2008 Writing Contest Results

Ivy Hazlett                               "What Moab Means to Me"

Edward Abbey said, "Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home...there's no limit to the human capacity for the homing sentiment. Theologians, sky pilots, astronauts have even felt the appeal of home calling to them from up above, in the cold black outback of interstellar space.. .For myself I'll take Moab, Utah. I don't mean the town itself, of course, but the country which surrounds it- the canyonlands. The slickrock desert. The red dust and the burnt cliffs and the lonely sky- all that which lies beyond the end of the roads."

I agree with Abbey, although along with the red rock county, I do mean the town itself. I've traveled across the country three times with my family; I've been to 30 states from New York to Florida to California. I even lived in Guatemala this summer. But I have never found a place that rivals Moab, Utah. I love Moab because it is a refuge in a world full of crowded cities, cement walls, pollution, noise, and hurry. It's an island paradise in the middle of a glaring desert- the river makes it so. A large part of Moab's dearness to me is because of the desert surrounding it- the canyons are where I grew up. My friends from around the country ask me what there is to do in a town with a population of less than 10,000 and no mall, skating rink, or grand amusement park. I just tell them this: why wander through a loud, stuffy mall full of garish colors and superficial schemes when you can take a bunch of buddies and wander the canyonlands together? I have been on dates to the movies and dates to Gemini Bridges; they don't even compare. I can't remember what movie we watched, but I will never forget the hikes. For our Prom day-date last April, 5 friends and I hiked out to Cable Arch, where we took pictures, explored, and had a picnic lunch under the sun on top of a sandstone bluff above the arch. There was one part of the trail where we had to help each other climb - a good opportunity for the boys to be "gentleman-like". And how can I forget the picnic blanket Drew brought- no bigger than a handkerchief? It almost blew away with the plastic cups that skittered across the rock when a hot desert breeze brushed the top of the bluff. And everyone laughed when Sheena struck a George Washington pose on a rock and exclaimed, "Hey! I can see my house from here!" It's funny how memories like that tend to last and last.

Besides, the outdoors provides much better scenery than a dark cinema. I love being able to see for hundreds of miles from the tops of ancient sand dunes, frozen in time. From our high sandstone castle overlooking the arch, we could see the far-off La Sal Mountains, still dusted with white. We could even make out the outlines of the Henry Mountains to the southwest of us. Arches National Park lay across the green, sparkling Moab valley from us- we pointed out the Windows to each other.

I also remember how huge the sky was. I don't know about the others, but I felt very small, like I was in the center of a huge blue bowl sitting upside-down over the landscape. I had forgotten how vast and lonely the desert can be. But then I noticed a bend in the river and thought about what it brings to this country- water, the life-blood of the earth.

The desert can be arid and ruthless, but there is a timeless beauty in its bare rock and twisted plants and so many unique things to be explored. I recently went on a photo-hike with two friends. We stopped to take pictures about every ten steps, so we didn't make much forward progress. But even in a short distance, we made amazing discoveries- stacks of huge boulders impossibly balanced against one another, all kinds of pebbles in the smooth curves of the wash, and a crystal clear pond of rainwater - it must have been at least 6 feet deep! The setting sun lit up gnarled red rock formations around it and contrasted wonderfully with the bright green moss in the water. We took turns posing on the rock above the pool and taking pictures. How else would we get people to believe us when we described it?

I practically grew up on the silty water and sandy beaches of the Colorado River. I could read the river almost before I could read a book. One of my earliest memories is swimming (with a life jacket on, of course- the river is a noble friend, but it demands respect) and building mud pies on the take-out ramp near the Moab Bridge. Since then, I've gathered many stories and memories on the river. I've learned that mud will soothe mosquito bites, that sand is an essential spice on the river, that a downstream wind brings rain, that the canyons are older than us, and that crickets sing the best lullabies. Here is a short memory that describes why I love Moab's river so much, told in present tense so that you, the reader, can be involved in the moment.

"Morning in the canyons is a time of magic- when the infant sun peeks its head over immortal cliffs and strikes gold in the opposite face, turning the burnished rocks into blazing embers. The river mirrors this enchanting display, and a dusky orange glow radiates throughout.

I am pulled from my squashy sleeping bag by the cheerful, babbling song of a canyon wren. Stretching up slowly, I find that the composer is not far off, heralding the dawn from the whiskery limbs of a tamarisk tree. Although the bird cares not that its perch is an alien species, I sometimes wish the animals would shun tamarisks and nestle against then age-old partners in child-rearing and homemaking: the willows, cottonwoods, and other natives. Maybe if they feel needed again they'll come back to their former glory. But still, I must admit that the tamarisk is beautiful when splashed with pink dawn light. What isn't? The deep mauve bark angling sharply to feathery branches, which are laced with delicate pink flowers in the spring, lend the tree a wild beauty of its own.

A slight breeze breathes past me, bringing with it the rich, earthy smell of the riverbank. It also brings me the sounds of the water. In many places, the river writhes and roars along like a troubled giant, racing and crashing over submerged boulders. But here, brushing the sand of Camp, it is as quiet and content as a lazy May afternoon.

Quietly, I un-burrow myself from my bright blue synthetic cocoon and embrace the clear, cool air. Coarse hills of sand beneath my feet still harbor the chill of night-1 hardly recognize it as the same stuff which seared everyone to the ankles yesterday. Sand beaches turn into veritable ovens as they are cooked in the sun during the day, and it makes for a very hot race from shady patch to shady patch when you leave the cool wet flow of the river.

For now, I take deep breaths of morning air and enjoy the damp crunching sound as I walk along stealthily. Soon the sun will be up to glare away all thoughts of a cool day. The canyon walls will become burnt clay ovens, baking ancient soils and firing the plants into small, rugged survivors. Even colors will shrink back in the intense focus of the desert sun's rays.

Looking around, I realize I am the first to wake. It's wonderful} to be alone at this time, and in this place. The small joys of a new day opening its first petals are mine to embrace. A few pink smudge-clouds drift lazily across the sky, while the ever-changing shadows slowly transform the iron-stained red rocks, and I am the only one around to witness it. I feel selfish having this all to myself, but it does seem as if the show is just for me. It makes me feel both very small and very important. Very small because soon this expedition will be over, and I will have to go back - back to the "real world" of cement and phone calls and humming appliances and appointments- but the canyon will remain. It has seen millions of sunrises and will perhaps see millions more. However, no person will ever see this as I see it right now. And for that reason, this moment is mine alone.

The sun now works its way through a chink in the rusty walls and lights the river on fire, determined waves casting sparks into the air as they fight over rocks. I am momentarily mesmerized by the motion. So much water flows past this point each day- it never even looks back. I wonder what are the odds of two droplets staying together as times goes by. What of time? I will never be here in this place at this exact time in my life again. It all flows by too quickly, like water through my cupped hands when I stoop down to look at my reflection.

Already the sun has burst free from its rocky confines and begins to shine its full glory into the canyon. The soft hour is almost up- night crickets and morning birds begin to fade with the moisture from the sand. They will be back, but not like this morning -my morning. And tomorrow their songs will not be for me. They will sing with the magic of the canyons for years after I am gone. The Colorado will flow on: changing, creating, and never looking back. Neither of us can return to this moment. And like the timeless river, I will never be the same again."

The river rushes past Moab, bringing new water and new experiences to it. This winter was the first time I ever saw it frozen over completely. It's amazing that the waters change so much- they can freeze solid in January and then be swimming-pool temperature again in August. One of my favorite Disney quotes (okay, so it's actually a song, not a straight quote, and I don't think Walt Disney ever said it, only Pocahontas in the Disney movie - but It's my favorite song to sing as we float down the river) is "What I love most about rivers is you can't step in the same river twice. The water's always changing, always flowing..." Some of the changes, like carving out a canyon, go on so slowly we don't even notice them. Others are quick and dramatic.

After a heavy rainstorm, my family loves to drive up the canyon and watch waterfalls spill off the slickrock and into the river- cascades of swirling colors like chocolate milk, rich burnt orange, and chalky pink. Once I rode my bike past the river and was amazed to see it bright orange, almost glowing - some distant rainstorm had filled its depths with orange sediment, which was set aglow by the setting sun.

I love the colors found in and around Moab. Just the other day I walked home from the high school for only the third time in my life, enjoying almost an hour by myself. I thought about lots of things as I wandered along the shady bike path. Mill Creek was a little lower than it was the day before, when we ran past it during Cross Country practice. But the sunflowers were the same- bobbing, cheery splashes of yellow. I'll admit it, I like to look flowers in the eye, even though my eyes started watering because the sunflowers were so bright against the shady backdrop of the creek. I marveled that something so simple and untamed can be so beautiful.

When asked which is my favorite season, I respond with whichever season we happen to be in. I couldn't possibly decide on just one. I love autumn in Moab, which is the season we're entering now. It's such a great time of change. The mulberry trees on the end of my street have already started to glow yellow from the inside. I can't wait until all the trees put on their showiest displays for us. It really livens up a town that is getting ready to settle down for the winter.

Wonderful contrasts come out in the winter: new snow against summer-remembering red rock cliffs, bare trees outside but brightly decorated evergreens inside, cold noses and warm hearts. Winter is a time when we are reminded of the harsh loneliness of an icy desert and seek the comfort of warm evenings spent with family, cinnamon, candles, carols, and community. One of my neighbors works hard to create an intricate display of Christmas lights - he even has a herd of moving reindeer and a blow­up Frosty!

Spring is joyous- everything grows fresh and new. Even the dusty landscape around town blooms with tender green and bright flowers. I anxiously await the calls of Canadian Geese in the spring because it means another change is on its way. Greens intensify with the rays of the sun as summer rolls around and it's time to take my younger siblings to lunch at HMK and then across the street for an afternoon swim. I try to soak in the tri-toned landscape: vivid blue sky, bright iron-stained rock, and lush green trees softening the valley bottom. We are lucky to have four full seasons in Moab. I think it would be depressing to live in a place with no winter, like Phoenix. I guess I just like the constant change- it keeps everything new, fresh, and good. My friend Saren put it like this: "You know, our seasons are the perfect length. Just when I get sick of the heat, it turns into fall. Then when I can't stand the cold any more, it's summer again." I guess / don't get sick of the heat or cold, so that's not why I love the changes. But then again, I'm also a sucker for rainy days and clouds every now and again. They're different, refreshing, and remind us to cherish the sunny skies that so often grace this area.

Like Edward Abbey, I have always thought of the wild lands around Moab, Utah, as my home. But unlike the famous natural philosopher, I also consider the little town, with its friendly people, bountiful activities, and rich history, to be the best place on Earth.

I was born in the Alien Memorial Hospital. That makes me a native Moabite, dyed in the wool, true blue, through and through. Some say Moab is too small. I say it's just right. I love being able to ride my bike to the school, to City Market, or to the library from my house. It's a great feeling to be a part of such a close-knit community. I recently had a dream from my little-girl days come true: I was elected the Homecoming Senior Attendant! It was so fun to dress up in white heels, sparkly hair ornaments, and a little red dress - usually you'll find me in jeans and a t-shirt (or a swimsuit, board shorts, and Chacos if it's between June and September). My favorite part of the whole day was the parade down Main Street because everywhere I turned to look, I saw someone I knew. I couldn't just plaster on a smile and slowly swish my hand back and forth-1 exuberantly grinned and greeted my friends the whole way from Swanny Park to the Middle School. In a big city, you don't find that. Sure, the parades are bigger and grander in New York or Salt Lake City, but I much prefer a small celebration where you know people and they know you. It makes everything much more real and meaningful. I wasn't just a plastic Barbie parading through the city on top of a convertible-1 was a friend, babysitter, daughter, student, acquaintance, and neighbor riding in Randy Day's car, driven by my dad. I don't have much family here (my parents are transplants from North Carolina and Arizona), but I have enough friends to make up for it. And it's like that everywhere in Moab. If you go to the grocery store at 5:00 pm, it's more like social hour than shopping. It always takes my mom a lot longer than planned to buy stuff for dinner because she stops to talk with everyone she knows, which is just about everyone in the store.

I've known most of my classmates my whole life- we've grown up together. My mom has a video of my kindergarten class performing a Thanksgiving program. Back then, Jimmy, Ashlyn, Hailey and I danced around with oatmeal carton-drums and paper decorations on our heads. Today, we discuss Macbeth and Latin vocabulary in our AP English class. It's so fun to watch that home video and remember what we seniors were like before we even knew how to tie our shoes. We've grown so much and come so far since then- and we've always been together.

But we'll be graduating soon. Who knows what the future will hold? I'm leaving next fall to go to college, to start a new chapter of my life on my own. However, I know I'll be back. I can't resist the call of familiar streets and canyons, friendly faces and warm memories. The red cliffs surrounding our town seem to hug it, to hold it in and keep it safe from the outside world. They've provided me with direction while exploring in the Wetlands Preserve in bulrushes over my head-1 just had to look up and orient myself with the cliffs. I know that wherever my life leads me, I can always come home to Moab to reorient myself with the burnt rock faces, to seek refuge in the shady creekside trails, to eat a peanut-butter-cup waffle cone from the Diner, to rediscover the canyons and the cheery lights that line Main Street every December. They say home is where the heart is.  Well, my heart is halfway between The Portal and Spanish Valley Drive. To me, Moab, Utah is the place I call home.