way up in the Wasatch mountains,
Utah where Mormons claimed
their way was prevalent,
snow covered the pretense
one hundred, fifty years or so ago.
passes to the left coast were few
except in the warm months;
only the hardy would climb so high
with mules, packs, jerky, coffee
to mine the silver,
hunt the plentiful game
in the cold deep white of the mountain.

now the heights are a playground,
cleared groomed slopes skied down after
rides up the mechanized chair
where hunters and miners
persevered in the hard months,
now playtime in the rockies
for the masses.
the old town street running up and down
the hill called Main
was general store, haberdashery,
gin mill, assayer,
probably a red light house or two,
amidst the good, lord abiding citizens;
now
pizza joints butted against
boutiques, fashion salons,
restaurants with high cost haute cuisine;
only the Egyptian theater and saloons
bear some resemblance to their former selves:
instead of grimy miners
swigging down the swill,
home brew out of pails,
rot gut whiskey.
now movie stars,
dressed to the nines
sipping wine
at the festival of cinema
named after an outlaw;
town and tourist drunks
drinking the trendy micro brews.

Still, in the quiet after a late winter storm,
there are tracks
of rabbit, mountain goat, even elk,
if one dares to climb so high.

The Cambridge Dictionary defines “coming of age” as “Someone’s coming of age is the time when that person legally becomes an adult and is old enough to vote.”

Well, before i posted praising golf and dining in the Park City/Midway area of Utah, i had started a post with the above title. i was trying to include too many things. Upon my return, i cut it up into two posts. This one is about my thoughts on where i am and where i’m going.

i am, i believe, coming of age, on the backside of the original definition of the term.

Pete Toennies and i have been on many adventures and misadventures. As noted, we met in Hobart, Tasmania in November in 1979. That deployment when we were both on the staff of Commander, Amphibious Squadron Five, Pete as the UDT advisor for the commodore and me as the “Current Operations,” and “SLJO” (Shitty Little Jobs Officer). It was a glorious deployment. Along with Mike Peck, O.W. Wright, and Al Pavich, we hit Sydney, Australia; Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea; Subic Bay, Luzon, Philippines, of course; Hong Kong; Singapore; and Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii on the way back to our home port of San Diego.

It was an epic deployment in so many ways.

Upon our return to San Diego, Pete and his wife Nancy put me up in their home on Coronado until, with their help, i found an incredible apartment on the island. Although we were then in different commands, we, along with Nancy, spent a lot of time together. Pete and i played racquet ball for hours on end, and the three of us found a bunch of good places to eat. Pete and i ran, like running distances, together and even played golf.

Pete went off to do Seal things. i went to sea. Then after about 15 years, we reconnected at his retirement from the Navy. We’ve been doing our thing ever since.

This trip turned into an Old Boys’ Quest. After all, we are old. i hit 80 seven months ago. Pete trails me by five years. He’s still old. But we decided to ignore that for this quest.

In addition to age, infirmities abound between the two of us. Pete is a hero, a Navy SEAL who has put up with injuries getting worse with age. He remains an amazing athlete and, i confess, a much better golfer than me. Amazingly, all of my infirmities remain mostly annoying. Boy, are they annoying.

i knew this old man might be on his last adventure. i will be going home in a bit more than a month. Lebanon, Nashville, Vanderbilt, and possibly MTSU, old haunts, old friends, too many old places vanishing. But this will be a nostalgia trip, no athletic pursuits to accomplish, no quest.

In the mountains, when not resting, i.e. long napping, i thought of the great times here up in the Wasatch Mountains (i will re-post my poem i wrote years ago about these mountains and Park City later today). i learned to ski there in 1987 with Maureen. Following that first time on the slopes, she and i skied there with Blythe, Sarah, and a host of friends and family until 2017. To ski again, we would have had to buy new ski bindings, new boots, and my expanding width would require new ski outfits for me. It dawned on me that even though one of my greatest ski assets was the ability to fall without hurting myself, i am now 80 and falling is not a good thing regardless of how well you do it at 80 and beyond. There will be no more skiing for this old boy.

i didn’t realize when i decided not ski that is was really my first step in coming of age redux.

After Pete and i celebrated success in our quest, i admitted to myself it probably shouldn’t have been attempted, not with that amount of golf in such a short time (i played six rounds of golf in eight days). i’ve still not completely recovered. But we were determined to play as much as we could and even had another round scheduled, six in six days, but demurred, taking Saturday off.

i have realized my second coming of age.

There are creaks, aches, and pains for me on a pretty regular basis. My skin is splotchy, wrinkled and thin. Any contact with a corner of furniture, branch, bush, etc. can produce a bruise that lasts long and a cut that bleeds, requiring a bandage. My balance and strength, or lack of, are starting to impact what tasks i undertake. Oh yeh, i am bald.

Each creak, ache, and pain has to be evaluated for being a symptom of something much worse. Now, i have to consider the risks and benefits of everything i do based on my age limitations.

My dear Mazda 3 hatchback will probably be my last car. They don’t make them with standard transmissions anymore. The only cars with standard transmissions now are sports cars — when i was in my late thirties through mid-forties, there were two Rx7s as my transportation. They fit me at that age. Now, i would look ridiculous in a sports car at my age, but i think i drive better, pay more attention with a stick. So, i’m hanging on to this 2012 wonder

My running is now walking. i find i think too much and finding the world as i know it filled with lemmings, and myself removed from it.

i have come of age. And. you know what? i’m fine with that. i can adjust. i just need to ensure i do things the rest of my in the right way.

…but i will still play golf, and i’m thinking of when i might consider pursuing another quest.

Later, i will add a post about thoughts of mine while i was on this trip with Pete Toennies, one of my best pals since we met in Hobart, Tasmania, in November 1979.

This past week, Tuesday to Tuesday, was planned to be another Toennies, Jewell couples escape. Then, Maureen, not wishing to play six days of golf, shortened our stay to five days, not seven. Nancy was recovering from a medical procedure and decided to not go. When Maureen learned Pete wanted to go for the week, she felt it would be better if these two male friends should have another adventure by themselves.

And off we went.

On Tuesday afternoon, we arrived at the Marriott Summit Watch in downtown Park City, Utah where the Toennies have a time-share condo. We played golf for five days in the six full days at wonderful golf courses

i won’t write a whole lot about our experience, but wanted share some photos and thoughts about dining in Park City.

On Wednesday and Thursday, We played the two incredible links courses at Soldier’s Hollow, a bit down the mountain in Midway,: magnificent views, impeccable condition, and way out in the toolies. Man, out in the toolies. Two courses: Silver and Mountain. Just to add to the fun, the green fees were surprisingly reasonable.

The Gold course is higher up in the mountains and tough. Man, is it tough. There are magnificent views and incredible altitude drops and rises on almost every hole.

This place seems almost a secret. They have a goodly amount of players, but it always seems like it’s not crowded.

The mornings were cool, cold for folks who live in the Southwest corner, but considered cool in the mountains. We went from golf jackets and sweaters to short sleeve shirts during the rounds. But the views of sunrise made the early morning tee times worth it.

Friday, we went to the Wasatch Mountain State Park and played the Lakes course: beautiful and we saw turkeys, lots and lots of turkey as well as quite a few deer.

i took photos of many deer, but none of my shots came out. On a number of greens, we would look in the brush around the green and see them everywhere. All of the courses were in incredible condition and tough, very tough.

After relaxing for a day, we hit the Wasatch Mountain “Mountain” Course. i didn’t take any pictures because i was too busy hitting and looking for a lot of golf balls. It’s a shame as the Mountain course is one of the beautiful courses i’ve ever played. Turkeys, deer, and geese were all around the eighteen holes.

Our last round was at Park City’s public golf course created by Jack Nicklaus. No photos there as we had been there before and i was photoed out. Great course. As with the others, the course conditions was almost perfect.

Since we were on a guys’ trip, we sought to dine at the best places. We did.

Shabu is a Japanese fusion restaurant. A late afternoon rain kept us from sitting on the back patio, our favorite tables on previous trips. The firecracker shrimp and the nigiri sashimi more than made up eating in an inside booth, which was okay in its own right.

We climbed the length of Main Street to another favorite, Grappa. When Maureen and i began our annual ski trip to Park City/Deer Valley, Grappa was an old Victorian house turned into an Italian restaurant. Over the years, it morphed into a high end eatery with a redo that is modern with glass walls looking out on Main Street and a small park, including outdoor dining (not used extensively in winter. The menu is extensive. My scallops on polenta, the Italian name for grits, was superb.

We also dined at River Horse and The Butcher Shop. If you are ever in Park City, i would recommend any of these, plus several others.

My lone disappointment — crappy golf does not qualify as a disappointment: i knew that would be the case for me — was not going to listen to a band at the Egyptian Theater. The Egyptian is the home of the Sundance Film Festival. This was not the season for that. Being away from my home of Lebanon, Tennessee and being old, i tend to listen to the bluegrass from my past, catching up with new bluegrass bands only when i get back home and visit The Station Inn in Nashville. But a Nashville bluegrass band was playing at the Egyptian. As we walked by on our climb to Grappa, the marquee caught my eye. Since coming home, i have listened to the performers: good stuff. But when i saw that marquee, i wondered what “Bluegrass Soul.” was all about.

Coming home, i was in trouble. You see, a couple of years ago, we got a portable air conditioner for the several days each year the dry hot winds of a Santa Ana blows through the Southwest corner. We haven’t needed one this summer as it had been cool and comfortable all summer. When a Santa Ana was predicted while i was golfing, the forecast declared the temperatures would be about the same as they had been all summer. So, i did not retrieve our portable air conditioner as it was stored in the garage attic. Bad move.

The Santa Ana decided to let our home in the Southwest corner scorch. The highs while Pete and i were gone were over 100 degrees. As noted above, our temperatures in Utah rarely reached the 80s and if so, were in the low 80s. It began to cool off when i returned home. If she hadn’t been relieved the heat had receded, i think she might have been mad at me.

i wouldn’t have blamed her.

As i have mentioned before, i still long to have known my grandfathers both of whom passed over that bridge before i was born.

Joe Blythe Prichard died of what i am pretty sure was asthma in 1932. He and his wife, Katherine Webster Prichard, lived in Lebanon all of their lives except for a brief period when he played semi-pro baseball in Arkansas and from 1929 through 1932, and when they moved to Gotha, Florida with the hopes of the climate improving his failing health. When the move did not produce improvement, they returned to their home in Lebanon he had built on the farm of his father-in-law’s property on Hunter’s Point Pike.

Hiram Culley Jewell died of tuberculosis in 1939. He and his wife, Carrie Myrtle Orrand Jewell, moved about twenty miles from near Statesville to Lebanon around 1900. He had been a farmer in Statesville, worked at Lebanon’s pencil factory, bought a steam engine tractor in 1918 and turned it into a portable sawmill. He worked the mill until he lost a large part of his hand in the sawmill. He then was the caretaker for Lebanon City Schools, McClain and Highland Heights elementary schools and Lebanon High School. He installed the gym floor in the basement of the old high school located on East High Street.

(Note: i have several photos of Culley but could not find them before leaving for a golf trip with my friend, Peter Toennies in Park City, Utah — more on that later — but i will add the photo when i return to the Southwest corner).

i have other photos of them. i have a few stories about them. i know what they did for a living. When i asked my mother and father about their fathers, i got some of those stories, but they never really talked about what the two men were like, what they thought about things, just facts and their memories.

By virtue of a divorce and distance, i have not spent enough time with my grandson Samuel James Jewell Gander, named after my father, not me. If someone asked Sam about me currently, i don’t think he would know much more about me than i know about my grandfathers.

i’ve doubled down on leaving him enough of me in writing that he should have some idea after i have passed over that bridge.

For Sam:

Practicality without logic is impractical.

Toughness without compassion is abuse.

Loving without sharing is guilt.

Religion without humanity is demagoguery.

i must confess i am curious to find out how many folks will voice disapproval.