Slice of nature in Sugar House

Surrounded by office buildings, a hotel and two of the busiest streets in Salt Lake City, it doesn't seem like the perfect place for a picnic. But Sheri Sohm knows better.

Follow her into Sugar House's Hidden Hollow nature preserve and you're suddenly in the middle of a serene mountain paradise, listening to chickadees chirping from treetops and mallards quacking in a bubbling stream.

It's easy to forget that the clogged intersection of 2100 South and 1300 East is less than 100 yards away and that shoppers are loading their cars with groceries, pet food and books in a nearby parking lot.

"That's the whole idea," says Sohm, 59, stopping to admire the wildflowers scattered along her favorite wooded path. "To forget about the hassles of life and enjoy native plants and animals in a natural setting. That's what my students dreamed about when they first stumbled upon this place. They knew it was a special spot that deserved to be saved."

It has been almost two decades since several of Sohm's extended learning students from Hawthorne Elementary School chanced upon the wild ravine hidden behind several closed businesses in the heart of Sugar House.

The kids were on a field trip to find items for recycling, but they ended up taking home an even more important lesson: The value of nature, they learned, doesn't always come with a dollar sign.

With the 20th anniversary of the Hawthorne kids' fight to save Hidden Hollow approaching, a parent of one of Sohm's former students suggested that I return with the teacher to the nature park and give readers an update.

After a Free Lunch of takeout sweet-and-sour-pork, veggie stir fry and steamed rice, Sohm showed me around the three-acre pocket of green that she now knows by heart.

To look at the park now, with its lush foliage, abundance of wildlife and meandering trails, it's hard to envision Hidden Hollow as a dumping ground, heaped with garbage, construction debris and rusted car parts. But two decades ago, that is how Sohm's fourth- and fifth-grade students found it.

"Somebody hollered, 'Teacher, come down here. Look at this!' " recalls Sohm. "The kids decided right there on their own that they wanted to use the stream as a project and help clean it up."

At the same time, a developer had other ideas for the spot: concrete and glass.

"If my class hadn't accidentally came across the ravine and raised public awareness," says Sohm, "you would be standing here today looking at warehouses and a parking lot."

After a 10-year battle that became the ultimate "problem solving" exercise for a bunch of elementary students, Hidden Hollow was saved for future generations.

Today, although most of the kids' brass nature plaques have been torn out by uncaring thugs and the stream requires regular cleanup because of thoughtless littering, the ravine is as enchanting as it was when the park was dedicated nine years ago.

Every year, when Sohm brings a new group of children to explore the sanctuary, she delights in knowing that some of them might return one day with their own kids to share the natural surprises hidden behind brick and concrete.

"Believe it or not, we have kids who have never been to the mountains," she says, "but they come to Hidden Hollow and feel like they're in the woods, miles away. This pretty little place is a legacy that keeps on giving back."

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