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Show fact that the public, including me, was not notified of theclos-ing. theclos-ing. MY LADY FAIR Louise and I have been, always, scrupulously scrup-ulously careful to leave a clean camp, with the fire completely out, doused by water. We have always taken along our own wood so we wouldn't damage the ecology, We have been thankful to God and to "whoever owns this beautiful land" for just having it there, for us. Now we feel, no doubt, like Adam and Eve when they were kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Except that MLF doesn't care for apples. Mac. EVERY SPRING, ever since we came to Utah, we have counted count-ed the days until we could reach our own little private heaven, Hardscrabble canyon. At least once a week we've called the Castles, or the Bub Kilbourns, or our own Martha Mikesell, to learn if the road was open. And when it finally was, we planned for the next day off for our annual "first visit to Hardscrabble." All of you who have always lived here, who have never spent time in the wide-open, flat and cheerless Midwest, cannot possibly pos-sibly appreciate how much Hardscrabble means to us. It was just exactly what we looked forward to when we planned the move out here cliffs and pine-clad pine-clad hills, running water, the perfume of wild flowers, solitude, and, above all, nearness near-ness to God. IN JUST 20 minutes we could be away from all the tribulations trib-ulations and trials of newspaper business, no telephones, no callers, cal-lers, nothing but solitude and the aroma of bacon and eggs and coffee outdoors. It became more and more anticipatory through the long winters each spring we had something solid and sure to look forward to Hardscrabble. And so it was, a couple of Mondays ago. Memorial Day, to be exact. We packed up everything, including our own wood, which we always take because I'm too lazy to cut down bushes. And we headed out, carefree and gay and supremely happy because we were going to our own private Heaven, Hards-scrabble. Hards-scrabble. An hour later we were back home, the station wagon covered with red dust but quite unopened. We were heartsick. WE HAD JUST passed the narrows when I stopped because we were being tail-gated by a man in a pick-up truck. He stopped too. It was Darrel Mike-sell. Mike-sell. He told me sternly that if we left the road we would be trespassing. We would be arrested ar-rested and fined if we stirred an inch off the road. Of course, if we had written permission from Charlie Kippen everything would be all right. He said further that a number of would-be would-be picnickers were arrested and fined last summer. I think Darrel Mikesell is a nice young man. I hope he is paid well for policing the area. Further, I do not blame Kippen Kip-pen and Gilmore for shutting down Hardscrabble Canyon to the picnicking public. The litter and vandalism and destruction in that beautiful canyon has been unbelievable and indescrible. HOWEVER . . . I do resent the |