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Show in my father's house/ 266 I remembered from Marie's drowning. My mother and I were unable to attend the funeral and he reported to us that it was a 'beautiful occasion.' My father spoke of one day gathering us all to live there on the forested hillsides beneath rugged mountains reminiscent of our Wasatch range. He pleaded regularly with my mother to make visits, but as usual, she refused to leave home, complaining of the crowded car or insisting that she did not want to impose on Elsa or Rachel. We had been only once, for a group conference to the beautiful land with lakes and ponds, evergreens and wildflowers, and bees - everywhere bees for making honey. "We've transplanted the beehive state," the residents joked. "I wouldn't mind living here," I told my mother. "It feels safe." Anything would be better than that new duplex. "Well, I wouldn't like it, not one bit," my mother said. "I waited a long time to get back to Salt Lake. I won't live so far from my mother and my other loved ones again." "But what if we were all here together, like at the white house, Mama? We're so far from a city - people wouldn't bother us. Even if they knew about us, they wouldn't care - and they're too far away to hurt us. We could have our own school and our own stores...." My mother shook her head vehemently. "It's too remote for me. After all, Salt Lake is Zion. And it's my home. I don't want to leave again." I didn't realize it then, but my dream of fostering a self-sustaining community on the ranch was also my father's dream, and the true purpose of the land's purchase, a goal he spent hours |