impressions on returning to Utah

Driving in, I loved seeing the mountains again. Especially the ones in Utah Valley, the ones I saw every day growing up. They are so imposing, high and jagged, circumventing the whole valley. I oriented myself using those mountains; Y-mountain always to the east, a snow-capped, higher range behind and above it. Utah Lake is there, stretching across in the west, with the low, un-forested mountains beyond.

In childhood, I found comfort in being surrounded by their familiar ridges. My world was encased in that valley. Rarely did I venture north to Salt Lake or south to the wilds of southern Utah. Rarely did I go through the passes and canyons to other mountain valleys. My world was simply there, in that pink bubble, the cultural center of Mormonism. Now, the mountains seemed impossibly large, ready to fall over. I stared in awe at the folds and ripples of rock in the canyons, amazed that I never appreciated the millions and billions of years of geologic time, earthquakes, wind, and water that created that beauty.

As I drove down I-15, I saw indications of the Utah Mormon subculture. Five church steeples in view near one exit. New, impossibly large homes spreading across the western valley and up the foothills, farm land and orchards gone. Billboard after billboard garishly advertising luxury homes, Mormon movies, minivans and SUVs. Some were obviously advertising to the Mormon market, hitting up 8-children families to build bigger homes. They made me laugh, a slightly smirking laugh. It was so specific to this market, so Utah.

This is the home of my childhood, of college. I don't feel it is my home now, but still it has that familiarity, that comfort. At the same time, it is different. I am different. So much has changed.

So much has changed.