Utah is an interesting place, settled by pioneers; they came here to escape religious persecution. This desert home that they came to must have looked so forlorn, barren. My ancestors on my Dad’s side were a part of that migration. They had joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in England, and after death, trials, and hard day after hard day, the promised land for them was this valley—I wonder if dirty, tired and loved ones buried if they didn’t look around them and say, “where was that promised land? Because all I see around me is a dry, desert!” I had learned as a child in Utah history how the pioneers went to planting their food and the trees and building their cities. In the valley all the trees were actually planted by design, the natural landscape will only support trees in the canyons and river areas, but in the valley they were placed by man, not nature. When you go on the mountains and look down, you can see this—I find it fascinating. You can almost feel the toil, the achievement of what they made this valley look like, with labor we can’t really understand in our modern world of conveniences. I have read journals of these pioneers: they are filled with faith. I am humbled by them.

I admit that I didn’t want to come to Utah because I grew up here. Nothing against Utah, but having lived in nine states since graduating from high school I enjoyed the adventure of living out there—my dad is a truck driver and as a kid I found looking into towns as we drove by on the freeway—what do they do, are they happy, why is the couch on the lawn…? I love people. I love meeting new people and everywhere I have lived has enriched my life—so why come to a place I have already been? And when we drove into Utah the desert, looked like a desert, the dry wimpy trees looked sad—I missed the lush trees of New Hampshire.

Now as find myself, feeling akin to those pioneers, I too have buried my child, I too am walking footstep after footstep in faith—I am reminded of the legacy they left behind. God sustains and God is there as we do the little things that seem so insignificant, they matter because each action has an effect on those around us. I never set out to live anything but my quiet little life, a wife, a mother. And yet God has sent me miracles, and when I falter, when I feel I can’t do it, there is a tree planted by the faith of someone else to hold me up. We all leave a mark on the landscape around us.

My brother Val brought a tree the day of Katelynn’s funeral, we all stood around as it was planted. What a beautiful, thoughtful gift it was. I look at that tree as I do something so insignificant as my dishes, and feel how blessed I am. I am a wife, a mother, and the tree is growing. We have had a lot of rain, too much for Utah, but my Katelynn tree with its heart shaped leaves that will bloom pink, is thriving. The rain brings new life to the desert, green… new-- and as my heart grieves, I am strengthened; I am reminded we all have challenges, and we all have loss. What makes us faithful, what makes us strong is not that we don’t cry, but that we choose gratitude-- we remember that work and life all goes on but God is there, and we are each leaving a mark. This valley is full of trees and a hundred years from now my Katelynn tree will stand.