THE RIGHT PLACE

Dear Spike:

Our Mormon friends would argue that it was a matter of divine inspiration. I'm in no position to say they're wrong, though I've got another theory.

The Day was July 24, 1847. The Mormon leader Brigham Young had just crossed over the Wasatch Mountain range with his band of religious refugees. Looking out over the desert that would become Salt Lake City, Young said, "this is the right place."

The place where Young's party rested when he made the decision to make this place his church's Zion is just a few miles up the road from our home. And until I stood there — and in lieu of any better explanation — I was willing to go with the "divine inspiration" theory.

But from that spot, what you see is miles and miles of desert — followed by another range of rugged mountains. I think Young — who was sick with Rocky Mountain spotted fever and unable to even walk for himself — had simply had enough. And so this was the place.

One hundred and sixty-two years later, the state of Utah still pauses each July 24 to celebrate Pioneer Day (or, as it was once called, The Day of Deliverance) — a day that is met with greater revelry and far greater reverence than the day that marks our nation's independence, three weeks earlier.

There are festivals and fireworks and a parade so grand that thousands of people camp out the previous night to ensure a spot along the miles-long route.

This was all quite difficult for us to understand when we moved here. And even today your mother and I still marvel at the spectacle. Each year on Pioneer's Eve, we ride the parade route on my motorcycle in order to better appreciate the throngs of people sleeping in tents and lounging on blow-up mattresses. And we shake our heads in wonder.

The next morning, scores of church-sponsored parade floats, all celebrating the virtues of the pioneers (though conspicuously disregarding the role that polygamy played in the founding of this state) roll right by our home. Bands play. Soldiers march. Missionaries strut in their starched white shirts and ties. And Brigham Young's most recent successor — at the moment a curmudgeonly looking guy named Thomas Monson — gets a standing ovation as his convertible rolls down the road with the Latter-day version of the Secret Service jogging alongside.

It's all so easy to mock. And we do.

But there's also a lesson to be learned from Young, his polygamous tribe and the worldwide religious movement it spawned.

Young's followers could have noted — just as easily as I did when I first stood at the mouth of what has come to be known as Emigration Canyon — the dubiousness of their leader's choice of the Salt Lake Valley as their new home. Instead they built a city – one of the most beautiful in this nation.

However they got here, they were here. And they made due.

We could spend each July 24 decrying the ridiculous spectacle and the farcical way it came into existence. Instead we celebrate. We gather our friends for mimosas and bloody marys. Your mother cooks up some Jell-O.* And after a few belts we saunter down to watch the parade and cheer the Saints as they go Marchin'.

However we got here, we're here. And we make due.

Life doesn't always makes sense. And whether that's divine inspiration or dumb luck, it doesn't really matter.

No matter how you got here, you're here. So make due.

Love,
dad

* The official desert of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.