I Heart St. George (Part 3)

The basement stint was pretty short – though it felt much longer to all involved. Sara and I bought a 1,400 square foot house on the 8th green of Dixie Red Hills golf course, and that’s where we lived for 13 years, 3 more kids, a fire (now that's a good story), 2 floods -- one sprinkler-caused, one toilet-caused (thanks, again, Dr. Ben Blair) -- and lots of political campaigns.

We had full run of the course. My kids could show you all sorts of cool archaeological stuff up in the hills and also just a few feet away from where golfers walk and rarely look. (If you walk 150 feet past the 4th green, you’ll be in the middle of the quarry where rock was excavated for the walls of the St. George Temple and the Tabernacle. If you slice your drive into the brush along the 8th fairway, take a minute to look for shards of Indian pottery; the coolest thing is that on many of the pieces, you’ll see perfectly-preserved finger prints. If you veer 20 feet left of the 9th fairway, just past the men’s tee box, you’ll see – on the little elevated ridge – 5 perfectly circular depressions where Indians would grind corn.)

One of the things I loved best about Red Hills was night golf. I’d grab a glow-in-the-dark ball, a few clubs, and go mess around on the course. It was a perfect way to spend a summer’s night.

One night I was putting on the 4th green, at about 2 a.m., when I heard the shriek of sure, horrible death. Despite 60 extra pounds since the high school track days, I think I might have run the fastest half-mile of my life.

Me: “Sara! Wake up! I heard a scary noise!”

Sara: “What was it?”

Me: “I don’t know!”

Sara: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Well, ya. But it was scary! I mean REALLY scary!”

She teased me mercilessly. For a week. Until a mountain lion took down a deer on that same fairway.

So, remember: Steve Urquhart -- faster than a deer.