The Continuing Saga of Wasatch City

Once upon a time in a quiet rural village nestled in the mountains of Utah, the villagers live in bucolic peace, comfort and tranquility. It was decided, by some of the outlanders, that the valley would be a lovely place for an international sporting event. Some of the villagers rejoiced and looked forward to an economic boom to be ushered in by the international acclaim. Some said, “there goes the neighborhood.”

Soon the local alfalfa growers learned that their land was more valuable than the crop – and could be made even more valuable by installing pipes in the ground to route various grades of polluted water and by gaining access to the reins of community power. They were soon followed by the outlander merchants desirous of peddling the wares to the new and old alike.

The economic boom was on, again some rejoiced, some regretted, some repented (although only a few.) "Bigger boxes, more sales, more revenue," cried the promoters. "Save open space, don't raise my taxes," murmured those concerned with providing the new schools and services and losing their beloved rural atmosphere. "Buy, buy, buy, sell, sell, sell, borrow, borrow, borrow, tax, tax, tax, spend, spend, spend" came the cry from national and local leaders (?).

Alas, the time came for the bubble to burst; half completed projects fell to the mortgage repo man. The bigger box promoter, after modifying the ribbons of travel lanes, to accommodate access to HIS project, wiped his dusty brow and moved his emphasis to the neighboring, and richer, village. The rural peasants, now subdued in their talk on saving the beloved rural community, were left with the single plea to try to help their fellow hometown merchants “Mayor Anderson, tear down that curb.”