Swiss Days

Midway, Utah is an interesting little place.  Industrious.  Clever, ever since its beginnings.  A whole mess of Swiss people settled there in the mid 1800s, and because of the ring of gorgeous mountains that surround the place, the town was called by some “the Switzerland of Utah.”  (I’m not sure the epithet had anything to do, however, with its politics.)  In a very sober internet history, I found the following bit of info:

“Because of the numerous ninety-degree-plus hot-water springs in the Midway area, several resorts were developed including Schneitter’s Hot Pots (now the Homestead) and Luke’s Hot Pots (now the Mountain Spa); both were established in the 1880s.”  My GM and I spent our lavish two day Honeymoon at the afore mentioned Homestead.  (Thank heaven they didn’t call it Shneitter’s back then.)

One might ask how intelligent it actually is to build a town where there are hot water springs, considering that something not so far under the crust of the earth has to be hot enough to heat said water, but maybe I’m just thinking of a couple of horror movies I’ve seen over the years.

One of the town’s claims to fame is Swiss Days a craft show on steroids.  On that day, the tiny town becomes basically a parking lot, and droves of folks congregate to eat Swiss Navajo Tacos and cruise the endless booths of hand made goodies.  Rachel, Geneva and I all descended on my beautiful Lynn’s house, camped out there (600 count cotton sheets) and dragged her with us to the festivities early next morning.  I took the big camera with me.  I just gotta learn how to use it.

The view from Lynn’s basement door.  Yeah.  Kinda makes my front door an “C” attraction.

A little shot of the firepit in the backyard.  Ditto.  I forgot to take pictures of the front of the house, but that’s hard because it’s nearly swallowed in these huge pine trees.  My favorite thing is the stream that runs between the drive and the front yard – there are these wonderful little bridges over it, and stepping stones.  When I die, I want to be buried there.

A very cool bedroom chandelier.  Okay, you couldn’t read by it, but you could dance under it.

Geneva, hiding from the big camera.

Me, stopping to consider the basement bathroom.  it serves two bedrooms and is actually three small rooms in a row, each one painted a different color.  Here, I study it from the red to blue side.  I LOVE this.  I love when somebody uses bold colors in rooms that are visually connected, like you see through one archway into another archway that opens into another room.  Ummm.  Just like this.

This shot from the blue side.  Love it, love it, love it.  I’m going to do something like this when I grow up.  Really.  I am.

Here we are, fortified with Honey Bunches of Os, parking in a field. (We had eaten ourselves sick the night before on crackers, cream cheese and homemade – not my home – jam.)  There was a shuttle that could have driven us into the madness, but we chose to walk and look at what has to be called a quaint little town.  Sisters, Oregon is a bit like this place, except it’s smaller and a little more mountain than farmer.  

Midway really prizes itself on its Swiss heritage.  In the 1940s, the Midway Boosters codified the Swiss thing into a sort of all-embracing town design.  This was the coolest little place. Not sure what we’re supposed to be cautious of, but there you are.  Probably just a way of keeping the tourist cars out of the driveway.

Just walkin’ down the sidewalk.

Can’t make a move without bumping into a mountain.

The dancers are a little much for me, but consider their age.  This is the town hall.  I think it’s actually a recreation center, but I can’t be sure.  It’s a cool building though, eh?

We have sworn to return on some non Swiss Days Day to take in the permanent shops along the way.  The Park City crowd is moving in here now, all people who are tired of the sophisticated city life, opening esoteric little pricy quirky shops up and down the main drag.  Here, a used book store hosts a wood crafter who builds lovely bowls and platers and vases out of exotic woods and nuts.  And sometimes adds turquoise.

The craftsman.  A sweetheart who bargained himself down for me so I could take one of his bowls home to put on my dresser – to hold treasures.

The acquisitive little minx.  Fill a tent full of exotic silks, say “wrap around” and add some tie dyed things, and you’ve got her.

See?  I love detail, especially with lively, odd color and shape.

Even the weeds here show imagination.

This is just somebody’s way of dealing with an irrigation ditch that runs between their house and the sidewalk.  Why miss an opportunity to make things magical?  I wish I had that kind of whimsey.  See what I mean about the town turning into a parking lot?

 

This is Ben, the rocket scientist grad student.  He and his brother, the literature (was it literature?) grad student – all the way from Washington State,  bravely donned lederhosen to help their mom with her hand dipped festive candle booth.

Mary the Mom and candle maven.

Then – 

We found this tent – a guy from New York who makes these absolutely lyrical wooden inlays.  A $3500 side table anyone?  But if you SAW it, you’d be asked not to drool all over the merchandise.  (Here you can see why “photographer”, as a performance art, could rank right up there with “contortionist.”)  The Trader Joe’s bag on my arm, by the way, is the one Gin sent Rachel, filled with chocolate.  It came from long ago and far away.

Detail of the mirror.  I have his card somewhere – he has a website.  But the photography on it is uninspiring.  And since you can’t afford this stuff anyway, why even go there?

More detail – with mother of pearl.

If he had done just one tiny panel of this, I’d have  bought it.  I’d have given up food for a month and bought it.  The work is gorgeous.  He had about thirty five of these lovely things, all with unbelievable detail.  I hung around there until they dragged me away.

This is how we had to keep finding each other.  The place was a mad house.  See the one man in this picture?  Pity the poor devil.  And it was hot.  The cell phones helped – when we could hear them.

All you had to do was hesitate in your step for a moment – glancing at the lampwork beads, or at the twelve foot high steel open architecture rearing horse sculpture, or the pottery – and when you look up again, this is what you see – a sea of hair.  Where is Rachel?  Can you see her?  No you cannot.  If you’re quick, you can just catch a glimpse of Geneva before she disappears . . .

But we made it back to the car.  With lots of cool stuff.  Rachel and I are holding Barttlet Family metal works.  Lynn has a Bucky board.  I haul wedding candles.  Geneva has taken over the camera.  We are fortified by – I can’t remember what we ate.  The Swiss Tacos, I think. Yeah.  That’s right.  Lynn stood in line all by herself for half an hour for them while we fainted in the press, wallowing in other people’s creativity.  What a woman – saved our skins.

Girls’ day out.  A really good idea once in a while.

So whadya think?  Wanna go?

(note: why is Geneva always shooting these pictures of me from the back seat?)