One of the things I have loved about my job recently is learning about things that happened in the pioneer days of Utah. Often, I have never heard of these things.
For example, I learned that Capitol Hill in Salt Lake was once called Arsenal Hill because there was an arsenal on it. The arsenal was burned down in 1870 (get it? an arsEnal destroyed by arsOn?), but powder magazines remained on the hill until 1876, when some teenage boys accidentally set them off. The boys were blown to pieces, and rocks and debris flew everywhere, killing a pregnant woman and a three-year-old and damaging hundreds of houses. A Civil War veteran said it was worse than some of the destruction he had seen in the war. The residents at the time thought it was an event that would never be forgotten. But they were wrong, because everyone's forgotten it.
I was also thinking about the recent controversy of Dixie State College becoming Dixie State University. Some people think using the name Dixie with rebel mascots brings to mind slavery. But no one seemed to have a problem with the University of Utah Utes. The Ute tribe used to capture children from other tribes and sell them into slavery. That was one of the issues that fueled the Walker War of 1853, because Brigham Young and the Mormons found that practice abhorrent (and rightfully so, I might add). This doesn't mean that I think the U shouldn't have Utes, and I don't have strong feelings either way about Dixie's mascot, but I do think that if slavery is the only issue at hand, it should be applied consistently.
Back in October, I bought a CD, Saga of the Sanpitch, about Sanpete County. I got it because it had some songs by Cherie Call, my favorite singer, but I grew to like several of the other songs, both for the stories and for the music. Yesterday, the Utah Pioneer Heritage Arts was having a performance that was a preview of their Kane County CD, so I went to it. It was at the Daughters of the Utah Pioneer Museum, which is where the arsenal was once located. I had considered taking a date, but I thought it might be awkward and guessed it would only be old people. I was right. Three of the performers looked to be in their 30s or 40s, and there were two teen or preteen girls (probably there with their parents or grandparents), but other than that I don't think there was anyone under the age of 50. I have nothing against people that age, but I was a little out of place. (And for the record, I don't consider the 50s to be old, just older than me.) I liked the stories they told and sung, and I bought their Sevier County CD, The Valley of the Trails, but I haven't listened to it yet. The Sevier County CD doesn't have Cherie Call on it, but she wrote one of the Kane County songs, so I hope she'll be on that recording.
The last few days were very windy, which is very annoying when it blows over your recycling bin and blows your trash all over the neighborhood. One of the shoeboxes I had recycled ended up on another street. After I came back from the performance, I went through other people's yards, picking up newspapers and pieces of sensitive documents I had torn up. Someone evidently picked up my shoebox, but I still picked up the powdered Gatorade container that was on the next street down. But I didn't go down into the gully of our neighborhood. And I feel like a terrible person for not doing so.
On Friday my family went to see Mary Poppins at Woods Cross High School. It was a very good performance. But I had a bit of a weird experience, thinking, "I graduated from here, moved away on a mission, moved away to college, graduated from college, and here I am back at the beginning." I saw my old French teacher, Mrs. Jamison. On the last day of school she almost told me she hoped I learned French on my mission, but then she thought French would be too easy for me. She hoped to see where I went in the Davis County Clipper. But my mission was never announced in the paper, so she never found out I went English speaking. I talked to her after the play, and I told her I had taken advanced French, but I didn't tell her I went English speaking. (Why I wasn't called on a foreign-speaking mission is still one of the great mysteries of my life.) I also saw Mrs. Wagstaff, the physics teacher, but I didn't think she'd remember me.
I've thought about going in depth explaining why college is better than high school. But that would be like explaining why brownies are better than Smarties.
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