Abandoned Sugar Beet Factory, Weston near Franklin, ID Courtesy & Copyright Mary Heers, PhotographerWhen I started teaching at Preston High School, one of the first books my English class read was The Diary of Anne Frank. I remember asking the class if they had any family stories of their own to share about those war years. A young woman raised her hand and said her grandparents had a painting on their wall that had been given to them by a German Prisoner of War. This POW had worked on their Cache Valley sugar beet farm in 1945. He’d signed the painting, and had written a few words of thanks on the back for the kind treatment he had received
I was astounded. German POW’s in Cache Valley? This led me to ask more questions.
I found out in 1945 there were close to 400 German POWs living in tents in a work camp at the Cache Valley Fairgrounds. Local farmers contracted with the US Government to hire the POWs to work in the fields for 80 cents a day.
Each morning the prisoners would get loaded into trucks and driven to a sugar beet field. The work day didn’t end until 8 pm when the prisoners returned to the Fairgrounds, damp and chilled, from the ride in the open bed trucks.
Sugar Beet Knives Courtesy & Copyright Mary Heers, PhotographerIn 1945, sugar beets were a profitable crop, but labor intensive. In the Spring, the beets needed to be thinned and weeded. This work was done by a short handled hoe. In the Fall, the beets needed to be pulled out of the ground. This was done by a special beet knife with a big fish hook on the end. Once pulled out of the ground, the top leaves were sliced off and the beets tossed into a pile bound for the sugar factory.
At the peak of sugar beet farming in and around Cache Valley, there were 5 sugar factories operating. But by 1945 the factories were down to two – one located in Lewiston, and the other in Whitney, near Preston.
Native Americans came from Arizona to work the beets and set up their colorful teepees in downtown Lewiston. High school students were let out of school for 2-3 weeks in the Fall to work during what were called “Harvest Vacations.”
A friend of mine in Preston told me about a young man who went off the college in the Fall of 1945, but came home after a week. His father handed him a sugar beet knife and told him if he wasn’t going to go to college, he was going to work in the fields.
Everyone I met who once worked in the sugar beet fields told me all the work of thinning and harvesting needed to be done while bent over, and the resulting back pain was terrible.
Of all the stories I heard, my favorite was one of a Logan beet farmer who took his 3-year-old daughter with him to check on the work being done by the POWs he had hired. One day, he looked up and saw one of the German POWs holding his little girl in his arms. The farmer took his little girl by the hand, but the POW didn’t let go. A guard came running over. But both men stopped when they saw the tears running down the POW’s face. Somewhere, many miles away, they realized this German POW had a little girl of his own that he may or may not ever see again.
Today, all the POWs have long gone, as well as the local sugar beet farms. But if you drive north on Highway 89, just before you get to Preston, you can see the remains of the Whitney sugar beet factory. These huge crumbling buildings stand as a reminder that sugar beets were once king in Cache Valley.
Fallen Leaves Courtesy Pixabay, Ivabalk, ContributorLeaves have fallen and are falling- it’s Fall!! Their beauty, crunchiness, and odors excite my senses.
Consider the leaf, these lovely little solar collectors! How can any device imagined by the human brain collect light energy from the sun and convert it to food and oxygen while sequestering carbon? A tall order, even with AI! Yet, the humble leaf does it all! By capturing photons of light and utilizing the photosynthetic process, magic occurs!
In brief terms, the light excites electrons in the leaf’s chlorophyll which move through the electron transport chain producing needed energy to build glucose (food) from carbon dioxide and water absorbed from earth’s atmosphere. The glucose molecules along with phosphates, nitrates, and other chemicals are used to build infinite numbers of other molecules, essential for life to occur. Hope that was brief enough!
Yes, I have fallen in love with leaves- from waving grasses to majestic tree leaves. While raking leaves in my yard, I’m smitten by their beauty and functionality, and hope not to strain my back! Leaves from our Freemont cottonwood tree offer pyramids of gold with undulating leaf margins- exquisite! One can easily make a teepee from them, or other possibilities depending on where your imagination takes you. Our aspen trees sprinkle gold coins in between.
Aspen leaves have a special designed petiole, or leaf stem. Rather than the usual round shape, it is flattened which allows it to flip upside down when struck by wind. This makes it doubly efficient at capturing sunlight with both top a bottom receiving light. Chlorophyll is also found in the bark, hidden behind the white dust covering. Wet the bark and the green chlorophyll become visible.
We have many conifers in our yard, whose specialized leaves in the form of needles perform the same function. Their tiny surface area and wax-like coating are excellent adaptations for reducing transpiration (plant evaporation). This allows them to maintain their leaves through the extreme drought of winter’s cold temperatures and frozen ground, whereas broadleaved trees would soon dehydrate if their leaves were not dropped.
We have many other broadleaved trees on our landscape- box elder, green ash, rocky mountain maple, cherry, and river birch. Thus, we are blessed with a myriad of leaf shapes, colors, and texture. I enjoy all varieties- an artist’s delight! One we’re missing is Gamble oak, which was abundant in our N. Ogden backyard. These are a subspecies of the eastern white oak, as the Rocky Mountain bigtoothed maple is a subspecies of the eastern sugar Maple.
Utilitarian uses of leaves add more to the enjoyment, excellent mulch, compost, and piles for the grandkids to frisk in! Leaving some of them on the lawn in a shredded (mowed) condition is good nourishment for the grasses.
A healthy medium sized maple tree has around 100,000 leaves. That’s a lot of solar collectors! How many blades of grass in the average lawn? I leave that one up to you dear Listener!
Jack Greene for Bridgerland Audubon Society, I’m wild about every leaf I know- even poison ivy!
Eric Jones (left) and the author, High on Borah Peak, Idaho Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, PhotographerThe Author’s Journal Entry From Borah Peak 2003 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Eric Jones closing in on the summit of Borah Peak Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Eric Jones leading the way to Dromendary Peak in Little Cottonwood Canyon 1995 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Little Cottonwood Canyon 1991, The Thumb, S-Direct Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Eric Jones on a ledge near the Gate Buttress Little Cottonwood Canyon 1991. Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
White Pine with Gary and Eric Jones circa 1988 Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, PhotographerI lost a beloved friend and mentor two weeks ago in a fluke canyoneering accident in Zion National Park.
I first met Eric Jones when I was four years old. My family had just moved to Sugarhouse, in the Salt Lake Valley. I rode my red, yellow, and blue Big Wheel Speedster down the sidewalk and skidded to a stop three houses away to talk to two bothers standing in their front yard. The much taller one asked if I was the new kid who just moved in. I said I was. He asked my name. I said, “Eric.” He smiled and said, “Hey, that’s my name too!” His younger brother—my age—said, “And I am Gary Jacob Jones!”
Gary and I became fast friends and Eric, five years older, was someone I perpetually looked up to. He was always taller than I, charismatic, funny, and true to himself to the core. One Saturday, while playing under an apple tree in the big sandbox in the Jones’ backyard, Eric came out to coerce Gary and I into hiking with him. We declined his initial offer but agreed when he promised 7-Eleven Slurpees on our way back. And so, we went. This scene played out many times.
Eric took us to fantastical places in the Wasatch. While we hiked, he would tell stories about wild animals, old miners’ tales, ghost stories, places he had been, and places he wanted to go. Each story, each place name, added to the intrigue and the places he talked about became the places I dreamed about: Grizzly Gulch, Sundial Peak, the West Slabs of Mount Olympus, Maybird Gulch, Cardiac Pass, Thunder Mountain, and on and on. When he described the largest Wilderness Area in the lower 48 states, the River of No Return Wilderness in central Idaho, I knew I had to get there someday. It’s a place where I have spent much of my adult life, including a long backpacking trip with Eric.
One time, he told us about an invention called a mountain bike that was a cross between a BMX bike and a ten-speed, and then, on cue, a mountain biker appeared heading down the trail. Eric drew a map of the Wasatch from memory on a blank piece of paper once, naming all the
side canyons within Mill Creek, Big Cottonwood, and Little Cottonwood Canyons. He labeled each summit, with its precise elevation. As a kid, I was amazed that all this information was just in his head, literally at his fingertips.
One June, after luring Gary and I from the sandbox once again, we attempted to climb the 11,045 foot Mount Superior. Eventually we reached a place on the knife-edge ridge where there was too much snow to safely proceed—at least for Gary and I. Eric probably could have crossed it safely and headed on to the summit, but we were his companions, and he wasn’t going to put us in danger or abandon us. So, we turned around and headed for the 7-Eleven at the mouth of Big Cottonwood Canyon.
Eric always wanted to see what there was to see around the next bend or over the next ridgeline. He planted seeds of mystery and awe in my core.
Before we were old enough to participate, Gary and I heard stories of Eric’ s feats in the mountains with the older scouts. The troop had planned a week-long 50-mile backing trip in the Uinta Mountains that included, at Eric’s instance, a layover day and extra mileage to climb Kings Peak, the tallest mountain in Utah.
When they arrived at the lake for the layover, the leaders—trail-weary from backpacking with a bunch of teenagers—announced that they wouldn’t be going to King’s Peak the next day. They would have a rest day instead. The other boys seemed happy enough to loaf around. Not Eric.
He got up before dawn, packed his day pack, and headed off to the summit on his own. I don’t recall if he woke up his tent-mate to tell him where he was going before he left or not. Either way, the leaders were not happy with him when they figured it out hours later. Gary thinks Eric was 14 years old at the time.
Eric told a funny tale from that trip. One of the other boys, Nathan Cornwall, had pre-made all his lunches for the week, which consisted of eight sardine and mayonnaise sandwiches on Wonder Bread, which he had carefully packed back in the bread sack. You shouldn’t need a food handler’s permit to know this is a horrible idea. Eric couldn’t stop laughing when he described Nathan pulling the smashed mass of soggy, stinky sardine sandwiches out of his pack the first day of the trip.
During his life Eric hiked, climbed, camped, canyoneered, skied, and rowed thousands of miles throughout west, from the Cascades to the Tetons to the red rock deserts of the southwest, and beyond. He was a keen writer and a profound thinker. He worked hard, loved deeply, and he stood for the things he believed in. He was fine friend to many.
When we were finally old enough backpack with Eric and his friends, Gary and I literally ran with our full packs on, to keep up with Eric’s long, easy strides. That’s the image I have of Eric Jones in my mind. I was just trying to keep up, chasing a legend into the wilds.
Author’s note: “Eric also edited my Salmon River Guidebook before I sent it off to the publisher years ago. He went through it with a fine-toothed comb and picked up on so many details others missed, including myself. He influenced me to be a better writer.” https://blackcanyonguides.com/
Chaqueta amarilla occidental a.k.a. Western yellowjacket (Vespula pensylvanica) on a fennel flower (Foeniculum vulgare) Courtesy Wikimedia, Por Davefoc – Trabajo propio, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link
Marie and Her Yellow Jacket.
Today’s story is in both Spanish and English. To hear an English version listen on Monday Morning after 7:41 am and again in the 8 o’clock hour, or online here and at UPR.org
Hemos pasado dias de calor, en los cuales hemos podido disfrutar de rios, lagos, piscinas, pero lo que mas disfruto durante este tiempo es el poder pasearme por los senderos de este hermoso valle donde vivo.
Cache Valley tiene una forma geografica unica en el mundo, podemos salir a poca distancia de nuestras casas y encontramos belleza natural que nos atrapa y nos hace perdernos en el tiempo dentro de paisajes hermosos tales como the First Dam, the Second Dam, The Wind Caves, Stokes nature center trial, Tony grove, Bear lake entre algunos ya que me llevaria un libro completo enumerar cada sitio.
Entre cada belleza que este verano dejo es el poder vivir experiencias unicas como el avistamiento de luciernagas, la experiencia de alimentar colibries, y que las personas pueda aprender acerca de especies nativas por expertos en el tema.
Todo esto me hace recordar que vivo en un lugar magico, donde hay vida y donde todos quisieramos vivir para siempre y que el tiempo se detenga aquí.
Comienzan a caer algunas hojas, los paisajes comiezan a pintarse de colores naranja, café, dorado eso me hace recordar que viene el otoño y pronto llegara el invierno. Es tiempo de ir alistando mi pequeña casa, he trabajado recogiendo fango de las orillas del Logan river, pero no dejo de ver a todos aquellos que toman fotografias, que cantan y dicen palabras de amor, felicidad y esperanza a sus seres queridos, incluyendo a sus mascotas.
Mi familia y yo estamos casi listos para descansar y esperar que este invierno sea tan agradable como todos los anteriores y que las personas puedan disfrutarlo con sus caminatas y abrigos, con sus tablas y zapatos raros, que los niños puedan correr y deslizarce con sus caritas rojas por el frio.
Talvez te preguntes quien soy porque ya te di un par de pistas de donde vivo, mi familia y yo hemos pasado muchos años aquí cerca de ti, viendote pasar de cerca, en muchas ocasiones te he asustado y me has dado aplausos por mi buen papel.
Somos muchas las que vivimos aquí ademas tengo muy buenos vecinos como las serpientes que siempre descansan cerca de las rocas o a orillas del rio, los pajaros que vuelan cada dia para buscar sus semillas, las ardillas que atrapan su comida y corren hacia los arboles, ya sabes quien soy?
Gracias por comprender que somos importante, gracias por estudiar y aprender de mi, gracias por regalarme hoteles fansy para poder vivir y pasar tiempo.
Aunque siempre me gusta construir mi casa de barro, la que nos protege de lluvia y nieve.
Soy yo esa pequeña amiga tuya, esa que ayuda a polinizar, siempre tengo una chaqueta amarilla por si me agarra el mal clima fuera de casa. Si esa soy Marie the yellow jacket wasp.
Recuerda que nuestro lugar magico esta aquí, vivimos en comunion unos con otros y que esto exista para siempre depende de nosotros, ayudame a que nuestro lugar de paz y tranquilidad sea para muchas de nuestras generaciones.
