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Show A-10 Sat/Sun/Mon/Tues, April 25-28, 2020 The Park Record Meetings anD agenDas More Dogs on Main TO PUBLISH YOUR PUBLIC NOTICES AND AGENDAS, PLEASE EMAIL CLASSIFIEDS@PARKRECORD.COM By Tom Clyde More crickets and tumbleweeds on Main Street AGENDA Summit County Board of Health Meeting April 27, 2020 4:00 – 5:30 PM Conducted Remotely Through Zoom PUBLIC MEETING 4:00 – 5:30 1. Welcome and Approval of Minutes (4:00 - 4:05) 2. Public Comment (4:05 - 4:10) 3. Budget Update (4:10 – 4:25) 4. Summit COVID-19 Update (4:25 – 4:40) 5. Proposed new Health Order (4:40 – 5:25) 6. Other Board Items (5:25 – 5:30) 7. Adjourn Notice is hereby given that the Snyderville Basin Planning Commission will meet in regular session electronically, via zoom, on Tuesday, April 28, 2020 AGENDA Agenda items may or may not be discussed in the order listed. 4:30 p.m. Regular Session 1. Public input for items not on the agenda or pending applications. 2. Election of Chair and Vice Chair. Work Session 1. Presentation of a revised application proposing amendments to the 2008 Summit Research Park Development Agreement (DA). The DA was approved for 1.295 million sf of research and civic uses with other support uses Applicant proposes a mixed use community consisting of 1.291 million sf of mixed residential, neighborhood retail, offices, hotel, civic uses, transit related facilities, parks and additional open space, with an additional 333,000 sf of mixed workforce housing. The property consists of 51 acres, located north and west of Landmark Drive and Olympic Parkway, at Kimball Junction. Applicant is Jeff Gochnour, Dakota Pacific. –Kirsten Whetstone, AICP County Planner Please click the link below to participate in the webinar: https://summitcountyut.zoom.us/j/98048146751 To listen by phone only Dial: US: +1 699 900 9128 or +1 346 248 7799 Webinar ID: 980 4814 6751 To view Snyderville Basin Planning Commission meeting, live, visit the “Summit County, Utah” Facebook page If you would like to submit comments on item not on the agenda, please email kwhetstone@summitcounty.org by 12:00 p.m. on Tuesday, April 27th. DRC Updates Commission Comments Director Items Adjourn A friend shot a beautiful video of Main Street this week. While his wife drove their open-top Jeep up the street, he controlled a drone, creating a striking image of the street. It was like the opening of a great movie. It was also deeply disturbing. There was no sign of life anywhere. Crickets and tumbleweeds. There was nobody on the sidewalk, maybe one or two parked cars in the whole length between 9th Street and Hillside. Another friend had sent me a still photo of Main Street the night everything shut down, back in March. It was equally vacant and otherworldly. The video was something I couldn’t get my head around. The next morning, after an unsettled night’s sleep, I got in the car and drove into town. I had to see this for myself because the images were impossible to comprehend. I parked in Swede Alley, not another vehicle in sight, and walked the length of Main Street. I counted five other people. There was a little more life than my friends’ photos showed. They took their photos in the evening, what ought to be the height of the dinner hour. I was there in the morning, when businesses would normally be opening up. That wasn’t happening. The few signs of life on Main Street were people working on buildings. A few places were refinishing their floors, somebody else had a big plumbing project going. The repairmen would have gone home by 5, so my friends’ evening photos missed them. The presence of a few construction workers was somewhat reassuring, but there was clearly nothing normal about it. The shut down hadn’t hit me with that force before. I’ve mostly stayed at home, and it doesn’t get much more socially distant than out at my house. I’ve ventured into Kamas and Heber for groceries, but have gone six weeks on a tank of gas. Things feel “off” there, but there’s a big difference between slow and dead. At the same time nothing feels normal, the seasonal patterns are on schedule.” I finally went to Home Depot for some things I needed on the ranch. The place was very busy. Most customers were wearing masks. But instead of the paper dust masks, or the homemade surgical-type masks, most of the customers wore masks that were more like tactical militia gear. They were pulled up over their entire faces, and with a ball cap on top, only a narrow slit for the eyes was exposed. It was like the store had been invaded by ninjas. Completely faceless, no communication or even eye contact. Just everybody going after their stuff with a strange urgency. At a time when we are supposed to be keeping what feels like an unnatural, even rude, distance from each other, the aisles at Home Depot were so clogged that it was impossible to navigate the store. Ladders, scissor lifts, and random pallets of new inventory were stacked everywhere. To get down the aisle, I felt like we were crawling all over each other. If I get the virus and die, I got it there among the galvanized pipe fittings, despite my N95 mask and best intentions. The County is beginning to back off some of the restrictions in an effort to spark a little life back into the economy. But gatherings of more than 20 (or 50, I hear different numbers) people are still prohibited. That takes care of weddings, funerals, church in general, movies, sports, and so on. Fourth of July parade? Maybe not. How far apart do restaurant tables have to be to avoid the group at the next table being added to yours, and the next table and suddenly you are over the magic number? Will there be tents enclosing each table with their own HVAC systems? Sick as I am of my own cooking, the idea of going out will take a while to get used to. At the same time nothing feels normal, the seasonal patterns are on schedule. The river is rising a bit, a seasonal spring that turns a hay field into a mud hole has begun to flow right on schedule. Though they are not exactly the symbol of hope and renewal we’re all looking for, I found some comfort that the turkey buzzards have come back and are roosting on the rock cliffs west of the barn, same as always, like in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Meanwhile, in Georgia, the Governor has decided to sound the “all clear” signal and everything is open and back to normal. It’s been almost a month since the tattoo parlors of the Peachtree State were closed. I suppose that’s a real hardship, having to go a full month without getting any tattoo work. So along with the hair salons and bowling alleys, Georgia’s tattoo parlors are up and running. They are required to maintain social distancing. So what do you call social distancing at a tattoo parlor? Darts. Tom Clyde practiced law in Park City for many years. He lives on a working ranch in Woodland and has been writing this column since 1986. sunDay in the Park By Teri Orr To view staff reports available after Friday, April 24, 2020 please visit: www.summitcounty.org Individuals needing special accommodations pursuant to the Americans with Disabilities Act regarding this meeting may contact Vicki Geary, Summit County Community Development Department, at (435) 336-3123. Idaho guv meets resistance Brad Little faces attacks from own party over orders KEITH RIDLER Associated Press BOISE, Idaho — Idaho Gov. Brad Little’s efforts to flatten the curve and slow the rate of infection and spread of the coronavirus after it made a rapid entry into the state last month have succeeded. But with infections slowing, the Republican governor is facing growing unrest within his own party, and groups are chafing at his stay-at-home order and the closure of non-essential businesses despite the risk of a second wave of infections. Calls to disobey have increased along with a smattering of defiant actions across the state. “I think once it looks like we’ve got past the worst of it, it makes it seem like, ‘Why don’t we open back up?’ “ said Jaclyn Kettler, a Boise State University political scientist. “At the same time, there’s a lot of risk we might not fully understand.” Idaho is unique in that most states facing coordinated pushback for virus closures have Democratic governors. President Donald Trump, playing to his base, has targeted Democratic governors who have issued shutdown orders by tweeting “Liberate Minnesota,” “Liberate Michigan” and “Liberate Virginia.” Little hasn’t drawn Trump’s ire so far. Earlier this year, Little sat next to the president as Trump praised Little for cutting thousands of pages of regulations in the state. Little typically listens to health experts when it comes to making decisions involving how the state should react to the coronavirus. That doesn’t sit well with some of his fellow Republicans, despite Little’s success in slowing infections. Idaho’s first recorded infec- tion came on March 13 in Blaine County, which includes Sun Valley Resort and its ski area that draws national and international visitors, and is thought to be a likely vector for the virus’ entry into Idaho. Just three weeks later, on April 4, Idaho had 1,000 infections. Little took decisive action, issuing an emergency declaration on March 13 and a stay-at-home order on March 25 after community spread was confirmed first in Blaine County and then in highly-populated Ada County, which includes Boise. Community spread is when it’s not clear how a person became infected. Three weeks after hitting 1,000 infections, Idaho’s virus cases have risen by only 766, according to tracking by Johns Hopkins University tally on Wednesday afternoon. Fifty-one people have died. Little last week extended his stay-at-home order for Idaho’s 1.75 million residents to the end of the April, further irritating his fellow Republicans, but lifted some restrictions on non-essential businesses. Meanwhile, nearly 100,000 Idahoans filed for unemployment benefits from mid-March to mid-April. Little plans to hold a news conference Thursday morning where he plans to announce a fourphased approach to reopening the state, but cited his concerns of a potential second wave of infections. “There is going to be risk,” he told the Greater Idaho Falls Chamber of Commerce on Wednesday in a teleconference without providing details of his plan. “The degree of risk in everything we do is much higher than it was before.” Meanwhile, protests have increased, as have criticisms from other Republicans in what is one of the nation’s reddest states. “There is a Libertarian ideology that is going to be more hesitant, or question more, the necessity of a statewide stay-at-home order,” Kettler said. “And once the caseload (of virus infections) is slowing, that’s where you can see that shifting of mindset even more.” That has been manifested in everything from ignoring park closures to holding prohibited yard sales to protests outside the closed Statehouse in Boise. In northern Idaho, Republican state Rep. Heather Scott last week referred to the governor as “Little Hitler” and compared the stayat-home orders to Nazi Germany during the Holocaust. Republican Lt. Gov. Janice McGeachin, a small business owner in eastern Idaho, in an April 17 letter told Little she couldn’t support the isolation order going past April 30, which she said would be catastrophic for the economy. “I also fear the potential of a constitutional showdown between some of the people of Idaho and your Administration,” she wrote. And early on, Republican House Speaker Scott Bedke in an April 12 letter to Little voiced concerns about the governor’s use of emergency powers and their potential curtailment by the Legislature. “But I am mindful, as you are, that the way you exercise legislative powers now will affect how the Legislature views those powers when it next convenes,” Bedke wrote. Still, Little, who took office in January 2019, has been undeterred in doing what he says will get Idaho back on track fastest. On Wednesday, he said he’d much rather be cutting ribbons and opening new businesses than issuing stay-at-home orders. But he said there’s no guarantee people will show up at restaurants or other businesses if they don’t feel safe once the reopening is underway. “My job is to make sure that your customers have confidence, that they will show up and that they will continue to show up,” he told chamber of commerce members. Maybe a character study... How are you feeling today? my younger friend had texted ... we had skipped a day or two connecting. Like so many folks during this epic epidemic time, I am a part of few text groups who check in on each other — take turns going to the market or pharmacy so we don’t all go. We have dropped off books and chocolates and seed packets — along with bread and eggs. We are also very clear — mental health needs to be addressed in these days of isolation — as critically as having a supply of Clorox wipes. So I answered her honestly ... Adrift ... I replied. Hmmm she texted ... explain. I told her it was the name of a short story I had written in the ’80s that I sent to a writer’s conference and it won me free admittance and my room there in a tiny little cabin on the beach in Santa Barbara or more specifically — Carpenteria. And that word — the title of my short story from back then — somehow fit with my mood on the current rainy day. I felt ... adrift. She understood. Said if I had a copy of the story — she would love to read it. And I said I would look. Which I did ... and so far I haven’t found it. I did — however — find an autographed copy of a book from my favorite teacher at that conference — famed Los Angles film critic Charles Champlin. From one columnist to another begins the inscription... That summer before I became editor of this paper, I knew my second marriage was more than rocky. My kids — at that point teenagers — would be spending two weeks in June with their bio (logical) dad. And I intended to try something new. The trip to California — close to where I had spent summers growing up — would be perfect. I could drive down in a day and back in a day and spend a full week soaking up the ocean. I honestly did not know at the time I applied that the Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference was a quiet legendary camp of cronies from all kinds of writing — Hollywood to newspapers and the impossibly crazy mix of writers and wanna-be writers who gathered. There were maybe 30 of us students and maybe 15 instructors. And I was so far out of my league I was struck mute for the first half of my time there. We were right on the beach. In a place that had been housing folks in some form since the 1920s. And the railroad tracks ran right through the property. So a couple times a day the train would slow down as it meandered past and the little crossing bar would keep us from the water or our cabins for a couple of minutes ... then the train would pass. I remember how free I also felt that week. No kids, no husband, a room of my own on the beach.” There was a proper white beach hotel with a restaurant and bar, but breakfast and lunch was at the cafe, which was inside an old dinning car — The Whistle Stop Cafe. I didn’t know any real writers in my newish life of six years living in Utah. Just other journalists and Renaissance man Hank Louis, who created a little publication called Silver Vein, and it included stories and artwork from local folks. Charles Schulz — of Peanuts cartoons — was the mascot of the conference and the stationary included Snoopy on the roof of the dog house — typing away. Jonathan Winters hadn’t yet become the love child of “Mork and Mindy” and so he would try out new material during the cocktail hour. Actress Fannie Flagg was working on a book and was in some of my same classes. She sat down at the table in the diner one day at lunch where a few of us misfits had gathered. “I need a new title for my book,” she lamented. “Charles (the aforementioned Charles Champlin) thinks my title doesn’t work yet.” I was pretty much mute during this period of time. I was. I knew I was so far out of my safety zone that my feet were no longer touching the sand and I was treading water or high cotton. Years later I realized the name of diner — The Whistle Stop Cafe — became the caboose to her partial title, “Fried Green Tomatoes.” The book was published and became a movie of some note. I remember how free I also felt that week. No kids, no husband, a room of my own on the beach. I took long walks in that impossible perfect warmth of June in California. I fell asleep to the distant train whistles and I walked the grounds that had old growth trees and flowering bushes everywhere. With enough birds landing and taking off and singing it could have been a Disney movie. Like so many islands of time I had no idea how all those circumstances had converged so serendipitously. On the final day of classes a little note dropped on my writing desk. Cottage 26 at 6. Cocktails. Do come. Charles. One of the regular attendees looked over at me and sighed. “You got one of The Invites. Enjoy.” So I showed up — along with maybe 10 other students — for a heady drink with some real writers before we all went to the final dinner to hear a reading from Ray Bradbury. And he read a bit — on that perfect circadian night from “Dandelion Wine” — an ode to summer and maybe youth. I drove home the next day. I remember so clearly with the windows down and my long hair blowing — singing to the radio playing “Ventura Highway” and I was driving on it. What were the odds... I returned home — not adrift — but determined to make some changes and to return again if they would have me next summer to the conference. Which I did/ they did. And I made new friends who helped me make giant decisions and encouraged me when I became editor at this paper. What did you ever do with that short story? I thought it was the perfect treatment for a movie ... one attendee had asked. What I did was — tuck it away. It was too painful to keep unpacking then. It was about the death of my imaginary friend at a beach house when I was 6. And so far — in the great excavation of my ‘Rona days — the story has yet to surface. But if it doesn’t ... I may rewrite it on one of these adrift Sundays in the Park... Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record. She is the director of the Park City Institute, which provides programming for the George S. and Dolores Doré Eccles Center for the Performing Arts. |