I’ve always celebrated Pioneer Day—the day the Mormon Pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley. Of course I grew up in Utah, where it is a state holiday and EVERYONE celebrates it. Even when we joined the army and moved to Texas, I still celebrated it with the children because to me it was more than a state or civic holiday—it celebrated my pioneer heritage!
I remember dressing my children in pioneer outfits on July 24 and having them march around the block in Killeen, Texas, pretending they were crossing the plains, coming to the “promised land,” Utah.
I even remember in Hawaii on Pioneer Day, crossing the saddle between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa over to the Kona side of the mountain. There we went to a beach with picnic tables and we made pancakes. Eating our breakfast with sand blowing in our faces, I talked about pioneers and the hardships they’d faced crossing the plains.
I remember dressing my children in pioneer outfits on July 24 and having them march around the block in Killeen, Texas, pretending they were crossing the plains, coming to the “promised land,” Utah.
I even remember in Hawaii on Pioneer Day, crossing the saddle between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa over to the Kona side of the mountain. There we went to a beach with picnic tables and we made pancakes. Eating our breakfast with sand blowing in our faces, I talked about pioneers and the hardships they’d faced crossing the plains.
There were many Pioneer Day celebrations in many places, but when we retired from the military and came back to Centerville, Utah, I again celebrated Pioneer Day in the traditional way—with parades, fireworks, picnics. There were also rodeos, but I never did those.
This past July 23, I celebrated Pioneer Day in the most authentic way ever—I hiked a “moderately strenuous” three-mile hike at Yellowstone Park with my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren. I really felt like a pioneer as I struggled up that mountain side.
First I felt prepared for the hike. I’d been walking approximately three miles a day in Los Angeles, so I felt fit. I was actually looking forward to the hike with my family. Whenever I think of mountain hikes I think of my mother and how much she loved the mountains, and how we used to hike in Mueller Park above Bountiful when I was growing up.
The first part of the hike went well, and I enjoyed it. We reached our scenic point—a beautiful waterfall that was worth the hike. There were even some wild raspberries there along the trail.
Then there was dissention; my 12-year-old granddaughter Jenni wanted to be in the lead of the group and her mother wanted her to stay with us. My 15-year-old grandson James had gone on ahead of us; Jenni became angry and went back alone. She broke the cardinal rule of hiking: everyone stay together.
We decided to continue on the more difficult part of the trail. Whereas the first part of the trail was easy, this part was the “strenuous” part; it was loopbacks straight up the mountain, across and down the other side. I discovered how really unfit I was. I really struggled to keep up with Athena and seven-year-old Emma. (I might try to claim that we were at 10,000 feet elevation and I had not become totally acclimatized to the altitude, but I don’t think it would wash; I just wasn’t as fit as I thought.)
Athena was patient and kept waiting for me as I stopped to rest, and I thought of the pioneers crossing the mountains; my hearts went out to them. But I knew I had to go on—there was no going back. Even when Emma got tired, she could still run rings around me!
Finally we reached the point where we could see the parking lot down below, and I realized I might make it. Athena was still worried about Jenni, and if she’d met up with James and Dirk at the meeting point. I felt bad that I was holding Athena back so much, but I knew at my old age and decrepit stage of fitness, there was nothing I could do.
But we weren’t through. There was one place on the trail where huge trees had fallen across the trail and we had to crawl across them. Finally we made it back to the trailhead where Jenni had indeed waited for James. We were all together again and we drove to Old Faithful where Ed was waiting patiently for us.
It was an interesting pioneer day exercise with a lot of interesting parallels. Mainly I was glad to make it through and go home. I was glad that I wasn’t the least bit sore the next day; at least I was that fit! I was especially grateful that I’d done it with my family, who were tolerant and understanding.
Plus Athena could say the next month when she took her young women on that hike as part of the young women camp, that if an old 66-year-old lady and a seven-year-old kid could make it, they could, too.
