Now I'm not one to poke a little fun at someone's religion (like hell I'm not) but if you're Mormon or plan on converting to Mormonism anytime soon, you might want to move onto the Drudge Report. Of course, that right-wing nimrod may be Mormon. As you move on up into Utah you discover a paucity of bars, taverns, nightclubs, casinos, liquor stores and what you get instead are LDS churches and Mormon history. Take the small town of Bluff, Utah, for example. Mormon pioneers settled here in the late 1800s. They established this fort to fend off and convert maurading Ein-jines. Today, the original settlement, Bluff Fort, is a living history village...
with Mormon meeting house...no dogs allowed but Daisy can't read nor is she a dog.
Historians have attended to the most minute historical detail, recreating even America's first crude air-conditioner.
In all his travels for work over the years, Paul is easily bored by these phony recreations. He just sat under a shade tree and clipped his fingernails. Thank God it wasn't his toenails. 
Mormons love their patriarchs and prophets and erect bronze likenesses of them when and where they can. 
These pioneer Mormon families believed that more was better. More kids and in many cases, more wives. Plural marriage, aka "polygamy", was widely practiced back then. 
Take this woman, for example. "Aunt Jody", the village midwife. She felt blessed that she was able to travel around and do good works because her husband's second wife performed her chores back home, in the field, in the kitchen, and in the sack. We move on up the road to the small city of Blanding for a July 4 celebration.
Certainly not Daisy's favorite day. She doesn't like loud noises or ridiculous get-ups. But what's the sense of having a dog like Daisy if you can't embarrass yourself and her on occasions like this. 
And speaking of "this" occasion, July 4th in Mormon town fell on a Sunday, a Mormon day of rest, prayer, and fellowship. So what do they do??? They celebrate July 3rd, Saturday. We damn near missed the whole thing. 
Them's fireworks as seen from our RV park about a half-mile away. 
Daisy is still traumatized. But Paul explained the whole Francis Scott Key connection..."the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air"...the Fort McHenry thing. She seems to be coming out of it. Of course, a piece of ham helped her swallow the history lesson. Oops, this shot made it in twice.
Blanding really is a nice little spot with nice restaurants, a good grocery store, nice people. But on Sunday, as with most Mormon enclaves, this was a ghost town. Nothing's open and forget trying to score some booze. That's damn near impossible Monday through Saturday. 
But on Saturday, just before we damn near missed the fireworks, we went to Blanding's visitor center to find out what there is to do around here since you can't find a damn drink. We were welcomed with open arms and some free stuff. Boy, do we love that. And what'd we get: a small tube of Arm & Hammer whitening tooth paste and an Odwalla banana nut bar. Now we really need a drink. 
This is what there is to do in Blanding on Sundays. Of course, if you're not Mormon, you're not welcome inside. The town is divided into "wards" and each ward attends a three-hour prayer and educational service every Sunday in the LDS church. 
While I suspect that the services lack the splendor of Sunday Mass in a Catholic cathedral or the raucousness of a Southern Baptist revival, they seem to keep this town, this state and its people on a pretty even keel. We like these folks. They's good people. (Most of them are, anyway. There's an interesting public service announcement airing on Utah television. It warns people (aimed especially at LDS members) to beware of scam artists who..."go to church with you"...I know two Mormons who have been caught up in investment schemes "sold" to them by church members.)
Since there was nothing else to do on Sunday, we went, where else? To the local bury patch. A good place for Daisy to run. Hell, the residents don't care and you never know what you'll discover carved in stone. I guess this was the end of the road for more than a few RVers. 
This guy's RV died here, followed by Mr. Black himself. 
How the hell did a Catholic and my big Catholic butt make it into this Mormon bury patch?
Many headstones include an etching of a Mormon Temple. You've really scored if you said your vows at the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. That would be like getting married at the Vatican. "Sealed" means that your marriage will survive in heaven for all eternity.
Then there's this guy with no RV or Mormon temple etchings. Rather the names of his six, yes, six wives. Sealed and resealed six times over. 
When polygamy (euphemistically called "plural marriage") was outlawed in Utah, renegade polygamists established colonies south-of-the-border where they could practice their perversion. Here's a guy born in one of those colonies in Mexico. Ay, Chihuahua! Those colonies still exist, by the way. To say nothing of Hildale and Colorado City on the Utah/Arizona border.
Anyway, the guy who had six wives also had 41 children by them. Do the math: that's almost seven kids per wife. Eek.
His name was William Morley Black. Born in 1826 and died in 1915.
Who believed, as it says on the monument, "I found the gold I was looking for." Yep. There's gold in them their frills. Oh yeah...
Who among you wouldn't want to wake up next to old Wild Bill?
Paul is already bored with the blog so while I'm doing this he's sitting across from me reading about Al Gore's sex attack in the "National Enquirer". Daisy is sound asleep. Life on the road. Life is good. Moving onto Moab. SEE YA!
with Mormon meeting house...no dogs allowed but Daisy can't read nor is she a dog.
Historians have attended to the most minute historical detail, recreating even America's first crude air-conditioner.
In all his travels for work over the years, Paul is easily bored by these phony recreations. He just sat under a shade tree and clipped his fingernails. Thank God it wasn't his toenails. 
Mormons love their patriarchs and prophets and erect bronze likenesses of them when and where they can. 
These pioneer Mormon families believed that more was better. More kids and in many cases, more wives. Plural marriage, aka "polygamy", was widely practiced back then. 
Take this woman, for example. "Aunt Jody", the village midwife. She felt blessed that she was able to travel around and do good works because her husband's second wife performed her chores back home, in the field, in the kitchen, and in the sack. We move on up the road to the small city of Blanding for a July 4 celebration.
Certainly not Daisy's favorite day. She doesn't like loud noises or ridiculous get-ups. But what's the sense of having a dog like Daisy if you can't embarrass yourself and her on occasions like this. 
And speaking of "this" occasion, July 4th in Mormon town fell on a Sunday, a Mormon day of rest, prayer, and fellowship. So what do they do??? They celebrate July 3rd, Saturday. We damn near missed the whole thing. 
Them's fireworks as seen from our RV park about a half-mile away. 
Daisy is still traumatized. But Paul explained the whole Francis Scott Key connection..."the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air"...the Fort McHenry thing. She seems to be coming out of it. Of course, a piece of ham helped her swallow the history lesson. Oops, this shot made it in twice.
Blanding really is a nice little spot with nice restaurants, a good grocery store, nice people. But on Sunday, as with most Mormon enclaves, this was a ghost town. Nothing's open and forget trying to score some booze. That's damn near impossible Monday through Saturday. 
But on Saturday, just before we damn near missed the fireworks, we went to Blanding's visitor center to find out what there is to do around here since you can't find a damn drink. We were welcomed with open arms and some free stuff. Boy, do we love that. And what'd we get: a small tube of Arm & Hammer whitening tooth paste and an Odwalla banana nut bar. Now we really need a drink. 
This is what there is to do in Blanding on Sundays. Of course, if you're not Mormon, you're not welcome inside. The town is divided into "wards" and each ward attends a three-hour prayer and educational service every Sunday in the LDS church. 
While I suspect that the services lack the splendor of Sunday Mass in a Catholic cathedral or the raucousness of a Southern Baptist revival, they seem to keep this town, this state and its people on a pretty even keel. We like these folks. They's good people. (Most of them are, anyway. There's an interesting public service announcement airing on Utah television. It warns people (aimed especially at LDS members) to beware of scam artists who..."go to church with you"...I know two Mormons who have been caught up in investment schemes "sold" to them by church members.)
Since there was nothing else to do on Sunday, we went, where else? To the local bury patch. A good place for Daisy to run. Hell, the residents don't care and you never know what you'll discover carved in stone. I guess this was the end of the road for more than a few RVers. 
This guy's RV died here, followed by Mr. Black himself. 
How the hell did a Catholic and my big Catholic butt make it into this Mormon bury patch?
Many headstones include an etching of a Mormon Temple. You've really scored if you said your vows at the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. That would be like getting married at the Vatican. "Sealed" means that your marriage will survive in heaven for all eternity.Then there's this guy with no RV or Mormon temple etchings. Rather the names of his six, yes, six wives. Sealed and resealed six times over. 
When polygamy (euphemistically called "plural marriage") was outlawed in Utah, renegade polygamists established colonies south-of-the-border where they could practice their perversion. Here's a guy born in one of those colonies in Mexico. Ay, Chihuahua! Those colonies still exist, by the way. To say nothing of Hildale and Colorado City on the Utah/Arizona border.
Anyway, the guy who had six wives also had 41 children by them. Do the math: that's almost seven kids per wife. Eek.
His name was William Morley Black. Born in 1826 and died in 1915.
Who believed, as it says on the monument, "I found the gold I was looking for." Yep. There's gold in them their frills. Oh yeah...
Who among you wouldn't want to wake up next to old Wild Bill? Paul is already bored with the blog so while I'm doing this he's sitting across from me reading about Al Gore's sex attack in the "National Enquirer". Daisy is sound asleep. Life on the road. Life is good. Moving onto Moab. SEE YA!
Very cute Corita and Paul... only one thing... the Mormon's would LOVE for you to 'come inside' member or not. Try it. It's a trip.
ReplyDeleteYou are always welcome to join us for Sunday services, anywhere, any of our chapels. You'd likely find your visit interesting, pleasant, and rewarding. We don't "pass the plate" and I guarantee a friendly reception.
ReplyDeleteAlan
Salem, MO