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Paul Nulty - kid at heart &
President of the Plainview YSA Branch |
President Nulty: I could use you on the Palmyra trip.
The Owens: Are we allowed to do that?
President Nulty: I think so.
The Owens: How many adult leaders are going?
President Nulty: Including you?
The Owens: I guess . . .
President Nulty: Three.
Sister Owens: Did you say something about fairgrounds and tents?
President Nulty: Yep. The kids waited too late to get a room.
pause, . . . hmmm
Elder Owens: I'll run a Rochester hotel search on Priceline.
pause
Elder Owens: What's the toll situation?
President Nulty: You're gonna need your Easy Pass. Big time.
. . . and so we came.
Rain came down and required us to tie down the wagon covers, and so increased our sickness by confining the air we breathed. Our cattle recrossed in the night ...
Wait.
Wrong trek.
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| our tent city - a stefanie's worst nightmare |
We sailed through Throgs Neck but got hung up in construction on the GW Bridge. The drive through the Appalachians of Pennsylvania was beautiful. We still beat the youth to Palmyra by an hour and a half and found the fairgrounds. Our job was to set up the tents for the ones arriving at midnight, but the youth with us wanted to check-out the Friday night performance. While they headed up to the Hill Cumorah, I headed over to the tent bags. This is where decades of BSA and YW experience reaches full value. I had the first two up when a passing cloud front brought a 60 MPH wind gust. Canvas and poles blew everywhere. The bedraggled campers around us packed up and drove away. We were left with control of the grounds and total access to the bathrooms. Stefanie helped me recover our tent pieces. After an hour or so we had the tents pitched and were ready for the late-comers.
A positive note. Our youth returned early from the pageant grounds explaining that the the storm and lightning had cancelled the show. Then they described how a large gust of wind had scatterd all of the anti-Mormon tarps and tables, leading the detractors on a hectic pursuit for miles down the Canandaigua Road. All of the evening's hardship was gladly traded for that pleasing mental picture. They then described how the Mormon missionaries had helped the bitter people recover and rebuild their inflammatory exhibits. What a church!
Our second group of saints arrived shortly after midnight. The winds were down, the tents were up, the Owens' were snuggled into their Rochester hotel 20 miles west, and all was well in Zion.
It rained most of Saturday, but our group enjoyed visits to the usual places. Leaving the Harris homestead I made a wrong turn and lost the others. In our searching we happened upon the Smith farm. The many missionaries there were curious. They kept glancing at our name tags, seeking some familiar context. They were collegial, but our apparent itinerance confused them. We were frequently explaining our CES connection.
Stefanie and I spent an hour together in the Sacred Grove, a large stand of maples west of the frame home. Huddled beneath an umbrella we read from the Joseph Smith testimony. The rain was gentle but had scared most visitors away. We enjoyed the water sounds in the leaves and the damp loam smell. Tranquil. Sacred.
We later joined our young adult travellers at the fairground where we organized an evening barbecue. By that time much of our camp had been moved into the 4H building next door.
The antagonistic gauntlet into the pageant that evening was pure spectacle - a potpourri of dress, movement and verbal confrontation. Fascinating. Entertaining. We sat next to an LDS businessman from Arizona and exchanged news from the West. The hilltop performance was elaborate. It was LARGE, panoramic and loud. Fireworks and water scrims? Great in scope and content, even rushed, Mormon's epic is spiritually provocative and potent.
The next day, well . . . . we were only a few miles south, I'm an unstoppable romantic, and . . .
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Niagara
Nice |
