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such meager means. Surely they had methods of drying and preserving meats and grains. Can you imagine a race of people who never knew the taste of roast turkey or bar- bequed steak? What a splendid repast it would have been! Autumn come to Sanpete in a blaze of color. Begin- ning with fiery red patches on the side of the mountains, and spreading out along the foothills in orange and brown. In the canyons, the bright yellow of the quaking asp blooms radiant among the pinyon pines. The maple leaves turn scarlet as nature's paint brush splashes gold and bronze into every rocky crevice. Our Indian summers are unfor- getable. Sometimes the wind blows wild and free, rocking the valley to and fro, whistling down the canyons, and blowing dust and rain and leaves, till all living creatures seek refuge from its fury. The long cold winter creeps quietly over the mountains like a shadow, hovering over the valley, blocking out the sun, as it spreads its heavy white blanket over everything from rooftop to fence post, its icy fingers touching every branch and twig, till all nature sleeps in a deep frosty slumber. Where did the poor Ute go when winter came? Did he follow the sun to greener pastures as the leaves fell, leaving the valley dead and bare? When death took its toil, was there heartache and mourning, or was the heart of the Ute as cold as unfeeling as when he left a white lifeless body to the wolves and buzzards? Spring is always late in Sanpete. You're never quite sure when it has begun. Nature slowly spreads new life in the shadows of the night while the world sleeps. The brown skeleton branches of the trees awake one morning in a new leafy dress. The fields roll out a plush green carpet, slowly spreading along the dry mountain slopes, until the whole valley is clothed in green velvet. One day is warm and sunny, the next overshadowed with black hanging clouds. Now and then an earth shaking thunderstorm settles the dust and cleans the air adding a touch of freshness from the mountain tops to the valley floor. The beautiful canyons are strewn with wild flowers of various kinds. The Indian paint brush and Sego lily grow side by side, symbolic of the red man and the pioneer. - 5 - |
