Resilience: the Barracks Trail and Mount Carmel Junction

In the spring, we traveled to the Kanab area, trailering our ATV behind. Our destination? A campground somewhere near the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park where we planned to meet our daughter and her husband. Since we arrived hours before they did, we pulled into the park where ATV’s, sandboarders, and sand skaters zipped down the tangerine-colored dunes and circled around islands of ponderosas. The landscape was beautiful and surreal.
After the ranger gave us information about campgrounds, fees, and activities, we exited and drove south until we found the mostly likely camping area—Elephant Cove. Finally, as the sun settled behind Elephant Butte, the big red-and-gray trailer rattled in. We helped set up and then enjoyed a five-star dinner since both our daughter and son-in-law are accomplished cooks. I worked hard at not being jealous of their casita on wheels, but I admired the ingenious way our accommodations “unfolded.”
The next morning, with Ted driving our little Honda, we followed the kids in their ATV along the Barracks Trail which crosses the East Virgin River about 20 times. At the top of a huge sand hill, Ted parked our chitty, and we climbed in with the kids, just in case we couldn’t make it back up the steep hill. Then, we rocked and rolled down into the river and splashed up the other side too many times to count, occasionally soaking our pant legs as water flowed through the ATV’s doors. Along the way, we spotted the White Cliffs, famous for their lost ledge of gold, Zion’s National Park, and beautiful horses grazing along the river. I’m not sure what our dog, Kenidee, or the kids’ English bulldog, Tootsie, thought about the journey, but Toots seemed to enjoy stopping in the middle of the river, so she could lap up water. Eventually, we arrived at Mount Carmel Junction, one mile north of U. S. Highway 89 and State Route 9, driving beside a lush golf course to get to the restaurant.
Jack and Fern Morrison settled Mount Carmel Junction in 1931, and we stepped back in time when we walked into their Thunderbird Restaurant with its sexy pie lady sign, a gift shop, and vintage furnishings, but what impressed me most was the Morrisons’ resilience detailed in their history and posted on the walls.
Jack and Fern met in Springville, Utah, and married three months later in 1926. She was 19, and he was 35. Four or five years later when they set out in their Model T to explore southwestern Utah, the state was building a road through Zion’s which would connect with US 89.
Jack thought the junction would be a great place to set up a business, so they homesteaded 160 acres and built a home near the Virgin River. The land, gullied and sandy, proved difficult to improve, but the Morrisons persevered and built a gas station. Fern gave away slices of pie to the travelers, but soon her pastries became so popular, she began selling the pies, leading to their decision to build the Thunderbird Restaurant in the 40s.
Financially stretched by the new business, Jack worked on the railroad and was away from home when his two oldest children drowned in the Virgin River. Imagine the shock and grief Fern felt, and yet she continued to run the businesses and take care of her two youngest children until her husband made it home.
More hardships followed during the tight years of World War II. Jack worked on the Hoover Dam and as an engineer on the railroad to supplement their income. Then, more grief followed when he was diagnosed with cancer and died in 1961, but resilient Fern continued to build up what they’d started together, eventually creating the nine-hole golf course and a motel. She died in 1993, but the Thunderbird Resort is still owned and operated by her daughter, grandson, granddaughter, and great-grandchildren.
After a sumptuous lunch, we headed back down the Barracks Trail where everything went well until we reached the dreaded sand dune. Our son-in-law powered up the slope, but it proved too steep and the sand too slippery. He tried again without any luck and finally told us we needed to get out and walk, all except Tootsie with her stubby snout and broad body.
I can’t say the climb was easy, but after we made it to the top where Ted had parked our Honda, we could hear our son-in-law revving up their ATV. He muscled up the hill and backed down, three times. Silence. We thought he might have to turn around and head back to Mount Carmel Junction where he could take the highway to the campground, but after five minutes or so, he chugged up the dune as if it were a molehill. The secret? He’d let the air out of his tires, and since he and Ted both packed compressors, we were soon on the road and back in camp.
The next day, we headed for home, thoroughly spoiled by our daughter and her husband, but my takeaway from the weekend came not from the pampering, but from the Morrisons’ example of resilience in the face of adversity and grief. “It’s your reaction to adversity,” says Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “not adversity itself that determines how your life’s story will develop.” Along with the delicious food, the Morrison family inspires visitors with Jack and Fern’s remarkable life story of courage and love.