Survival – in the eye of the beholder
One of the funniest things I’ve heard is something I overheard while I was waiting for my Family Finance class to begin. A guy and a girl behind me were discussing where each other were from (one of the standard conversation starters in college). The exchange went something like this:
Girl: Yeah, I graduated high school with only 128 kids.
Guy: There are actually high schools that small?! How did you survive? I can barely find anything to do in Logan.
And, thus, this week’s column topic was born. I must admit that part of my purpose in addressing this topic is selfish, since I have to launch into a ten minute explanation every time someone asks me where I am from. To save myself about five hours over the course of the rest of the year, please pay
attention:
I am from Callao (pronounced “Cal-ee-oh”), Utah. It is a small ranching community ninety miles west of Delta and forty of those miles have to be traveled on dirt roads. We don’t have a gas station, grocery store or even (gasp!) a mall. There are two elementary schools and one high school. My graduating class at West Desert High had eight students in it.
And, yes Mr. Big City, somehow I managed to survive. I don’t live in the desert because I can’t function in civilization. I’ve seen running water and flush toilets and I have never dated any of my cousins. I have all of my teeth and my grammar is pretty good. I went to school, played sports, hung out with friends and went to dances just like any other high school student. My family isn’t hiding out from the law or anything like that. We just have our ranching livelihood and Callao is the best place for it.
Actually, I’m glad that I graduated from a place where I wasn’t just a number. I had a great relationship with all of my teachers and the faculty and I got to take any class that I wanted, whether it was from a West Desert teacher or from a college professor over the EdNet. I had the chance to play any sport and be
in any club that I wanted.
I don’t mean to sound condescending, but how many people who graduated from those big 5A monsters in Salt Lake can say all that?
Why do I share all this? To put things into perspective for those who are constantly complaining that Logan is a small town and there’s nothing to do
and it smells funny around here and et cetera. Maybe it’s time for the thoughts of someone who can honestly consider Logan a sprawling metropolis. As much as I love my hometown, I was excited to come to Logan. I have never been so close to a mall or to so many of my favorite stores (My bank account isn’t handling having Borders so close to my apartment very well). I don’t see how anyone can get tired of such a place.
Somehow they do, though. I’ve heard so many people refer to Logan as a small town, which I guess it is compared to other places, but then they complain that there’s nothing to do in Logan. To which, I reply, if you can’t find something to do in Logan, you have no imagination. There’s a lot to be said for window shopping along Main Street. If nothing else, go for a walk around campus and just notice things. Spending money can only entertain you for so long.
As for the funny smell, Utah State is an agricultural college. Our mascot is a big blue bull. Some of the best ice cream and cheese come from Cache Valley’s
dairies. What did you expect?
Don’t get me wrong, I love visiting Salt Lake and the whole Wasatch Front area, but it would take a lot to get me used to actually living there. They have Rocky Anderson, traffic and five dollar parking. I don’t think I could survive.
Chrissy Johnson is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at desertrose1785@yahoo.com.