City Watch

People from around the country travel far and wide to catch a glimpse of Utah’s natural wonders, red rock-laden landscapes and wide desert views. Yet, one trip to the city and suddenly the native flora adapted to our arid climate is replaced with vast lush lawns and excessive foreign blooms. So why, exactly, is the second driest state in America so apprehensive to bring these indigenous water-wise plants into their own backyards? Much of the hesitation is rooted in water-wise misconceptions. All too often the thought of a drought-friendly landscape procures images of threatening cacti and xeriscaped gravel pathways. For some homeowners, the concept of transforming their yards into drought-friendly spaces insinuates a complete overhaul of existing plantings—an unsettling notion for a green-thumbed caretaker. 

Widespread misunderstanding of water-wise practices puts Utah at further risk of an oncoming drought crisis, but it also limits the public’s conception of what is considered beautiful. The idea that alluring outdoor areas must adhere to one set of standards is a barrier that experts at Red Butte Garden are trying to break. Alongside other themed gardens and collections, Red Butte offers an expansive Water Conservation Garden. The unique space features a variety of appealing blooms, fruit trees, rainwater terraces and, yes, cacti. The garden is as inviting and vibrant as it is informative. While drawing in viewers with its utter beauty, the Water Conservation Garden aims to educate the community on simple approaches to drought-friendly practices. 

The team at Red Butte spent nearly a decade building and perfecting the water-wise garden, but implementing drought-friendly practices in your yard doesn’t have to. Lead Horticulturist for the Water Conservation Garden, Guy Banner and Landscape Architect/Project Manager, Kevin Jensen offer professional insight on water-wise outdoor approaches—and do some myth-busting along the way. 

Myth #1: Barren and Boring 

Drought-friendly gardens are often mistaken for zero-scaped yards. And while a landscape of gravel and dirt does in fact require little irrigation, a water-wise yard is capable of supporting vibrant blooms and unique floral species. The Water Conservation Garden is a shining example of this. “There’s the misconception that a [water wise] landscape is barren and dusty and dry; where we have just the opposite on the hillside,” says Jensen. “We have a beautiful lush garden that is super inviting, super colorful and super pollinator-friendly that just happens to utilize a lot of these water-saving design techniques.” The Water Conservation Garden offers California poppies, shrubs, various rose species and even Yucca Trees. During a wet spring, a lucky visitor may even witness a super bloom similar to those occurring in Utah’s natural desert scapes. 

Myth #2: Dry All Year Long 

Instead of imagining water-wise landscapes as perpetually bone-dry, consider them opportunistic guzzlers. Some plants store winter moisture in bulbs, resulting in an explosion of color in the spring followed by dormancy during a dry summer. “Our moisture is very seasonal here [in Utah],” says Banner. Utilizing flora that takes advantage of Utah’s natural wet seasons culminates in a vibrant garden display that requires little watering.

Myth #3: Fruitless 

Utah is home to several desert-adapted fruit trees, including the Chokecherry tree that naturally grows in the foothills. Banner explains the key to successfully growing a water-wise fruit tree is placement. Natural depressions in your yard form basins that collect the overflow of water. “With these basins, you have the opportunity to have higher water-need plants at the base where the water naturally collects,” he says. Fruit trees like pomegranate, jujube and date palms do extremely well in arid climates, flourishing when thoughtfully planted where gravity delivers them more water. 

Myth #4: One and Done

Once established, a water-wise garden works symbiotically to distribute water where needed. However, that doesn’t mean homeowners can simply pop a few savvy plants in their yard and call it a day. In its infancy, a drought-friendly garden requires a small amount of water on a regular basis. Known as establishment watering, gardeners should expect to keep a consistent irrigation schedule for up to two years. If a new plant is introduced to an existing water-wise area, keep in mind that the established plants can be negatively impacted by frequent watering. Strategizing an irrigation approach that addresses new plants while avoiding the others takes time and practice. “Like we say, it’s not rocket science, but it is science,” says Banner. 

Dispelling myths about drought-friendly landscaping practices puts Utahns one step closer to sustainable living while shaping new notions of outdoor beauty. Above all else, homeowners should remember that mistakes are inevitable in any gardening venture, and taking each in stride is what separates a groundskeeper from a horticulturist. As Jensen says, “I mean maybe you kill a plant or two. It happens. People should feel empowered to try things.” 

Read more about how Utah is handling this summer’s drought emergency. This article was originally published on the website of Utah Style & Design, our sister publication.

I know. I know. You want to be able to light fireworks off with your friends and family this Independence Day. And, let’s be honest, no one is going to stop you. While some cities have heavier fireworks restrictions in place than others, there is no blanket ban on fireworks in Utah (unless you’re on public lands). For the most part, unless your town has unique restrictions, you’re in the clear as long as you light them off during July 2–5 (or July 22-25 for the Pioneer Day holiday).

But just because you can get away with it, should you? It is dry out there. Most of the state is under extreme drought, creating the perfect conditions for wildfires to start and spread quickly. 

According to the Bureau of Land Management, already this year, people have started as many as 370 wildfires in Utah. That’s 370 wildfires that could have been prevented. At a press conference on Wednesday, Utah Governor Spencer Cox said 81% of this year’s wildfires, burning through 23,000 acres, were human-caused. Last year, fireworks started 65 wildfires. That does not include firework-caused urban fires. 

Many fire chiefs and state and local government leaders are begging members of the public to forgo any personal fireworks this year, rather, imploring them to see a show put on by their community. So, if they’re all so against people lighting off fireworks this year, why not ban it outright?

On that point, the Governor says his hands are tied. At that same press conference, he blamed state law for not giving him the authority to institute a blanket ban on fireworks. Most cities and towns are falling short of an outright ban as well, also pointing to state law prohibiting them from doing so. (The notable exception is Mayor Erin Mendenhall, who has declared a ban on personal fireworks in all of Salt Lake City.) But members of the legislature contest the claim, saying it is, in fact, in the hands of your local municipalities. 

While all the finger pointing is a very mature way to handle the situation, it almost feels like no one wants to be on the hook for taking the people’s fireworks away (even during the state’s record drought). 

Here’s a list of local fireworks restrictions to see what your town allows and Salt Lake magazine’s story on where you can catch a community fireworks show on July 4, instead of lighting off your own airborne wildfire starters. 

Finally we’re getting serious solutions aimed at reducing traffic and parking congestion in Park City and the Wasatch Back. High Valley Transit recently launched a micro-transit system and will be launching bus service on July 1, both aimed at offering fare-free transit for Summit County visitors and locals.

“What is micro transit?” you’re probably asking. It’s a flexible, demand-responsive service to get people to and from the places they’re likely to go in a community. Put another way, High Valley Transit’s micro service is basically free Uber for Summit County. Just download the app, pick a destination and a travel option and track your ride in real time. Seriously. It’s amazing. It runs from 5 a.m. to 1 a.m. each day and solves a lot of those pesky last-mile issues that plague public transit systems, like when someone with a broken foot doesn’t want to crutch the last 5,280 feet to the doctor’s office or someone doesn’t fancy carrying 86 pounds of groceries back to their rental condo.

In its short service life thus far, High Valley Transit has been a game changer for people living in Snyderville Basin. You may have seen the multi-colored black, blue and purple vans driving around town. That’s HVT. Get picked up by a van with a bike rack way out in Summit Park before getting dropped off at Canyons Village. Go out for dinner and drinks before getting dropped off right at the door of your Pinebrook rental. It’s really that easy, and did we mention it’s free?

As great as the micro transit service has been, it will only be improved by the bus service when it begins on July 1. The fare-free bus lines will take riders all the way from the Jeremy Ranch park and ride to the Kamas park and ride and everywhere in between. Finally, Summit County is being connected with convenient transit that doesn’t require personal vehicles.

It’s brilliant to see innovative transit solutions being implemented in Park City and Summit County. Traffic and parking issues get worse each year as more people commute to the area due to increased tourism and continual rise in housing costs. People from all factions of the community have been vocal about the need for change. Now it’s up to locals and visitors to do their part, utilize the new, free transit system when possible and be part of the positive change. Here’s hoping for less powder-day traffic and renewed sense of community now that public transportation isn’t as scary as it was in 2020.

Read more about life in Park City.

The empty Maverick sitting at the corner of Bonanza Drive and S.R. 248 is a harbinger of change. Not to suggest the closure of a filling station is a significant sign of cultural or community decline, but the dearth of activity on the edge of a once-bustling, albeit utilitarian, commercial district is apparent to those familiar with the area. The land stretching inward from the intersection is slated for an ambitious development project, a brand-new Arts and Culture District, which will transform the eastern end of Park City. A project of such scale carries a hefty price tag, one that looks far more imposing in the wake of a pandemic-induced economic downturn. 

In 2017, City Hall announced it was acquiring the land for the arts and culture district. Thanks to a flourishing local economy, the timing seemed perfect for the city to undertake the $88.4 million project that would have ample long-term benefits by diversifying its economic base and hedging against the reliance on ski tourism. Selling anchor buildings to the Kimball Art Center and Sundance Institute would help City Hall pay the sum, as would leasing workforce and affordable housing as part of the project. 

Read more Park City news online and subscribe to our print magazine.

In the early hours of June 2, two girls crept down to the basement of their West Jordan home, out the door and into the night, while their family slept. The only things the sisters had with them were the keys to their parents’ Chevy Malibu and a plan.

They likely struggled with the physics of getting the car started. An average 9-year-old’s legs can’t quite reach the pedals and the 4-year-old in the passenger seat wouldn’t have much to offer by way of assistance. But, sheer determination must have won out. They were off. 

The girls made it about 10 miles from their home, managing to navigate both highway and freeway. It must have been terrifying and just a little bit thrilling. The 9-year-old driver even exited the freeway before they hopped a median and crashed head-on into a semi-truck. 

When West Valley City Police officers arrived at the scene of the crash, they found the shaken girls still buckled into their seats and largely unharmed. That’s more than what can be said about their parents’ car or the semi, which received substantial damage and had to be towed away. 

When officers asked the girls what inspired the joyride, they divulged their plan. They were headed to California to swim in the ocean.

If that plan sounds familiar, you might remember last year’s short-lived journey of 5-year-old Adrian. After waiting for his babysitter to fall asleep, he swiped the keys to his family’s SUV and hit the road with just $3 in his pocket. His big plan? He was headed to California to see some relatives and buy a Lamborghini. To be fair to Adrian, when he asked his parents for one, they said no. What else is a young Lamborghini enthusiast to do but take matters into his own hands?

Adrian was behind the wheel only a few minutes before Utah Highway Patrol pulled him over for going 88 miles per hour and swerving from lane to lane on I-15. 

The trooper drove Adrian home, but the 5-year-old had impressed a number of people with not only his driving skills but his love for Lambos, including Utah entrepreneur Jeremy Neves who gave Adrian his first-ever ride in a real Lamborghini. A luxury car dealer also flew Adrian out to his Los Angeles dealership where he apparently got to meet Shaquille O’Neal and Jamie Foxx. 

A California dream isn’t the only siren song that drives children to larceny. 7-year-old Preston of Plain City got to recount the story of his joyride on the TODAY show. One fateful Sunday morning in 2009, Preston had had enough. Instead of combing his hair and donning slacks and a button-down shirt, he stole his family’s car to get out of going to church. Witnesses reported seeing a child speeding down local streets and blowing through stop signs. When officers caught up to Preston, he did not pull over. He took them on a chase through the small town. Unfortunately for him, he led the cops right back to his house.

He parked the car and ran inside the house, and his parents might have never known what happened if it weren’t for the blaring police sirens and flashing lights in the driveway. 

Back in 2012, an 8-year-old Ogden boy took his 5-year-old sister and his mother’s minivan in the middle of the night. He made sure both of them were wearing their seatbelts, but that didn’t solve the immediate problem of his inability to see over the steering wheel. The minivan delivered them a few hundred feet, right into the arms of a tree. He told police he had to take the minivan because his little sister wanted to go to the store and their mom was asleep. 

In the case of these young joyriders, dispensing justice is normally left to the parents. Not so for a 12-year-old in West Valley who was arrested for joyriding in his grandfather’s car earlier this year. The police say he also rammed an off-duty officer’s personal vehicle when he tried to pull over the 12-year-old. 

Perhaps it’s obvious why his consequences were far different from the others, but I can’t wait to see if the West Jordan joyriding sisters get a TODAY show interview or a millionaire-sponsored California beach vacation.  

For more kid-friendly activities, check out Salt Lake magazine’s city life section and our latest print issue.

“They just issued an evacuation order for Mt. Aire. Are you guys okay?” The text message inquired. I was more confused than alarmed. Working away at home in my pandemic bubble, I was totally oblivious to the creeping threat hinted at in the text. While I was staring at a screen with a half-eaten PB&J in hand, a wildfire sparked on I-80 by a dragging truck chain was moving its way up Parley’s Canyon towards the neighborhood where I and thousands of others live. 

It’s easy to feel insulated from the consequence of wildfires. To many in Utah, the blazes are something that happens in California, a cautionary tale of overzealous development with a callous disregard of causal behavior. Sure, we have a cute little Smokey Bear sign displaying today’s fire danger rating at the bottom of communities like mine in Summit Park, but the devastation of an inferno couldn’t possibly come to our doorstep. Could it?

Park City—along with much of Summit and Wasatch counties—is considered a wildland-urban interface (WUI), where homes intermingle with undeveloped vegetation. WUI areas are at far greater risk of catastrophic wildfire because human activity can spark wildfires and homes contain a lot of combustible material. Add in the fact that human habitation leads to continual fire suppression efforts, limiting natural fuel reduction and thus increasing fire danger as it accumulates, and it’s easy to see why WUI fires can be so devastating.  

Left undisturbed, wildfires will manage forests naturally. Regular fires will burn fuel near the ground without decimating the forest. In the absence of this naturally occurring cycle, a greater continuity of fuels builds up between the ground and tree canopies, leading to a “ladder effect” where the wildfire can climb into treetops and spread with explosive speed. The best available tools to counter this threat are fuel reduction programs.

Basin Recreation, under the direction of the Summit County Fire Warden and Alpine Forestry, undertook such a program beginning in summer 2020 through spring 2021. Over the summer, crews cleared brush, deadfall and other fuel, stacking it into hundreds of slash piles. Once the ground was covered in snow, they performed controlled burns. The forest’s appearance changed starkly, transformed by raised tree canopies and thinned brush. Some online commentators decried “deforestation,” when, in reality, they were opposing sustainable forest management, which will protect homes and create a healthier environment. 

Wildfire threat is only increasing as development continues to expand amid a changing climate. Protecting the community is an ongoing process that involves everyone. “The state of Utah does some amazing work,” Pollock says. “We need the community and the support for the fire and fuels projects that give firefighters the help they need to protect our homes.” 

This story was part of Salt Lake magazine’s May/June issue. Read more Park City Life here.

Controversy is brewing on the Park City ridgeline. Park City Mountain is planning to construct more than 200 avalanches fences above the Daybreak chairlift on the Canyons side of the resort. The structure is an effort to protect an access road leading to two homes in the Colony and the on-mountain restaurant Cloud Dine. The fences were approved in June 2020 under a low-impact permit from Summit County, which meant a building permit could be issued in March 2021 without any public input. Some county residents are rankled at what they consider a closed-door decision-making process that they claim will permanently and unnecessarily alter the area’s natural landscape.

The Colony, a gated community on the slopes of Park City Mountain, is home to some of the most expensive real estate in Park City. As development in the community has risen higher up the mountainside, it has gotten closer to natural avalanche paths outside of the boundary of the ski resort. In this case, the road the avalanche fencing intends to protect is essentially a shared driveway for two homes within The Colony. Current avalanche mitigation work throughout the winter season produces regular small avalanches, preventing a larger slide that would imperil the road. The caveat is the roadway must be closed when mitigation work is ongoing. The fences would eliminate the need for explosive avalanche control, meaning the road is always open.

Detractors insist the plan is unnecessarily intrusive and an example of entitlement for wealthy residents at the cost of the community. 215 avalanche fences ranging between three and four meters in height would be bolted to the ground near the top of the slide paths where avalanches initiate. The fences cause turbulence in airflow resulting in snowdrifts that aren’t prone to avalanches. Avalanche fencing is common in Europe above alpine towns in the Alps and along essential roadways threatened by avalanche risk. Far less common is protecting a roadway for two private homes and a resort restaurant with extensive fencing infrastructure.

The maze of fencing will likely be visible year-round from Snyderville Basin, would be potentially hazardous to wildlife in the area, and would spoil a natural area enjoyed by backcountry skiers and snowboarders. Further, avalanche professionals have expressed doubts about the merits of the plan. A ski patroller who works in snow safety at Park City Mountain, who provided insight on condition of anonymity, suggested avalanches are unlikely to impact the future road. “Once every decade or so the road might get hit. Fences are an absurd way to protect what’s essentially a driveway. Limiting access for a handful of people on rare occasions when control work is going on is far more reasonable than covering the mountains in fencing,” the patroller said.

Public concern has swelled as details about the fence plan spread, but little recourse is available. Low impact permits can be appealed within 10 days of being issued, but in this case, it’s been nearly a year. Further, a previous agreement between the landowners and Vail Resorts is already in place, and Vail has valid permits. There’s no formal code violation or anything else that would require Vail Resorts to reconsider unless the concerns of the community compel them to do so.

For those who wish to register opposition to the plan, Save Our Canyons has started a petition asking Summit County to reconsider the low-impact permit. Click here to view the petition.  

Read more community coverage here.

During the early days of the pandemic, footage of belligerent customers fighting over toilet paper at the grocery store triggered hoarding and fear. A few months later, grocery stores sometimes became battlegrounds for anti-mask standoffs with workers like Louis Donovan, director of Harmons in Roy, charged with diffusing emotions and keeping folks safe.

“There were times things got out of hand and I had to step in,” the South Ogden husband and father of two boys says. “It’s tough because ‘the customer is always right,’ but I’ve had to remind myself that, this time, we have to protect our associates.”

The silver lining, he says, has been seeing regular shoppers, who think of his store as “their” store, intervene and stand by workers trying to do their job. 

“It’s actually been touching in that, besides a few cases, most people have been more understanding, accommodating and appreciative of what we do,” he says. “People generally rush in and out of the store to get their stuff, but we’ve noticed that, lately, people are looking around and talking more to those folks that are serving them.”

With non-essential businesses forced to close during the early days of the pandemic, grocery stores became a lifeline for customers, ensuring families remained fed and supplied while hunkering down and giving folks a moment to interact with other humans.

“I’m here to care for people,” says Donovan, who says he never really felt scared about contracting the virus even though he’s worked on the front lines every day. (“People have to eat,” he says matter-of-factly.) Although, he was very concerned that his employees felt comfortable while working under the strained conditions. 

“Of course we installed the plexiglass and supplied masks, but we also got creative to make sure every worker felt safe.” Donovan shifted operations to a 24-hour schedule so employees at higher risk could perform their duties after hours. 

But, it’s Donovan’s kind and generous spirit that truly puts folks at ease. “The best part of my job is talking to people and helping them feel taken care of. I honestly love it.” Evidence of his sincerity clutters the walls of his office in the form of cards and tokens from grateful customers. “They start to feel like family,” he says.

This story is part of our series on coronavirus heroes. Read all of them here.

ICU nurse Christy Mulder says the images of families saying goodbye to dying loved ones over FaceTime are forever seared in her memory. They mark some of the most heartbreaking moments of her career. “We would prepare the call, and families would talk to a husband or mom or grandparent for the last time,” she says. She works in an area of University of Utah Hospital devoted to the sickest of the sick. She says patients weren’t always coherent, but those final conversations meant everything to the families they left behind. “At the end of the call, folks would watch a loved one take those final breaths on a computer screen…It was unimaginable.”

From final goodbyes to funerary rites, Coronavirus hijacked death’s dignity. Hospital rooms that should have been the scene of loving spouses, children and grandchildren surrounding the bed of a dying patient instead lay quietly still, with only the sounds of modern medical machinery and the footsteps of overworked doctors and nurses in the halls.

“There was a reverence in knowing that I was the person that somebody was going to die with,” Mulder says. “Yet the workload was so great that I felt constantly conflicted—there was so much death, I don’t think—even now—I’ve properly processed everything.”

Acting as a reassuring voice became a duty as important as providing the best possible medical care. But how do you comfort someone isolated from family and friends while wearing a science-fictiony spacesuit? How do you make meaningful connections that mitigate fear and communicate compassion to someone in an almost-apocalyptic hospital setting?

“There’s a lot that can’t be communicated in all the gear we’ve had to wear over the past year, so I’ve had to change the way I care for patients,” Mulder says. “It’s always a busy place, and usually, with family at the bedside, we’re free to move in and out of rooms pretty quickly.” But when visitors were barred from entering hospitals, Mulder says she made the decision to do her charting and other tasks in the patient’s room instead of at the nursing station, so she could spend as much time with them as possible. “They just needed to hear another person’s voice.”

With so many unknowns about the spread of COVID-19 in the early months, that was no small decision. Many health care workers were rightly concerned about their own safety.

“Some people were talking about our rights as caregivers. Should we put our lives on the line? Our families’ lives?” Mulder says. She adds that the rapid deterioration of people with the disease coupled with the early images of New York’s tragic fight against the virus were frightening for healthcare workers. She faced an invisible enemy whose tactics were often evasive and unpredictable. “So it was scary to make the decision to work.”

When, in December 2020, after what felt like an eternity of dark days, Mulder was asked if she would like to be the first person in Utah to receive the COVID-19, she was honored. “The vaccine gave me and my colleagues new reasons to go forward,” she says. “I felt as if they’d asked me to be an ambassador for hope.” 

This story is part of our series on coronavirus heroes. Read all of them here.