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Show A-14 The Park Record Wednesday, January 28, 1998 Tales from old Park City By Justin L. "Jack" Fuell The fun road home viuraoa 48-317 n I fie- I a .fa a PlustntNl let 48310 EASY TO HND DUE !1S TO SUIt ITRST BUT GO tOUTH TO 7200 ft WEn 2 KOOtt FASHION1 PUCK MALL 1 rfgfc The Beauty of M-Wheel-Drive OS T3 AND reuifzfusts . SINCE J SINCE 1972 AWESOME DINNERS DINNER NIGHTLY FEATURING THE FOLLOWING ENTREES. Kansas City Strip Steak charbroiled angus beef Texas Meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy Silver King Cutlets breaded veal cutlets sauteed in a cabernet mushroom sauce Panfried Mountain Trout with pinenut corn relish Western Stir Fry choke of chicken or shrimp Baked Halibut in lemon dill butter Spinach Fettuccini Primavera sauteed in olive oil and wine Linguini Pagosa with cilantro pesto cream sauce Canneloni E.E. with tomato basil or white wine cream sauce BBQ Specialities house-smoked baby back ribs , beef, pork and half chickens 649-8284 PRICES FROM 7.95 - 19.95 We're not good because we're old, we're old because ',a: "::,vr'wE'RE GOOD! BREAKFAST FROM 8AM . LUNCH FROM I I AM DINNER FROM 5PM Families Welcome Childrens Menu 317 MAIN ST. PARK CITY, UT mm 'Wl9TE1iSTO!E'WliyE ?W$0UX! SMJL & Commit Interior 'Design Service . V ' Original 'Oils y middle U 'Days Only! h fVl, r, 9 t i It January 29, 30, 31st J Ifiurs., Jri., Sat. Original Oils 6y 'European Artists You can select from over 350 framed original oil paintings. Back by popular demand, this special event provides an excellent opportunity opportu-nity to save on fine art to enhance the beauty beau-ty of your home. Representing the finest in traditional hand painted oils on canvas in the style of 16th century to 19th century European and American schools. SAW 35 3 mys oiif! Shop Early For Best Selection 7 "" Queen Bed & 2 Nt. Stands $5586 reg., $3629 SALE Sate 25-50 Through Sat, Jan, 3ht I b 1 S-ji J Imagination Style Value www.housleys.com 569-9200 Open Mon.-Sat. lOam to Spm "up to 50 reductions apply to all taventoiy except oil painting All Sale items Sold "As is". Sales are final. No Returns. Small delivery charge applies. Cash, check, most credit cards accepted. Any kid can tell you that real freedom comes with bare feet. Something about having those five little piggies exposed to the world tells us that we are truly free, and so for years and years we, the world's kids, wouldn't have been caught dead in a pair of shoes. Of course we followed rules and we used common sense, too. When the mercury scrunched up and hid way down at the bottom of the thermometer we were more than happy to keep our feet covered, but just as soon as the frost came up out of the ground our toes demanded freedom and we tossed our shoes aside. We knew other rules, too. For one thing, I never, ever, saw anyone barefoot in church and very rarely did anyone appear at school without shoes. We have exceptions to all rules, though, and I clearly remember remem-ber that Lawrence he lived across the street from us often made it to class sans sandals. But for the most part these unwritten laws were obeyed even though they were rarely, if ever, mentioned. I noticed a lot of other things as I was growing up, and among them I learned that kids are pretty darn sharp. Did you ever hear an adult warning a kid to not run through the stubble out in the alfalfa field? Nope, you never did, because kids always knew that running through those stiff bristle-like tufts of new-cut new-cut alfalfa was about the same as running through a pack of porcupines. As a matter of fact few kids would, willingly, walk through the stubble in a hay field, because that stubble would tear the hide off a billy goat. Somewhere, probably in high school, we learned the Pythagorean Theorem you know, that bit about a right angle triangle's hypotenuse squared being equal to the sum of the squares of the other sides. Well, kids at home knew and used that knowledge from birth. When I was in the second and third grades we lived two miles north, and a quarter-mile east of school. That was back in the days before our mountain moun-tain counties had school buses, so our way to class was made mostly aboard "shanks mare" we walked. Those years brought deeper than normal snow, and sub-zero temperatures that ganged up and froze that snow harder than concrete. Our early morning trek to school took us up on top of the drifts and along a straight line across the crusted, frozen land as we ran the shortest possible route to school. We followed old Pythagoras' hypotenuse route straight across fences and fields to our school house. We liked that overland trek because it gave us new country to explore, strange places we could visit that were empty during the deep-snow days, but normally full of range cattle. For us, in those days, every inch of every trip was full of excitement and a promise of something new and different. Here again, kids are sharp and quick of wit. Even though we ran to school atop the crusted drifts, even the dullest first grader knew that we had to walk the roadway on our trek home. Our feeble mountain sun spent the day warming our drifts so they'd no longer support our weight. In the afternoon we'd often break through the crusted surface and sink to our armpits in that cold white stuff. We walked slowly and sadly toward home along those rutted, sometimes some-times muddy, but always dull, roads. Willers we never called them willows grew along our ditches and helped break up our dreary travel. Ralph and I discovered that we could move almost half a mile, crawling above the flowing water by climbing from wilier clump to wilier clump. Our forward progress was much slower than we achieved by walking along the road, but the willers were full of interesting stuff. Up in their bows, there above the stream, hung a hundred magpie nests that needed exploring. We were saddened to learn, though that magpie nests are spring or summer things, and that they lose their magic in autumn when they contain nothing but twigs, occasional feathers, and long-ago hardened nagpie stuff. We also discovered that we could wade almost the whole two miles of ditch we didn't dare crawl under a couple of bridges between school and home. We tied our shoe laces together and carried them around our necks so they'd not get too wet. We had a couple of accidents when they dipped into the water or. when we had to chase them downstream. Mom and Dad became terribly upset with us when we brought wet shoes home, and they became really angry when we told them that Ralph's shoes had fallen in the ditch. We proudly displayed the shoe that we'd recovered, but the other had just floated away. One spring we found a family of skunks living beneath the floor boards of an old log cabin. We'd agreed to help Quinton Hancock catch them, so we could make caps and stuff out of their pelts. Before we got there, though, Quinton had already hooked a piece of wire around one's neck and was breaking it to lead. They walked down to the general store w here everyone shouted at them and made Quinton feel sad. No one talked to Quinton or even stood near him for a long time after that. People are strange about that kind of stuff. We missed out on all that fun. Justin Fuell, a former Park City resilient, has written two books of his early recollectionsJackie and Beeba and Me. He lives in Minima, Ariz, with his wife Beeba. Writers on the Range By Larry Hyslop 's Stealing artifacts ruins the Southwest Two photographs hang on my office wall. They both show the right hand of my son. In one, he holds a potsherd and in the second, two arrowheads. Two dads and three teenage sons traveled to southern Utah to experience the Anasazi world and the red rock wilderness. The Colorado Plateau contains an estimated 100,000 Anasazi ruins. A circle cir-cle on a map marked our destination. Entering the canyon, we found rock art although it was spray painted. A rock held the polite message "Please close the gate, thank you" along with a more blunt "Keep the f...ing Californians out!" Nearby was more traditional rock art: Ancient symbols mixed with evidence of our own culture. One of our ambassadors had ricocheted rico-cheted bullets off the rock canvas, while the second had nearly obliterated a clan identity image. Two people declared ownership of this boulder, and after using it for their own purposes, left something less for the rest of us. We started early into the maze of narrow canyons on the first hot day of May. As 1 sweated in the midmorning heat, I knew 80 percent of the ruins we might find had already been pilfered. I hoped there would be something to make this effort worthwhile. We found the ruins in shade, nestled beneath an overhanging cliff. Five storage rooms had been built of piled stones. Red mud mortar bore the imprint of Anasazi fingers. The builders of this structure felt so close that we half expected them to suddenly appear, climbing up from below and shouting a greeting. Arranged along a stone wall we discovered 15 potsherds. Each pottery fragment frag-ment revealed designs, colors and textures. Two metates and even a corncob also appeared. The presence of the artifacts shocked me. After all, other modern people, members of my own selfish self-ish culture, had clearly been there. And, though the Archeological Resources Protection Act covers sites like this, with the nearest road and law enforcement officer many miles away, the law probably has little effect. The artifacts remained because people had left them there and that amazed me. We touched and photographed every thing. We argued over building techniques and pottery pot-tery designs. Mostly, we enjoyed the wonderful shade. Finally, we hurried away, toward pools of water in shaded canyons. Only 100 yards below the ruins, we found the ground around our feet littered with chert flakes. An artisan had once sat there knapping knap-ping arrowheads. We spread out and quickly found three beautiful arrowheads: two red like the flakes and one white. Though crafted centuries ago, they looked new. The arrowheads stood on tiny sand pedestals, as if proudly displayed for our discovery. Over the centuries, the occasional hard rains had not washed away the soft sands beneath their arrowhead umbrellas. We rubbed the arrowheads, feeling their silky smoothness; we tested their sharp edges and marveled at their miniature workmanship. work-manship. They would slip so easily into a pocket, and they would be wonderful mementos of our trip. After all, we reasoned, their creator had discarded dis-carded them and no one would ever know if we took them home. As I look at the photos on my wall. 1 can still feel the glassy texture of chert arrow heads and the rough surface of baked pottery. I appreciate the cool shade of an overhang and see again its panorama panora-ma of broken country. But these photographs are all we brought back. When the hot sun overpowered overpow-ered our curiosity that afternoon, we replaced the arrowheads on their sand pedestals. The ruins and potsherds were still in view, above us. We could somehow feel the gaze of the unknown knapper. I hope the arrowheads are still there, and 1 hope other people enjoy their discovery. Our group and the original artisans now share ownership. We agree to share them with that next discoverer. But if that next visitor removes the arrowheads, they have been stolen. Not only from us but from anyone any-one fortunate enough to stumble upon them in the future. That selfish thief would leave behind a canyon, even an entire plateau, slightly more devoid of wonder and beauty. Larry Hyslop lives in Elko. Nevada, and is a contributor to Writers on the Range, a project of High Country News. Utah Alzheimer's Association plans annual gala 'An Evening to Remember' The Utah Alzheimer's Association will hold its second annual gala, "An Evening to Remember," Jan 30 at Little America Hotel Grand Ballroom in Salt Lake City. Each gala remembers and honors a prominent Utah individual who has made a significant contribution contri-bution to our community and who also suffers from ' Alzheimer's disease. This year's posthumous honoree is Ewart A. Swinyard, Ph.D., research scientist and Emeritus Dean of the College of Pharmacy of the University of Utah. Dr. Swinyard is known worldwide for his contributions to research particularly in the area of identifying and developing anticonvulsant drugs. The family of Dr. Swinyard will accept the association's associa-tion's ALEXA (Award for a Lifetime of Exceptional Achievement). Four Utah geriatricians who serve on the Medical Advisory Board of the Utah Alzheimer's Association will be honored for their help to the Utah Chapter over the years. They are: Byron Bair, M.D.; C. Steven Fehlauer, M.D.; James Ferguson, M.D.; and Gerald Rothstein, M.D. The evening will begin with a social hour and will feature live music, dinner, live and silent auctions and a ballroom dancing exhibition. Tickets for the event will directly support the statewide programs serving the patients and families of the more than 25,000 Alzheimer's patients in Utah and healthcare professionals involved with Alzheimer's disease. The Utah Alzheimer's Association provides 22 caregiver care-giver support groups in Utah, a toll-free help line (1-800371-6694), free information and materials, and referrals. The Alzheimer's Association is the only national voluntary health organization dedicated to conquering conquer-ing Alzheimer's disease through research and to providing education and support services to Alzheimer's patients, their families and caregivers. It is the leading private funder of Alzheimer's research in the United States. For more information regarding "An Evening to Remember" or to request information about the Utah Chapter of the Alzheimer's Association, please call 596-0308 or toll-free in Utah at 1-800371-6694. J PGfOR |