Postcards From Mommy: Pine Valley, Utah
by Mommy Bear

Introduction: It may be a Butch Bear World, but some of our correspondents are real women, in this case, Mommy Bear, who, to her chagrin, is often mistaken for Doris Day. She’s an attractive, single, middle-aged, straight woman who’s had her share, and sometimes her fill, of straight and bi-bears.

It hasn’t been the easiest road for Mommy. Like many women, she’s had both a colorful, challenging and somewhat disillusioned life loving a man who was irresistibly drawn into the stiff current of the emerging Bear Movement. Now she’s helping to raise a 4-year-old cub in a bear-centric family. Her perspective is unique, and over the years she’s come to know what a bear needs and what a bear wants, even if it is with her nose pressed against the glass of the proverbial candy-store window.

Some days are harder. Some days are easy, and some days are simply off the hook. While Papa bear relaxes with Daddy Bear, a perfect martini, and handy web browser, Mommy Bear writes this postcard from the end of the Rainbow Trail. --Editors

Reporting to you from Pine Valley, Utah, in a state of mild euphoria as I look out from my room at the Pine Valley Lodge onto green meadows, farms and real trees. Just 2 miles further down the road is the Dixie National Park, where lush stands of Ponderosa pines and juniper trees fill the air with a fragrance I haven't smelled since the last time I visited Oregon, five years ago. It is nostalgic in some ways, but it is also a fragrance that awakens and centers ... it is a balm to the soul, after such a long time in the harsh desert and that nasty old Sin City, Las Vegas.

This is a simple, spotlessly clean, beautifully maintained Mormon community. It can hardly be called a town. There is only the lodge and a visitor's center, and of course the Mormon church - an old wooden one, with the typical tall steeple, painted white and surrounded by healthy old fruit trees. Tonight I saw a young girl in a cowboy hat walking behind a white horse, holding two long reins, and training it to pull a wagon. They walked at a leisurely pace right in the middle of the two-lane highway. This morning, I awoke to the aroma of bacon and cinnamon rolls, drifting straight up from the lodge cafe downstairs. Instead of having breakfast, though, I took in a "meal" of sounds, lying in bed and savoring my option to go right back to sleep (which I did...I slept a whopping 13 hours before finally getting up and going for a walk). "I don't think you'll want to actually come here. Here's why: the Pine Valley Lodge is just too tiny for bears. The lodge is very rustic and charming, but not in any kind of resort way. It is a far cry from a "rustic" B&B. Don’t expect to find Martha Stewart here!

Just outside my window, I heard gentle voices - men greeting each other and quietly discussing various projects they were working on, the weather, the latest in the newspaper, and the wedding they attended last night in a nearby town. The women working in the cafe chattered in a background counterpoint. But the leading sounds were those of the animals: cows, dogs, horses and even mules, all sounding off frequently as if they were confident in being heard and understood by all creatures within earshot. What lovely music, and such a contrast to the city sounds to which I have become numbed. I drifted back to sleep, listening.

And did I mention the quilts? The lodge and all the beds are decorated with the most beautiful handmade quilts in classic American designs: eight-pointed stars, flags, wedding ring and diamond shapes, all hand-pieced and hand quilted. I am always in awe of those evenly spaced, neat, orderly stitches. To me they indicate a level of mental repose I have yet to achieve while holding a needle. But I keep trying. Spending two nights under a handmade quilt was a pleasant antidote to big city overload.

This evening, I hear a whole different program of sounds: crickets, frogs, that blasted mule all the way across the valley (he is not a happy camper, braying every now and then, causing the surrounding cows to stir and start mooing), and something that I think is a coyote, a wail which seems too high-pitched to be a wolf. Tonight I walked down the main road in Pine Valley, with only my room key in my pocket, acutely aware of being unfettered for the first time in a year...no purse, no cell phone, no calendar ... and since it is 68 degrees at 10 p.m., no need for more than shorts, T-shirt and sandals! And glasses, to see the stars. The sky out here away from all city light is absolutely intoxicating. I knew from a radio program that Mars is at its closest point to Earth in many years, so I wanted to see if I could see it in the southern sky, as they said. It is the brightest object in the sky, next to the moon, and really is orange in hue. What a luxury to be able to
stroll and stand out there for as long as I wish, without a car passing the entire time (almost an hour), and everyone in Pine Valley asleep, or at least indoors. Being where I can hear my own heart beating outdoors is something I wish I could experience every day, but will promise myself to do at least several times a year.

Earlier today I hiked around the small Pine Valley Lake, where young fathers and their toddler sons stood silently fishing along the bank. I counted 5 such teams - no girls - all quietly tossing their lines out, drawing them back in, whispering to their sons and showing them how to hook the worms, then demonstrating patience and perseverance over and over again as their kids played beside them on the bank. I made extra efforts to walk quietly as I passed. One father-son team had a tiny Chihuahua curled up beside them next to their fishing gear. It heard me pass and raised one ear, that's all, then laid its head back down and went back to sleep. That's how calm and serene these folks were. I have NEVER seen a Chihuahua that mellow, period. [Or maybe it had just eaten a Mormon dinner.]

Speaking of dinner, the food is really bland. A teenaged waitress -owner's daughter - had to ask me, in repeated trips out from the kitchen, what to put on my Cobb salad. Now, mind you, ALL the ingredients are listed on the menu: turkey, avocado, olives, egg, etc. She even made a special trip out to ask me what dressing I wanted. It was like the Monty Python cheese shop skit. I asked for French, she went back to see if they had any, said No, so I asked her what they did have, and she went back into the kitchen yet again, came back and recited the list with some difficulty, rolling her eyes heavenward for assistance: um, ranch, blue cheese, thousand island, and vinegar and I think that's it. Sorry. Then she breathed a loud sigh of relief when I chose ranch. And then the long-awaited salad arrived: an ENORMOUS mound of iceberg lettuce with tomatoes, slices of cheddar cheese and turkey strips (cold cuts), a slice of bell pepper, and not an avocado, egg or olive in sight. Then she began noisily sweeping the cafe as I finished eating. She was extremely sweet and sincere, so I couldn't be angry with her, but I certainly thought "Nope, the Bearz would NOT be happy here, no sir." But of course, there is one alternative: the Veyo Cafe in Veyo, UT, just 10 miles down the road. I'm sure their Chicken A La King - "on toast!" - for $3.95 is a real deal!"

The drive into southern Utah reminds me of Eastern Oregon ... hills covered with juniper and pine, farms with orchards and irrigation wheels, rugged red cliffs just beyond the foothills. The red soil is part of the terrain that stretches on to Arches, just 90 minutes away and the Grand Canyon, only 3 hours from here. It is sub-alpine, much like Colorado.

The communities are tiny, around 100 people, evenly spaced about every 10 miles or so. Although they are still primarily rural, they also consist of many absentee Mormon owners. Mormons buy land and build retreat homes or cabins, and spend time regularly with their families out here, doing maintenance and adding to their properties, keeping their places looking as if they lived there year-round, and keeping in touch with their part-time neighbors. I love seeing entire families standing in the middle of the road, talking away and forgetting where they are, it's just that sleepy. If civilization were to collapse, this would be one excellent place to be stranded.

And I know not everyone out here is Mormon, because I saw a Michelob truck parked at one rather large, newly built estate. At the general store, a middle-aged man placed a dozen cartons of night crawlers on the cashier's counter, paused and said, "Just a minute, I think I'll get a video," turned away and returned seconds later with "Eyes Wide Shut." (Come to think of it, he's probably very Mormon. Sex is certainly nowhere on their Forbidden List.) The store sells beer and caffeinated drinks, for tourists and Mormons on the brink.

Even the raunchy old eccentric's property ... you know, the one with the rusted-out farm equipment and dozens of strange plaster statues and chainsaw sculptures? ... even those places are clean, orderly and trash-free, with their oddities displayed for easy viewing from the road. There was one such property in Pine Valley, in nearby Veyo, and several in St. George. Mostly I notice how healthy the animals seem to be in these little towns. The lively dogs running free in the yards, the livestock with clear eyes and the horses with shiny coats and braided manes and tails are evidence of caring and industrious residents. And the birds! I hear birds everywhere. It is startling to me to realize that the only birds I hear in Vegas are recordings from the speakers attached to the fake birds in the hotel atriums and habitats. One exception: two mourning doves, which coo in the mornings on our roof. But out here, there are more songs than I can count.

It is an odd culture, though, this Mormon frontier. I have a strong respect for the community and reality they have created. It is straight out of the Utopian movements in the late 1800s. I wonder how many of these souls are those old Utopians, Oneidans, Shakers, Quakers, Amish, Mennonites and even Puritans returned to continue the tradition? And where else but Mormon country could there be towns with names like New Harmony, Kanab, Orderville and Helper? But there is also a Virgin, Utah, and yes, a town named Lonesome Beaver, not far away, so I guess Mormons do have a naughty side...at least the founding fathers must have.

I must get out here more often, to take in more of these impressions and strengthen these healing images. And next time, I will bring my 4-year-old, so he can see authentic rusted-out farm machinery, hear a mule bray, and watch guys fish so quietly it puts a Chihuahua to sleep.

P.S. Nothing is ever quite as it seems. As I packed my bag to check out of the Pine Valley Lodge, I folded the beautiful handmade quilt and laid it over the antique chair, taking a moment to pat it respectfully, when I noticed something sticking out of a corner. It was a tag. It said, "Made In China." Oops.

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