Blanding, Utah is as hot as Hades and twice as dusty. It's down by Lake Powell, in the middle of nowhere and hot and dusty.
   Wynn had a security guard friend, Dennis Gutke, who worked with him on Temple Square who also wanted to build a log house. Dennis had an acre in Blanding and was willing to pay Wynn $3,000 to help him build the shell of his house. The deal was made. The logs were purchased and off went Wynn with all his tools loaded in his 1949 Dodge pickup with the canvass "Deseret Water Bag" slung over the hood ornament. The truck looked like it had been painted with a brush. It had a wooden bed and started with a screwdriver. It was a hand-me-down from Aunt Rochelle and became a memorable addition to the Costley parade of cars. He also bought a used 125 cc Kawasaki  orange motorcycle, so he could drive back and forth cheaper.
  He'd been in Blanding for about a week when I got a call. "I need your help," he said. "I need somebody to help peel all of these logs."
  Oh, sweet ignorance. I was eager to help. He came home to get me. We bought a silver tear-drop shaped trailer from Uncle Landon and off the kids and I went to Hell, of course we didn't know it, but very few people who start down that trail know what the final destination is going to be like. I now have a vivid memory but like all horrible experiences, once it is over you can kind of wear it like a badge, like you have a certificate that says you graduated from the fiery furnace.
   I stood at one end of the log pile with my draw knife in hand and my mouth just fell open. The logs were 60 feet long and about 15 inches in diameter. For those of you who have never peeled a log, I will explain the methodology. First, you lift the log up off the ground about six inches and brace it so it doesn't roll. This enables you to reach around the sides. You straddle the log at one end and take a seat. Now, lean forward, reaching out your arm's length and draw the big knife towards you. This peels a long ribbon of curly, pine gummy bark right toward your crotch. Ok, I'll tone it down. Pockets of sap open up as you draw your knife, and you get pine sap everywhere, in your mouth, on your arms and face, in your hair, everywhere. Bugs and slugs hide in the bark and you smash and cut them up as you go. Your back starts to ache and you get blisters. You reach around the log making these broad cuts until there is a smooth yellow naked log surface in front of you and then you scoot backwards another arms length and do it again, and again, and again.
   At the end of the log, you try to stand up but your twenty-five year old body feels seventy-five. Your thighs get stuck together by pine gum. Your arms are killing you but you manage to lift one up because your eye itches. Bad mistake! Now, you're blind, because you forgot you had pine sap on your fingers. You manage to use your remaining good eye to admire your handiwork and then realize you will turn that log three times before it is finished, and there are 50 more just like it waiting for your attention.
  Add to the log-peeling duties trying to take care of three little girls, in a small silver oven on an acre with no trees or water. I don't know how we did it. When you're having a Mink Creek kind of day, you look at a problem like it's a challenge and you just start at one end and work through it. Somewhere along the way you find yourself smiling at your accomplishments and the work becomes part of you and its rewarding. I wish for you to feel the joy of your hard work.