Author: Justin Durand

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Tri-Territory Marker

A few days ago I wrote about the Red Desert, where my mother’s family is from. There’s a monument there near Farson to mark the place where the Louisiana Purchase, Oregon Territory, and Mexican Territory came together.

When I was in my teens I calculated the old Swanstrom place was on the edge of the Louisiana Purchase. And I was born in Laramie, which is also in the Louisiana Purchase. So it was all nice and simple. Louisiana Purchase in the east, Mexican Cession in the west.

But when I reading about the Red Desert and the Tri-Territory Marker, I changed my mind. From the description I was reading, my grandparents’ ranch must have been in Mexican Territory. I’m looking for the place where the Continental Divide crosses the 42nd parallel North Latitude. The website I was reading described the location of the marker as “State Highway 28 about 13 miles northeast of Farson; east on gravel road for 31 miles.” A quick calculation for me. My grandparents’ place was on Highway 28, almost exactly 5 miles northeast of Farson, and I know it’s west of the Continental Divide (because: South Pass), so…

So… I was wrong. I had my weekly video call with Mom this morning. She was interested, so we did some poking around. We found a better site for the marker: the Historical Marker Database. It describes the location as being in the Farson post office area “on BLM Road 4102 near County Route 83”. And there’s a link to a map. Yay! The old place is in Oregon Territory, not Mexican Territory, not Louisiana Purchase.

We quickly confirmed. The marker is at 42° 0′ North, 108° 55.02′ West. Farson is at 42° 10′ 11.40″ North, 109° 25′ 7.19″ West. In other words, Farson is north and west of the marker–Oregon. South would have been Mexico. North and east would have been Louisiana.

Rock Springs was Mexico. It seems a little odd that it was different than Farson, which is just 50 miles north. And of course Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, and Grand Junction were Mexico, but I learned those in school so no surprise.

We didn’t have these easy GPS tools when I was a teenager. No doubt if I asked sister Laura she would be able to come up with the GPS coordinates of the ranch, but Mom and I didn’t need them for this calculation. I can drive there with no doubt or hesitation, and I can find it on Google maps with just a little difficulty, but that’s where my competency ends. Laura and I will be working together on Tuesday. If we’re not too busy I might ask her.

A Story About Farson

In the course poking around here, I confirmed with Mom that the ranch was 5 miles northeast of Farson. “Almost exactly 5 miles”, she said. Once when she was a kid her dad had the car and her mom wanted a loaf of bread. Her Mom sent the kids on a horse to the Farson store (the Farson Merc) to get the bread. It took them almost an hour to get there and back. Grandma was mad it took them so long. Did they dawdle? Did Grandma not realize how far it was? Mom didn’t say.

Another story. Mom said she remembers the Utah Pioneer Centennial (1946). A caravan of cars drove by the house in Farson, along the old Mormon Trail. They had cut-outs of wooden oxen attached to the fronts of their cars. At first I thought she was talking about the time they did this when we lived in Mantua, Utah. No, this was same thing, another time.

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Red Desert

I have a life-long fascination with the Red Desert. Wikipedia describes it as “a high altitude desert and sagebrush steppe located in south central Wyoming”. I think of it as being about the same as the Great Divide Basin, a river basin that doesn’t have an outlet to any of the oceans. (Don’t confuse the Great Divide Basin with the Great Basin.) And, of course, it’s “the place where God ran out of mountains.”

This is the place of my earliest memories and many childhood memories. We lived in Farson until I was, say 3, maybe 4. My great grand father Will Luce, Jr. gave my grandparents a ranch there about 1934. My grandmother sold the ranch, I think when I was maybe 12, in 1967 or thereabouts.

“Farson-Eden are sister communities in the middle of the Red Desert, primarily resided by farmers and ranchers. Here and all around you will find diverse wildlife, notable mountain ranges, lakes and an extensive amount of history.”

Our house was on Highway 28, which follows the old Oregon Trail. Farson is at the intersection of U.S. 191 and Wyoming Highway 28 (the South Pass Highway). When I was a kid Highway 28 dead-ended at U.S. 191. You could see still the ruts of the Oregon Trail continuing on. In the old days the Big Sandy Station of the Pony Express was there.

My connection with the area goes back beyond my grandparents. The U.S. government recognized the Red Desert as Shoshone territory in 1863. My dad claimed to be part Shoshone. I don’t know of any evidence for that, but on my mother’s side we can get back to Oregon Trail days. The Mormon Trail follows the Oregon Trail here, so this is the route my Mormon ancestors traveled on their way to Zion. Twenty years later my 2nd great grandfather, Will Luce, Sr., a child when his parents brought him to Utah, was in the gold rush at South Park and Atlantic City (say 1868 or 69). My ancestors and relatives have been in and out of the area ever since.

Sometime when I go up to visit my grandparents’ graves at Eden Valley Cemetery, I want to take a week or two to just poke around the area. First on my list, the Tri-Territory Marker. It marks the where Oregon Territory, Mexican Territory, and the Louisiana Purchase met. If I understand where it is, our ranch was in the part that was originally Mexican Territory. That would be interesting. When I was in my teens I calculated–somehow, I don’t remember–it was on the edge of the Louisiana Purchase. I’d like to just stand there for a few minutes and feel all that history in the different directions.

Rev. July 11, 2021.

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Lingonberries

In Sweden they have lingonberries, a wild berry that’s harvested in the Fall and used to make jams, jellies, syrup, and preserves. Nowadays most Americans have heard of them because of IKEA, but when I was growing up it was something only Swedish-Americans knew about. It was a great treat when we’d find the finished products in specialty shops.

When our Swedish ancestors came to America, they didn’t find lingonberries. But here in the West they found chokecherries, and that became the new thing. Another wild berry harvested in the Fall and used to make jams, jellies, syrup, and preserves. All-American, not just Swedish. When I was growing up we used to drive up to the mountains, to pick chokecherries in our customary spots. I think every family had it’s own preferred, not quite secret, spot.

In my family the special treat was chokecherry syrup on pancakes. Even after I left home, I was assured a steady supply of chokecherry syrup from Mom, and later from Lawrence, my step-father. I wish I had thought to take a jar of it to Cousin Jonas when he was here a few years ago.

Now sister Laura tells me lingonberries really do grow in North America, just not in our region of Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming. And, the American cousin of the lingonberry is the cranberry, not the chokecherry. The news comes too late to change the I see it. For me, chokecherries will always be our special native berry as well as the American substitute for our ancestral lingonberries.

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Legend of Earl Durand

I wonder what I can say about Earl Durand that won’t throw me back into the family storm. Again.

Supposably, Earl Durand was my grandfather. But I don’t believe it. On good days I think of him as a sort of ancestral godfather. On my bad days I think of him as just a PR piece for my dad’s very romantic life.

I found a letter a few days ago from my dad. He wanted me to change my name back to Durand. I don’t think I’m going to do that, but it looks like I’m going to have some angsty guilt for awhile.

Sources

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Mental Maps

Mental Maps, not mind maps. Mind maps are something different.

Peter Moskowitz, author of How to Kill a City, says, “A mental map is just your own personal geography of the city and all of its personal and emotional attachments.”

In other words, we carry a picture of the city in our heads. It’s our own map, one we create as we live in it. It includes, not just places and their relationships to one another, but also memories and stories attached to those places. My mental map will be similar to the mental maps of other people, but none of us has exactly the same map.

I see occasional human-interest pieces about mental maps, but not very often and nothing very extensive. This is the stuff of oral history. Has to be. Shouldn’t we be seeing it all around?

I think about the places I’ve lived: Farson, Logan, Mantua, Las Vegas, on and on. There’s a whole list. I have zillions of memories and hundreds, maybe thousands, of little stories. I love to reminisce. I remember “things”. When I’m dead, most of those stories will die with me.

How cool would it be if there was a regular structure to exploration. Not so much documenting history, although as an historian, I’m all in favor. More like personal growth.

I predict someone in the New Age community or Self Help Community, maybe someone on YouTube, will come up with a program for personal and spiritual growth by exploring personal journeys through local places, past, present, and future. Maybe it will be something like creating a vision board. And it will go viral.

So obvious, it’s gotta happen.