Crossing the Desert in a Modern Wagon

This Pioneer Day weekend I just had to look at my car and say, “I’m glad you don’t poop or smell funny.” If I had to cross the desert in a wagon pulled by horses or oxen (if I was lucky) to see our families, they’d be lucky to see me once every twenty years.

First stop for the 4-day weekend: a Stansbury Park wedding reception

With our wonderful modern wagon that can power itself faster than the 2 mph of a poor ox, Stansbury Park, Utah is but an hour drive from Provo. Stansbury is the little golfing and lake community nestled only 30 minutes from Salt Lake City. On Saturday, there in a windy backyard on the lake (the “fake lake” as Clayton’s Minnesotan family says), Clayton and I got to see a human pyramid of men in suits, topped with the little bride, all wearing fake black mustaches. All, yes. (The fake mustache on the father of the bride was gray.) We left before the couple drove away in their “Just Married” canoe, but were glad we attended.

Second stop: a Kaysville birthday party for Grandpa

After the reception we traveled in our wagon to Kaysville, a much bigger community north of Salt Lake City. Grandpa Watts’ birthday was on Sunday, and I’m pretty sure his spice cake had nowhere enough candles for the occasion. But then, cakes for the elderly can set houses on fire if they’re properly candled, so all for the best. He was sung to by his wife, us, Clayton’s sister and her hubby, another sister and her boyfriend, and an aunt and uncle. Of course, we just had to play games, being Watts and all; I’m pretty sure if you look up “games” in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of all of the Watts. We played Funglish (a very fun word game), and Spoons (a deadly battle-for-the-spoons game). Clayton and I also played Uno with our oldest niece, and she schooled us in all her legit, almost 3-year-old glory. Then we Skyped the rest of Clayton’s family in Minnesota: his parents, 2 sisters and 2 brothers, and a rabbit. The rabbit didn’t say much, but if he did I’m sure he’d say there’s never a dull moment with the Watts.

Third and last stop: a Beaver 24^th of July

On Monday morning we crossed the desert three hours south to tiny Beaver, home of my Glenn grandparents, an uncle, and a lot of cows. I’ve been visiting this speck of Utah since I was born. My fondness for camping and fishing developed in what we call the Beaver Mountains, which I just found out actually do have a real name, the Tushar Mountain Range. My parents and I simply had to awe Clayton with its greatness, so we went for a muddy ride. “Mountains are where Utahns go to get a taste of Minnesota,” I said, even though I’ve never been to Minnesota, but I suspect when I do go there, the mountains will have saved me from going into shock at the sight of so many trees.

Doesn’t look like Utah, does it?

Mountains! Rainbow! Husband! Perfect. 

Pioneers are a big deal to Beaver citizens, and they show it on the 24^th of July. The day begins with fireworks at 6:00 in the morning: the special “boom” fireworks that fire off in various places throughout the town and wake every household who has their windows open. Then there’s a 5k race that my family does when we’re feeling in shape. (So not this year.)

Then the parade. This year my relatives were in the parade: my grandpa, his brother and wife, and my dad and two of his brothers rode in a 1947 Jeep that my uncle restored. Every grandchild remembers this Jeep, for during our day, it sat in my grandpa’s backyard by the creek, daring us to touch its old and decaying frame. Observe:

Old and decaying...

New and sizzlin'

Ah, men. 

My grandpa, dad, and three uncles checking out the sizzlin' Jeep

Go Glenns! 

They were squished. My dad couldn't feel below his right knee after this.

Oh, the price of fame. 

A totally cool thing about Beaver parades is the stuff they throw. Besides the rain of candy, which is no mild sprinkling, they toss anything from small Frisbees, plastic glasses, cheese curds, and the occasional screwdriver. At the house, my young cousin proudly showed the screwdriver to my uncle who said, “Oh look, a screw…driver! A screwdriver?” Oh yeah.

The night ended in color with fireworks, which were originally cancelled due to scorching heat and then in danger of too much rain, but survived to dazzle Beaver. 

3 cities in 4 days…not bad. Thank you to all our families, and our modern wagon.