I stepped outside on election morning, into a gusty, cold wind. Leaves skidded across the ground, mixed with heavy graupel which fell hard from sky, pelting me from all directions. Graupel is a type of snow—soft hail-like miniature snowballs—that fall with turbulent winds typically associated with either the beginning or the end of a storm cycle. It seemed fitting and it made me smile—in a curious and uneasy sort-of-way.
To the west, through the dim-gray rage of the storm, the Wellsville Mountains appeared to glow in the morning light.
Regardless of the outcome of the election, the earth keeps turning. And though elections can—and do—have direct impact on the wildlands of Utah and the health of our planet, today, the crows in the yellow pine in my front yard still call out, “Caw! Caw! Caw!” The snow still accumulates on the highest peaks. Squirrels still scurry frantically to cache enough supplies for winter. The Bear River keeps flowing to the Great Salt Lake, steady and silent.
In this climate of divisiveness I want to believe, at the core, we all share similar values that we express differently.
I found myself reflecting back on September 11, 2001—how helpless I felt watching the news throughout the day. Late in the afternoon, I headed up Logan Canyon to center my thoughts and to finish a climbing route I had been working to establish. I carefully painted the last bolt anchor at the top of the climb with stars and stripes—it wouldn’t be visible from below—and named the route “Old Glory.”
That time alone on the mountain brought clarity. I came home, called the Scouts in my troop and told them we were flying the flags and to meet at my house as soon as they could. Troop 1, at the time, volunteered to hang the US flags on Main Street in Logan for holidays—it was a task I dreaded sometimes, because it was an inconvenience. Suddenly it felt like the most important thing we could do.
I didn’t ask permission from anyone. I had the key to the flag shed.
Four or five teens and I loaded one hundred American Flags into my van. As we drove slowly down Main Street—hazards flashing, stopping at each light post so the boys could mount each flag—everyone driving past honked and cheered. The boys knew we were part of something special that night—something that mattered. We were part of building a sense resilience and unity.
I have flown the flag at my house ever since.
United we stand.
Votes are being cast as I write. When this segment airs on Monday, we should know the outcomes of local, state, and national races. And those first rays of sunshine that set the Wellsville’s aglow through the graupel this morning—I hope they are a signal for all of us that the end of this storm is near. I hope we can all move past hate, past fear, past division, to a place of understanding that the left wing and the right wing are extensions of the whole bird.
My wife shared Mary Oliver’s poem, I Worried, with me this morning and I think I shall do as Mary did:
She wrote:
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning and sang.
I am Eric Newell and I am Wild About Utah
