When Uncle Eldon water-witched our property in Southern Utah soon after we bought it, he scanned the hillside and named all the trees and shrubs: ponderosa, fir, oak, manzanita, squawbush (aromatic sumac), serviceberry, rabbit brush, sagebrush, piñon pine, juniper. I knew them already; I taught my fourth-graders the plants of Utah, and these were a small representation--those typical for the elevation. It's good to be able to claim some parts of nature that are our own.
The rounded tops and butterscotch-scented bark of the ponderosa pine. Mine.
The 6,000 foot elevation difference between the rim and the river: Mine.
The upright hardiness and squishable yellow centers of colorful hollyhocks. Mine.
Manzanita, with its scratchy round leaves and smooth red bark. Mine.
Squawbush and its mouth-puckering flavored berries to put in hiking water bottles: Mine.
Rubbery rabbitbrush that take over with a bit of liquid encouragement from water. Mine.
Piñon pine's sticky sap and reluctance to bear fruit but once every decade or so. Mine.
Growing up, it was this color--not the volume--of water that signified 'flood.' Mine.
Utah's incomparable cumulous topped with cirrus clouds in August. Mine.
The 'pinks' of Southern Utah: view from the rock-gathering hike. Mine.
Maidenhair fern in Zion. Mine.
I love recognizing sacred datura; and I know not to eat it. Mine.
Weeping rock at its best. Mine.
Zion. Mine.
The knowledge that I can get prickly pear slivers out of my skin, even the littlest ones, with duct tape. Mine.
That dry rustling sound of cottonwoods in the fall. Mine.
Arm extended--two finger widths above the horizon, twenty minutes to sunset. Mine.
Mountains to the east. Lake to the west. Mine.
Little we see in nature that is ours, but I'm claiming these eighteen.
You are so lucky! This is a beautiful essay of love for YOUR TERRITORY!
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