This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
When my inmate students at the prison complain about lockdowns, the usual cause is violent gang activity or discovered weapons.
Last week, the cause in Oquirrh 5 was a wild flock of geese nesting in the exercise yard. The geese force lockdowns every spring. They like the neighborhood because the inmates share their bread scraps and commissary items. The yard will be out of bounds until the eggs hatch.
Last year when the goslings were big enough to be a nuisance but not yet able to fly, I watched six or eight burly corrections officers herd the gaggle into the Oquirrh administration building, down the hallway, through two steel doors, out the sally port, across the parking lot and into the canal where their anxious mother waited.
The razor wire also doesn't discourage a species of mud swallows that homestead the prison every year. Their nests occupy every nook and cranny for weeks. Relentless in their efforts to protect their young, they swoop down at any inmate, corrections officer (they make no deference to rank), teacher or medical technician who forgets to steer clear.
The mud swallows are endangered, so we've all learned to live with their eccentricities and enjoy their presence — which leads me to wonder. Will the new occupants of this property be equally patient stewards of this land? Will the CEOs of some major industrial complex herd goslings with as much care?
Will its new inmates share their lunches and endure the attacks of the mud swallows? I hope so. Evicting the prison is easy. Evicting Mother Nature will neither be easy nor nice.
Sherelynn Gray
Murray