Salt Lake City Cemetery

Oh ye mountains high, where the clear blue sky 

Arches over the vales of the free. 

Where the pure breezes blow and the clear streamlets flow, 

How I've longed to your bosom to flee! 

O Zion! Dear Zion! land of the free! 

Now my own mountain home, unto three I have come; 

All my fond hopes are centered in thee.

—Oh Ye Mountains High, by Charles W. Penrose. Included in LDS Hymnal.
 

During July of 1847 the first Mormon wagon trains began rolling down Emigration Canyon of the Wasatch Mountains into the Salt Lake Valley. They had been driven from their homes by mobs in Illinois and Missouri and sought a refuge where they could worship in peace. 

These were hardy and faithful pioneers of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, a religion formed just 15 years earlier by Joseph Smith, a man they revered as Prophet. The young man, Joseph, visited with angels and translated an ancient record that became known as the Book of Mormon. Thousands of converts from the eastern United States and Europe joined the young religion. 

Old church on the south side of the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

Flanked by snow-capped mountains on their eastern edge, they began to build a city. They laid out streets, built small adobe or log homes, diverted water and planted crops. They also began construction of a magnificent temple. This would be a place where the Saints could gather and gain strength. This would be their Zion. 

But as sure as the sun comes up, it didn't take long before the first deaths occurred in the valley. On August 11, three-year old Milton Therlkill drowned in a pond that had been dammed along City Creek. In September, Caroline Grant died of cholera 75 miles east of Salt Lake on her trek west. Her body was brought to the valley for burial. Two weeks later Nancy O'Neil Rich, mother of Charles Rich, died of pneumonia. She is memorialized as the first white woman to die in the valley. They were buried in a field outside the new fort. 

A year later on September 27, 1848, the young daughter of George and Melisssa Wallace passed away. Instead of burying her down by the fort, her father chose to inter her body in a place more secluded on the east bench. The lot was owned by a relative, Daniel Wallace. A month later, an infant son of the Wallace's died and was buried next to his sister. Other people followed suit and soon there were several burials at this site in the foothills. 

In 1849 a committee was selected and it was decided that this site in the foothills would become the permanent city cemetery. George Wallace was appointed sexton. All burials from that time forward were to be interred in the new cemetery. With exception of a few, many of the previous burials were exhumed and relocated to the new burial ground. 

Graves of Francis Armstrong and his family.

Nowadays the Salt Lake City Cemetery is mammoth in size and is one of the largest city-owned cemeteries in the United States. It covers 150 acres and has 9 ½ miles of roads. 

To an outsider, the Salt Lake Cemetery may seem average. But to anyone who has an inkling of the history of the Mormon Church, this cemetery is dense with prominent figures. From Apostles to Prophets, to poets and architects, this cemetery is a treasure trove. 

Until now, I had only been to the cemetery once. That was twenty years ago and I longed to return. On a recent trip to the city, my wife was kind enough to let me visit again. 

The cemetery is located in “The Avenues” of Salt Lake. It's a beautiful area with many old homes and a few steep roads. My father-in-law grew up here. It is a place where people of all faiths, or no faith, can take walks and enjoy the peace. 

I parked on the side of the road and began walking randomly toward the north. The first thing that struck me was how many burials were from the 1800's. A lot! I knew that all these people were pioneers, contributing to the cause in their own special way. 

It didn't take long to find the first familiar name: Truman O. Angell. Anyone who knows just a smidgen of Church History knows that Truman O. Angell was the architect of the Salt Lake Temple, which is probably the most historical structure in Utah. Born in Rhode Island, Angell joined the church at age 23. He quickly immersed himself in the work of the church by serving a mission and helping the construction of some early church buildings. He came west with the Saints, having buried three children along the way. He arrived in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847 and Brigham Young appointed him as the church architect. It is interesting that during the construction of the temple, Young sent him to Europe to study the designs of buildings over there. Consequently, the Salt Lake Temple looks more like a European cathedral than any other temple. Additionally, Angell designed several other buildings and temples for the church. 

Truman O. Angell.

To understand Mormon culture is to understand the reverence that is paid to their leaders. The highest of those leaders is the President of the Church, also known as Prophet, Seer and Revelator. There have only been 17 of them since the founding of the church in 1830. The majority are buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. 

As I walked through the stone grave markers I came across several Prophets. The first was Wilford Woodruff, the fourth President of the church, serving until his death in 1898. He was noted for issuing “The Manifesto,” the document which ended plural marriage in the church. 

Grave of Wilford Woodruff, fourth President of the church.

I also passed by the graves of several members of the Smith family, including Joseph F. Smith, his son Joseph Fielding Smith, and a distant cousin, George Albert Smith. All of these are related, but not directly descended from church founder Joseph Smith. 

The tomb of George Albert reads: “He understood and disseminated the teachings of Christ and was uncommonly successful in putting them into practice. He was kindly, patient, wise, tolerant, and understanding. He went about doing good.” 

Graves of Joseph Fielding Smith and family.

George Albert Smith.

With great joy I came across the grave of Thomas S. Monson, sixteenth president of the church. Of all the familiar burials I encountered this day, his was the only one I had seen or met in person. He didn't pass away until 2018. As a friend of my wife's grandmother, he came to her husband's funeral and it was there that I shook his hand. He was a very personable man. 

Graves of Thomas Spencer Monson and wife, Frances.

Although the Prophet Brigham Young was buried separately in a location downtown, one of his plural wives, Harriett Amelia Folsom Young, is buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. She died 33 years after her husband and bears a large tombstone over her grave. Tributes describe her as tall, queenly, intelligent, of a fair complexion, and an accomplished pianist and vocalist. 

Another wife of a a famous pioneer was Mary Garn, the wife of Lot Smith (no relation to Joseph). I don't know much about Mary, but Lot was a leader of the Militia and fought in battles against the Indians. He was killed by a Navajo near Tuba City, Arizona in 1892. 

Harriett Amelia Folsom Young, plural wife of Brigham Young.

Buried relatively close to each other are Apostles Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow. It is interesting how the path of these two men intertwined throughout the history of the church. Orson Pratt was the first to join the church. He was ordained an elder and served a mission where he met and taught Erastus Snow. Pratt became an apostle first, being one of the original twelve ordained under the hands of Joseph Smith. He was also a writer, historian, philosopher, and mathematician. In 1847 he used his math skills to design an “odometer” that would measure the distance traveled on the trek west, via the rotation of the wagon wheel. He and Erastus Snow were the first Mormons to enter the Salt Lake Valley, arriving three days ahead of the vanguard group. In 1860 they served a mission together in the Eastern States.

Orson Pratt, one of the original twelve apostles ordained by Joseph Smith.

Erastus Snow.

Another Apostle buried in the Salt Lake Cemetery is George Q. Cannon. The Q stands for “Quayle” and even today in Utah you will occasionally find the same middle name, usually given in honor of George Q. He was one of the first missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands and became an apostle after the murder of Parley P. Pratt. 

In addition to church leaders, there were many headstones honoring those of lay members. One such person that stood out was Moses Deming, who died in 1871. It was obvious that a newer headstone had replaced the older one. His obituary in the Deseret News stated: “He embraced the gospel in Michigan, and has been in Utah about eighteen years. He died in full faith in the gospel and leaves a large family and a numerous circle of friends to deplore his death.” 

George Q. Cannon.

Moses Deming, an ordinary pioneer buried in the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

But of all the graves I sought the most to find in the Salt Lake City Cemetery, it was that of my great-great-great-great-grandfather, John Workman. The only other time I came to this cemetery—20 or so years ago—I came across his grave, feeling lucky to find it out of the thousands. Back then it had the original headstone, falling apart and nearly illegible. Since then they have replaced it. 

John Workman was the first in his family to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. They were living in Overton County Tennessee when two Mormon Elders sought to lodge in their home. Never turning away a traveler in need of food and rest, they welcomed the Elders. John found the message taught by the Elders had struck a familiar chord. 

They were baptized and eventually moved to Nauvoo to join the Saints. There they were persecuted strongly by the mob and eventually his wife, Lydia, succumbed to the persecution and died. She was buried in the Nauvoo Cemetery. 

After being driven from Nauvoo by the mob, John Workman and his family migrated west to the Salt Lake Valley where he died just three years later.  His new headstone lists all 20 of his children! 

Graves of John Workman, Mary Chidester (great-granddaughter), Abram (grandson) and Julia (granddaughter-in-law) Workman.

Salt Lake Temple icon is a popular engraving on LDS headstones.

I continued to wander the cemetery. There was too much to take in and too little time. It was interesting to note that many of the modern headstones had engravings of the Salt Lake Temple, whose designer, Truman O. Angell, was buried just a short distance away. 

Not too far beyond the graves of Mormon pioneers there is a Jewish section. Technically, I believe, it is a different cemetery, named the B'nai Israel Cemetery. There were no fences and no signs to distinguish it from the grander Salt Lake City Cemetery. Here the headstones were marked with different symbolism, usually the Star of David or menorah. Gravestones tended to be placed closer together, similar to those I had seen in pictures of Jewish cemeteries in Eastern Europe. Writing on these markers came in English, Hebrew, and sometimes Arabic. 

It seems like the Jews make their mark just about everywhere, and Utah was no exception. The first Jewish families came to Salt Lake during the 1850's. They built buildings and contributed to the community. In 1869, Brigham Young offered them land for the purpose of constructing a cemetery. From 1917 to 1921, Simon Bamberger, a Jew, was Governor of Utah. He is buried in the B'nai Israel Cemetery. 

The B'Nai Israel Cemetery is located next to the Salt Lake City Cemetery.

Headstone with various languages, including Arabic and Hebrew.

Like I stated earlier, the Salt Lake City Cemetery is huge. I could come back every day for a year and find something new each time. There are other Jewish sections, as well as a Catholic cemetery. An hour and a half was certainly not enough time to see all I wanted. 

Toward the end of my wanderings, I came across the large headstone of another familiar name: Charles W. Penrose. If you recall, at the beginning of this writing I included the first verse of his beloved hymn, Oh Ye Mountains High. Penrose was born in London and joined the church in 1850 at the age of eighteen. He was immediately called to serve a mission in England and it was there that he penned this hymn—before he even set foot in the Salt Lake Valley. He later emigrated to Utah and in 1904 was ordained an Apostle. 

As I left the cemetery, I envisioned it laid out like a giant quilt. It was a patchwork, with everyone faithful and diligent in their own little section, but when sewn together, helping to create something bigger than themselves. I was only able to identify a few of the bigger “patches.” I knew that this cemetery was full of smaller, anonymous patches who came to Zion and did their part, but would never be known but to a few of their own descendants. ♠

 

Grave of Charles W. Penrose.

 

Slots-A-Fun

When I was a teenager my Grandpa Lacy used to take me and my brother to Las Vegas for a week at a time. We always stayed at Circus Circus. He would play poker all day, my grandma would either shop or watch T.V. in the hotel room, and my brother and I would be turned loose to wander The Strip. I can't imagine doing that with my kids today, but that's what we did back then and it was a fun experience.

At least once a trip, Grandpa would take us to a small casino near Circus Circus called Slots-A-Fun. This was back when Vegas had all the good meal deals. There we would order foot-long hot dogs for $1. There was nothing fancy about them, but they were a good deal. Thinking back on it brings nostalgia.

Since then I have went to Slots-A-Fun with my own kids and have been disappointed to learn that they no longer sell foot-long hot dogs. Instead, there is a Subway. Definitely not as fun!

Now I have found a new Slots-A-Fun. These are found in the canyons of the Colorado Plateau and have been carved by Mother Nature over millions of years. Some of these draw thousands of visitors, while others are seldom known. They are beautiful to the eye, but lethal if caught in them at the wrong time.

These photos are of a recent hike with my daughter. They are in a "secret" canyon that is unfortunately known to way too many people. ♠

 

First Impressions of Cancún

View from our hotel balcony.

Our first experience with Cancún was bizarre, but should have been expected considering we were in Mexico. 

As soon as we got off our plane and went through immigration and entered the outer rooms of the airport, there were solicitors . . . EVERYWHERE! The first ones tried to get us to pay for a taxi or shuttle, then they talked about rentals and tour packages. They tried committing us to round-trip service and it was all exorbitantly expensive considering our hotel was only fifteen minutes away! 

I'll bet there were over 200 people waiting for vulnerable passengers to leave the airport. (We were the first flight of the day.) 

Local man selling trinkets on the beach.

We paid way too much for a taxi to our hotel. Not five minutes after getting settled into our room we got a knock at the door. It was the “concierge,” a young Mexican lady named Zulema, who asked to come in our room. She spent the next thirty minutes trying to commit us to attend a “presentation” so we could get discounts on tours and food. I was tired of it all. I just wanted to nap and then pay for what I wanted. 

That was the Cancún we walked into. Not what we were expecting. But beyond that, Cancún was a paradise. 

Swimming with turtles.  Snorkeling is one of the many activities available in Cancun.

Our hotel was the biggest and best I have ever stayed in. And right on the beach—with turquoise-blue water and fine white sand. 

We stayed in the Hotel Zone, which is a long strip of land that straddles a lagoon and the Caribbean Sea. It is lined with huge hotels, all multiple stories and many shaped like pyramids. 

After getting past the promotions and salesmen, Cancún was wonderful. It wasn't as warm as we expected, but it was December after all. When the sun hid behind a cloud and the wind picked up, it became a bit chilly. 

Sunset in Cancun.

We spent hours relaxing on the beach watching the turquoise water and people walking past. Two storks flew in front of us, circling above in the wind, then plunging in a nose-dive into the water, resurfacing in a split second and casually floating on the water. 

Even though the beach was relaxing, it wasn't without its share of salesmen. Swarthy Mexicans walked back and forth selling handicrafts, cigars and Tequilla. Water sports galore could be found all up and down the coast. Jenelle paid 1,300 pesos to be pulled by a boat and lifted into the air on a parasail. 

Jenelle on her way parasailing.

I took note that almost all exchanges on the coast could be made in U.S. Dollars, or pesos. Almost everyone spoke some level of English. I can speak Spanish, which came in handy once in a while.

Are things expensive? Mostly, yes. But very much on par with American prices. One could eat on a budget if they knew where to go, or picked up food from a grocery store. But a dinner in most of the restaurants could lighten your wallet. 

And she's up in the air!

We spent two days in Cancún, which was only long enough to get a taste. Would I come again? Maybe one more time, but I would prefer to spend my time further away from the tourist-trap resorts. 

Pros: Absolutely beautiful. Great place to get pampered if you have the money. Warm. Fun atmosphere. Clean. 

Cons: Too many pushy salesmen. Too expensive. Too touristy. Lack of authentic culture (which is lost any time a place caters to the demands of tourism). ♠

. . . and now she's way up there!!!

 

Flight Over the Grand Canyon

My beautiful and thoughtful wife arranged for me to go on a scenic flight for my birthday. We usually stay simple with our gifts, so I was surprised with her generosity. 

I've flown several times commercially over the years, but I believe the last time I flew non-commercially was in 1991 when I was 17 years old! Our wrestling team mixed up the dates of the State Tournament and when the officials called our principal to ask why we weren't there yet, he immediately recruited two pilots with planes to fly us ! Well, that's another story . . . 

This morning—in 2021—we met Eric at the Cedar City Regional Airport at seven in the morning. Eric's wife is a friend of Jenelle and he owns his own plane. 

1967 Piper Cherokee 180.

I will admit that I was a bit nervous when I saw the plane. It was much smaller than I thought it would be. The single-engine Cherokee 180 was built in 1967. It looked like a gnat compared to some of the other planes. Any bit of turbulence, I thought, would toss it around like a paper airplane! 

We stepped onto the right-side wing and through the only door. Jenelle sat in the back of the four-seat aircraft. She had almost no leg room. Eric and I sat in front with the controls, I on the left. 

A panel of gauges and buttons sat before us, with control yokes and brakes on each side. Laying on the dash was a headset for each of us. Soon we were ready to go. The thought crossed my mind that if I were to break down in my 1997 Chevy Silverado, then I would be stuck on the side of the road. On the other hand, if I were to break down in a 1967 Cherokee 180 while thousands of feet in the air, well then . . .

But there was no need to worry. Eric was an experienced pilot with several hours flying this very plane. Within five minutes the propeller was fired up and we were gliding above the houses and hills of Cedar City. 

Northern rim of the Grand Canyon.

I am blessed to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. The mountains, canyons and desert all come together to create a dazzling landscape. 

At our maximum elevation we reached 10,500 feet and traveled 120 knots (or about 140 mph). I am amazed at the aerophysics that can keep a plane of any weight up in the air. 

The Dome.

We traveled directly south, first paralleling I-15 and then cutting across Apple Valley and Colorado City. I will admit that it was harder to see than I thought it would be. The control panel came up high in front and the view out the window was partially blocked by the wing. The sun that rose in the east cast a shadow on much of the landscape on my side of the window. 

Even though I spend a lot of time on Google Maps, it is a whole different game watching the ground from an airplane. For one thing, everything is three-dimensional, especially with the morning sun casting shadows on every little contour. I noticed mesas, lakes, valleys and ranches that I never knew existed.

Road on the southern rim of Grand Canyon.

We continued south, flying over the Arizona Strip and approached Tuckup Canyon. This is where the Grand Canyon begins. This is part of the Tuckup Corridor, which is one of a few alleyways where you are allowed to fly over the Grand Canyon. Large swaths of the canyon are forbidden to aircraft. 

The Grand Canyon is gigantic! I have been hiking in it nearly half a dozen times, yet have barely scratched the surface. Most of the space within the canyon is so rugged that it has scarcely seen a human foot. 

A rare glimpse of the Colorado River.

Mount Sinyella.

At the very bottom of the sheer rocks the Colorado River flows like a ribbon. We caught a few glimpses, but it was so deep, usually blocked by cliffs, and my view was so limited that I didn't get too many looks. 

Our flight over the Grand Canyon reminded me how much more I need to explore. There are a few trails scattered throughout the canyon, but there is so much more that has no access: mesas with no way up and canyons with no way down. 

I saw monoliths I had never seen before. White-water rapids on the river appeared as silky webs. I saw unknown canyons that I yearned to know the name of and hike. 

Kaibab Plateau and Mount Trumball.

After making a couple loops, it was time to head back. The Kaibab Plateau on the north side of the canyon is heavily forested with tall pine trees. In the distance I could see Mount Trumball. Before us again lay the Arizona Strip, not looking nearly as big and long as it does when you're driving it. 

We passed over Zion Canyon and the Kolob region of Zion National Park. It certainly added a different perspective to this land of beauty. I don't know how anyone can look at these towering white and pink cliffs without a feeling of awe. It reminded me that even close to home, there are many places I have yet to traverse. 

Mt. Kinesava (left) and The West Temple in Zion National Park.  Pine Valley Mountain in background.

Timber Top Mountain in Kolob Canyon area.

Once again we found ourselves flying over the I-15 corridor. I watched out the window at the cars moving on the freeway, the dry lake of Quichapa, the Iron Hills west of town, and all the new subdivisions being built. 

In a subtle but sure manner, we descended toward the airport which sat directly to our front. Without having to turn to the right or the left, we set our wheels perfectly and softly on the white dotted lines of the runway. Withing two minutes we had safely stopped and were now on terra firma! ♠

 

 

Sea of Cortez

My first impression was the stillness of the water. Very small waves. Shallow. Low-tide revealing a plethora of tide pools with small, but perfectly intact shells. 

Today we took a boat ride further south into the sea. Along the shore we passed white-washed beach homes, resorts, unfinished hotels, beach-goers, sand dunes and dry rocky mountains in the distance. The day was flawless, with almost no clouds and a perfectly serene surface of water. 

Jenna spotted a school of dolphins. They swam in our direction, occasionally arcing out of the water, their fins pointing skyward. As they moved closer they swam directly beneath our boat, then followed us for a short distance. 

We turned our course seaward from the coast until those dry rocky mountains nearly disappeared over the horizon. We came to another set of rocky hills, these being a small chain of islands. They were covered with sea lions and birds. 

As we turned off the engine of the boat we could hear the barking of the lions. I wondered what it was like for them to have their own little playground. They jumped off rocks, baked in the sun and whatever else their heart desired. 

We spent the next two hours watching them and exploring the coves of the islands in kayaks. My favorite experience was swimming with the sea lions—watching them swoosh within inches of my feet, but never touching! They didn't mind at all that we swam with them, treating us as if we were just another sea creature. 

By the end of the day we were exhausted. Although it felt as if we had boated 100 miles across the water, we barely scratched the surface of the Sea of Cortez. It was a healthy reminder that there are so many places in this world that I have yet to explore. 

Until a few months ago, I couldn't point out the Sea of Cortez on a map. If someone had asked to find the Gulf of California . . . then maybe. This inlet is tucked between Baja California and the main body of Mexico. It stretches 700 miles and has a maximum width of 150 miles. There are 37 islands 

It is believed that this gulf is one of the most diverse seas on Earth. An estimated 900 species of fish live here, along with 32 types of marine mammals. There are blue, humpback and gray whales that call these waters home. In addition there are sharks, dolphins, manta rays, sea lions and Leatherback Sea Turtles. On one of the islands is a rattlesnake that is found nowhere else in the world. 

All this marine wildlife is a stark contrast to the hot and barren Sonoran Desert just outside its waters. Sand dunes often flank the coast line and in some areas there grows an abundant sea of cactus. 

It was named by Francisco de Ulloa in 1539 in honor of the Spanish conquistador, Hernán Cortés. Ulloa originally believed that the gulf led to the mythical Strait of Anian, which connected the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Another Spaniard, Melchior Diaz explored the area extensively in 1540, including conducting a survey of the lower Colorado River where it runs into the gulf. 

A couple days later we chose a secluded sandy beach. The dunes sloped downward into the crystal clear blue water. I strapped on goggles and slowly floated on my belly a short distance from the shore, scouring the floor of the sea with my eyes. Remnants of shells were scattered everywhere, most of them white and some twirled in narrow conical twists like the horn of a unicorn. 

I swam parallel to the shore, coming up for air from time to time. When I saw something on the sandy bottom I would extend my arm—if I could reach—and pull it closer to my view. Then I would decide whether to keep it. In this manner I collected a modest cluster of shells. 

I have decided that the Sea of Cortez is a gem that most don't consider. I have only skimmed the top, yet there is an allure, a desire, to return and explore more. 

Perhaps John Steinbeck said it best: “Trying to remember the Gulf is like trying to re-create a dream. This is by no means a sentimental thing, it has little to do with beauty or even conscious liking. But the Gulf does draw one, and we have talked to rich men who own boats, who can go where they will. Regularly they find themselves sucked into the Gulf. And since we have returned, there is always in the backs of our minds the positive drive to go back again. If it were lush and rich, one could understand the pull, but it is fierce and hostile and sullen. The stone mountains pile up to the sky and there is little fresh water. But we know we must go back if we live, and we don't know why.” ♠