how much captivating splendor one state can hold. IN Canyonlands we gazed out over a vast canyon at the base of which former mining roads still crisscrossed, indelibly etched into the canyon surface, evidence of lasting human impact. This reminded me of some signs I had seen in yards we passed during the Salt Lake City Half Marathon, “Save Bears Ears.” I explained the recent controversy to Mom, how President Obama expanded the territory under the protection of Grand Escalante National Monument and created Bears Ears National Monument only to have President Trump rescind those protections in the interest of potential mining and oil drilling. I already knew how I felt about this issue prior to walking in those landscapes. Afterwards, I feel even more passionately in support of preservation and stewardship, of leaving a positive yet minimal impact.
By the week’s end, I found myself pushing forward on a few hikes that under other circumstances I likely would have bypassed. These hikes, while no where near rock climbing status, lacked security blankets. That does not mean that the Park did not dispense crucial advice and recommendations. Rather, that signifies that these paths abutted significant drop offs without handrails and other such man-made safety features. While I did coax Mom way out of her comfort zone for the sake of a picture at Delicate Arch, for the most part, I continued on alone, reaching heights I could have never imagined. On these hikes, you put down a down payment knowing not only that the journey will cost a little but also that the payoff would net a sizeable return on investment. Many times I refrain from starting something, intimidated by the expenditure – physical, mental, or financially – involved, and miss out on phenomenal investment return.
As I draw this lengthy entry to a close, I mention the most significant takeaway. For hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years, these magnificent landscapes swathed this countryside in beauty unobserved by human eyes. For what purpose? Why would God bother to “go to all this work” when no one would see and praise Him. Jesus once said that if people ceased to praise him, the rocks would cry out. Even without a puny human audience, these stones proclaimed God’s handiwork. Having looked upon His masterpiece of creation, how can I do less?