Reminiscences of Willard

Reminiscences of Willard By Alfred Lambourne "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain." No, I shall not say that Goldsmith's famous line applies to our village be- tween the shore of our Inland Sea, and the feet of the Wasatch range; and yet, I repeated those words upon that day when first to my sight was repealed its rural beauty. Half a century ago or close to that time, in my sketch book was recorded one of those combinations of meadow, stream and grove and height, of orchard and cottage and garden wall that made of Willard, in my artistic estimation, the most beautiful of all our inter- mountain villages. My first sketch of Willard was made in the springtime of the year, and in the springtime of my life. Let me think — was it the pleasure and hope of youth that made the place appear so charming? To the artist there are few more attractive things in the rural landscape than a cobble garden or orchard wall, and there were many of these in Willard. And the branches of the apple trees hung over them, and in that month of May were covered with the blossoms of white and pearl, and the dandelions, with their serrated discs of rustic gold, fretted the grasses or massed by stream and wall. And the bees hummed afield or around the straw hives beneath the clustered trees; and the meadow-lark uttered bubbles of melodi- ous sound. All beautiful! And the sketch book of an artist, or the note-book of a poet, might have been enriched with their transcriptions. And to the westward lay the waters of the In- land Sea, and to the east, the great mountain, ledge above ledge, wall above wall, until the naked crags traced their jagged out- line against the azure of the vernal sky. 0 naked crags, jagged outlines — no, there is no other vil- lage in Utah so picturesque, its rural beauties nestled so close to such a forbidding mountain! Ah! how the geologists rave when they look up at those belts and heights of riven stone! Ah, the mind is almost appalled at the gulfs of time that inter- vene between these, our days, and that period when the moun- tain was heaved up so! Yes, primal seas have disappeared, ages of the action of fire and ice, of Plutonic agencies, and glaciation have come and gone since then, and in time the rustic a illage of Willard found place at the giant's feet. Yes, all beau- tiful or grand or terrible, or something to stir the mind and heart and soul! And so it was but a few days ago as I passed

1106 IMPROVEMENT ERA the village by. The cobble stone garden and orchard walls have become more beautiful in the artistic sense with the passing of the years, moss and lichens mottle the stones; the apple trees have become aged with twisted and gnarled trunks and limbs, and the habitations that tell of the past appear more lovable or historic because of that which has transpired within or around them. And the trees, not this time were they cov- ered with bloom, but with the ruddiness of clustered fruit. But the mountain stood there the same — of what significance are fifty years in the life of a mountain? And there were chil- dren playing in the village streets, but they were the grand- children of those who were youths and maidens when my first sketch of Willard was made. And on the hillside there was the village graveyard, and brides and bridegrooms of the earlier days slept there. Yes, beautiful or grand or terrible, or the embodiment of peace and progress — just as one may think to see it. At any rate, there was my favorite village in the state, and there stood the mountain, calm, majestic, the summer brightness on all its crags and the waters that came into the vale sparkled in the sunlight. And I looked around and ad- mired it, loved it all as in the years before. O my, what a prelude to the few notes to follow, and how foolishly personal! Well, sinners may hope, at least, to be forgiven. "There came a change as all things human change." There is an antique quotation. Willard was not thought of when that line was written. But nature, too, is subject to change. "O night and storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong ***** **** "From crag to crag leaps the live thunder, And every mountain now hath found a tongue." Those lines are old, too, but nature is always young. The year 1923 has thus far been marked by displays of phenomenal cloud-scapes. Not for many a long year has the writer of this witnessed such a gorgeous and magnificent sunset as ushered in the period of storm which ended in the floods on the night of August 13 along the Wasatch range, and especially at the vil- lage of Willard. Flaming tints of cadmium gold, lurid scarlets and sombre crimsons were dashed around the region of the sun, upon the piles of neutral-tinted clouds above the Inland Sea. And in the upper sky there were strange and vivid green and lines of amber upon deeply shadowed azure. ,We often boast concerning the splendor of our Utah sunsets, yet it is long since there was such a sunset as that one. And this wild beauty over the saline waters was later followed by the storms

REMINISCENCES OF WILLARD 1107 which wrought such unexpected desolation, where there had been such a scene of peace. From a point of \antage to the north, we witnessed the advance of the storm from the west to wreck its fury upon the eastern slopes. And a grand ad- vance it was, and grand were the manifestations of power. No display of beautiful colors then, only the glare of lightnings that came to show the struggle of the elements upon the heights. It is not our intention to write a description of the Willard disaster, the details of the tragedy have been recorded. It has been told how the water-laden clouds were hurled against the mountain and how they were pierced by the aiguilles — the sharp needles of stone, and how the waters rushed down the naked slopes and out through the narrow canyon upon the help- less town. What strange things apparently blind nature does! And yet fate or providence often appears at its back — here it has destroyed, there it has spared. A morning of loveliness dawned after the storm; the stony heights where the lightning had flashed among the whirling clouds, where the thunder had mingled its peal to the roar of the descending water, were the image of majestic peace. But before one was the work of the floods. But the pathetic tale of death and devastation has been told even down to that masterless dog that shivered and howled where the bridge stream had been. Some day the mountain village will be as beautiful again as once it was; the orchards will bloom, the trees bear their fruits, and happiness dwell under the cloudless skies. Let Me Forget I do not wish to recollect Of blighted hopes in other years— The unkind words that I have said, Of pain that vain conceits forcast— Nor on their consequence reflect Of fancies vanishing in tears — In memories that I may dread. Of vain ambition's fretful past — I do not wish remembrances Let me in life preserve no thought, Of unkind actions on my way Where, in oblivion's tomb unsought, To now upbraid with memories But banish all, and let them die That vain regrets cannot repay. Forever buried, let them lie! These little foibles I regret— The ghost of years whose sun is set- Let me forget! Let me forget! Let me forget! Let me forget! Payson, Utah Joseph Longking Townsend.