{"id":36072,"date":"2018-08-05T17:13:19","date_gmt":"2018-08-05T23:13:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/?p=36072"},"modified":"2023-11-13T14:05:46","modified_gmt":"2023-11-13T20:05:46","slug":"tim-glenn-forever-desolation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/tim-glenn-forever-desolation\/","title":{"rendered":"Tim Glenn: Forever Desolation"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/a>READ LOCAL First<\/strong>\u00a0represents Utah\u2019s\u00a0most comprehensive collection of\u00a0celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary nonfiction, and memoir. This week we bring you an excerpt from\u00a0Tim Glenn\u2019s 2017 Original Writing Competition First Place novel manuscript,\u00a0Forever Desolation.<\/em>\u00a0Glenn is a historian and museum director living in Green River, Utah. He earned an MA in U.S. History from the University of Utah, studying the history of wilderness and public lands in the West. Recently,\u00a0his writing has\u00a0appeared in\u00a0Breathing Stories<\/em>, an arts as activism chapbook from Torrey House Press. Tim is also the Democratic candidate for the Utah State Legislature in House District 69.<\/p>\n

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from FOREVER DESOLATION<\/h4>\n

Jesse Randall lived in an old farmhouse seven miles up Long Street, well past the neighborhoods and semi-clustered homes that define Green River. Technically, the Randalls\u2019 farm was outside of the town\u2019s official boundaries, and Jesse wasn\u2019t a resident of any place. He complained about this fact in many city council meetings, claiming that the government had stripped his voting rights. He also proudly bragged that he hadn\u2019t paid any county taxes in over a decade. Whatever his civic engagement, he was a member of the community by proximity, not law.<\/h4>\n

Sam pulled into the long dirt driveway that led to the Randalls\u2019 home and noticed a new for sale sign hanging haphazardly on the edge of the property.<\/h4>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t take long to get that up, did you Jesse?\u201d he thought.<\/h4>\n

In the center of the farm sat a small Victorian style home with a large wrap-around porch that was in serious need of some upkeep. There used to be a bevy of broken down farming vehicles that consumed the Randall farm, but they were absent as Sam drove up to the house. A few old work trucks sat in an alfalfa field on the edge of the property, rebuild projects that were doomed from the beginning. But for the most part, the bulk of the Randall junkyard had been carted off to some other unfortunate empty lot.<\/h4>\n

Climbing out of his truck, Sam was greeted by Pop, an old dark grade horse with white coloring on his hindquarters and nose. Pop roamed freely on the property, and had done so for as long as Sam could remember. Jesse used to take him to the Tavaputs every summer, running cattle in the cooler and greener pastures high up on the plateau. The two of them hadn\u2019t made a trip like that for at least a decade now. These days, Pop is just a family pet and town mascot. The oldest horse in the Gunnison Valley, and the most kind for good measure. Anyone who happens to drive down the road, or makes their way onto the Randall property will surely find Pop waiting at the edge of the gate to say hello.<\/h4>\n

Sam rubbed the horse\u2019s nose and patted his neck, working up enough motivation to actually knock on Jesse\u2019s front door. It didn\u2019t matter. Jesse had been watching through the window since he heard Sam\u2019s truck driving up the path. He was outside before Sam even made it to the porch.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhere you been?\u201d Jesse asked as he opened the screen door.<\/h4>\n

\u201cJust got off Deso,\u201d Sam said. He wasn\u2019t surprised that Jesse knew he\u2019d been gone. Most people in Green River had a habit of knowing other people\u2019s business.<\/h4>\n

\u201cDid you find any treasure this time?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cNo, but I guess I wasn\u2019t looking for any. How\u2019s Eddie doing?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cThat dipshit don\u2019t know his ass from a handout,\u201d Jesse said, with a slow and steady Utah accent. \u201cI don\u2019t know how he is, other\u2019n he\u2019s costing me a hell of a lot of money in court.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI heard he was just selling weed. Is that right?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cUh-huh.\u201d Jesse paused, bothered by the subject of a son he had always been disappointed in. \u201cIs that what you came here for?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cNo, I guess not,\u201d Sam said, reluctant to bring up the topic of the power plant. \u201cTake it easy on the kid, though. He just needs someone to push him in the right direction.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cBullshit,\u201d Jesse barked, \u201che needs to get his act together. I taught him better, and if he ain\u2019t careful he\u2019s gonna end up like his brother.\u201d<\/h4>\n

That was probably right. Sam couldn\u2019t help but feel sorry for the Randall boys. Trent Randall, Jesse\u2019s oldest son, was serving time at the county jail in Castle Dale. Eddie was well on his way to the same fate. No matter how hard they tried, they could never get far enough away from the rut that the Randall clan lived in. As kids, the two boys stayed busy enough with their schoolwork. They kept their heads down and worked the farm. But without any chance to go to college or get a decent paying job anywhere except for on the oil rigs, Jesse\u2019s boys devolved into adults with nothing to live for after high school. They had no pride in their home, their family, or the world that made them. No one ever gave them any reason to.<\/h4>\n

\u201cAnyway,\u201d Jesse said, \u201cwhat\u2019re you doing up here?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d he sighed with hesitation. \u201cI was wondering if you\u2019ve heard anything from these power plant people. I thought maybe they\u2019d contacted you since your property is-\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cYeah they came by,\u201d he interrupted. \u201cHad a surveyor out last week, talkin\u2019 \u2018bout prolly makin\u2019 me an offer for my land. I ain\u2019t made no decisions yet, or anything. Don\u2019t sound like they\u2019re interested in my grazing permits.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Sam was surprised to hear that Reef Holdings had already made an offer. If they\u2019re acquiring private property, maybe there\u2019s more progress behind the scenes than the papers have been reporting.<\/h4>\n

\u201cSeems like you might be leaning towards selling, eh?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cAh hell, it\u2019s just a sign, Nash.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just asking, Jess. I\u2019m not here to tell you what to do, just trying to keep up with what\u2019s going on around town.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWell, nobody said they wanna buy it just yet. So you can go tell your friends in Salt Lake to hold on to their picket signs\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDid they say anything about why they want your land?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. What does it matter to you?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t think to ask why they\u2019re interested in your property?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cNah, but I am thinkin\u2019 \u2018bout kicking you off of it.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t get all worked up,\u201d Sam complained. \u201cI\u2019m just curious. You know I don\u2019t want a power plant coming in, but I\u2019m not here to have that argument with you. Why don\u2019t you go ahead and get your shorts out of a bunch.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Jesse spit off the porch and let out a sort of reluctant grunt. They each let the silence of the farm dilute the tension. They\u2019d been in too many arguments to count over the years. These days, it seemed they couldn\u2019t stand within a hundred yards of each other without something bubbling to the surface.<\/h4>\n

Sam once looked up to Jesse. In a lot of ways, he had always wanted to live Jesse\u2019s life instead of his own. He romanticized the Randalls\u2019 ranch and farm, and he envied the freedom that Jesse had as a kid. He wished he could disappear each summer to the Tavaputs, in the middle of wide-open skies, riding horses and sleeping under the stars every night. As far as Sam was concerned, Jesse was living a cowboy\u2019s dream.<\/h4>\n

But Jesse never saw it that way. He couldn\u2019t be sentimental about the heavy weight that fell on his shoulders at such an early age. No child should be subject to the amount of hard labor that he was. It didn\u2019t help when Sam, several years younger and useless as a farmhand, began to shadow him all over town.<\/h4>\n

The two of them stood on the porch, leaning up against the support beams and avoiding eye contact. Pop stared at them from the edge of the grass. There was a feeling on the Randall ranch that made Sam homesick \u2013 something that made him wish he could go back thirty years. As he stared back at Pop, Sam saw in the horse the only thing on this Earth that had never strayed from Jesse\u2019s will \u2013 the only thing that never thought to leave him.<\/h4>\n

After his Dad died, Jesse\u2019s brothers refused to help run the family business. He had no choice but to quit school and take over running the ranch. It was a hard life, but he made it work. For three straight years, he even turned a profit and made enough money to work another year.<\/h4>\n

But a few decades of just scraping had already taken its toll on the Randall family. After he was legally an adult, Jesse\u2019s mom left him to carry all the family burdens on his own. On his eighteenth birthday, she transferred all the property and grazing permits to his name, including the accompanying mortgage and debts. No sooner were the papers signed, did RuDean Randall leave in search of something better. She packed up in the middle of the night and left without a word to anyone. Jesse never heard from her again. She only left him a note that said \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I couldn\u2019t stay.\u201d<\/h4>\n

By then, Jesse was married and had a child of his own. He\u2019d have sold the farm and left in a heartbeat if he had the chance. But nobody wanted to buy a ranch in Green River during the 1990s, and there was no choice but to squeak out a living from the land. In the years that followed, his own family failed to exceed the expectations of his parents and siblings. Jesse\u2019s wife, Selena Cecchini, the daughter of Arnie Cecchini and inheritor of his temper, refused to settle for a ranching life. The two of them were terribly incompatible \u2013 a destructive force that blew through town any time money got tight. Neither of them stayed faithful and they eventually strayed so far away from each other that she never came back. Through it all, there was Pop. He never left. He never quit. He was the only thing left that had never disappointed or deserted Jesse Randall.<\/h4>\n

No wonder he wanted to sell. Who could blame him? He\u2019s been the lamb sent for slaughter his entire life. Who could expect him to try and save a place that he hates for the benefit of a town that wouldn\u2019t even notice?<\/h4>\n

\u201cWell, what else you got to say?\u201d Jesse asked with more than a hint of indignation. \u201cI\u2019m a busy man.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Sam took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn\u2019t have anything else to say, but he didn\u2019t want to leave. He\u2019d only come to catch some rumblings about the power plant. He never expected to find out that they\u2019re already buying up property. The town seemed to be slipping through his fingers faster than he could catch up with the story.<\/h4>\n

Reef Holdings was working in the shadows and doing it quickly. They would buy up half the town if they were smart, and Sam knew he wouldn\u2019t be able to stop them. But there was something about this farm. He wasn\u2019t willing to let them have it. Despite years of hard feelings, disrespect, and black eyes from the hands of Jesse Randall, Sam didn\u2019t want to see him sell his land. Jesse was as much a part of Green River as Sadie Parker or the San Rafael desert. His run-down property, filled with old trucks and rusty equipment, was as important to the spirit of this town as the vanilla skies on Swasey\u2019s Beach or the purple rain-drenched Book Cliffs. Sam wasn\u2019t sure if he could keep Reef Holdings from ruining his town, but if there was any way to stop them from stealing this horrible farm, he had to try.<\/h4>\n

He walked toward the top steps of the porch, and stopped short, \u201cPop is getting old.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI guess we all are.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the damn truth. How is the herd looking this-\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cI gotta get back to work, \u201d Jesse interrupted. \u201cYou can come back when you actually want something.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cAre you sure you know what you\u2019re doing, Jesse?\u201d Sam asked, refusing to let him walk away.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cSelling this place.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhat the hell else should I do?\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cStay. Live here. Work your land. Don\u2019t give up on everything that you\u2019ve built.\u201d<\/h4>\n

\u201cLook around, Sam. I don\u2019t have anything but a worn down horse and a couple of sons on their way to a life in prison. There ain\u2019t nothing here to give up on.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Sam couldn\u2019t argue with him. Jesse was alone. He didn\u2019t have the river, or the canyon country, or any memories worth keeping. He didn\u2019t love anything about Green River.<\/h4>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Sam said in defeat and waited again for something to say. He thought about climbing onto his soapbox and preaching about the virtues of rural living, maintaining a closeness to the land and spirit of Jeffersonian America. He wanted to tell him that no amount of money was worth the sale of your heritage and that Jesse had a moral obligation to stay faithful to the lifestyle that had created him, to fight for the essence of a town that was built on the backbone of rural farmers, ranchers, and businessmen.<\/h4>\n

But none of it was true. You can fight change all you want, but even the evilest of revolutions are pure in the eyes of the architects.<\/h4>\n

\u201cI guess I\u2019ll just see you around,\u201d he said, and walked back across the yard to his truck.<\/h4>\n

After years of evangelizing, it seemed the nuclear prophets were finally on the verge of making Green River the poster child for a nuclear West. Where Glen Canyon Dam had once been the blockage that stopped the heart of canyon country, the Green River nuclear plant would become the cancer that brings down the whole body. Southeastern Utah would be turned upside down, and the empty canyons would be filled with energy, greed, and Chevy Tahoes.<\/h4>\n

Sam walked back to his truck, and couldn\u2019t help but offer one last plea. \u201cDon\u2019t let them buy it, Jesse,\u201d he yelled. \u201cI\u2019m not saying don\u2019t sell it, but don\u2019t let them buy it.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Jesse turned around and for the first time, Sam saw the face of an old and tired farmer instead of the youthful and overbearing bully he\u2019d known his whole life. Jesse paused and looked out across his dying green fields. He considered the empty mancos shale and gray dusty hills that surrounded them. He looked at Pop, old and tired \u2013 closer to dying than the alfalfa sprouting in the field next to him.<\/h4>\n

He shook his head and yelled back. \u201cThis place ain\u2019t worth saving, Sam. Not like it is.\u201d<\/h4>\n

Jesse walked back inside his house, and the screen door slammed behind him.<\/h4>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/section>\n<\/article>\n
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READ LOCAL First\u00a0represents Utah\u2019s\u00a0most comprehensive collection of\u00a0celebrated and promising writers of fiction, poetry, literary nonfiction, and memoir. This week we bring you an excerpt from\u00a0Tim Glenn\u2019s 2017 Original Writing Competition First Place novel manuscript,\u00a0Forever Desolation.\u00a0Glenn is a historian and museum director living in Green River, Utah. He earned […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1566,"featured_media":70774,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_piecal_is_event":false,"_piecal_start_date":"","_piecal_end_date":"","_piecal_is_allday":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[35,2513],"tags":[3073],"class_list":["post-36072","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literary-arts","category-read-local-first","tag-tim-glenn"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/tim-glenn.jpeg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-06-17 15:48:22","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36072","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36072"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36072\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":70775,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/36072\/revisions\/70775"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/70774"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36072"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=36072"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/artistsofutah.org\/15Bytes\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=36072"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}