The Feedlot

I-84 is a section of Interstate that runs in front of our ranch. In the late 70's, dad sold gravel to Parsons: the road construction company, that received the contract to build the road.

At that time, they did something new--constructing a road of cement instead of asphalt.

That fall, the company was pouring cement and trying to finish the road. Earl Matthews was a neighbor and family friend, who often enjoyed working with us on projects. He designed and poured the cement on the cistern at the spring above the ranch, and on this feedlot, we began getting the reject material that trucks brought in loads--sometimes multiple--of over ten yards at a time.

Dad and Earl devised a system. We found the frame of an old threshing machine lying in the brush, and we used that on top of some old well casings to slide the cement into place. The well casings became the main cement form.

We began shoveling first. Earl would use his Ford tractor to lift the threshing machine frame into place above the cement forms we put into place. We constructed two large pads. One was forty feet wide and 150 feet in length as I remember, and the other was a bit longer.

The work in cement was very hard work, but the reward of having cement pads like that was incredible. Once appearing strong, the cement pad is now weathered. It still is usable, but the stones of gravel are now at the surface, and the smoother cement surface is now gone.

That happens to something like reject cement after 30 years. Nature reclaims things we assume will last forever.

In the area above that lot, you can see the small ravine with our spring that supplied water for the ranch. Anyone who stayed there talked about the sweet water from that spring.

Snowville's water had the taste of brine. It was the negative effect of being close to The Great Salt Lake, but more importantly, it was the result of the ancient Lake Bonneville, that later became The Great Salt Lake.

Water in the area had that taste of brine and a faint mossy smell to it. Looking up into the brush above the feedlot, I hoped to see the old grave. Three lilac trees were always easy to find in spring and summer, but I couldn't see them at all.

When my dad was in his final weeks of life, he was uneasy about leaving that grave unprotected. He made me promise that Keith and I would drive some steel posts in the ground, forming a small encasement around that grave. Between each post, we wired a heavy metal mesh that dad used for some fencing purposes. Nothing remains of what we did to keep our promise to my dad, and I couldn't see the grave anywhere.

The grave was that of a young man. As I remember, my dad told me that he was between 15 and 19. During a rabbit hunt, he died as a result of a gunshot wound. The Dilly Family buried him on the ranch, and for years, we tried to keep cattle away from the grave. I remember that my dad told me that relatives of the Dilly Family made a trip once during the 80's to see it.