The Riches of my Rural Roots

I was born August 21, 1979 in Monticello, Utah, USA
Also known as the "Base of the Blues"

When it comes to obscure locales in the United States of America, it's tough to get more inconspicuous than my birthplace of Monticello, Utah.

Situated at the base of the Blue Mountains in the southeastern corner of the state, mingled in the "Four Corners" area of the Intermountain Western region of the country, Monticello has rarely boasted more than two thousand (2,000) residents since its founding in 1888 by four men (and their families), one of which (George A. Adams) is my great-great grandfather.   

I grew up in the middle of nowhere, and it was WONDERFUL!
At left with my older brother Joe (right) jeeping with our dad
in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

If you took a map of the Western United States and placed a dot on Salt Lake City, Denver, Albuquerque, Phoenix, and Las Vegas—and then circumscribed those five dots—you would essentially find Monticello smack in the middle of the circle, placing it a nearly five (5) hour drive from the nearest major metropolitan area in any direction.  

When I was growing up in Monticello in the 1980s and 90s, there were no traffic lights, no McDonald's, and no Wal-Mart—and to this day there is still no McDonalds or Wal-Mart, although the town does boast ONE traffic light!

If you wanted to eat at a chain restaurant or shop at Wally World, you had to drive an hour away to Cortez, Colorado. If you needed an advanced medical or dental procedure done, you had to drive two hours away to either Durango, Colorado or Farmington, New Mexico. And if you wanted to get to a major university or attend a professional sporting event, you were looking at a 4-5 hour drive.  

That's just the way life was! 

Bereft of city attractions, we'd go on drives up the
mountain for fun. With my sister Jessie.

For some, this is an unacceptable modus of living. For others, it is the only way to live!

For me, it was simply where I happened to enter the stage of life. And while it is unlikely that I would ever live in Monticello again, I wouldn't change anything about my birth or upbringing even if I could!

Indeed, I am proud of my roots and thankful for the exceeding riches that were made abundantly available to me by virtue of my rural upbringing. Moreover, one of the joys of my life is to return to my home town and county, excursions which always serve to "restore my soul."

The purpose of today's article is to share what some of those riches are, and to point out the ways in which they positively influenced and otherwise imbued my development as a self-action leader.

Natural rock arches and other unique sandstone formations
are common in the "Canyon Country" where I grew up

While Monticello may suffer from an extreme lack of urban amenities, it is inversely endowed with a bounteous cornucopia of nature's wonders.

Nestled at the base of the Blue Mountains, which rise to nearly 12,000 feet above sea level, and located within a few hours drive of numerous state and national parks, monuments, forests, and other geographic wonders, you would be hard-pressed to find its equal in terms of its plentiful access to the natural world with all of its enriching, ennobling, and picturesque accoutrements. As a result, residents of Monticello need merely glance out their home windows—or walk outside their front door—to access visual, aural, and olfactory endowments that city dwellers often have to drive many hours to access.  

Dam/lake construction and mud fight
with my cousin Preston Bunker (left).

I grew up smack dab in the middle of all of these wonders.

Moreover, I was uniquely blessed because my dad was a landowner, which meant that instead of a traditional, small, fenced backyard that fit neatly behind my home, my backyard spanned hundreds of acres—and later on thousands of acres—of forested desert hills and meadows complete with rivers, ponds, deer, rabbits, chipmunks, etc. It was an absolute wonderland for a young lad growing up, and I put the land to good use hiking, running, camping, exploring, tree-climbing, swimming/wading, mud-fighting, fire-building, shooting, hunting, four-wheeling, fort-building, apple picking, group dating, etc. 

Camping with my brother Joe and our dad.

I don't know how many hours or adventures I enjoyed on "The Land" over the years, but the number extended well into the triple-digits, and I deeply cherish the memories of those many excursions. And this does not even count the trips to the mountains, lakes, canyons, State and National parks, monuments, forests, and other wondrous locations scintillating to the eye and pleasing to the spirit. From Boy Scout activities and camps to family trips into the mountains and deserts; and from adventures with friends to excursions with girls (group dates), we didn't waste our opportunities—nor did we take them for granted.

My adventures in the great outdoors included: camping, hiking, swimming, fishing, hunting, shooting, rappelling, sledding/tubing, cross-country skiing, four-wheeling, snowmobiling, horseback riding, mountain biking, off-road jeeping, feeding and caring for animals, farming, gardening, kayaking, canoeing, motor boating, water skiing, and cliff jumping, among other endeavors I might be forgetting.

My own personal garden on a lot adjacent our home.

All of these activities provided me with many rich memories that were almost always positive. There was the odd exception of course, like the time a bunch of us teenagers from church went tubing in the wintertime and one of the boys (not me) ended up breaking his hip when he hit a stationary object on his way down the hill—a story for another time, perhaps even in NEXT WEEK'S ARTICLE.

My dad was an adventurer at heart and he LOVED to hit to open road. I was fortunate to accompany him on many travel excursions as a result. Sometimes these events were short trips lasting less than a day and would involve going shooting, or visiting a ghost town, or just enjoying the beautiful countryside and stopping for a candy bar and soda at a convenient store along the way.  

REX Buckley and his namesake, Jordan REX

Other trips were more involved and would last for several days or even a week or more. Three such opportunities enabled me to cross significant swaths of the United States with my Dad, enabling us to visit a host of historical sites and other points of interest, including large cities (Denver, Chicago, Cleveland, New York City, Washington D.C., St. Louis, etc.) and other famous locales like Yellowstone National Park, Redwood National Forest, and the Gateway Arch.  

As a little boy, I greatly admired my Dad's ability to build and develop things. As a result, I became a loyal "Daddy's boy" who sought to be by the side of my father every chance I got. I especially enjoyed accompanying him on road trips, visits to the hardware store, or when he was engaged in a construction or other work project. It made me feel important to be by my dad's side at such moments during my childhood.

The construction of the Loyd's Lake earthen dam in Monticello
in the mid-1980s.  Dad's brown CJ-7 jeep in the foreground.

In addition to his love for building things himself, Dad also took enormous interest in the construction projects of others; and the bigger the better! Whether it was a home, subdivision, building, skyscraper, bridge, dam, or something else, Dad took interest if it was under construction. The two of us were particularly fascinated by the construction of earthen dams—and loved to visit dam sites under construction to observe the progress that was being made thereon.

In the mid-1980s, an earthen dam was built just outside our hometown of Monticello to capture snow melt runoff from the nearby Blue Mountains for community use throughout the year. During the dam's construction, Dad would drive up every few days to check on its progress and I would often accompany him. After the dam had been completed and began to fill up, we would place little rock cairns a few feet away from the water's edge and then return a few days later to see if the lake had risen sufficiently to cover up our cairn. Such was our makeshift method of measuring the progress of the new lake's steady rise. These were good times that produced cherished memories to last forever.  

Donning the English Bobby's hat my dad brought

home from England in the mid 1960s.

My dad was an extraordinary man in possession of an incredibly curious mind, a sharp intellect, and an eclectic array of hobbies and interests. Despite his rural upbringing and career in construction, he was also well-traveled and highly educated. In addition to being a General Contractor, he also spent two decades in the formal classroom teaching middle and high school English. He also spent two years in England as a young missionary and returned home with a treasure trove of souvenirs, including an English Bobby's helmet, the Complete Works of William Shakespeare—bound in leather and published in the late nineteenth century—and an array of other literary masterpieces penned by great British writers and poets of yesteryear. 

Knowing how much I love these books of his, Dad decided a few years back at Christmas time to gift me poetic anthologies of Longfellow and Wordsworth—published in 1912 and 1888, respectively—which now stand as two of the most cherished volumes in my thousand-plus book personal library. With degrees in English and communications—and being an avid reader of books, news, and other material throughout his life—Dad was without question one of the most gifted and stimulating conversationalists I have ever known. On road trips, we would talk for hours on end with hardly a pause or break in our dialogue. These conversations were intellectually stimulating and uplifting to my mind and heart.

Dad was also incredibly inquisitive. I discovered this along the pathways of our many excursions together, for whenever we would meet other people, he would pepper them with an array of questions in a sincere desire to learn all he could about their trade, profession, education, background, interests, and expertise. It was clear he loved to learn and on our longer trips, we would keep track of new vocabulary words we were learning together, in conjunction with trip statistics such as miles covered each day. 

With Mama after moving to the city.

When I was seven (7) years old, we moved to the city (suburban Phoenix, AZ). During this time, I shifted to become more of a "Mama's boy." This was not hard to do because my mother was an incredibly loving parent and person who was as extraordinary as my dad in her own unique ways. Aside from raising seven children to successful adulthood, who in-turn bore her and my dad 31 grandchildren, my mom was also a skilled craftswoman and a successful saleswoman, store owner, church and community leader, actress, vocalist, teacher, artist, writer, college graduate, and entrepreneur.

Indeed, the combined talents and abilities of my parents amounts to a staggering reservoir of personal and professional gifts and I credit them openly and appreciatively for passing such a treasure trove of genetic and mimetic gifts on to me and my brothers and sisters, all seven of whom have been profoundly influenced and impacted thereby.    

After seven years in Arizona, we returned to Monticello. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I would remain close to both my father and my mother. This was due in part to the onset of OCD in seventh grade, which stunted much of my social growth and development throughout my high school years. One blessing of this social retardation was my maintenance of close relationships—even dear friendships—with both of my parents, with whom I spent a great deal of time as both a child and adolescent.

Helping my dad and brothers get wood up the mountain.

In addition to the wonderful outdoor adventures I enjoyed growing up in Monticello, I was further blessed with opportunities to engage in hard, productive, manual labor. As previously mentioned, Dad was a general contractor and an ambitious man by nature. As his fifth and youngest son, I was blessed with many opportunities to work hard and expend a great deal of sweat equity by his side; and it was good for me—and my future!

These manual labor opportunities included: gardening, weeding, mowing, pruning, cultivating, and construction. Aside from yard work at our own home and that of my paternal grandparents, my dad also owned an apartment complex and my brothers and I were responsible for tending the yards.

At home with five trampolines set up; four (4) of which were for sale.
(I am in the front center wearing a navy shirt and turned to the side)

As you can see, Dad was more than just a general contractor; he was a rural renaissance man! Among his many different vocations and interests, he was unquestionably an entrepreneur. For example, one year, he decided he would sell trampolines; and guess who his setup crew was? 

You guessed it: his five sons! 

I don't remember how long this particular project lasted, but I do remember helping my brothers set up a number of trampolines for various villagers around town—and beyond! I was not strong enough at the time to be able to stretch the springs like my brothers, but I would still tag along and help out wherever I could.  

Building a log cabin with my dad and brothers in the summer of 1985
(I am on the far right [third from right] wearing a navy shirt)

Speaking of tagging along and helping out wherever I could, I spent the summer of 1985 helping my dad and brothers build a cabin on our land. I was only five-going-on-six, but assisted regularly, earning the title of "Fetch-it," my job being to "fetch" whatever tools my dad or brothers needed at any given moment.

I earned $40 for my labor that summer, $20 of which my dad put into my "mission fund." I was free to spend the other $20 however I chose, with $4 being tithed to my church.

Later on, as a teenager, I received many additional opportunities to work manual labor jobs doing a variety of different tasks, including: construction, groundskeeping, varmint extermination, wood hauling, chopping, stacking, and wood stove fire-stoking, painting, fence-building, farming (dry-wheat), ranching, food catering, flyer distribution, shelf-installation, serving on cleanup crews for wrecked semi-trucks, and an array of service projects with my local church and scout troop.

Admiring my first pay check for summer's work, 1985

These work opportunities provided me with wonderful adventures. But they also taught me that I didn't want to do manual labor as an adult professional. This helps to explain why I thought I had died and gone to heaven when, in 10th grade, I got my first job as a professional writer covering sports, city council meetings, and other community events for a local weekly newspaper! And why I ended up pursuing a doctoral degree later on.

Despite making a conscious decision to pursue a professional, white-collar career, I still enjoy aspects of manual labor to this day. This explains why I experienced such joy building a brick garden box in the backyard of Lina's and my first home in Houston, Texas, and why I enjoyed doing yard work around our home as much as I did. 

Brick garden box I built in the backyard
of Lina's and my first home in Houston, Texas.

Upon moving to Florida a couple of years ago, I confess that we bought a home in a community where yard work is performed by professionals hired by the HOA, and I'm not gonna lie—these days, I'm okay with that!

I confess further that at this point in my personal and professional life, I look to avoid manual labor when and where possible because it simply isn't an effective use of my time as a writer, speaker, teacher, and business builder.

Despite this reality, you probably won't be surprised to learn that one of my retirement dreams is to buy a 10-15 acre plot of land and spend my free-time "playing" on my land with tools such as an axe, chainsaw, wood shredder, shovel, rake, a cement mixer, trowel, and a backhoe! Yep... someday I'm gonna build me something akin to a Secret Garden and Fort, and putting my shoulder to the wheel throughout the process is gonna be one of the joys of my golden years.

Minute Maid Park; Houston, Texas
It's tough to see a Major League Baseball
game in a small town.

You've heard the saying: "The only difference between a man and a boy is the size of his toys." Well, I daresay there is a lot of truth to that! My wife thinks I'm crazy—and she is right; I am CRAZY... besides what ails me. But bless her heart; she is okay with me pursuing my dream—assuming we can afford it.  

To date, I have actually spent about 70% of my life living in cities/suburbs, including: Mesa, Arizona; Spokane, Washington; Provo, Utah; Edmonton & Calgary, Alberta, Canada; Atlanta, Georgia; Houston, Texas; St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada; Houston, Texas (again); and now West Palm Beach, Florida area.

And realistically, I'll live most (if not all) of the rest of my life in cities as well. 

Helping my brother Wayne with his Eagle Scout project.
I am in the back standing and wearing an orange shirt.

Despite this fact, there will always be a piece of the country in this city boy. As the old saying goes: "You can take the boy out of the country; but you can't take the country out of the boy!"

And I think that is a good thing.

Another benefit of my rural upbringing was the quality of character that existed in many of the people I associated with growing up. As a wise man once told me: "You have been blessed to be born in these small mountain communities where good examples are prevalent."

I earned my own Eagle Scout award

in 1997. My Eagle project was to build

a bench next to my brother's in the same

park in Monticello.

Boy was he right!  

From parents and siblings to aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors, teachers, coaches, scout leaders, and church leaders, it seems as though from the moment I was born I was surrounded by an entire family, neighborhood, church congregation, school, and community of individuals with stellar character. Of course nobody is perfect; but some people are certainly more fortunate than others when it comes to who they are allotted to spend their time with in their earliest and most impressionable years.

I, for one, was sublimely blessed in this regard.    

My rural upbringing is a part of who I am; and it will always remain that way. I am proud of my roots and upbringing, and I am grateful for the riches of my rural roots.

Small town living is not without its downsides. You obviously have fewer social options and urban amenities. You may also experience various challenges that may arise from everybody knowing everybody else in the community. On the flip side, however, city dwelling is not perfect either. You usually have less immediate access to the wonders of the natural world, and urbanites may sometimes wish that their neighbors cared a little more than they do... as rural dwellers tend to be more neighborly by nature.  

My three children during our time in Carlsbad, NM; 2020.

In the end, I feel immensely blessed to have lived in a vast array of both urban and rural areas. Indeed, in addition to spending 11 years in Monticello, Utah; I've also lived in Gunlock, Utah; Camrose and Innisfail, Alberta, Canada; and Carlsbad, New Mexico. And I've spent time in or passed through countless small towns throughout the United States, Canada, and Great Britain.

This broad array of diverse living experiences has served to richly decorate my life with associates, friends, neighbors, colleagues, and adventures that have, in-turn, woven an incredibly unique, colorful, and vibrant tapestry into the fabric that is my life.  

And I'm only half-way through it!  

I look forward to the next half, and express my undying thanks to God and my family, friends, and neighbors for helping to make my life so wonderful thus far.  

—Dr. JJ

March 22, 2023

Homestead, Florida, USA

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