If you’ve ever found yourself white-knuckling a steering wheel on the long, desolate stretch of Interstate 80 between Wendover and Salt Lake City, you know the feeling. The Great Salt Lake Desert is basically a void. It's a blindingly white, flat expanse where your perception of distance goes to die. Then, out of nowhere, you see it.
A giant, neon-green, 87-foot tall... thing.
It looks like a bunch of tennis balls glued to a concrete stick. Or maybe a space-age cactus that took too many vitamins. Most people just call it "The Tree." But its official name is Metaphor: The Tree of Utah, and honestly, it might be one of the most polarizing pieces of public art in the American West.
What is Metaphor: The Tree of Utah exactly?
Karl Momen, a Swedish artist, showed up in the Utah desert in the early 1980s. He wasn't invited. He didn't have a commission from the state. He just saw this vast, empty landscape and decided it needed a focal point. He spent roughly $1 million of his own money to build it between 1982 and 1986.
Think about that for a second.
The man hauled 225 tons of cement, tons of minerals, and local rock out into the middle of a salt flat where the ground is literally corrosive. The sculpture consists of a massive central trunk supporting six large spheres. These "pods" are covered in natural minerals found right there in Utah—copper, iron, and minerals from the nearby mines.
It’s huge. It’s weird. And for decades, it was surrounded by a chain-link fence because, frankly, people kept trying to climb it or spray paint it.
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The weird physics of the Salt Flats
The desert is a brutal architect. The reason Momen chose this spot for Metaphor: The Tree of Utah is because of the sheer scale of the Bonneville Salt Flats. On a clear day, you can see the curvature of the earth here.
Momen wanted to create a "metaphor" for life in a dead place. He was supposedly inspired by the hymn "O My Father," which talks about eternal progression, but even without the religious subtext, the art makes a point. It’s a splash of color in a world that is strictly monochrome. The spheres are decorated with colorful ceramics and rocks, contrasting sharply against the crystalline white salt.
Some people hate it. Like, really hate it.
They argue that the beauty of the desert is its emptiness. To them, the "Tree" is just giant litter. They see it as an ego trip by an artist who didn't understand that the void was the art. But then you have the long-haul truckers and the families on road trips who view it as a milestone. When you see the tree, you know you’re about 25 miles away from Wendover. It’s a navigational buoy in a sea of salt.
Why you can't actually go visit it
This is the part that ticks people off. You can see it perfectly from I-80. It looms over the road. But there is no exit. There is no parking lot. If you try to pull over on the shoulder to take a selfie, the Utah Highway Patrol will likely have a word with you.
The ground around the sculpture is incredibly unstable. The salt crust is thin, and underneath is a thick, muddy brine that can swallow a car tire in seconds. Because of safety concerns and the risk of vandalism, the state has kept it fenced off. You’re meant to view it at 80 miles per hour. It’s "drive-by art."
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In 1986, Momen officially gifted the sculpture to the State of Utah. But the state didn't really want the bill for keeping it pretty. For years, it sat in a bit of a legal and maintenance limbo. The harsh salt air eats everything. It eats the rebar. It dulls the glaze on the ceramic tiles. It’s a constant battle against chemistry.
The symbolism that most people miss
Momen didn't just throw some spheres on a pole. The design is actually quite complex. The "trunk" is meant to represent the strength and resilience needed to survive in the desert. The spheres represent the "fruits" of life.
There’s also a plaque—well, there used to be one more visible—that features quotes from the Roman poet Horace and references to the cosmos. Momen was obsessed with the idea that humans are just a tiny blip in a massive, uncaring universe. By placing a giant artificial tree in a place where no real tree could ever grow, he was highlighting the absurdity of human existence.
It’s kind of a "we were here" mark left on a blank page.
Is it worth the drive?
If you’re driving from Reno to Salt Lake City, you don't have a choice—you’re going to pass it. But should you go out of your way?
Probably not just for the tree. But the Bonneville Salt Flats themselves? Absolutely. There is nothing else like them on the planet. Walking out onto the salt (at the designated rest areas, please) feels like walking on another planet. The sky reflects off the ground when it rains, creating a perfect mirror. It’s silent. It’s eerie.
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And then there’s this giant, colorful concrete tree.
It serves as a reminder that humans can't help themselves. We have to build. We have to decorate. We have to leave a mess. Whether you think Metaphor: The Tree of Utah is a masterpiece or an eyesore, it forces you to look at the desert differently. It breaks the trance of the highway.
Surviving the trip to the Tree
If you're planning to see it, keep a few things in mind. The stretch of road where the tree sits is one of the most dangerous in the state because drivers get "highway hypnosis." People zone out because the landscape doesn't change for sixty miles.
- Check your tires. The heat on the salt flats in the summer is no joke. Friction + heat = blowouts.
- Don't trust the "pavement." If you pull off the road near the tree, you will get stuck. Towing fees out there are astronomical.
- Clean your car. If you do walk on the salt at the official rest stop nearby, wash your undercarriage immediately after. The salt will rust your frame before you get home.
- Photography tips. The best light is at sunset. The white ground turns pink and purple, and the minerals on the tree's spheres catch the last bits of orange light. It’s the only time the sculpture actually looks like it belongs there.
Karl Momen eventually went back to Europe, leaving his concrete legacy to bake in the Utah sun. It has survived earthquakes, extreme temperature swings from -10 to 110 degrees, and decades of salt spray. It’s stubborn. Much like the pioneers who crossed this same desert hundreds of years ago, the tree is just standing its ground, refusing to be ignored.
Practical Steps for Your Visit
If you want to experience the sculpture properly without getting a ticket or sinking into the mud, here is the smart way to do it.
- Stop at the Bonneville Salt Flats Rest Area. This is located about 10 miles west of the tree. You can walk out onto the salt safely here, take your photos, and get the "vibe" of the desert.
- Set your camera before you reach the tree. Since you can't stop, have your passenger ready with a fast shutter speed. If you're driving solo, just enjoy the view with your eyes.
- Visit the Wendover Airfield nearby. If you're into history, the airfield where they trained for the Hiroshima mission is just down the road. It adds a layer of "human impact" to the desert trip.
- Wash the salt off. I can't stress this enough. Use a high-pressure hose at a car wash in Salt Lake or Wendover.
The "Tree of Utah" isn't going anywhere. It’s a permanent fixture of the Great Basin landscape now, a weird monument to one man's vision and the sheer emptiness of the American West. It’s strange, it’s lonely, and it’s perfectly Utah.