Living and working in the city for an extended period has a way of making one more appreciative of the simple beauty and serenity of God's creations. My morning commute between Bountiful and Salt Lake City offers bland views of oil refineries (don't forget the nasty odor!), I-15 bursting at its seams with commuters on their way to work, and a cramped UTA bus with a loud fan and chatty passengers who make thinking nearly impossible.
On Saturday we journeyed to Huntsville, Utah, a delightful small town (population 608) in Weber County that is a reminder of everything we're missing by living in the busy, polluted city. The 40-mile drive from Bountiful featured refreshing scattered showers, overcast skies, miles of rolling green hills, stunning mountains, and perhaps most importantly, quiet.
Huntsville is one of those "don't blink" cities. It's takes up a whopping .7 square miles, .1 of which is a nearby reservoir. We saw several people sitting peacefully on their riding mowers to cut grass, a group of maybe 40 people at the town park for some sort of Scouting activity, a few people enjoying their boats and jet-skis in the nearby reservoir, a few more riding their bikes, and a handful eating at the two local restaurants.
It was peaceful. It was simple. It was beautiful. There was no whoosh of I-15 traffic in the distance. There was no stomach-irritating smell from a local oil refinery. There were no buses, no honking horns. At noon the town clock tower signaled the top of the hour, then gave 12 dings to tell us it was noon, then played a song (see video below). It reminded me of the clock tower on Back to the Future. Soon thereafter Missy asked, "Why don't we live here?" If it ever makes sense, we'll do it.
We travelled to Huntsville to take a closer look at my roots. Most of you know Huntsville as the birthplace of David O. McKay, who served as president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from 1951 to 1970. Other Mormons who keep up with modern Church leadership know it as the home of Elder Marlin K. Jensen, who served as the Church Historian and Recorder in the First Quorum of the Seventy until his release in October 2012.
For me, Huntsville is one of the lands of my forefathers. In 1864, Brigham Young called one of my third great grandfathers, John A. Smith, to help settle Huntsville. Four years later, Agnes Rodgers Hislop, then a new widow, emigrated from England to America with her four youngest children. One of her boys, John Taylor Hislop, married Elizabeth Jane Smith, one of John A. Smith's daughters.
The third child of John Taylor Hislop and Elizabeth Jane Smith was Charles Henry Hislop, my paternal great grandfather. Charles Henry married Mabel Mary Roundy in 1905, and they then raised 10 boys and two girls who became a part of Tom Brokaw's famed "Greatest Generation." Eight of the boys (including my grandpa, Wendell Dee Hislop) served in World War II. All returned home safely. Wendell was their 10th child.
We visited the Hunstville Cemetery, which features a monument to Charles Henry and Mabel's family.
Charles Henry and Mabel's gravestone is also there (Lucy's middle name is Mabel, after her rock-solid great-great grandmother).
We also saw Wendell Dee Hislop's gravestone. Wendell passed away in a car accident in 1961 in Logan, Utah. My Dad was only 13 at the time.
At the main city park, we saw a monument to Mary Heathman Smith, wife of the aforementioned John A. Smith (one of their daughters married a Hislop). Mary was the town's main midwife, helping deliver more than 1,500 babies. (The city park, by the way, is a prime spot for a family reunion.)
Before leaving, we had lunch at the Shooting Star Saloon. I went in by myself because we had our girls with us, who are both under 21, and it's illegal to bring a child into a bar. My Mom has said the Shooting Star Saloon was started by a Hislop. But the bartender, a woman in her 40s, didn't seem to know anything about that. All she told me is that the Saloon has been in operation since 1879, not even closing during Prohibition — a level of endurance unmatched by any bars west of the Mississippi.
This may have been my first time ordering something in a bar. I sat on one of the five barstools, next to a couple getting sloshed on an alcoholic mixture known as a "Blue Moon." I looked around uneasily, surreptitiously took a few photos (including one of the ceiling, which is covered in dollar bills) and left the moment the order was ready.
Huntsville was wonderful. We'll be back.
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