Years ago, when our children were young, we built a family-style cabin deep into the forests of the Wasatch Range of the Rocky Mountains, about 75 miles east of Salt Lake City, Utah.  For  36 years, we have spent time there charging our batteries and planning another trip to England.  These forests are some of the most beautiful land in the West.  It is “high country” where there is deep snow in the winter and fabulous recreation all summer.  We can drive to Park City in thirty minutes and Salt Lake City in an hour.  But most of the time, we walk in our own woods, relax on the decks of the house, read one book after another, and watch the deer and moose who come to visit every morning and evening to chew on the salt licks which we put out around the house to draw the deer closer for our enjoyment.  Our dog snores on the deck, and my wife puts together puzzle after puzzle as we enjoy some of the most spectacular sunsets anywhere in the world.  Our home is high up a mountainside with the most spectacular views of Mt. Timpanogas miles down the Wasatch valley.  In the small villages around us, there are more horses and sheep than people;  and life has changed very little over the past 150 years.  The highlight of the year is the summer 4th of July Oakley Rodeo when our entire family joins us for a night of “cowboy fun” and fireworks.  Our local store is Ken’s Kash which is just like an 19th century outpost run by the same family for generations.  The people of our valley were originally 1846-1865 pioneers who came from the British Isles for religious reasons but also for lots of land.  When they arrived here, they found rivers which they damned to create reservoirs to supply water for one of the most successful irrigation systems in the Western Hemisphere.  They knew “sheep,”  and the sheepherding families of Scotland moved to the high ranges to graze their sheep during the summer before bringing them to market in the fall.  This area of the West was so magnificent, these early settlers grew and prospered and were the foundation of a culture which is so often called “the cowboys.”  During the last years of the 19th century, my great grandfather was forced to give up his slaves which he had brought here from the South after the Civil War;  these former slaves went to Park City which became one of the great silver mining towns of the West.  In my lifetime, Park City grew into a great ski resort for people from all over the world.  Two of my grandsons are on ski teams and have been on skies since they were six weeks old (in their father’s pouch!).  One of our daughters and her husband became developers of beautiful lodges at Deer Valley and wonder why anyone would live anywhere but here.  When the Winter Olympics came to Park City a few years ago, I was worried that too many people would find out about our wonderful hideaway and ruin our secluded life high in the Wasatch Mountains.  I continue to read my books, write my blog, walk the dog, and work with my cameras.  I have to admit that spending half my life in England and the other half in these idyllic woods is the perfect life for an old Anglophile who sits in an old rocking chair reading British history and thinking about London, six thousand miles away.  Thank goodness there is an international airport one hour from our mountain home.  If you pass this way, please come visit.  It think you will agree that these mountains are the most spectacular you have ever seen.  I suppose you call that a prejudice.  Oh well, it is home for us some of the year, and it couldn’t be better.

Thomas Moore   email:  TMooreSr@me.com    Telephone:  801.791.9918

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