Etched Special Edition 2020
Etched Special Edition 2020
Look Up! Zion's Beauty...and Background
“Look up!” my dad proclaimed. “What?” I thought to myself. My neck had been angled upward for hours. Actually, I spent the entire day “looking up” from the back of our 1970s station wagon at the most magical landscape I had ever seen. Our family vacation was spent on Cedar Mountain in Duck Creek. It was quite a change from our home in the desert on the Colorado River in Arizona. My mom decided we would take the long way home. First, a stop at Bryce Canyon- a fairyland of sorts. I daydreamed about living in the bottom of that canyon as we continued down Highway 89 to Mount Carmel entering Zion National Park on the east side. “Darci, are you looking up?” dad insisted. I was. And what I saw from my front-row view in the back seat would change my life, forever. It was nothing less than magnificent ... vibrant colors, unusual shapes, and towering cliffs both checkered, rugged, smooth, and majestic. That day remains vivid in my mind.
Aside from his children, there were two things my dad loved most in this world- the Colorado River and Springdale. When my husband, Steve and I moved our family to southern Utah in 1993, my dad heralded our new location as near “a dream come true” for him. Until his death in 2001, we would take my dad to visit the Canyon often. He never ceased to be amazed at the landscape and found solace in the connection of the Virgin River to his “Mighty Colorado.” If his personal preferences were genetically transferred over to me then, “I am my father’s daughter.”
Every day, I get the chance to “look up” and into the Canyon; every time feels like the first. More than 45 years have passed since that day in the back of the station wagon. It never gets old. The Canyon is home, just as the Colorado River runs through my veins.
Exploring Zion’s trails and wilderness has strengthened mine and Steve’s intimate connection to this place. I recently found myself wanting to know more about its early human history. I love history; the social kind, and the human interest aspects of it. I decided to attend a few meetings of a newly formed historical society in Springdale. I listened to neighbors as they referred to the area between the town of Virgin and north of Springdale in various terms: the Canyon; Zion valley; at East Fork; upper river valley; upper Virgin River valley; up past Crawfords; down to Rockville ... And so it began. My journey down the rabbit hole of research.
For over a week I remained glued to my laptop chasing link after link of information online. From the early indigenous people who loved the land they called Mukuntuweap, to the pioneers who came to settle it, I looked up every possible subject matter that I could think of regarding who lived where and when in “said” area. I had to laugh thinking back to that family vacation and how delving into this online portal of endless data was giving new meaning to dad’s words, “Look up!”
Geographically, I laid out the settlement locations one by one as I discovered them, beginning on Highway 9 in the town of Virgin (originally called Pocketville), all the way into the Canyon with a small settlement named Zion. This particular settlement intrigued me. The National Park Service website stated that Isaac Behunin, a Mormon pioneer, built the first homestead upon the Virgin River farther north than Springdale and deeper into Zion Canyon. From the Washington County Historical Society website I read that, “…In the summer of 1863, (Isaac Behunin) and his sons built a one-room log cabin on the east side of the Virgin River, across from the Emerald Pools near the present site of the historic Zion Lodge. They cleared some land and planted an orchard. They farmed tobacco, sugar cane, corn, and melons.” A personal history account from a Behunin descendant read: “There was no road into Zion’s canyon at that time but a heavy team had hauled in a plow and other accessories. An irrigation ditch was dug and the flats cleared of vines and rose bushes. By the next season, several acres were under cultivation and fruit trees came and garden stuff had been planted.”
Now, I had to take a moment to reflect on what that would have been like. Living in Zion Canyon. An earthly paradise, serene, of sublime beauty. A true wilderness isolated by euphoric canyons ... some days that is almost unimaginable.
The State of Utah’s Division of History site credits Behunin with giving Zion Canyon its name. “…When in the presence of friends and the grandeur of the canyon, he said, ‘A man can worship God among these great cathedrals as well as he can in any man-made church; this is Zion.’”
But it wasn’t all peachy in “Zion”. As the story goes, Behunin wrote a letter requesting that his church president, Brigham Young, accept the proposed name. “That is not Zion,” was Young’s response. “Zion is where the saints are at.” A few historical accounts say he was referring to Jackson County, Missouri. Other accounts have stated that Young never visited the actual Zion settlement, but stopped just north of Springdale where he found tobacco growing and old distilling whiskey. Thus he proclaimed, “Not Zion” or “No Zion.” Either way, the name, Zion, stuck and since has become internationally well-known over the past 150 years.
The Behunin family was not alone in homesteading Zion. William Heap set up a farm on the west side of the Virgin River, just north of the Emerald Pool stream. He eventually would buy out Behunin and acquire his farm.
There was a third name I came across. Another family that had settled in the canyon with Behunin—John Social Rolph. The Rolph family built their first cabin at the site of the current Grotto picnic area. “John Social Rolph ... John Social Rolph?!?” Why did I know this name? It was after midnight and I was exhausted but the name leaped off my laptop screen. And then I put it together. I sent a text to my mother-in-law, Nyla, that read: “Mom, do you remember what your great-grandfather’s name was?” I anxiously waited for her reply. Everyone is up at midnight, right?
What I knew about Steve’s mother’s side of the family was all that she had told me: that they were from the Freedom-Star Valley, Wyoming area. I was pacing the floor by now. My phone “dinged”. She was up. She replied: “John Social Rolph.” I had to catch my breath. I replied: “Are you sure?” Silly question, my mother-in-law knows her family history. But under the circumstances I had to ask. “Yes,” she replied. “Why?” I couldn’t believe it. Maybe there was another John Social Rolph. Doubtful, but maybe. I texted her back. “Mom, do you know if he ever came to Zion before Star Valley?” Long pause. “No, I don’t think so.” Hmmmm. “Mom, what was his wife’s name?” Of course she would know this information. By now it was 1 am (the phone dings). “I believe her name was Sophia.”
At that moment I realized I had discovered something that Steve nor his mom, nor any of our immediate family had ever known: my husband’s great-great-grandfather was one of the first homesteader’s in Zion Canyon. John Social Rolph.
It would be days before I finally crawled out of the rabbit hole and started piecing together this Special Edition of Etched. Ironically, it had long been decided that this issue of the magazine would be different with a niche focus on the human history of the Canyon’s main corridor. Millions of people from around the globe as well as locals come to Zion National Park each year to partake of its wonder and mystery with little time to digest its history. We’ve barely scratched its surface in this issue. The layers of tale that dwell within the walls of this great wilderness called Zion are deep. But if you, our readers, glean one thing from our pages, then maybe, together, we will acknowledge the priceless value of respecting and protecting our landscape and its natural resources.
What I discovered about Steve’s historical connection to this canyon all made sense. For us, it explained the gravitational pull we have felt towards this place. I shared the story with my dear friend, Lyman Hafen. He is an author, historian, and the Executive Director of the Zion National Park Forever Project. “What an absolutely wonderful discovery. One of those golden special serendipitous connections. A treasure beyond description.” And so it is.
I leave with you a final thought, for it may change your own life. Take the long way home—and keep “looking up!”
– Darci, Editor in Chief
It was early in the summer of 2006. I was working with a media source in southern Utah. I awaken one morning to realize something internally was shifting for me. Metaphorically speaking, I had become consciously aware of the change in the season. The heat was rising at a pace that made my brow sweat. A heaviness developed in the atmosphere that at times made it hard for me to breathe comfortably. And it had nothing to do with the weather. 
One of my beloved consignment stores is located in Arizona’s Mohave Valley. I visit it often. Each time the experience is the same. I pull back on the heavy glass door and before I can step inside, a burst of musty air splashes my face. It feels familiar. I step inside. Towering to the height of the ceiling, on all four walls and every aisle in between, a stairway of shelves, each stacked with more than the mind can conceive. Color saturates vintage dishes, paintings, blankets, statues, and posters while dozens of clocks tick and chime. And then there’s that mix of 1970’s classic rock coming from the radio sitting on the checkout counter. I listen. I think of my childhood along the Colorado River. I feel happy. I feel melancholy. And I feel overwhelmed all at once. This is Sensory Overload.
The creation of an Arts Edition for Etched each year is a choice opportunity. The process provides my dominant right-brain with a ‘free pass’ to ignore its counterpart (temporarily, anyway). Honestly, I delight in giving myself permission to mentally wander while working. Putting the content together requires partaking of new art experiences while meeting fascinating and talented people. But let me be candid: constructing an issue focused on art is also a challenge. I am not an artist and my knowledge of it is quite ‘basic’. I do own several pieces of art. When I purchase it, I do so for one reason, because I like it. Through the eye of an artist I can revisit the ‘ordinary’ while discovering it is extraordinary.
