Christmas Vacation 2009 A-Z: G is for

Giggling Girls: See Amber and Elle
The Gorge: Driving back and forth and back and forth, over and over again
and
Going back to Grafton: Probably not the best idea on a cold, wet, rainy/snowy day in an Echo, on messy mud/clay roads ... but I knew what awful road conditions looked like, and it was just cold enough that the roads were still pretty solid. Slippery (as we discovered on one turn), but passable.

I like visiting in different seasons. You get a different perspective, and often you see things you normally might miss ... like local wildlife. I missed Gandalf though.

Grafton Take Two - Part Two

Across the road from the "official" entrance to Grafton are roads to other parts of the settlement. There are remnants of former farms, old-growth trees, quaint No Trespassing sign, and fences to keep you out.


Back up the road, you can visit the old Grafton Cemetery. The erosion and flooding that made it difficult for the settlers to stay are evident. Weathering has left its effect on the tombstones and the gravesites. Some of descendants of the families have come back to maintain the site and to maintain the headstones. In the background of the picture above, you can see that one site has been fenced off. The family has also levelled out the land, so you don't see the "hump" of the caskets, like you can below.
Since this was holy ground, I was trodding delicately, stepping carefully between gravesites and my own inclination to document carvings, dates, and family dynamics. I didn't take photographs of the section of the cemetery dedicated to the Native Americans buried within. No granite markers for them, just simple wooden stakes with the names that they were known by in English, not even their real tribal names. My heart broke for one family. There was no way that a photograph could even depict the poignancy of a whole row of little graves, one after another.

With the storm gathering in the distance, the wind whipping up, and the sense of the ancestors being not too far away, we decided to get out of Grafton before the road washed out. Remembering what the road looked like in January, we left hastily after my little rain dance led to the skies opening up. (I am so glad that J left his camera at home!)

I did stop to photograph the Virgin River Bridge in the rain. Metal plus rain plus storm --- not the smartest thing to do. But look at the light ... dark and moody. Just like I like it.

Since it was raining, the bro and I picnicked under a shelter near Zion. It was a lovely hour or so, just us catching up, watching the clouds rolling through the valley, and breathing in the most incredibly sweet, fresh, crisp mountain air. If you could bottle that air, you could make a fortune. It was the kind of air that makes you remember you have lungs and helps you remember what air is supposed to smell like. Spring/youth/cut grass/fresh rain/a storm/fresh breezes/home ...

As the storm pulled out of the valley, the clouds had the funkiest formations. My little toy camera couldn't quite capture it all, but J said that his weather geek friends would have been having a field day.

By the time we drove out down out of the mountains, we were refreshed and found ourselves under the rainbows. I kind of missed seeing Gandalf on this trip, but it was great lovely to visit the ghost town, spend quality time with the bro, and see Mother Nature in all her glory. The veil felt thin, with Grafton's families and ours looking down on us. We felt their blessings upon us, from our safe journey to our joyous rainbows of light.

Grafton Take Two - Part One

While my spring vacation was filled with lots of quality time with the nieces and nephews, one of the other things I was excited to do was try to get to Grafton again. Back in January, my brother and I attempted to visit this historical site for the first time, only to be steered away by mud and spirits disguised as a canine Gandalf the Grey. Knowing J's work schedule, I wasn't sure it was going to happen on this visit. I was delighted when he volunteered to take us up after work one afternoon.

Fortune favored us on our second attempt. We got beyond the Dire Warning signs, down the formerly muddy roads, past what must have been Gandalf's ranch, and onto the back roads leading to Grafton. Our steed was J's mighty horse-powered four-wheel drive seen parked on the access road. Mom wasn't too keen on us using her car. Can't imagine why!
Grafton is guarded not only by the spirits of the past, but by two sets of gates that warn that you are being filmed. J doubted that there is film in the camera. I erred on the side of caution, smiled and waved, and thanked them for their vigilance. (Yes, I'm a New Yorker. I'm used to surveillance.)

Part of the reason for their vigilance is that some of the buildings are under restoration. Most of the wood work on the chapel/school and the major homestead are new. You can't go into these buildings, but you can look in and see the various deceased pests that did. If you ignore that grossness of that image (which I didn't record!) and focus on the rough beauty around, you marvel at the fortitude of the settlers. Wouldn't you put up with a lot to have these views? And they did put up with a lot.

You can really see the new wood work on this building. From all the signage, we think that this homestead was for one household, while directly across the way was the "old house" which was home to another wife. (Dates and information on the various historical markers bear this out.)
Completely different type of abode. Sadly, it is bigger than my New York apartment. While touring the interior of this house, part of my brain was playing realtor and writing the description.

Quaint historic property. Beautiful views. Natural light. Cozy rooms. Ecofriendly.

The reality ... not a lot of the natural light. Plus, from your front door you'd have to see what your "sister wife" was living in. Cozy rooms indeed. Watch your head. Wear closed-toed shoes. Wear shoes for that matter.
The two bedrooms are small. This is a narrow room with an exposed exterior wall. The current furnishing come with the place. You could fit a full-size tick mattress on that frame. Not much room beyond the foot board.

The second bedroom has views of some of your closest neighbors.

Heating is rustic, to say the least.

But there is plenty of wood nearby and you don't need a gym membership, as you'll be chopping your own. Indoor plumbing is non-existent, and water access is a problem. Except when it floods, which, apparently it did A LOT ... part of the reason why Grafton was abandoned and this is now a ghost town.

How the occupant of this abode ran a weaving business, and tended her house, husband, land, and family is amazing. Clearly I was born at the end of the right century because I definitely would NOT have hacked it as a pioneer.

Bordering the historical site are fields still actively owned by local ranchers. You saw the cows out the back window there. Some of the locals believe in recycling, in their own fashion. Metal comes from the earth, and now it's slowly being reclaimed by Mother Nature.

Reflecting on our visit,
I'm glad they are preserving the site, especially these red brick buildings. When I think ghost town though, I think of buildings more like the shack than the preservations-in-progress. It's walking through the rough wooden abode, peering into tiny rooms, ducking under lintels, and trying not to freak out at carcases of descicated insects, that made me appreciate the past even more. I suppose that's the point of the juxtaposition of the two buildings.

While J patiently waited for me (and called on nature), I finished rambling around. We realized that we should probably head back up the road, as we noticed that some serious clouds were starting to roll in.

Coming up next, the Grafton Cemetery and a breath of fresh air. In the meantime, here's a little ditty to keep you amused. An appropriate song, and a vision of another chapter in Grafton's past.

Visiting Gandalf in Grafton

I had a relatively short list of things that I wanted to do while out West this past winter vacation. One of the things was to spend the day with each of my siblings. The other was to go exploring Southern Utah. I had picked up a copy of one of the Lonely Planet guides on the region, hoping to get some ideas of fun and easy day trips to areas that I hadn't already explored on previous visits. An entry about the ghost town of Grafton caught my eye. Brother J agreed to go with accompany me on what we called a "shooting trip," and so on New Year's Day we set forth. (Note: Clarify your definition of "shooting" before you set out. You'll understand why this is significant in a later post.)

It was a beautiful day for a trip; sunny, warm for this Easterner, but cold enough to require layers. It had snowed in the higher elevations, so it was good to be prepared with layers and boots. J, though, in his inestimable fashion sense, had on his habitual flipflops, cargo shorts, and fleece. Note: Hiking + flipflops + unknown ground conditions = not generally a good idea.

J knew where he was going, so he drove Mom and Dad's car. This was great; I got to shoot pictures out the window. I call it my guerrilla style photographic technique.

There were NO "falling rock" signs that I saw. You just assume it is going to happen in this part of the West. This "little" guy wasn't too far off the road.

See?! It does snow in southern Utah.

We're not far from Zion National Park, and the mountains begin to take on some lovely shapes even that far away.

J had warned me that the roads were probably going to get a little rough out toward Grafton. Once we crossed the bridge in Rockville, this was especially true. What we both didn't expect was this bit of forewarning ...

(Well, that's welcoming!)

Or for the private road to be completely rutted, muddy, slick, and impassable in the car we were driving. We parked the car near the sign, and decided to see how far we could get on foot.

We got about a quarter of a mile or so down the road, slipping and slurping in the mud, laughing, and making much in the way of noise. Suddenly, we could hear barking from a ways away. We could hear the dog long before we could see him, and even then we weren't sure if he was fenced or chained in. We kept going, until we realized the dog wasn't behind a fence line, the barking was getting louder, and the dog was actually headed toward us at a good clip. We turned around and headed back to the car. J armed himself with a rock, just in case.

Incoming patrol ...

The dog turned out to be as friendly as could be. He carried his own stick, didn't bark, growl, or jump. J and I basically had decided to keep heading back to the car, and the dog continued to oh, so casually, but purposefully, herd us back up the road. We ended up calling him Gandalf the Grey, our very own animal guide. In that part of the West, you take your guides where you can. We figured that if we were at least smart enough NOT to drive down the road and get stuck, we should not ignore these promptings, no matter what form they came in. Gandalf was definitely a flesh and blood dog, but he does live by a ghost town. Who knows? There are more things in earth and heaven ...

J borrowed my camera to prove that I actually was there. In the light you can see how deep the tire grooves were. (And that's the sun on my hair, not grey, thankyouverymuch ... though I do have a streak on that side.)


Duty done, Gandalf headed back down the road to check on the car from Tennessee that passed us as we were attempting to brush and scrape a layer of mud and clay off our clothes and shoes. (If we had gotten mud on Mom's car, we'd never have heard the end of it.) Hopefully the Tennessee folks had 4-wheel drive, though we did hear them spin their wheels a time or two. Maybe we should have tried to wave them down and warn them about the dips and hills down the road? Nah ... Gandalf had it under control.


(We still aren't sure why the condition of the unpaved dirt road changed so dramatically. You can see it change right by Gandalf.)

J's lovely legs and feet.

People pay a lot of money for similar mud treatments.

Since going to Grafton was a big old bust, we headed north to Zion and its gorgeous views.
Here's a sampling. Remember, higher elevations = more snow.


We'll have to try a trip to Grafton on another trip, maybe in the spring or fall. Maybe we'll run into Gandalf again, or stop by his ranch and say hey to his people. In the meantime, J's going to check on the location of a few other ghost towns in the area that he's heard about from his colleagues.