Finance

History, alas, does not record whether the good man was addicted to applejack, but when you have seen Bryce and you try to describe it to your neighbors, they'll look at you, too, in disbelief and have hidden suspicions of applejack.

All of southern Utah is country out of a travelogue, a high bucking country whose mountains break off into plateaus and canyons, tumbling away finally to its lowest elevations at the Utah-Arizona border. The mountains are covered with forests and not only the mountains but the higher canyons and plateaus groan with the avalanche of snow that winter never fails to bring. Winter doesn't joke in this country. If you ever see Bryce under a blanket of deep snow, you'll have another story to tell.

Cedar Breaks, a national monument, not far south of Bryce, is another spectacular soulful of scenery and south and to the west is Zion National Park, a sombre, moody canyon, whose great walls stand ponderous and massive above and about you, like the walls of a great cathedral, of various shades of red with patches of green marking the sturdy vegetation on them. There is one white wall, the most colorful of all so clearly does it stand out in contrast with the other walls. A road picks its way carefully through the canyon and the canyon floor is thick with trees and growth, a garden spot so carefully and tenderly watched over by the sturdy walls that rise straight up and forever into the sky.

If the Gods ever returned to Earth, surely they would select this canyon for their place of worship. Some such thought must have been in the minds of the devout Mormon settlers who first came into the canyon for they solemnly and reverently gave it the name it has and will always have: "Zion."

Southern Utah, not far south of Zion, pours into Arizona, the one state picturesquely falling into the other state, the last tumble being made down the Vermilion Cliffs, a term aptly descriptive. Eastern Arizona begins in the Arizona Strip, a vast tableland that rolls along until it suddenly pours itself and is lost forever in the greatest of all great canyons, the most awesome and colorful portion of God's green earth, that part of this planet against which more stupid, meaningless and inexpressive adjectives have been hurled than any other—the Grand Canyon of Arizona.

The Grand Canyon was dug and is still being dug by a river—the Colorado—whose waters have been described as being too thick to drink, not thick enough to plow. The Grand Canyon is a national park, a priceless natural heritage and scenic treasure that has attracted and will attract for all ages to come countless thousands of our own people, countless thousands of other people from all the nations washed by the seas. Its message of silence and grandeur is the same for everyone for it speaks the language of the soul.