My Take Tuesday: Where the Daffodils Grow 

On 22 August 1877 Brigham Young issued a formal call for settlers to locate in Castle Valley. This was the last such directive from the “Great Colonizer” before his death just 7 days later. If you have ever visited Emery County, you come away with the realization that the best was saved for last.

Castle Valley is a state of extremes, from the mystical beauty of the towering Wasatch Mountains to the west to the highest order of desolation in the San Rafael Desert on the east. Even there, among the sage brush and cedars, a pristine beauty beckons the attentive eye. 

My great- great grandfather – Boye Petersen heeded Brigham Young’s call and was one of the original settlers of Castle Dale. He homesteaded the West Farm – a 48 acre piece of land that our family still owns today. The straight road it is on connects Castle Dale with Orangeville and is aptly named Bott Lane. 

Growing up in Castle Dale helped me develop three unique character traits that have proven useful throughout my life.  I developed a strong work ethic, a vivid imagination and a unique self-awareness. This is home. There is something about Emery County that heals my soul. It is my constancy and my serene sanctuary where I can reflect and recharge. Even though I now reside two hours north in Utah County, I still feel connected and drawn to the well-worn paths of my youth and the Blue Clay Hills just south of Castle Dale. I have Trail Mountain lightning running through my veins and the Castle Valley thunder pounding in my chest. 

Winters in Castle Valley can be brutal. The snow and ice seem to linger. Farm chores like milking and feeding cows are much more difficult the longer the winter draws on. Piles of cow manure freeze as solid as stone and the ground around water troughs turns into a sheet of ice. One cannot help but feel a longing for warmer weather and new life.

In late winter, each morning and afternoon, I would leave my parents’ house and cross the street on my way to the corral. I would walk along a shaded well-worn path along the east and south side of my uncle Jerry’s house. Between the edge of the house and the sidewalk, green stems would suddenly poke through the frozen ground. The first sight of these unassuming leaves beckons to the attentive eye that the worst of winter is passed, and that spring is soon to follow. 

The leaves and stems grow quickly, symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings. They bloom with their cheery yellow hues. Each one is perfect, a golden trumpet amid a fanfare of halo petal. 

Daffodils are majestic, but so delicate, and they wave like tomorrow is guaranteed. 

After a few short weeks, they are gone, not returning for the remainder of the year. 

The Latin name for daffodil is Narcissus. It is believed to be named after the son of the river god from Greek mythology. 

Its blooming happiness may be fleeting but at the very least, it’s still enjoyed by those observant enough to see its beauty. They stand rooted, soaking in the sunshine and taking in yesterday’s rain through their fine roots. 

Daffodils remind me of my sweet uncle Jerry. He passed away in 2016. He was a gentle giant and, along with his twin brother Jeffry, are the kindest people I have ever known. 

As the snow melts and the days get longer, the robins and sparrows will return as a symbol of change. And once again natures palate will color Castle Valley. 

When the canyon rivers and mountain streams flow, spring will follow at last, in Castle Dale, UT, where the daffodils grow. 

And that is my take. 

N. Isaac Bott, DVM