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a new year; a wasatch akitu

“Think now history has many cunning passages, contrived corridors, and issues, deceives with whispering ambitions, guides us by vanities.
…The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.”

another new year startled us today. somewhere between the late night meandering into a warm bed, after the clock already struck a replayed chime marking the change of calendar (for, we can DVR the change of year and play it in every time zone,) and after the morning coffee, sunrise, prayers, or routines—the time has changed, and so have we.

the Wasatch is a flurry, the new recreational pursuits settling into it as the heavy snow settles onto it. it has been a dense year of both snow and increased use of the snow.

although this mountain range sits above a major metropolitan area, it retains pockets of wild refuge still hidden from its’ own mountain refugees. these pockets of frozen time are still filled with change. no man steps into the same Wasatch twice, for it is not the same Wasatch, nor is it the same man…



I should wonder what our old settlers would think, the miners, if they saw my earrings—constructed of rusted 150 year old mining metal which was unearthed on the ‘Millwood 100M’ “course.” a by-product of resource destruction and management, forgotten on a mountainside, found and collected in seeking a sense of home in the mountains I dwell in, and created by my boyfriend as a token of memory and appreciation. the strange way these mountains move us, and their history.

“we twa hae run about the braes, and pou’d the gowans fine; but we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, sin’ auld lang syne.”

on the eve of each new year I read Burn’s poem, the words that have morphed into the song oft sung half drunk and with half the applicable interpretation. while each year I pause to reflect on the friendships, people, and places that have influenced my march through time to where I am now, this year these lines stood out—we have run about the mountains, picking flowers, but we have each wandered many weary ways since those days of sunshine…

there will always be nostalgia with summer, in particular with the Wasatch summers speckled with mountain-top laughter, glints of sunlight reflecting off of the quartzite, the confetti of flowers sprawled about. but, as with all things nostalgic, we can only enjoy them as much as our pleasure allows in the moment, and leave the interpretation of, and longing for, those moments for when they have passed. those moments are, “in memory only, reconsidered passion.”

as-salamu alaykum 2017. with the renewal in a revolutions around the sun, tradition holds to reflect, renew, and rededicate our purpose as human beings.

I am drawn to the braes in which I reside. what is their history? as resorts, recreational use, and resource profiling continues to morph and change the Wasatch, what is its future?




beyond the hard-writ facts of mine dates and production numbers, resort fees and the trees/slopes obliterated, what does it mean and feel, these braes, to have drawn so many near to them?

“this is the land which ye shall divide by lot. and neither division nor unity matters. this is the land. we have our inheritance.”

so this is the story I must explore, exploit with my own intrigue, and record. the only goal for 2017, as a tangible manner, is to write and record the moods of the Wasatch and the people and histories within, at least once per week. {I guess this means I need to make this site more aesthetic if I am to post on it weekly!}

“We must learn by acting, experiencing, and living, that is, above all by Love and Suffering. … ‘You were given the power to love, in order to use it, no matter what pain it may cause you.’ ”


so here is to each of our renewals—a festival of akitu in a modern world—sowing and reaping on our smalls scales the love, suffering, words, thoughts, footprints, and resources around us.


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