Tales from the Backwater of the Church
By Greg Hansen

The following tales are all based in fact. However, the author’s perception of the facts may be original in order to protect the innocent from the author’s original facts.

Introduction

In the heart of Utah’s eastern prairie, next door to the Rocky Mountains, and just before the Great Empty Desert and the Oquirrh Range, lies “Utah’s New Frontier” — Eagle Mountain.

Eagle Mountain is a place like no other. It was carved out of the desert by developers on a citywide scale, much like the early settlements that birthed most towns along the Wasatch Front in Brigham Young’s day.

But unlike Brigham’s day, people had to be enticed to live there, rather than called by a prophet. Whatever means that could be devised to that end was used. And like the era of the Westward Expansion, all manner of folks came — rugged individualists, the self-made and the self-employed, independent fringe thinkers, people with a past to escape; animal lovers, those that don’t like living in their neighbor’s faces, and those who like getting more home for less money to live their version of the American Dream.

The Mother Development

In the Heart of Eagle Mountain lies the Mother Development — the one that came before all the rest — Cedar Pass Ranch. Split into five-to-eight acre parcels of rabbit bush, rock and sagebrush, it was billed as a horse owner’s paradise. Trails crisscross the entire area for horseback riding, and wide shoulders allow for critters along the roads. It even has a community horse arena next to the local LDS chapel.

Nowhere else can compare to Cedar Pass Ranch — an Island of Individuality in a Sea of Status Quo. When I first moved here, our bishop told us we had found the Backwater of the Church. According to the dictionary, a backwater is an eddy away from the main current in a river. That is a fitting description for the colorful, extraordinary, and unique individuals who have chosen to live here. It’s full of genuinely good folks, who can occasionally drive each other a little crazy.

Meet the Wild Bunch

There is the short, spunky president of the Relief Society Horseback Riding club, for instance. She’s 76 years old and still rides. Nothing can break her native cheerfulness. Recently she sent the grandkids to muck out the stalls. Later checking on their work, she saw they had missed some spots. She got in the pen and started cleaning up the leftovers.

Her young colt saw the gate open when her back was turned, and in his hurry to escape, knocked our dear president to the ground. She ended up with three cracked ribs, a broken foot and a lot of bruises. My wife and I visited her in the hospital. Bright-eyed and optimistic as ever, she said she only needed one thing — a picture to put by her bedside. Not of her grandkids, but of her beloved horses!

The Good Bishop

Our bishop calls himself the Church’s only “Special Needs” bishop. He’s an athletic old leathery-faced Wyoming cowboy and ex-Marine captain who looks like a skinny John Wayne, but gave up horses for long-distance bicycling. Somehow a suit doesn’t seem natural to him. His wit and tall tales would brighten many a campfire, and there’s no escaping that grin as wide as the sunrise, with his overpowering country down-home friendliness.

He once attended a stake bishop’s meeting in the hot summer. To his way of thinking, when it’s time to get to work, you take off your suit coat and roll up your sleeves, so that’s what he did. Pretty soon he noticed none of the other bishops had taken off their jackets. So he passed a note around that said:

The grins from the other bishops resulted in a friendly chastisement from the stake president.

The Outfitter

We have a professional Elk Hunt Outfitter in the ward. For a long time, he used his property to raise trophy elk to then be released on his private hunting reserve. Their antlers were so large, a steady stream of onlookers would drive by just to see the magnificent creatures otherwise so elusive in the wild.

Once, when The Outfitter was out of town, the elk broke down the fence and escaped. Each one of those critters was worth about $5000, and to lose one would be disastrous. Not to mention the problem that could result if one were hit down on the main highway.

Within minutes of the escape, a posse of 17 hard-riding women had saddled up their horses and were hot on the trail. The men were gone to work, so the only fellow was a home-schooled teenage wrangler. It took some time, because rounding up wild elk with huge horns that could shred a horse in a second was no easy task. But they got the job done, and The Outfitter arrived back home a few days later as if nothing had happened. They make Real Women out here.

The One and Only Doc

Then there’s Doc, one of the first to arrive here, making him a member of the Cedar Pass Ranch Founding Fathers. Doc is from the South, with the accompanying gentlemanly drawl and masterful storytelling abilities of his kind. He tells of the day he was off in town running errands, when his wife called him on the cell phone in a panic.

“There’s an 8-foot rattlesnake in the driveway!” she shouted.

“Dear, I am eight miles away from home. Just what exactly do you want me to do about it right now?” he said.

She exclaimed, “I want you to come home and make sure it’s dead, because I’ve run over it with the car 12 times!”

Till Next Time

So folks, you don’t have to go to the verdant hills of Scotland, or the historic halls of London, to get a glimpse of the lives of the Saints in exotic places. All you have to do is paddle out to Cedar Pass Ranch, The Backwater of the Church, where we Value Diversity and Celebrate Common Purpose. I’ll be sending in updates by Pony Express rider to Meridian, so you may share in our grand experiences.

Greg Hansen is a record producer, writer and horseman. To learn more about Greg, visit his website: www.greg-hansen.com.