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.