Mecham Ranch

The Pope is sitting in his office and his secretary enters his office and says: “Um, sir I have a phone call here for you. It appears to be some good news and some bad news.” “Well what’s the good news?”, asks the Pope. “The good news is it’s Jesus Christ on the line.” “That’s great! What’s the bad news?” “He’s calling from Salt Lake City.”
Mormon Joke

I get to Rick and Stacey’s place, under the moon almost full, in a pink sky so specific to American Plains. I seek refuge in this Mormon ranch’s welcoming warmth, nearby the Craters of the Moon in Idaho; glancing there at a new journey, spiritual and historic, sinking there in another life, huge and country like.

It immediately feels like home, certainly because I got used to move from one nest to another, but mostly because this is the spirit of their house. The minute you enter the place, you enter the family, no matter your age nor the hour.
Stacey was born in Canada, she got married to Rick, pure Idaho man, almost 15 years ago. She was supposed to move here fire five years and after, promised, he would bring her back home… He is like ten years late! They started to welcome travelers through workaway a few years ago because they couldn’t deal with the ranch and her speech therapy practice anymore. First, Rick, as a 6-whatever-foot-guy, was absolutely against the idea to have strangers in his place, he wanted to hang out in his pajamas whenever he wanted! Like always it sounds, Stacey dis as she pleased, Rick finally went with it, and here I am, umpteenth wanderer, receiving the blessings before getting my first hot meal in a weeks, listening to this-first-but-not-the-least intertwined tales about their life.
The Mechams arrived in Carey in the twenties, like a lot of Mormons, they left their holy land in Utah to Idaho. The Mechams are so settled here, the half iced and half snowed road leading the original homestead, “The Home Place“, is called Mecham Road. Today cut in half, spread in between Rick and one of his brothers, it is one of the three properties of Rick and Stacey. Its sunshine gets blue in between hay and naked trees, lightening snowed hills in the background.

Nearby cattle and horses, feeling Christmas spirit enlightening both gardens and hearts, I am pulled back to comfy life. My brain is not thinking through anymore, I don’t feel transcended by miles anymore, my revelations about life Have ran away, my wanderings are full of doubts. I know some reasons, others play hide and seek and mess me up…
In one hand, I finally got my return ticket and I feel limited by it, I feel like my freedom is jeopardized; now, I don’t have any other choice than staying until mid-February. I remember feeling the same in Ireland, for my first summer there, once I had known my return day.
In the other hand, the rest of my travels on the road is questioned… I have to make a choice, do I have to sell my car? And even if I have some other ideas, I feel so frustrated of that sacrifice: then, my dreamy red earth destinations are, once more, fleeing away from my American journey?
And there are other ones, entangling and losing me, throwing my empty and prosaic words on paper, lying them like a memory and not a poem. I would like to put branches in between the leaves and I don’t know how to do it anymore. I am on a pivot but I don’t really know which one… Thus, I keep going… Ethereal. I go on with that uncertainty, I follow the river path that I can’t fight and I become the true reporter of another life. I become the true witness of the actual deep America. Go Panthers!
I bake a lot for Christmas, drive backhoes, cut cows and feed horses. Listening to Stacey’s life story, laughing out loud with her and her mother around the big wooden table. Listening to Rick sharing Mormons’ tales as we drive throughout Idaho.

According to the legends for me, to The Book of Mormons for Rick, Mormons, apparently persecuted, arrived on American soil a little while after Jesus’ death. They blended into Native population and, if I record well, hid the famous golden plates which would become miracle objects for Joseph Smith’s revelations in 1830, Mormonism’s pioneer in America.
Indeed, the young 24 years old man who didn’t know how to read, was visited by Angels to lead him to both the golden plates place and in his translation work later on. The Book of Mormons, as sacred as the Bible, was then officially written based on the new American prophets’ tales, telling the Indigenous life before Europeans’ arrival and their relation with God, creating new Christian beliefs. Mormon Church was just born west of New-York.
Soon persecuted on this side of the Atlantic, especially because of their polygamy (they will abandon later on), Mormons soon leave to Missouri then Illinois… It was not enough though, a holy land was awaiting for them on the other side of the Rockies, Utah salt valley then greeted thousands of Mormons for decades.

What is really fascinating in his tales, revealing of the American creativity in another way, is that they actually created a local Christianity, whose epicenter is in the US. Considering how American Nation obviously misses a long term history, Mormons build here one that goes back in Jesus time. They give themselves legitimacy. The cradle of civilizations, of any religion, is in Jerusalem, Mormons’ one is in Utah! Or how to replace the US in the center of the world… What a genial idea! It is extremely clever on a society level and to build a community: Mormonism then become a very powerful federalist tool.

Once I have heard about the Church beginnings, Rick tells me about the gospel.
Mormons believe in life after death, they think if you are being a good Mormon, you can become the God of another world, you can become the new Jesus Christ. And they have two buildings in order to get there, in order to get closer to their God: the church and the temple. Everybody can go to church, this is the Sunday reunion place, but you have to be a very good Mormon in order to get to the temple. And for example, couples who didn’t get a chance (or the privilege?) to get married in the temple to get a special ritual, still in the temple, in order to be actually linked to their own child in the other world. Because it is another Mormon “specialty”, you can find your family in the other world if you get properly linked through the temple.
You can also “work” for your ancestors down earth, the other world is actually really similar to ours and missionaries are still spreading the word on the other side of the light. Thus, if one of your ancestors didn’t behave – let’s say he was drinking like hell, screwing everybody, smoking cracks or worse was addicted to coffee – then you can atone for his sins, for instance being particularly involved in the community.
It is based on that idea of life after death and the “work” on your ancestors that Mormons actually own most of the DNA programs to know better about who is who on your family tree.
Mormons think a new cycle is coming, with all the crisis and ends of the world it implies, this is why they are supposed to have enough to survive for a year in their pantry.

And to understand this better, still pushed by my reporter desire, by my new discoveries instincts, I go to church every Sunday. I observer other Christian customs that like Catholicism offers Christ blood and flesh to receive communion, that like Catholicism raises its prayers in songs.

And as we both ride to Chesterfield, the third Mecham’s homestead in Eastern Idaho, I truly meet Rick. We cross white fields that look like lakes when it is actually dormant lands. I get lost in landscapes’ solitude, suddenly animated by the river current like magic. I take my first fly with the last migrating wild geese.
And Rick starts to talk all of sudden, not to tell me about Mormons’ expedition but to tell me about him. Him that claims to be so private, him so cheerfully quiet, opens his heart with colors and rainbows. All the little stories, revelations, upside down that defined him, built, destroyed him, that drew his rebellion and his way back to his faith. He shares everything with me. Or a part of it. Roughly and with details. And to keep his secrets perfectly secret, I will only share one here, so perfectly representative of his quiet strength and beliefs.
How he met his childhood friend.
As they were only knee-high to a grasshopper, an indescriptible energy pulled them to play together in the playground. They both recognized each other like they had already met, like they were already friends. The most incredible is they actually acknowledged that fact even though they were so tiny. Rick now grown up and wise man knows why, because his religion told him… There is a life before and after our time on earth, and our souls meet, intertwine and bound but, like in all universal legends, an angel put the finger of silent on our lips, the oblivious touch, and we lost who we were, who we loved. But sometimes the angel’s touch is too light. But sometimes our love is too powerful. And our souls remember. Thus, the bond between Rick and the one who would become his best friend for life was too strong to be totally covered by the oblivion veil.

Worthy of The Empire of the Angels, I am telling you!

Then he starts to be more down to earth, or maybe it was before… He tells me how to breed, how to make caves babies without a flesh and blood bull, how cattle have their own version of porn in order for farmers to pick up the seed. And it is really not glamorous, and I must confess I wonder about animals rights: vibrator in their ass to stimulate the bull and sex doll looking like cows to receive the seed. It utterly breaks my heart.

And I go through my own revelations there… Not Mormons, only in the continuity of my journey, in that serendipity that I follow like a religion.
Some days before I leave, I would like to get some fresh air, have a last ride with the car I think I will have to say goodbye. I would like to go to Sun Valley, THE Idaho ski station where all 1990’s Hollywood stars have invested.
Only, my car key is missing. I should say my one and only car key! I don’t know when, I don’t where. However, I know it is not lost, it is somewhere but I can’t recall the last time I saw it… Sunday at church? Tuesday at the post office? Tuesday at Chesterfield? Are they lost in the snow two hours’ drive from here because I stupidly though I needed my key when I was not even driving!? I look everywhere, get rid of my mess and, defeated, accept to change my plan for the day waiting to recover memories. Of course I get a bit anxious and mad at myself but I try to think about something else.
I focus on my Mormon present since I have to attend the “Relief Society” Christmas reunion, the Mormon Church women organization. For some reasons, I know the problem will fix on its own, the end of the day will give me some answers… And I am right, the key was found in the post office parking lot and awaits for me there. Rick would like to talk me into God, but I have other beliefs that I wouldn’t name…

This religious atmosphere questions me about my own way to deal with religion though. When you are Catholic – which my family is in a cultural way more than in a religious way – you were born from the original sin between Adam and Eve. This is why you need to be baptized: to be purified. And I wonder how much this invisible rule defines me beyond myself? Or even French people in general… I start a tough subject since FRANCE IS A SECULAR COUNTRY! Yes, but France was Catholic for centuries and I don’t need to be graduated in psychology to know minds take much more time to change than rules! Then, yes we are French, yes we are secular, but a whole stretch of our country’s history was ruled by Catholicism. I therefore wonder if it still has repercussions on memories and behaviors. Because if I had to point out one main difference between France and the US, it would be self-confidence. Americans, for the most, are incredibly confident of their own value and abilities, whereas French, for the most once again, are always apologizing for having a good idea. There are thousands of reasons on several levels – society, politic, etc – for that, but I wonder if this new invisible revelation is one as well: how could we be proud as individual if we were born form something wrong? All this is very psychological and philosophical, but it crosses my mind when I have some time…
And I go even further, I question how I deal with my beliefs whatever they are. Because today, “thanks” to my French secularity, religion is something private, almost “tabou” and, let’s be honest, you don’t casually talk about it. Thus, the first time I wanted to ask questions to Stacey about Mormons, I was mortified, I almost felt like I was committing a crime, when she simply answered with a smile, ready to share whatever I wanted to know. She was so casual with the idea of religion when I was being so intense… And I must confess, I was jealous of how comfortable she seemed to be, I would have loved to be lighter.

The next day of my mystical experience with my car key, the weather is clear, ideal for some fresh air. And I drive a new way. Unknown. Once I have crossed Carey hills, it is unbelievable once again. But ephemeral. Landscapes look like Sahara dunes except they are powdered with snow.
Very quickly though, scenery loses its beauty… I look at stars’ mansions, not nice but giant, not nice but ideally built to fit the landscape. I walk in lovely and rich Ketchum, don’t think and soon go home.

I then play with the backhoe, pull trapped wheels out of the snow, feel like a ranch owner and get tired. Because of the cold. Because of my empty thoughts. Because of upcoming days. Because of my useless words.

And already the end is here.
My stay in Idaho has felt so weird. Immediately adopted like something normal. Completely oblivious of my departure. Absolutely fascinated by new tales.
I can’t help comparing my islandic November full of revelations to my December slowly meditative. As if my relation to now was absolutely healthy. I have moved and stayed at the same spot in every meaning of the terms. Sometimes in the same times or not. Thus, maybe my mind has turned around but in a different spot?
I feel like I have changed, that I have left my past behind. I don’t know what I want anymore though… What does my heart desire?
Winter solstice is here, sparkling with the absent moon, New Year herald, and I urgently feel the need to answer that question. I let then my invisible thoughts intertwine, leaving me time to understand. And I rely on my unique non-negotiable desire, I count on it like the Plains’ shooting star: my desire to write like an end.