I have been to Utah before, but this time around I was surprised by the sky, the wide streets, the smallness of the trees, the nearness of the mountains, the blocky, plainness of the architecture. The mountains were bare--at least those near the University. In the morning, the sun was so bright. I did not bring sunglasses. I got sunburned. In the afternoons it was windy, and a strange foggy haze dulled the sky to white.
The University of Utah campus reminded me, somewhat painfully, of the Colorado State campus. Even the athletic arena was similar to old Moby Arena--a big ugly dome. I looked down into the swimming pool, which was huge and full of lap-swimmers and pennant flags on the wall from the WAC and the Mountain West--my old athletic conference. I wouldn't mind swimming in that pool. It has been a long time.
I liked the library, which was glassy and bright, even inside, and there was a book studio within the library, where apparently some writing students study the history of the book and manuscripts in unusual forms, like Kerouac's original On The Road (he wrote it on one long scroll), and other students bind up their own specimens.
The ground was mostly bare and brown, but there were a few patches of dirty snow lying around despite the fact that it was too warm to wear my jacket.
One of my tour guides took me to the Gilgal Sculpture Garden, the lifework of Thomas Battersby Child, Jr.
Child was a member of the LDS Church; this part of the garden was his interpretation of "Nebuchadnezzar's Dream" of a giant split into pieces and scattered across the earth, like countries and like the people of God.
Somehow I forgot to take a photo of the Sphinx with Joseph Smith's face, or the sacrificial altar built to thank the pioneers for the sacrifices they made...One chapter of the Book of Mormon--The Miracle of the Gulls--tells the story of an infestation of giant crickets. God sent seagulls to devour the swarm and the pioneers survived. When I spent the summer in Elko a few years ago I was lucky enough to witness a swarm of these "Mormon Crickets." They were everywhere, and huge, covering every inch of the road on one mountain pass. Kneeling down to get a good look, I watched the live ones devour the dead. It's said that cars have wrecked driving over them because their carcasses make the road so slick. The smell of them was awful--something like burnt vegetable oil--and the road was completely red with them. As the car rolled over them they caked its underside. Even a carwash couldn't wash the smell of them away. There were enough in a square mile to feed a thousand gulls.
The garden includes a self-portrait of Child in a fantastic pair of brick pants.
Then we stopped at the public library, which was almost as cool as the Seattle Public Library.
You can go out on the roof for a look at the mountains, rising up behind the flat part of town.
And down in the basement, in the children's room, was a special room that felt like a ship.
And another like an ice cave.
On a long walk alone, I had to stop in the middle of this street. I was relieved when I made it back to the TRAX train and got out of the brightness and the wind. I felt like a cricket out there. I like the desert, really, and Colorado, too, is pretty bare, but I guess I've gotten used to trees, and moss, and a darker shade of clouds in the sky. I'm glad that I know Salt Lake City is green in the summer, even if the trees and grass are not exactly natural. And the canyons, tangled with cottonwoods and willows, have a weathered, golden beauty about them that I love. And the mountains are so close! And the people I met seemed pretty cool.
It is strange, though. Before I lived in Seattle, I used to love waking to the sound of rain. Then, for a while after we moved here, I stopped liking that sound--more rain! I would think. Ugh! But lately, I find that I like it again. I suppose I might change my mind if it keeps up until June, but for the time being, it isn't so bad.
No comments:
Post a Comment