Pulling into Syracuse High School's parking lot July 12, I instantly noticed the lack of truck and trailer. I had with me a duffel bag, a rolled up cot, an inflatable mat, a sleeping bag, a tent, a tarp and a folding chair.
I was one of the first students to arrive and was scared half to death imagining six other students with luggage like mine and no trailer. How would we ever fit everything for our archaeology trip into a mini van and a tiny Volkswagen? Using brute force, that's how.
With one boy holding the bags, arms stretched over the back seat and into the cargo space, and two other people pushing from the outside, we finally managed to get the hatch closed on the van. Even with most things in the back and a few items stuffed into the Volkswagen, we still had chairs and tents amongst the passengers.
The ride to Nine Mile Canyon was not a pleasant one. I was in the very back of the van in the middle seat. During the 3.5-hour drive, while everyone else grew weary and fell asleep, I had no place to rest my head. I watched as we passed through Layton, then Bountiful, Salt Lake City, Provo, Spanish Fork and Price.
Finally, we arrived in Wellington, Utah -- a place I've never heard of or seen before. We stopped at a Subway, and I was happy to eat at such a familiar place. On the way in, we discussed which sandwiches we would order, and that was the last normal thing we did for the entire week. That was the last time that I saw civilization.
"Project Discovery" is what they called it, all of the adults in khaki shorts and floppy sun hats. From my point of view, it looked like "Project Minimize Teenage Population" for this group of Syracuse High and East High School students.
To boldly go ...
Smoldering heat was the first thing that caught my attention when we opened the door to the mini van, the neon teal porta-potties were the second thing. I grew even more frantic as I realized that our campsite was infested with grasshoppers. I knew, being among true outdoorsmen, I was not allowed to freak out about that. I couldn't even text a friend about the bugs, no cell phone service. The week grew more intense as it went on.
Hiking straight up the side of a mountain of sliding sandstone was, to say the least, scary and when Margie, one of the fearless leaders, realized that she'd forgotten the cream cheese for our bagel breakfast, I nearly cried. However, even with the terrors and disappointments of camping in the desert, I managed to learn something. I learned about the wonders of archaeology and the possibility of chasing dreams.
In describing the tranquility of Nine Mile Canyon, Kevin Jones, the state archaeologist said, "It's been called the world's largest art gallery. It gives people a relationship with people from the past. It connects us to others. The richness and beauty of their culture shines through the rock art. It brings richness and beauty into our own lives; it's worth preserving, protecting and enjoying."
Throughout the week, I followed around a bunch of archaeological enthusiasts on their crazy adventures and what I discovered during my journey was a little bit deeper than an uncovered pottery shard or the use of an atlatl, or throwing stick. In documenting and uncovering sites, I discovered a connection between all people that I didn't know existed.
Life lessons
Jerry Spangler, executive director of the Colorado Plateau Archaeological Alliance, gave me more insight on life than I ever imagined possible. As I spent more time with Jerry, I spent more time with how my life could be. He is always overjoyed. He pulls out his GPS to take coordinates for a site and is grinning from ear to ear while his teenage assistants are leaning against boulders, suffering in the heat. Jerry is happy to measure the slabs of rock, happy to fill out the paperwork. He loves what he does; he's truly passionate about it.
He happily shared with me his life philosophy and I will never be the same.
"When you're young, you have to chase a job," he said. " It's about survival. It's about eating and paying your rent. You might have kids someday and they have needs. There's a responsibility. That responsibility can totally consume who you are as a person. Doing this kind of stuff is my passion, doing the other kind of stuff is a job. I chose my passion."
Passion. That's what we all strive for.
The soil was beautiful, chalky with an orange tint, and the green plants dotted the landscape like sheep might dot a farm in Australia. An American Indian named Rick Chapoose told us that we could eat some of the plants to heal ourselves and boil others to be at peace.
The scorpions were fascinating; the way that they glow in black light makes me smile. The stars made my heart soar and the campfire made everyone's face look simple and childlike in the nighttime. Even the grasshoppers managed to be OK after awhile; I learned not to flinch when they jumped onto my leg by accident.
The stream was cool and the mud between my toes was soft and comforting. The birds in the tree next to camp were loud, but beautiful. Their yellow breasts reminded me of sunshine. Indiana, the dog, played fetch with me on numerous occasions, his tongue lolling out of a doggy smile.
Seeing the beauty
The whole experience was like a dream. It was difficult to wake up from such a beautiful place, but I realize now that everywhere I go can be beautiful. Life is what you make it. I can be whatever the moment calls for. Like Jerry, I'm going to chase what matters. Like the Fremont Indians in Nine Mile Canyon, I will tell my story through my own pictures and words.
Spending a week in Utah's deserts with archaeologists led me to believe that living a full life isn't as hard as it looks.
Megan Stoker is a recent graduate of Syracuse High School. She is intoxicated with the written word, hungers for writing opportunities and craves challenge. E-mail her at jstoker.1@netzero.com.
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