Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea...

Robert Louis Stevenson's "Requiem" ran through my head all day today, as Michael flew home from Perth:  "Here he lies where he long'd to be....Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill."  Luckily, Michael isn't lying anywhere in the "Requiem" sense, but he is still a wanderer--a sailor of many seas, a hunter of adventures--who is finally coming home. I thought of how Michael has done so much to make his year in Australia memorable, including making Australian friends and taking weekend trips cage diving, skydiving, whale watching, swimming with dolphins, beach combing, and surfing.  Still, his heart was home in Utah, and we ached to have him back, as well.  "Wear your helmet," Dave and I told Michael over and over.  When he snowboarded at Snowbird or mountain biked in Moab, we literally meant, "Wear your helmet," but it has since become our shorthand for "Take care of yourself.  Don't get hurt. Come home safe."  



The families of missionaries were out en masse at the airport when I arrived to meet Michael.  Little girls held up posters saying "We Love You!" and "Welcome Home" in bright letters outlined with glitter.  The families gave a whoop when their brother/son/boyfriend arrived. I didn't have a glittery sign for Michael, and I didn't give a whoop, but I still felt the thrill of having a beloved family member home again.  There he was--exhausted after his 26-hour flight from Perth, and carrying his Tibetan painting which he'd hand-carried 5,000+ miles home from Lhasa. 

Dave and I carried home two big bags for Michael when we visited him in Australia in October, but he still had some heavily packed duffel bags, as well as his surf board.

It didn't take long to get Michael back into his Utahn identity.  We stopped by CubeSmart to liberate his car, as Michael described what it felt like to arrive in SLC after a year away.  "This feels like a small, very rustic city, far away from everything and dwarfed by huge, snow-covered mountains.  It feels almost like a ski resort, with people in bulky jackets and knit caps.  I passed the weather crew from the TV station.  They were driving an SUV, rather than a van, and I thought they'd need that here, with the mountains and heavy snow."  That sounded like Montana to me, but Utah may have that same rough, Western vibe. Jonny had the same reaction, of SLC as an exotic, rustic place, as he arrived from Chicago one time.  "I felt like I was the sheriff in 'High Noon,' riding into this dusty Western town for a confrontation with the bad guys," he said. 

After stopping by our house for Michael to wash up, we drove to Pottery Barn, where Michael cashed in $750 in gift certificates to help pay for a king-size bed, bedside stands, and lamps.  Michael will move into his beloved E Street apartment on December 15, and his new bed will be waiting.  We stopped by the apartment on the way home, in the dark.  Michael jumped out to check the perennials he planted last summer.

 

We met Dave at Cafe Rio for some "memory food"--a beef burrito and key lime pie.   Then, home to crash, before leaving on early flights to Columbus, Ohio, to visit Camille for Thanksgiving.

Snowbirds

Dave planned a hike through the Paria Canyon with his work friends for the weekend of November 9-11. He arrived in St. George on Thursday to get the house and yard ready. Alas, the hike and house party was not to be.  Huge snowstorms plowed through northern Utah, packed the freeways, and covered our beloved Pine Mountain in St. George with snow.  Dave canceled the hike, but reserved me the front seat on the St. George shuttle on Friday afternoon ($5 extra), so we could spend the weekend in St. George together (Google image not taken this snowy weekend).

Dave's idea of a cozy weekend was football and relaxation.  "You asked me to drive through snowpacked roads for that?" I asked incredulously.  We compromised with a visit to Iron Mission Days in Cedar City, the first run movie "Flight," a Veterans Day patriotic concert at the Casa Blanca resort in Mesquite, and a seafood buffet.  (Also, a long run for David and unlimited hours of TV news.)

Cedar City was celebrating the 159th anniversary of its founding at Iron Mission Days.  We stopped by the Iron Mission Museum, which was filled with plows, carriages, wagon wheels, and other equipment from pioneer days.   Brigham Young's scouts discovered iron ore near Cedar City and, for decades, the pioneers tried unsuccessfully to develop iron mines.

I was fascinated with the quilt exhibits.  There was a "crazy quilt," made of miscellaneous scraps of velvet and other scarce fabrics, arranged randomly, just like my Grandmother Eyring made.  My favorites, of the other quilts, were the t-shirt quilt, the flour sack quilt, and the asylum quilt.  I loved the videos in which the creators or curators of the quilts told their stories.

The fellow who made the t-shirt quilt explained that the patterns on t-shirts expressed his loves and interests as a boy--Elvis Presley, Superman, Dr. Seuss.  The quilt encapsulated his memories and past good times.

 

The woman who made the flour sack quilt said that each sack was from a business owned by her husband's family or was from a town they had visited.  Her husband wanted her to make a quilt that included sacks from the family flour mill, and he searched through antique stores until he found enough other sacks to make the quilt.

The curator from the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers Museum in SLC explained that the asylum quilt was made by the inmates of Salt Lake's Asylum for the Insane during the 1880s.  The new director of the Asylum thought that the mental health of the inmates would be improved if they had something useful to do, rather than laying about, listless. 

The Museum was full of craftsmen during Iron Mission Days.  I watched volunteers roll out dough and then bake it in a brick oven.

I watched a woman spin yarn from wool from Cedar City sheep, and another woman make placemats from the dyed wool. 

 

Outside, visitors dipped candles and little girls made cotton ball dolls at the schoolhouse.

 

My favorite display was the cider press.  Volunteers washed and chopped apples and squeezed them through a wooden press.  They made the best cider I have ever tasted. 

 

The Museum grounds displayed the first cabin built in Southern Utah, in 1853, and also the Hunter House, from several decades later.  Dave and I were sure the Hunter who built the Hunter House was an ancestor of our neighbors, since our Hunters come from a pioneer sheep-herding family in Cedar City.  The Hunter House included displays of pioneer era furniture and explanations of how the styles evolved from the styles of England and Scandinavia.

Dave and I thoroughly enjoyed "Flight," with Denzel Washington.  It told the story of an airline pilot who crash-landed a defective plane in a storm, despite being drunk and on cocaine.  There were exciting action scenes, but also a thought-provoking look at the consequences of addiction.

 

We drove south to Mesquite for dinner at Casa Blanca's Saturday night seafood buffet.  Two plates were not enough for my pasta with shrimp and prime rib, as well as carrot cake, mussels, crab legs...

St. George's Southwest Symphony played a concert for Veteran's Day.  The veterans in the audience stood and were applauded as the musicians played their service's anthem.  Dave stood to the strains of the Air Force anthem, "From the Halls of Montezuma."  We loved the Sousa marches and movie themes for such shows as "Midway."  The crowd was distinctly vintage, and I left, disappointed that I hadn't the courage to ask for photos of veterans with Air Force caps, suspenders, and medals.
















Church in Rockville, followed by a hike in Zions, was part of my Great Compromise with Dave.  When we heard that there were 18 inches of snow in our driveway, we cut short the trip and headed home.  We treated ourselves to one last exotic meal at Cafe Med, in SLC, which has an Iranian chef and flies the flags of Egypt, Greece, and Turkey. 

We then confronted the snow.

Elephant Hill--Ultimate Red Rock

Ever since Dave and I first started vacationing with Dave's mom and dad in Canyonlands, soon after we were married, we've wanted to go back.  The 4-wheel drive tour of Canyonlands was a Spendlove tradition nearly as strong as the annual desert trip through western Utah.  Dave's dad drove over Elephant Hill, the Suburban crashing over boulders and Dave's mom getting out to walk.  He cruised past the Needles, bumped down the Silver Stairs, and circled out through Beef Basin, as all the kids marveled at his courage and manliness.

We finally did return to Canyonlands, the weekend of November 2-4, 2012, and we thought about Dave's dad all day.  We also thought about all father/son relationships, as our guide, Kevin, and an archeologist fellow-traveler, Steve Allen, told us their stories of becoming isolated from their fathers through rebellion, and then being reunited again.  It was an amazing day, not only for the sights we saw, but for the stories we heard and the memories that floated back.

We began the day early, with great homemade granola at a little bakery/cafe in downtown Moab.

It was nearly two hours drive from Moab to Elephant Hill, inside Canyonlands.  We were ready for the challenge when we finally arrived.  Kevin was a master driver, and one of the thrills of the day was seeing just how rough the road could be, and our Lexus still crawl over it.  It was hard for me to show, in photographs, just how steep and rough Elephant Hill was.

The view down was spectacular, as was the view onward into Needles.

We drove past gorgeous red rock, pausing, during the day, to check out Anasazi rock art.  Kevin pointed out the green plant that often grows next to rock art.  It is hallucinogenic and may have a religious purpose.  The rock art was hard to photograph, red on red against the canyon wall.

We paused for lunch in a shady rock alcove.  We were fascinated with Steve, who is writing a two-volume book on place names in Utah.  He is telling the stories of miners, cowboys, and pioneers who left their traces in the names of towns and landmarks.  Steve had a fascinating personal story, as well.  He grew up in Palo Alto, the son of a wealthy businessman and his archeologist/physician wife.  As a teenager, Steve grew a beard and long hair and his dad refused to support him or pay for his education.  Steve ate out of garbage cans and eventually put himself through school in Colorado.  He developed a chain of auto repair stores, became independently wealthy, and now spends weeks wandering around isolated areas of Utah, as well as doing fund-raising for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance.  He has previously published Utah guide books that have sold more than 50,000 copies. 

While we waited for lunch, Steve walked with us through the desert landscape, identifying desert plants and telling us about rock formations and "sinks," where streams just disappeared into the ground.

the sink

We dropped Steve off, with 16 liters of water, by the side of the road.  He planned to hike four miles further, to a camping spot, and then spend a week searching for Indian rock art and for cowboy inscriptions from the 1880s.

Another highlight of the day was hiking through a slot canyon into Chesler Park.  It was dark in the canyon, and visitors had built many cairns to show the way.

We emerged onto a plateau, with formations of the Needles all around us.

We climbed high up on the red rock and just enjoyed the beauty all around us.

We enjoyed getting to know our guide, Kevin, who was a combat veteran from Iraq.  He had conquered addictions, was fighting back PTSD, played the trumpet in bands in Phoenix during the winter, and hoped to fulfill his dream of becoming a national park ranger.  He was talented and delightful, and we wished him the best future possible.

We climbed through glorious red rock country to the Silver Stairs, where we paused.

We then had another hair-raising descent over rocks decidedly not created for automobiles.

It was up and over Elephant Hill again, and then savoring the views of sunset over red rocks in the fall, as we drove back to Moab.

Dave and I love the Red Cliffs Lodge, on the Colorado River outside Moab.  We finished our weekend enjoying dawn over the Colorado.