MOM: So Many Places to Love

Jul 2010 Issue

By Nettie H. Francis
I served a full-time mission in Japan. The volcanic mountains, speckled with terraced rice paddies and sloping steeply down to the blue ocean, were a new sight to a girl from Utah. I quickly fell in love with the beauty of the islands and the many people there. In the less-populated areas, mountain trails—carefully marked and laid with cement pathways and wooden steps—insured that thousands of visitors could reach the peaks to enjoy precious bits of untouched nature. I soon became accustomed to crowded streets and cities, and tiny houses crammed into every feasible living space.

Three days after returning home from my mission, I traveled with my family to Bear Lake, Utah. As we drove out of Logan, up the canyon to the lake, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the scenery around us. After a year and a half of living in busy cities, I had forgotten how open and unsettled America is. Rugged mountains, thousands of trees, and acres and acres of wide-open space were everywhere! America’s wilderness—so different from the carefully manicured beauty of Japan—astounded me. There didn’t seem to be another human soul for miles. I couldn’t stop gazing at the beautiful back country. There is something breath-taking and rugged about the “purple mountains” and “fruited plains” of America.

A few months later, my husband and I were married, and he took a job working in St. George, Utah. Moving to “Dixie” was an adventure, especially as we adapted to the temperatures of summer. We were both from northern Utah, and living without snow was a new experience for us. However, we immediately fell in love with the beautiful red rocks, mild winters, and gorgeous, painted deserts of St. George. “I love this place,” I told my husband. I felt I could live there forever.

Then, the call came to transfer to Las Vegas. Compared to our quiet home in Santa Clara, Utah, Las Vegas seemed like a barren wasteland of desert and cement. I was sure I couldn’t love any place as much as I loved southern Utah. But, we made the move. Soon we were introduced to Red Rock Canyon, Mount Potosi, Hoover Dam, Lake Mead and the Valley of Fire. They are all grand, beautiful, breath-taking pieces of America. Even the streets and lights of Las Vegas became familiar and comforting. By the time we had lived in Las Vegas for seven years, I was in love with it.

Last year we moved to Casper, Wyoming. Before interviewing here, I knew very little about Wyoming except what I had seen along the I-80 corridor. I was sure there was nothing to love in this windswept land. However, as our plane flew in to Casper, I saw a snow-covered mountain dotted with green pine trees, and farms and ranches reaching out across the prairie. “I’ll live here,” I immediately told my husband. We moved to a small farm on the North Platte River.

In the summer time, the northern exposure of Wyoming brings the sun up before 5:00am. As soon as it is light, I open our doors and windows, and the sweet smell of sage comes pouring in. Our wild pheasant—up from the river bed for breakfast with the chickens—squawks a welcome to me. Meadowlarks—literally everywhere—chirp their songs over and over as the sun climbs higher. The river, down the hill from our farm, flows by, and Canadian Geese honk as they gather on the river bank. Just south of us, the snow is gone from the mountains, but the summer rains have turned the rolling prairie green and fresh. “I could never love any place as much as I love it here,” I often say to myself.

Then, a few weeks ago, we traveled to South Dakota on a business trip. It was our first time in that state. As we crossed the state line, the road began winding up through the Black Hills. If you have never seen the Black Hills of South Dakota before, it is worth a visit! We drove for miles, passing an occasional farm or ranch. The dark hills were covered with tall, green pine trees. Cliffs of overhanging rock added grey diversity to the scenery. It was breathtaking.

After passing through an historic town complete with an old railway train, we rounded a corner and saw Mount Rushmore. The rock faces jutting out of the mountainside brought awed silence to our children. Walking up to the viewpoint, we were overwhelmed with patriotism, as fifty state flags fluttered around us.

“George Washington and his friends!” pointed my three-year-old. We made our way around the trails, stopping at each station to learn about the presidents and gaze up at their noble faces. A gentle, summer rain began to fall, and soon the forest floor was sweet with the scent of pine needles and mountains. “I could never love anyplace more than I love this one,” I thought again.

Our drive home took us back through the Black Hills, and soon to the ranches of the Wyoming prairie.
“Let’s move to South Dakota next,” I teased my husband. “That’s another place I could love.”

So many places to love. So much of this earth to enjoy. So many miles of grand country to visit and explore. That’s America. Although I haven’t hiked Pike’s Peak in Colorado, I could certainly join with Katherine Lee Bates and say, “Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain!” This is a blessed land. A choice, beautiful land. A wide-open, rugged and inviting land. America, America… may God continue to shed his grace on thee.