Capitol Reef National Park
If you ever look on a map of Utah, you will find small patches of green dotting the state's interior along a southwest-northeast axis. These patches are National Parks or other protected lands, and of course are not really patches at all, but snapshots of the actual splendor.In between those green splots are remnants of a life the rest of the country forsook long ago. These were towns with no pharmacies, one church, one grocery store, and silent streets on Sunday mornings. The only radio station we could receive was country music, much to my delight and Matthew and Cindy's abhorrence. Within minutes I was belting out with a drawl about pretty girls and pick-up trucks, guns and Bibles, and driving us into Capitol Reef.
We pulled into the park with little fanfare, a small wooden sign the only indication we had stepped onto federal land. Auntie Cindy then took over driving as I gaped at the rock formations we were now passing, snapping pictures when I remembered my hands.
At our first stop, a small wooden cabin the size of a mattress, we ambled out into this new land. A sign informed us that a Mormon family of 10 had occupied the house. Matthew and I burst out laughing. 
One of the other women pulled over was sporting a Red Sox hat, so of course I hailed her and commended her for her fabulous taste. A conversation about the disabled list, Pedroia, and the Texas Rangers commenced. She was from back East, it was revealed, and now was living in San Francisco. Currently she and another woman were taking a couple months off work to bike across the country. What a life. And what a small world. 
Driving further, we discovered that an entire town existed directly under these large triumphant peaks. The Mormon town was christened Fruita, after its main enterprise, its serene fruit orchards. This was the kind of town with a one-room schoolhouse along a dirt road, across the way from orchards upon orchards, immediately below a staggering mountain, both welcoming and ominous. I was amazed that such a town could be self-sustaining for so long, that their lives could be so sheltered, and so beautiful.
Our campsite was set against a small dirt road and looked out over the flat desert land, over the shrubs and trees, plants and flowers, up to the far-off mountains artfully placed and lovingly transformed. That night, even though we were in the desert, it rained. It rained the next morning as well. 
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