Near the community we live in, at the gateway to Zion National Park (arguably one of the most beautiful places on earth), there’s a few scant remains of what was once a small Mormon farming community. Some foundations, a graveyard, and one remaining home are all that is left as evidence of its pioneer history. Before the arrival of the Mormon pioneers, this canyon along the East Fork of the Virgin River was home to natives of the Paiute Tribe. Before them, it was home to Ancestral Puebloans who made homes in the cliffs and farmed along the river bottom. Evidence of their time still remains as well.
It’s a beautiful place. It’s now part of a large, privately-owned ranch bordered by a restricted access area of the national park. Once a year, on Memorial Day, the owners of the ranch graciously allow descendants of the pioneer settlers of the village to visit and catch a little glimpse of how their predecessors lived. I’ve wondered in years past as we’ve visited the ghost town if they really had much of an opportunity to truly appreciate the beauty that surrounded them. Most of them came from the eastern US, some from as far away as England and Switzerland. This environment was so foreign to them and they worked so hard just to survive here, I’m not sure if they really ever were able to appreciate it.
The river flooded often, usually washing away fields, sometimes homes and irrigation canals, and almost always blood, sweat, tears, and dreams. Mosquitos thrived in the pools of standing water and proved to be a great affliction to them. The water was difficult to drink and was sometimes referred to (not usually affectionately) as Virgin bloat due to the stupendous gastrointestinal effects it possessed. The heat was almost unbearable, the wildlife was not usually beneficial, and they were strangers in a strange land. I’d suspect a true appreciation of the beauty of this area didn’t show up until a generation or two later.
This Memorial Day, as we have several years before, we decided to make the trip up and visit the remains of the village at the confluence of several beautiful canyons. The last home still standing belonged to a man of great faith who strived to live his religion according to the dictates of his conscience. He lived the principle of plural marriage in this gorgeous home with two wives and several children. He was the brother of my ancestor who lived in another home nearby with her husband and children. We’re always grateful for rain in the desert and this day was no different. We enjoyed the opportunity to visit this place and partake of the beauty surrounding us as the dark clouds floated overhead, shrouding the canyon walls and providing glimpses of the sheer, rainbow colored cliffs.
As I stood there at the house, and later at the graveyard, pondering on this scenery and history, I couldn’t help but feel so much appreciation and gratitude for the sacrifices my ancestors made for their faith and for their posterity. The trials they faced paved the way for me, and my family to live in this place, in a day and age when we can take the opportunity to enjoy all of the glory and beauty around us. Compared to what they endured, any persecution or hardship that we experience is trivial.
As I stood beneath the walls made of hand-chiseled sandstone blocks, I couldn’t help but wonder when the last time someone striving to live in the principle of plural marriage had visited this home. The membership and leadership of the LDS church disavowed plural marriage long ago and now they excommunicate members found living it. It’s perfectly fine. It’s their choice just as it’s my choice to try to remain loyal to the foundation of our faith. I knew that excommunication would be the price I would pay for my efforts to perpetuate the heritage they left us. I don’t claim to be a prophet or anyone of any importance. I’m simply a man with a belief, a testimony, and a heritage that I feel should be continued.
Our experience with organized religion has left us wary of jumping into another. We don’t know what the future holds for us, but we do the best we can to live up to our beliefs day by day and to honor the heritage and faith of our fathers and mothers. I’m grateful on this Memorial Day for the legacy of faith they left for us. I’m grateful that I have two beautiful wives of such incredible testimony and strength. I’m grateful for a lovely daughter and pray and hope that the good Lord will bless us with more according to His will.
On this holiday, I’d also be remiss if I didn’t offer gratitude for the blessing of living in a nation with so much freedom, though the rights of consenting, informed, and willing adherents to tenets of Mormon Fundamentalism unfortunately seems to be often overlooked in that discussion. I’m grateful for the men and women who have sacrificed everything, even their lives, in the fight for the ideal that all men and women are created equal and that we all have God-given rights worth protecting.
As we celebrate today, I hope we can all spend some time in reflection on the sacrifices of past generations and the enormous debt of gratitude we owe our predecessors. I firmly believe that the best way that we can repay that debt is to continue to work to leave a better world for the generations that are coming after us. The best way we can honor their memory is to provide our children, and their children after them, with a world that allows them the opportunity to recognize the beauty around them and to revel in it.
Happy Memorial Day!