GENTILES IN OGDEN

By Steve Johnson


Photography: VisitUtah.com

A mixed household — drifted Methodist, breakaway Baháʼí — we staked our claim at a whistle stop called Ogden, wedged in the seam where mountain meets inland sea

Homesteading after hell in a Honda, we joined the colonization north of The Place and adopted strange ways of an alien people

Beware the descent from the bench — Harrison marks a socioeconomic cliff

Our quest for beer and bourbon began in the blue pages

Pineview? Gritty water from a special tap
Swamp coolers

Among Ogden’s everlasting hills, wooden slat pipes, uncovered by erosion, dry as Yorick’s skull, crack smiles at destiny

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here — we Gentiles, 156 years late”

“Maybe none of this should be here”

Like Forts Bingham and Buenaventura, it won’t be —

Our final home


Steve Johnson is a Utah transplant; lives with three other humans, two of whom share his DNA; has worked in three different sandwich shops, nonetheless his fingers spell it “sandwhich”; will cancel his plans if a magic show becomes available.