How I Love the Rural Rockies

How I Love the Rural Rockies

            I love Blanding!  Most who grow up in big cities like big cities, but not me.  I grew up in Honolulu and Los Angeles, yet I like this small town amidst mountains and good people.  I recently visited LA, and couldn’t get out fast enough.  I slept in the hills above the city the night before, had time to comb ALL my hair while stuck in traffic pointing to UCLA, did my presentation and discussions, then got out, and didn’t stop until I could sleep on the sand of the desert floor in Nevada’s fresh air.   Even desolate desert is nice after LA.  But best of all is being in the mountains, walking among the pines (with a good book), breathing the mountain air, enthralled by a new scene every few strides, and only minutes from town!  In contrast, my wife likes big cities—the hustle and bustle and noises of the metropolis.  I don’t, and that’s okay; we both like ice cream.  She grew up in Buenos Aires, larger than Los Angeles.  She thought Provo was a small town.  Then I brought her to Blanding.  But now she likes this pleasant populace perched near the pines.   It’s the good people. 

            While many rural communities might vie, the goodness per capita in Blanding exceeds the dozen places I’ve lived.  Good people live in big cities too, but the percentages are different.  Visiting LA, I had to slow down at times to find parking, read street signs, etcetera, and impatient folks yelled words at me that I had not heard since I lived in LA.  Blanding people don’t do that; they drive around two motorists stopped and talking in the road, and may smile and wave as they pass.  So pleasant is life here by comparison!   Knowing most of the town and liking everyone I know has me living in a town full of friends.  Time constraints limit social life to chance encounters at church, work, stores, and receptions, but a smile, wave, friendly word or warm arm from most people fills me with admirations of your goodness as I drive home from crossing paths with you … and if I don’t respond, wake me up! 

Some have told me that I was looking right at them as they waved, but I did not respond.  I apologize; it’s never intentional, only my stupors in thought.  Once at a Wal-Mart, while my wife and daughters shopped, I was walking the aisles, working on a draft with pen and pad in hand, eyes staring in a new direction every few seconds, and occasionally jotting down a few words.  (With a good book or rough draft is the only way to do shopping.)  After a while, the manager came and wanted to see what I was doing.  I showed him my draft.  He must have thought I was sent by a competitor to evaluate his business, because when he realized I was a harmless lost-in-thought walker, waiting for the women to finish what they do best—shopping—his huff changed to blush, and he hurried away as fast as I left LA.  So my mind and eyes do not always share the same focus.  And when we do receptions, oversights are inevitable or invitations lost or, as with Sarah’s, someone mails a batch without stamps and by the time they come back, it’s too late, and so some wonder if they were not invited for some reason.  Everyone is invited!  When I don’t get an invite to a reception I want to go to, I don’t worry or wonder.  I go!  It’s the only way to do life: Love everyone and don’t be easily offended. 

During my last year of graduate school in fields hardly compatible with rural employment, I twice felt prompted that we should move back to Blanding.  Silvia felt it, too.  We had a house paid for in Blanding, the college had materialized, and later I realized the good Lord knew I’d be happier in Blanding than at a university in a big city.  I walk three blocks to work, instead of commuting an hour each way, and Phil Lyman’s Ice Creamery is only three blocks the other way.  Talk about location!  There are many reasons I like Blanding, but an enjoyable job three blocks west, ice cream three blocks east, mountains all about, and the peace and quiet are four, and a thousand friends are a thousand more.