I was born at Summit, Iron County, Utah, on 24 December 1893, the sixth child of Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Jr. and Mary Ida Dalley Hulet. Father was born at Springville, Utah, 17 April 1857, the son of Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Sr. and Catherine Stoker Hulet. He was the fourth child and the oldest of a pair of twin boys. His twin was Sylvester Silas. They were not identical twins, even though both had dark complexions, beautiful dark brown wavy hair, and brown eyes. When they grew to manhood, Father was taller than Uncle Sylvester and not as heavy-set.
Summit, Iron County, one of the little towns in southern Utah, was settled in about 1854 by the early pioneers. My mother’s father, James Dalley, was one of the first settlers to locate there. He and his second and third wives, Emma Wright Dalley and Johanna Bolette (Lette) Bertelsen Dalley, had helped build a fort at Johnson Fort a few miles east of Cedar City before going to Summit Creek. There they lived in a dugout until they could build homes. His son, Joseph Bertelsen Dalley, was the first white child born at Summit. Joseph’s mother was Lette Bertelsen Dalley.
Grandfather James Dalley, his parents William and Ann Davies Dalley, and other family members joined the Church in England in 1841-1842. Grandfather married Sarah Ann Bishton and they had a daughter whom they named Elizabeth Ann. When Grandfather came to America, his wife’s parents convinced her to stay in England until Grandfather got a home established in this country. The first word he received of his wife and child after he arrived in the States was that both mother and child had died. My grandmother, Petrina (Patrena, Pathrena, Threne) Bertelsen Dalley, was Grandfather’s fourth wife. She, her parents, brothers and sisters joined the Church in Denmark and immigrated to Utah. She became acquainted with Grandfather after they both arrived in Utah.
My great-grandparents, Charles and Margaret Noah Hulet; grandparents, Sylvanus Cyrus, Sr. and Catherine Stoker Hulet; and several other Hulets were early converts to the Church (1830-1831) in Nelson, Portage County, Ohio. After crossing the plains in 1850 they first settled in Springville, Utah. My grandparents built a comfortable home there, but did not remain long to enjoy it because Grandfather, with others, was called to the Dixie Mission to help settle St. George. Through hard work and their thrifty habits it was not many years until they had orchards, vineyards, cotton, and other crops growing and had built good homes. Grandfather’s homes in Springville and St. George are still standing and people are living in them.
First Bishop of Summit
After Grandfather Hulet was released from his mission at St. George he moved to Summit, as he had previously bought a farm there. He became the first bishop of the Summit Ward. Before this, they had had a presiding elder to take care of the Church there. The large brick home built by Grandfather Hulet in Summit is still in use. Grandfather Hulet was left with his family of nine children when Grandmother passed away 8 November 1882. Grandfather married Elzina Miller a year later, and soon after that married Elizabeth Dalley. There were five daughters from these two marriages.
Grandfather Dalley and his four wives had a large posterity. The first wife, Sarah Ann Bishton, had one daughter. The second wife, Emma Wright, was the mother of fifteen children, and died at the birth of the last one. Lette Bertelsen was the mother of fourteen children, and Grandmother Petrina’s children numbered fourteen. Each of the three raised ten sons and daughters to adulthood. There is a numerous posterity of both the Dalley and Hulet families. However, regardless of the very large family Grandfather had to provide for, they were always well taken care of. Of course, the wives worked hard too, and had to do as other pioneers did. They washed and corded wool, spun it, dyed it, wove cloth, and knit stockings, caps, mittens, etc. They wove their own carpets, made cheese and butter, made their own candles, soap, and the numerous necessities of those early pioneer days. Yet Grandfather always managed to help other people in their town when they were in need of food or clothing.
When Grandfather Dalley’s wife, Emma, passed away, he was sorely grieved, but Aunt Lette and Grandmother Petrina took the younger children into their homes and cared for them as they did for their own. The older ones in the family kept house for themselves.
Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet and Mary Ida Dalley Hulet
I was the sixth child of my parent’s family of twelve children. Their first child, a boy born 9 March 1884, named Oscar Sylvanus died 11 April 1884. A little girl named Ida May was born 26 February 1885 and died the same day. This was a great trial and sorrow to my parents. They had great courage and strong faith in the principles of the Gospel, or how could they have endured such disappointment and sorrow?
John Silas was born 2 March 1886. He was a great comfort and blessing to Father and Mother. They had had the great sorrow and trial of losing their first two babies in infancy. Now they had this little one to love and care for, to comfort and cheer them. Whenever there appeared any symptom of illness, they were filled with apprehension and fear for his welfare. However, they were blessed to have him remain with them throughout their lives. From an early age he was always willing and helpful when needed. Mother often remarked that she could always depend on John’s help when she needed it.
Edna was the second daughter and the fourth child. She was born 26 March 1888. Now they had a dear little son and daughter to gladden their home.
Father Goes on a Mission
However, Father received a call from the Church Authorities to serve a mission in the East Central States; Pennsylvania, Virginia, and West Virginia. His twin brother, Sylvester, had been called a year before to serve a mission in England. Father had given him what money he could possibly raise and gave him his watch. Now Father had to borrow $80.00, twenty of which he had to spend for an overcoat. The missionaries at that time were supposed to travel without purse or scrip.
When Edna was eight days old Father started for Salt Lake City. The nearest railroad station was thirty miles away at Lund, Utah. He had a long, hard trip. He traveled part of the way in a wagon, and walked the rest of the way. (One account says he boarded the train at Milford which was fifty miles from Summit.) He left Salt Lake City on 11 April 1888 and arrived at his field of labor in Pennsylvania on 17 April 1888. His mission president was Heber Bennion of Taylorsville, Utah.
Prior to Father’s departure for his mission he had Mother help him learn to sing a few Church hymns. He enjoyed his mission. He studied the Scriptures faithfully and had many faith-promoting experiences. He had a wonderful memory and could quote the Scriptures fluently. He continued to study the Gospel throughout his lifetime.
The two years Father served as a missionary were very hard for Mother. Expenses were not so high for missionaries as they are today, but it was difficult for Mother to care for her two little ones and pay Father’s expenses. She raised a garden, raised chickens and turkeys, milked a few cows, and made cheese and butter. During the summer she picked fruit on shares and dried it. She was able to sell dried fruit, dressed chickens and turkeys, fresh vegetables, butter, and cheese to the freighters who hauled food products to the mining camps in Iron County and in Pioche, Nevada. She could provide for herself, her children, and Father in this way, but it was a severe trial for her.
As young as John was, he was a great help to Mother in many ways. Mother said the hens made their nests in the mangers in the stable. She couldn’t reach the eggs and it was hard for her to climb over the side of the manger, so she would lift John into the manger and he would get the eggs for her. He was always a willing helper.
In January 1890, Edna was seriously ill with scarletina. This was an added trial for Mother. She said she never dared go to bed for a night’s rest for six weeks because Edna was so seriously ill. Had she not been near her dear mother and Aunt Lette, who was a nurse, it would have been much more difficult. Two other young children in the town had the disease about the same time and both of them died. One can only imagine Mother’s great anxiety under those circumstances, and after she had already lost two of her precious babies.
Due to Edna’s illness, Father was released from his mission on 29 January 1890, and when he arrived home on 20 February 1890, Edna was recovering. She, of course, was too young when Father left for his mission to have any recollection of him. She had been so ill and had been humored, and still expected to have much special attention. She resented having Father in their home. She still expected Mother to get up during the night and walk the floor with her, as she had for so long. Father thought this was not necessary. He knew Mother was completely worn out with the care and anxiety of the past weeks, to say nothing of the hard work she had been doing since Father’s departure for his mission. This situation didn’t help Edna’s attitude toward Father.
Sometime, just in fun, Father would sit on Mother’s lap. That was the last straw for Edna’s patience. She would say to John, who was then four years old and her hero, “Go sappy, Don, (he) on again.” She wanted John to slap Father because he was sitting on Mother’s lap. It was a long time before Edna was willing to accept Father as one of the family.
It was good that Father could be home with the family again and ease some of the burdens off Mother’s shoulders.
Father had leased his cattle and horses to some of the neighbors. When he returned home he found the cows in poor condition, and they didn’t have any calves with them. His horses were so poor when they came home Father didn’t recognize them. They weren’t in any fit shape to do farm work. The neighbor who leased them had boasted he would get rich while Father was gone. If he didn’t get rich, it wasn’t because he didn’t try by taking all he could for himself.
When Father went away he had left a bin full of wheat. Of course, Mother used what she needed to have ground for flour, and to feed her chickens and turkeys. When Father returned, there was just a little pile of wheat left in one corner of the bin. He wondered how he could manage to plant a crop of wheat. However, he went ahead and planted as much as he had planned to plant. That little pile of wheat lasted until the new crop was harvested. My parents said that small amount of wheat seemed to be blessed like the “widow’s meal and oil.” My parents felt they were blessed in many ways. They were hard workers, good managers, and thrifty. In time they prospered financially and were comfortably situated.
When Father came home from his mission, John was at first reluctant to accept him as one to tell him to do things. He was only two years old when Father left. John had thought that Mother was the only one who had any right to dictate to him. One day John was down in the orchard with Father, and Father asked him to pick up sticks that were lying on the ground. John rather resented being told to do that by Father, so hesitated for a minute, but when John saw Father pick up a little willow, he got busy picking up the sticks. When John went to the house he told Mother what had happened. She said, “What did you do?” John said, “It made me yussel a little bit.”
I remember Mother telling about John when he was about five years old. They had attended an extra long meeting. John became rather uneasy, and it was hard for him to sit quietly. After the meeting was out, Mother said to him, "I guess you got too tired being in meeting so long, didn’t you?” “Oh, no,” John said, “I was too rested. I could walk clear to Parowan and back.”
When John was old enough to go to school he wasn’t too enthused about attending. One day he decided to skip school. I don’t know where he hid out, and Mother didn’t know he had been absent until the hired girl came home from school and told her. When Mother asked John about missing school, he was sure it was Ida Draper, the girl who helped Mother, who had told on him. His temper was up. He saw some of the biscuits that Ida had made that morning, sitting on the table near by. He grabbed several of the biscuits and chased Ida out of the house, pelting her with the biscuits. He said, “You are a regular rattletale.”
Opal is Born
On 15 July 1891, another precious daughter, Opal, was added to their family.
Father and Mother had built a comfortable two-room log house. Grandfather Hulet had rented his band of sheep to Father and his twin brother, Uncle Vet, and they were building up a flock of their own. They wintered the sheep out on the Nevada desert and put them up in the Summit mountains for summer range. They were beginning to make progress financially when the serious economic depression began in this country during the presidential administration of Grover Cleveland.
Father had sheep and wool he could have sold, but there was no market for them. Money was very scarce, and it was difficult to buy the necessary food and clothing for the family. I have heard Mother say they couldn’t buy sugar to put on their cereal. I heard Father tell of Uncle Sylvester coming to the sheep camp wearing a pair of new overalls. Father remarked to him, “I see you have new overalls.” Uncle Sylvester just lay back on the camp bed and laughed until the tears were rolling down his cheeks. He said, “Yes, I have new overalls, and I bought them with eggs.” Eggs were about the only things they could sell at that time.
December 24, 1893, came on a Sunday. My mother, Mary Ida Dalley Hulet, was expecting an addition to the family, so she had sent for my father, Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Jr., to come home from the Nevada desert. (The Nevada state line is at least sixty miles west of Summit, so it is unlikely the sheep were actually in the state of Nevada).
Of course, children always expect Santa to come and bring presents regardless of economic conditions. What could they put in their stockings? This was a serious question for most parents that year.
Luckily, Father and Mother had wool. Mother had been raised in a pioneer home. She had washed, dyed, carded, and spun some of the wool into yarn. On this Sunday, 24 December1893, as a last resort for something to put in the children’s stockings, she knit three pairs of mittens, a pair each for my brother, John, and sisters, Edna and Opal.
Father arrived home late in the afternoon. I, the expected new arrival, arrived just at sundown, an early Christmas present for my parents. The only thing they told me in later years about how I looked as a new baby was that I had a very red face and a lot of dark hair on my head.
Near Christmas time in 1970, Uncle Parley Dalley, Mother’s youngest brother, wrote a letter to me and told me of his memories of the Christmas I was born. Grandmother Dalley lived just across the street from our home. Her sister, Aunt Lette Dalley, Grandfather’s third wife, lived just a half block east of Grandmother’s home. Aunt Lette was a midwife nurse who was often called on to help in sickness in the community.
Grandmother had taken John and Edna over to her home. Aunt Selena Jones’s three children, Joseph, Margaret, and Freddie were there also. Aunt Selena (Lena), Mother’s sister, was with Mother along with Grandmother and Aunt Lette. Grandmother put the five grandchildren and Uncle Parley to bed early to wait for Santa to come. Uncle Parley was seven years old, just a few months younger than John.
Uncle Parley said he thought they must not have slept long after Santa put their presents in their stockings, because they were awake a long time before daylight came. John, Edna, and Opal each got a pair of mittens, a few pieces of molasses candy, and a few raisins. The others likely got about the same. Only Uncle Parley got a little candy pig. They were happy with the presents they received and were celebrating as only children can at Christmas time. Suddenly, Uncle Parley noticed his candy pig was missing. A thorough search was made, but it was nowhere to be found. Finally Freddie Jones, aged four years, came up with a confession. He said, “I just opened my mouf and it walked right down my froat.” The mystery was solved. I am sure Uncle Parley was a very disappointed little boy to lose that little candy pig when he was certain it could not be replaced. No wonder he never forgot about that Christmas. Fortunately, he had a very patient disposition.
When I was born, my Danish great-grandmother, Maren Larsen Dam, was living in Summit with her two daughters, Lette (Johanna Bolette) Dalley and Petrina (Pathrena) Dalley, my grandmother. My great-grandmother was well along in years when she came to America from Denmark as a convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She never learned the English language, so she found life to be very lonely when she couldn’t be with her children or others who spoke Danish. She was sincere in her religious convictions and studied the Scriptures regularly. She wanted to attend Church meetings, but since she couldn’t understand what was being said, it was very discouraging for her to attend. However, she said she could understand what my father said when he spoke in Church, and asked the bishop to let her know when Father was to speak in Sacrament meeting so she could go and hear him. Great-grandmother had read in a Danish Bible, of a woman named Judette who was born on Christmas Eve, and wanted my parents to name me Hope Judette. Father didn’t like the name Judette, so he just named me Hope. Great-grandmother always called me Hope Judette. She passed away 3 April 1894 when I was only a few months old. I have always wished that Father had complied with her desire.
No Running Water, Electricity, Bathroom, Plumbing or Washing Machine
As the depression of 1893 diminished, my parents prospered and we were blessed with many comforts of life. At that time we didn’t have electricity or running water in the house, no plumbing for the convenience of a bathroom, no power clothes washer. We did try several types of washing machines, which were operated by turning a wheel by hand. That type of washer didn’t do a satisfactory job of cleaning a big family wash. We decided it saved time and effort to wash our clothes with a tub and washboard. I think it was about 1925 when Mother got a gas-powered washing machine.
Our means of transportation was either by team and wagon or a team and a white-top buggy. I remember Father often drove a team of a horse and a mule when he took the family to Parowan or Cedar City for our Stake Conferences. The distance to Parowan was seven miles, to Cedar City it was twelve miles. We always liked to go to Parowan best. The people seemed to be more friendly and hospitable there for some reason.
Sometimes when the baby of the family was fretful and Mother couldn’t get a chance to do her housework, Father would say, “I am going down to the field. Bring the baby and the other children and go for a ride. It will do all of you good to get out for awhile.” So off for the field we would go. We enjoyed those rides so much. If we happened to have any of our friends or cousins with us they were always invited to go along. It was always Father’s delight to have a crowd of children along. Mother, too, always made our friends welcome in our home. Father liked to joke with people. Often he and Mother would sing songs and encourage us children to sing to make the field trips pleasant.
Father raised some hay, wheat, corn, and oats. He was a good farmer. Someone said they could pick out Father’s farmland in the big field. The farming land at Summit was divided up into plots of 10 to 20 acres. No one had his farm in one piece, although it would have been more convenient had it been combined in one area.
The little town of Summit was located near a canyon. A small stream of water came from the canyon, but was not enough to irrigate the fertile land that was divided into plots for the families of the town. Grandfather Dalley and Brother (Morrill) plowed a furrow from the mouth of the canyon to help conserve the water. The men of the town worked in the canyon to try to increase the amount of water flow to the town.
They worked out a schedule for equal distribution of the water among the families. The water supply was always short for the needs of the farmers for their farms, orchards, and gardens. I remember as a child hearing of the trouble some people had about the use of irrigation water. Some were fair and honest in their use of the water. Others were greedy and dishonest. It no doubt was difficult to wait their turn for water when their crops were suffering from need of water. I remember hearing of fights and quarrels between some of the neighbors about the irrigation water.
Father always got up very early every morning to carry water for drinking and other household needs. We had a wooden barrel in the corner of the kitchen to hold the water for drinking and other household uses. Also, there were two large barrels out in the yard to be filled before washday. Quite often when people would call in at our home they would ask for a drink of water. They knew it would be nice and clean and cool because it was carried in so early in the morning and before any animals had been to the creek for a drink.
Nephi is Born
My brother, Nephi James, was born on 8 November 1895. I wasn’t quite two years old then, but Mother told me later that I was very proud of my little baby brother. She said that I called him “my baby” and was very protective about his care. I can recall that at a very early age I felt a great responsibility to look out for his welfare.
I think Nephi was not more than a year old when we were all exposed to whooping cough. Mother said we had a severe case of the disease. She said at night she would keep Nephi, the baby, by her and Father would watch me because they couldn’t leave us alone for fear we would choke. However, we all survived the siege.
Utah was made a state on 4 January 1896 before I turned three years old.
Our home in Summit was a two-room log house. Mother always kept it neat and clean. The logs were sawed smooth on the inside; the space between the logs was filled with plaster so the house was snug and warm. The walls were whitewashed with lime and water so they looked and smelled clean, and the rooms were light and cheerful. The small cook stove in the kitchen is all that I recall about that room. The oven opened from the side. Mother used that stove for many years in the summer kitchen after our new home was built in 1898. The table had leaves that could be put up when needed for meals, and let down when not in use.
One large room with a fireplace at the west end, and a large wooden bedstead in one corner served as a bedroom and living room. It was common for people to have a mattress or “bed tick” filled with clean straw with a feather bed on top of it. When needed, the straw could be replaced with clean, fresh straw.
Under the home-woven carpet was clean straw. It was so comfortable to walk on it when the carpet was stretched and tacked down snugly. Mother always had large, white doilies she had crocheted to cover the two wooden chests in that room, and a white spread on the beds.
No doubt the children had beds, but I don’t remember them. I do remember that it was not unusual for Father and Mother to have two or three of the younger children in their bed at their feet when morning came. I know that I sometimes had scary dreams or nightmares, and didn’t feel safe until I could get in my parents’ bed.
I remember being by the fireplace early one morning with Nephi and Father. I was sitting on Father’s knee while he helped me dress. I had home-knit black woolen stockings. It was as much of a problem to get our stockings on the right feet as it was to get our shoes on the right feet. At the top of each stocking on opposite sides, sewed securely, was a double thickness of heavy material (similar to denim) about one and one-half inches square with a strong buttonhole in it. The girls wore what we called a “panty waist.” This was made by folding strips of cloth, and the two edges were stitched in to make bands or straps. A strap was made to go over each shoulder. A shorter strap was stitched between the shoulder straps, front and back to keep the straps from slipping off the shoulders. A band was made for the waist and stitched to the shoulder straps front and back. The waistband was fastened in the back with a button and buttonhole. Then on either side of this little harness was fastened a strip long enough to reach to the child’s stocking. We had no store elastic or supporters.
A Dog Smokes
Nephi, about three years old, was sitting on the hearth with his little brown dog, “Dandy.” The dog was asleep and breathing rather fast. Suddenly Nephi started laughing and exclaimed, “Oh, see Dandy foking (smoking)!” I think Nephi had placed a little roll of paper in the dog’s mouth so he looked like he was smoking when he was breathing so fast. Nephi surely got a kick out of that. It did look comical.
Throughout our childhood, Nephi and I were very close pals. I remember times when I noticed Mother was out of the house and I hadn’t been told where she was going. She wouldn’t go far, of course, without telling us, but as soon as I missed her I would become panicky and out we would go, me holding Nephi’s hand and looking for Mother who may have gone down to the orchard, or to the chicken coop, or down the cellar. I don’t know if my fear of having Mother out of sight was caused from hearing her say to us when we had been extra trying on the patience, “If you aren’t going to behave yourselves, I’ll have to run away.” I don’t doubt that she felt exasperated with us many times. She was always so kind and patient. Children are sometimes thoughtless and do not realize the worry and anxiety they cause their dear parents. I know that if I ever realized I had hurt the feelings of my parents, or anyone else for that matter, I felt very sad and sorry about it. The hurt look in Mother’s eyes was more punishment than a spanking could be. I do not recall ever having either Father or Mother even slap me. We couldn’t impose on Father’s good nature as much as we did on Mother. When Father told us to do something, we knew we had better get busy, because he would see that we did. I remember one of the children told Mother once that she wasn’t afraid not to mind her, but she was afraid not to mind Father.
When Nephi was about four years old he had a black pet dog he called Coalie. That dog watched out for Nephi’s safety continually. He would walk so close to Nephi that Nephi would get vexed because he would trip over the dog’s feet. One day Nephi was coming across the street from Grandmother’s home with his dog, when a drunken Indian came riding down the street. No one else was near Nephi, but we at home heard the Indian jabbering and laughing. When we looked out, the Indian was riding around Nephi and the dog as if he intended to run over them. Coalie bristled up his hair and growled at the Indian, and tried to keep between him and Nephi. We were afraid Nephi was going to be trampled by the horse, and one of the family ran out and got him. There was an Indian camp near Summit. The Indians would go to the little store and buy vanilla or some other extract to drink, and become very noisy and annoying.
Father used to keep three donkeys to use for packing supplies to the sheep camp and ranch. The donkeys were not always dependable when anyone went around back of them. Sometimes they would kick. Nephi liked to be around and watch the donkeys when they were being loaded with packs. The dog seemed to realize the danger of Nephi getting close to the donkey’s heels. He would get between the donkeys and Nephi and push him away from them as much as he could. Nephi didn’t realize that the dog was really protecting him. He would get vexed and pound the dog with his fists.
The Indians sometimes came begging for food. At times, Mother would hire some of the squaws to shuck corn for her. It wasn’t unusual for the squaws to catch some mice that lived in the corn ricks. They would sometimes pull the mice’s teeth out with their fingernails, and give the mice to any children who happened to be standing around watching, for them to play with. I never did get a mouse for a pet.
Sometimes some of the children would be left home alone for a few hours. This didn’t happen often, but I always worried if someone older wasn’t with us because often there were tramps who came to the door asking for food. I remember several times how frightened we were when a tramp knocked at the door. We wouldn’t answer the door if our parents were not there. When Father and Mother were there, they never turned anyone away without giving them something to eat.
In 1898 when I was about five years old and the family had increased to five children, Father and Mother decided it was necessary to have more room for the family, so they had a new frame house built. Since they wanted to build on the same spot where the old home stood, Grandmother Dalley, who lived across the street from us in the old adobe house next to Aunt Lette’s house, offered to let us live with her while our house was being built. Grandmother was very kind and considerate, always willing to help others in any way she could.
While we were living with Grandmother, Eleanor was born on 2 May 1898. That morning there was deep snow on the ground. The tree branches were weighted to the ground with the beautiful, white snow. Nephi, who had been the youngest for three years, and not willing to lose his important position, slipped up to Mother’s bedside and whispered to her, “Couldn’t you just throw her out in the snow?”
This was the time the Spanish American War was being fought. The carpenters who were building our house talked about the war at mealtime. Although I was only five years old, I remember how nervous I was from hearing people talk of war news. I often awoke in the night frightened from bad dreams. I would cry by myself, but didn’t want to disturb anyone else.
We loved our house in Summit. The new home was a lumber building of only four rooms. Not really large enough for the needs of our large family, but more room than we had had before. There were only two bedrooms, a large kitchen, and a large living room that served also as a spare bedroom at times.
Home of Sylvanus C. Hulet, Jr. at Summit
At the time we lived there, our house was the last one on the west on the north side of the street. On the west side of our yard was a lane or entrance from the street to our yard. West of our place was a nice alfalfa field owned by Uncle William Dalley, Grandfather Dalley’s brother. The large plot where our house stood was oblong in shape, laying lengthwise north and south. It was divided in about equal thirds crosswise. In the front third in the southeast corner was our house.
There was a log room back of our house. It had no door in it, but the doorway was just opposite the back door of the kitchen. There was an alley way between the house and log room about three feet wide. That log room served many purposes. In summer we used it for a summer kitchen for cooking and for washing. There was room to store many things. In one corner was a partition. Likely it was part of a grain bin. Above that partition was a small loft. In this loft we girls had our playhouse. We had some homemade carpet over the rough boards. Our furniture was mostly boxes for chairs, cupboards, doll beds, etc. I think we finally did have a couple of small rocking chairs of which we were very proud and careful. We played mostly with homemade rag dolls. We had the whole family of dolls, father, mother, and some children. We had fun making their clothes, dressing, and undressing them.
I remember the Christmas of 1900 how thrilled I was to get a little metal stove. It had a little oven door that would open and shut, two little stove lids two inches in diameter, a little fry pan, a kettle, and a little stovepipe that fit on the stove. What a lot of enjoyment our cousin playmates and we girls did have with such simple and inexpensive play equipment.
I remember, too, how I disliked to be asked to go out to the summer kitchen for something after dark.
A board fence separated the house lot from the garden plot. Along the west side of the garden was a thick mud wall, a remnant of the wall built by the early settlers, a part of the fort built to protect the settlers from the Indians. I do not know if the fort was ever completely finished. I remember there was another section of mud wall just west of the building used as a church and schoolhouse.
Father and Mother always planted a large garden every year. They had a good variety of vegetables. There were a few English currants and gooseberry bushes. Along the north end of the garden were four pear trees and four prune trees. If the frost didn’t interfere, we usually had a bumper crop of prunes and lovely pears. Father and Mother never sold any surplus fruit or vegetables, but gave it to the neighbors or anyone who needed it.
I remember one day two Gypsy women came and, seeing the garden, asked if they could have a few vegetables. Mother told them to go into the garden and get some for themselves. That was all they needed to hear. They went into the garden and went to work. They both wore large aprons tied around their waists. They worked fast and soon had enough vegetables to load a mule, and they didn’t want to stop. Finally, Mother told them she was going to call the sheriff if they didn’t get right out of her garden. Very reluctantly, they did leave, but they were loaded like pack mules. I never did like to see Gypsies come to our home. They were not a dependable kind of people.
I will never forget one summer there was a fine lot of watermelons in our garden and we were all looking forward to the time the melons would be ripe so we could enjoy a special treat. The melons soon would have been ripe, but I couldn’t stand the suspense. I think I must have been about 5 or 6 years old. I got a knife and went into the melon patch without asking permission to do so. I cut a plug out of every melon in that garden and didn’t find one ripe melon. Of course, none of them could ever ripen after being cut. I didn’t realize what a terrible blunder I had made until my folks explained to me that the melons were ruined, and no one would be able to enjoy the melons we had all been looking forward to. How foolish I did feel, but no one ever said an unkind work to me about my foolish mistake. They likely knew my punishment was sufficient anyway.
The center of the home plot had a machine shed in the southwest corner joined to a well-built granary, and a wagon and buggy shed facing north. Joining the shed on the east was a corn bin that faced east. In the yard back of the house along the east garden fence, Father always had a large pile of wood he hauled from the mountains each fall. He had cedar wood for the cook stove and pine wood for the heater. He prided himself on having the best and biggest woodpile in town. We never had to skimp for fuel like some people we knew, who could have had plenty had they made the effort to haul enough wood to keep them comfortable. Back of the summer kitchen Mother had her clotheslines. There was a good fence for a partition between the house yard and the barnyard.
For many years Father didn’t have a real barn, just a row of stables and sheds along the north side of the middle yard. The hay was stacked in this yard along the northeast side. Father used to raise a lot of corn each year. He would have long ricks of corn in the yard. During the fall and winter the ears of corn would be shucked, the corn fodder fed to the stock, and the corn shelled with a corn sheller machine. About 1900-1901 Father had a fine, large barn build on the west side of the yard. It provided space for hay, grain, some animals, and some of the machinery. It was a great convenience. The corral was on the north side of the shed and barn.
North of the corral and sheds was a large fruit orchard. The majority of the trees were apple trees, but there was a good variety. Rhode Island Greening, Limber Twig, and Early Harvest were my favorites. There were four prune trees in the northwest corner of the garden that bore many bushels of large tasty prunes. In the northeast corner of the garden were three or four pear trees. Some seasons they were so loaded with beautiful large pears that some of the branches would bend to the ground or split off the tree. In the big orchard, there were two kinds of apricots. When the frost didn’t injure the blossoms, we would have both yellow and white peaches. These with the apples, pears, prunes, and cherries gave us a good variety of fruit. However, we never could count on a full crop of fruit due to late frosts.
In the southeast corner of our garden stood a beautiful large Bing cherry tree, but for many years it never even had a blossom on it. About 1906 Father had a hired man who remarked about what a beautiful cherry tree that was. Father told him it had never had blossoms or cherries on it. The man said, “If you just split the bark up the side of the tree, it will blossom and bear fruit”. That sounded unbelievable, but Father thought it wouldn’t hurt to try the experiment, so he told the man to go ahead and split the bark of that cherry tree. The very next spring, that tree was covered with beautiful blossoms, and in due time it was loaded with luscious big cherries, and each year thereafter bore fruit.
The little pie cherry tree that stood in front of the house seldom failed to have some blossoms and fruit on it. I never remember having any pie made with the cherries from that tree, because the children and the robins took care of every cherry that ripened on it.
We could raise good squash and pumpkins. I seldom see a stack of pumpkins in the autumn that I do not think of the stack of pumpkins dear Aunt Sally Davis always had in her yard each fall. One of her little grandsons was very fond of squash. He was small for his age. Someone said to him jokingly, “Onnie, (his name was Leonidas) what makes you so big”? He said, “Oh, I eat lots of stwash and drease.”
During the summer and fall months we could buy fresh fruit from the “Dixie” peddlers. They sold peaches, melons, grapes, figs, and most any fruit we might need. They also sold molasses, and sometimes grape wine.
Father always used to have a few sheep on the home place. The corral was surrounded by board fences and sheds, except one place between the orchard and the corral there was a pole fence where the dogs could crawl through. One fall he had a number of lambs he let stay in the corral where the milk cows were kept. It was a sickening sight one morning when he went to do chores to find those lambs torn and bleeding. He figured it must be some of the neighbor’s dogs that had ganged up and done the damage. So he placed some bait in the corral the next night. The following morning, Grandmother’s, Aunt Lette’s, and several other dogs in the neighborhood were dead on their porches. No one would ever have imagined those old dogs going out and doing such cruel things to lambs. The folks felt sorry to have that happen to their old pets, but couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to be rid of such a menace to their animals.
I remember some of the animals we had on our place in Summit. Father had a team of horses. They were not large, but were willing workers. One was all white. We called him “Moonie.” He was a gentle, steady horse, and was a faithful helper for many years. When he got too old to do hard work, we younger children thought it was a great treat to ride him. Even with a little switch we couldn’t persuade him to even trot. The poor old fellow was likely too weary and feeble to go faster. Maybe he was smart enough to know we were safer to go slow. We thought a lot of him. I don’t know how old he was when he died, but I am sure he had many years of life, and was loved very much.
Moonie’s teammate “Old Coon,” a sorrel horse, was a good faithful worker with rather a nervous disposition. One day Father had left him in the stable. He was likely wanting to get out where he could move around more freely. He somehow managed to loosen a board in the stable door so he could put his head through. When he wanted to get his head back out, he couldn’t get his head back though the hole. He became very excited and jumped around, yanking with all his strength to get his head back out of the stable door. Finally, he jerked the door off its hinges. There he was with the stable door over his head. He was so excited and frightened, had Father not seen him when he did, Old Coon likely would have hurt himself seriously or even broken his neck.
“Ranger” was an average sized brown riding pony, and very dependable. One day a neighbor borrowed him to make a hurried trip to another town to get medicine for his sick wife. On the return trip “Ranger” dropped dead. The long, fast trip was more than he could endure. Our family felt very sad to have this happen to our good pony.
Father owned a desert claim one and one-half miles west of Summit. He had fenced the lot so it could be used for a pasture for the farm animals. We children liked to take the cows to the pasture, because we could ride our pony. Father had bought a gentle pony for “the girls,” also a new saddle and bridle. The pony was a bay color with a white strip down his face. He had a black mane and tail. We thought he was a “really neat little pony.” We named him “Pompey.”
When I was about eleven years old, my father told me one evening that I could take the cows to the pasture. He bridled the pony for me, and I rode without the saddle. I took the cows and put them in the pasture, fastened the gate, and was just starting for home, when I happened to glance around and saw a man on a horse not far behind me. I wasn’t alarmed, although it was nearly dark. I thought it likely was one of our neighbors, or a cousin. However, I didn’t have time to take a second look. Pompey either sensed danger, or thought he was being challenged for a race. Although he was old and very gentle, he had been a racehorse before Father bought him. Without a word or a tap from me, Pompey started out running. I couldn’t pull hard enough to slow him down, so decided it was best to concentrate on staying on by hanging on to his mane.
I had never ridden a horse on the run before. My sister, Opal, was a much better horseback rider than I was, and rode much more often. Anyway, I stayed on Pompey’s back, and he never slowed down until we reached the home gate. I thought he seemed proud that he had won the race and gotten me safely home. I was proud of him, and thankful to him too. To this day I have never known who the rider was that appeared so suddenly that night, but I have wondered if that unexpected race was not a blessing in disguise for my protection.
At one time, Father purchased a team of beautiful Clydesdale horses. A neighbor and his family, who had been converts to the L.D.S. Church in Kansas, had come from Scotland. Their name was Tweedie. Mr. Tweedie loved Clydesdale horses, and talked about them every time he could get anyone to talk with him about them. Father had always had lighter weight horses that could move faster. It was not too long until he decided that even though the Clydesdales were very beautiful and more powerful than the common horses, they were not as suitable for his needs. The Clydesdales were soon sold.
The team Father liked to drive on the white-top buggy was a span of mules. One of them we called “Bird.” They would trot steadily all the way to Parowan or to Cedar City, and not seem to tire too much. Sometimes Bird was driven with a horse. We thought we were making good time on those trips, but it wasn’t like the speed made by cars nowadays.
Father also bought purebred Rambolet rams for his sheep. He always liked to have high-grade Plymouth Rock chickens. They were very good for meat, but not so much for egg production. I remember that somehow the chicken coop got infested with fleas. Those pesky things would get on us as sure as we went in the chicken coop. I don’t remember of the fleas bothering anywhere but the chicken coop, but they would get right busy biting us in a hurry if we went in the coop. We would have to make a beeline for the house and search our clothes to catch and kill the fleas. We didn’t have the insecticides then that are available now, or we could have fixed them in a hurry.
Aunt Lette Dalley used to keep a little store, providing some groceries and notions that helped the people of Summit when they needed such items. However, my parents made a trip to Parowan about every two weeks to get needed supplies for the family. Usually the whole family went with Father and Mother on these shopping trips. We could always count on there being a large bag of stick candy in the grocery purchases. Father and Mother always bought a good supply of various foods when they went to town, to save making trips oftener. Father would take a grist of grain to the flour mill in Parowan and get enough flour to last the family several months.
Father liked to buy things on a big scale. He always bought sugar in bulk, and other items that could be stored. He never thought of buying less than a hundred pounds of white sugar at a time. I can remember his bringing home a hundred pound sack of brown sugar.
Food storage at that time was altogether a different situation than it is today. We had no refrigerators at that time. Mother always bottled or dried fruit for our needs. We always had a good garden for vegetables, which were stored in a cellar for winter .We raised our own beef, pork, mutton, and chickens, so we had plenty of meat, and a good variety during the year. Father butchered the meat we needed. For winter, pork could be cured with salt. When we had a mutton, it would be quartered and hung out in the cool air at night, then put in clean, heavy, seamless sacks and put in a cool place and covered during the day. The meat would keep for several days. In cold weather, of course, the meat could easily be kept frozen.
We always had cows that gave milk, so we could have milk, butter, and cheese. It used to cause Father considerable concern that some of us children never gained weight. We grew taller, but were not plump like some of the family. I have heard him say that Mother, Opal, and Thora were the only ones that looked like they had had anything to eat. If we didn’t get plump it wasn’t his or Mother’s fault, because they never denied us food we wanted. When Father would help serve us food at the table, he would always dish out more than we needed. He didn’t want us to feel he was skimping on our food. I know I had a taste for bread, cream, and sugar. Even though that may not be a smart type of diet and I ate much more of than may have been wise, as far as I know it never did me any harm, and I didn’t gain extra weight, either.
Also, household conveniences were different in those days. For many years we did not have a bathroom. The regular washtub was the only bathtub we had. Bath water, as well as wash water, had to be heated on the cook stove, after being carried in buckets from the creek out in front of our home.
About 1904 my parents bought a metal, enamel-covered bathtub. It had a wooden rim around the top of it. We had to put the bath water in it, and empty it by hand, but that was worth the extra trouble, to be able to bathe in a regular-sized bathtub. I think that was the first bathtub in Summit, and was bought from either Sears and Roebuck, or Montgomery Ward and Company. I remember that the last one to take a bath often forgot to empty the bathtub. I realized that if I didn’t take care of that task, it likely would be left for Mother to do. No doubt she did it many times anyway.
It was not unusual for the older members of the family to make one or more extra trips to the little building in the back yard with the smaller children after dark.
There were no electric lights or other electric appliances. When there was a meeting or some recreational activity, it was necessary for the officers or those in charge, to take their kerosene lamps along to light up the building. These conditions were taken as a matter-of-fact situation, and no one complained.
Father and Mother were always early risers. They had chores to do, milking cows, feeding the animals such as chickens and stock, and gardening. Father was a hard worker and a good provider. We always had a good supply and variety of nourishing food. Mother also worked hard to care of our home and family. I have often wondered how she ever managed to keep our supply of clothes ready and always have nourishing meals, besides all the other things she did.
Father and Mother were very friendly and hospitable people. They always seemed to have open house. No friend or relative ever called near mealtime that they didn’t receive a cordial invitation to share the meal with us. Father never hesitated to ask someone to come for a meal. Mother never seemed surprised when he did bring someone without letting her know ahead of time. She was fortunate to have a husband who was a good provider so she always had food on hand to prepare delicious meals on short notice.
We as a family have happy memories of the happy times we had at mealtime. John was one who always had a funny joke or story to tell that caused much fun and laughter.
Mother always cooked a breakfast fit for a sumptuous dinner; of hot biscuits, yeast or quick bread, fried meat or eggs, and fruit. It was rare, if ever, we had Sunday dinner without friends or relatives eating with us. How I did enjoy the Sunday dinner when Mother made chicken soup with boiled or baked dumplings. Once I told Mother I wished she would kill all the chickens so we could have enough soup. We always had plenty, but I guess I never could eat enough to satisfy my appetite for chicken soup. Wonder what I would have looked like if I had eaten as much as I thought I could eat. I can still remember coming home from school in the spring or fall when Mother would be cooking fresh mutton for supper.
John or Father often brought pheasants for Mother to cook, and she did cook them to perfection. Often she made a creamy white sauce over the fried pheasant. It was a delicious meal. Mother sometimes made cream pies using real cream. They were so rich and tasty. I have never been able to make any to equal them.
Mother always made excellent bread. She usually kept a start of yeast, but sometimes grated a potato and poured boiling water over it and added few garden hops as a preservative. To this she added the starter of yeast and it would keep good for weeks or until used up, when the process of yeast making was repeated.
When we were living in town we often got a start of yeast from Aunt Mandana Dalley. Her husband was a brother of my grandfather, James Dalley. She furnished yeast for many in the town. Mother would send one of us children with part of a cup of flour or sugar to exchange for the start of yeast. It wasn’t unusual for one of us to take a sip of the yeast on the sly. It had an especially good flavor.
When I was nearly six years old, several of us cousins were in Grandfather Dalley’s orchard near Aunt Lette’s home. We had been playing games, then sat down under a tree to talk and rest. Father had given me a nickel and I was real proud and happy about it. While we sat there under the tree, I accidentally dropped my nickel. I couldn’t think of going home without it. The others all got tired of looking quickly and left me by myself. I decided to ask Heavenly Father to help me find my nickel. When I opened my eyes and looked down in the dirt, there was my precious nickel. I was so happy and thankful to find it, and it gave me more faith in prayer.
I remember several different times in our home when circumstances occurred that caused family members anxiety and worry. One instance was when we had a very severe electric storm and the heavy rainfall in the mountains caused flooding in the streets of Summit. Mother had a young baby at the time and Father wasn’t at home. Mother was in her bedroom, so the younger children and I were with her. I am sure she was very nervous too, but seemed outwardly calm. She realized the children were terrified by the flashes of lightning and the loud blasts of thunder. Mother calmly told us to come around her chair and we would sing “We Thank Thee O God, For a Prophet.” Mother had a beautiful singing voice. The part of the song that says, “When dark clouds of trouble hang o’er us, and threaten our peace to destroy,” seemed like a prayer to me. I am sure Mother was praying all the time and, no doubt, each child was offering a silent prayer for our safety and the safety of our dear ones. She and Father always taught us to exercise faith when we were in danger or needed help from our Heavenly Father.
I have heard my father tell how his life was saved in a miraculous way. He and William Hoy Smith, the husband of his sister, Barbara, went to the Summit mountains for a load of logs. Each had a team and wagon. The road to the canyon at that time was very steep and rocky, making it an extremely dangerous undertaking to get logs from the mountains. Due to the steep road, it was necessary to lock the back wheels on the wagons to help hold the heavy weight of the wagon and logs. The horses couldn’t possibly hold back the loads on the steep road. The brakes were locked by tying one end of a strong rope to the brake and making a loop in the other end of the rope, which was slipped over the toe of their right shoe. Thus, they could hold the wagon brake firmly, and have their hands free to drive the horses and manage the brake with one foot.
Father and Uncle Will got their wagons loaded with logs and started for home. Uncle Will was ahead of Father. They were going as slowly as they could, but that was much faster than was safe for them to travel down a steep, rocky road. Suddenly, a front wheel on Father’s wagon struck a large rock with such force that Father was thrown headfirst onto the doubletrees back of the horses. Of course, the brake was released and the full weight of the load thrown against the horses, which is more weight than any team could hold back on such a steep road. Father, of course, realized the extremely dangerous situation he and his horses were in, and with great exertion got out of the position he was in and onto his feet. In the meantime he realized that, in spite of the circumstances, the horses and wagon were stopped.
He glanced toward the horses and saw a man standing in front of them. The man was dressed in blue denim overalls and a jumper. Father, thinking it must be Uncle Will who had come back to help him, was talking to him. The horses’ heads were turned toward the side of the mountain. The road was a dugway, and had they turned the opposite way, they would have plunged down the mountainside into the canyon below. Father walked around in front of the team, still talking to the person whom he thought to be Uncle Will, but there was no one in sight, except Uncle Will who was down the canyon about a half-mile away.
Father always thought his life and the lives of his horses were saved in this miraculous way by our ever kind and watchful Heavenly Father sending someone to turn the horses, so they were able to stop the loaded wagon on that dangerous road. Could it have been one of the three Nephite prophets who appeared at just the critical moment to help, and then disappeared so quickly?
Uncle Will said afterwards that he had looked back and saw what had happened to Father, but he couldn’t stop his horses then on the steep canyon road. He thought that Father surely would be killed, and he would have to take a dead man home
Nephi is Ill
When Nephi was 5 years old, he was very ill with scarletina. He had a high fever much of the time, and it seems he was sick quite a while, but I don’t know how long. There was no doctor available at that time so, in case of sickness, we had to rely on the wisdom and care of home nursing. Mother was a very good nurse. She seemed to have a natural talent for caring for the sick. Grandmother Dalley was also a wonderful person to help. Her sister, Lette Dalley, was a trained nurse. They were always so kind and willing to assist in any way they could in time of need.
Nephi was so very ill he required much time and attention for so long. I remember my parents tried to keep me out of his sick room, but I missed him so much and was so anxious for him to get well, that I am sure I watched my chance to get in to see him. I didn’t realize the danger of my getting the disease. I remember he coaxed to have his pet rabbit brought to him. Finally, against the better judgment of our parents, the request was granted. The poor little rabbit caught the disease and died. This was an unhappy event for Nephi as well as the rest of the family.
Some of the time, Nephi was delirious from the fever. One night he jumped out of bed and tried to run, but fell to the floor because he was so weak from his long illness. He said there were a lot of black cats coming after him.
Mother, Grandmother Dalley, and Aunt Lette Dalley all took the best possible care they could of Nephi, but he was sick for so long they almost despaired, and didn’t know what to do to help him get well. They got in touch with Sister Walker, a nurse who lived a few miles away. She suggested onion poultices. She sliced a large amount of onions, cooked them in grease, then put the poultices over most of Nephi’s body and on the soles of his feet. To some, an onion poultice may sound a very strange remedy for curing complications in a case of scarletina, but after a few of these treatments, there was a noticeable improvement in Nephi’s condition. What a blessing to us that that dear, kind nurse had had the experience and the inspiration to give us such wonderful help in our time of need in sickness. Nephi improved from that time on. It was a time of rejoicing, and how thankful we were when we knew Nephi was recovering from the serious sickness, and getting well again.
When Father had his sheep on the range in the Nevada desert or in the Summit mountains, he would have to spend time away from home taking care of them. When he returned home we would all want to get on his lap at the same time while he told us stories. Some were stories he had read, some were original, and some were from real life experiences, such as bear stories.
One story we were especially thrilled about was a true one. Father said he had the sheep up in the Summit Mountains. One night the sheep were bedded near the tent where Father had his bed and supplies. He hadn’t been in bed long when he heard the sheep running and behaving as though they were frightened. Father opened the flap of the tent to look out. There, not far from the tent door, was a huge grizzly bear standing erect. Father had only a small rifle, and was sure a shot from it would not kill the bear but merely enrage it. He said he just put his head through the stovepipe hole in the top of the tent and hollered as loud as he could. He said his voice didn’t sound natural, it sounded like he was hollow clear down. However, it had the desired effect. The bear turned and walked away.
Father made up a song composed of baby sayings of some of the children and the quaint sayings of his Danish-born mother-in-law. His special time for singing the song was while he was tending the baby, turning the cream separator, or doing some other chore around the house. He sang the words to a medley of tunes, or of Church songs he used to sing. It went something like this:
“Bye my little Obie, O bye my little baby,
A boo bah bah and a doodle, Yah and yah,
‘N clobber-O, Goin’ to She-cago and
Doo-do, without a shettin’ to it. A boo bah bah and a doodle-do
Bawk ah-macknie and doo-do without a shettin’ to it.”
Boo in baby talk meant cow. Bah was a sheep. Doodle-do was a chicken. Yah was yes in Danish. Clobber was buttermilk in his Danish mother-in-law’s language, and she said She-cago for Chicago. Bawk ah-macknie was Opal’s baby talk for milk from the brockle-faced cow. Without a shettin’ to it was Grandmother’s quaint way of saying safety pin without a shutter or fastener, meaning a straight pin.
I have many happy memories of the pleasant association with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Grandfather Dalley, and Grandmother, and Aunt Lette lived in their homes across the street from us. Grandmother lived just across the street from us. Aunt Lette lived just east of Grandmother. Grandpa Hulet, Aunt Zina, and Aunt Betsy lived less than a block east of us on the same side of the street. We children adored our grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and enjoyed associating with our cousins. When any of them moved away, it left a void in our lives. Since most of the families in the town were related to each other, the children often enjoyed playing together. We were all in the same room at church and at school, as it was a one teacher and one room school. We enjoyed visiting our grandparents and aunts and uncles. It was much different then than it is now for our children.
We children liked to call in to see Grandmother Dalley on our way home from school. Many times when she was alone she would ask one of us to stay all night with her. She always would have something tasty to eat. I never will forget the delicious homemade bread, the butter, and cheese both Grandmother and Mother made. I have never seen them surpassed in quality by anyone else anywhere.
Aunt Sally Smokes
One of the people who lived in Summit who should be mentioned is Aunt Sally (Sarah) Davis, a sister of Grandmother Hulet. Aunt Sally was a widow for many years and must have endured many hardships. She was always a very pleasant person. She had been raised in Ohio, and the whole family had been accustomed to smoking tobacco all their lives. Aunt Sally smoked a pipe. I always remember her sitting in her high-backed rocking chair with a black handkerchief tied on her head, and smoking a pipe. She liked young people and they liked her. She often had a group of young folks in her home. She used to come to our home to get Father to mend her shoes. One time Father said to her jokingly, “Aunt Sally, why don’t you learn to mend your own shoes?” She quickly answered, “I don’t want to, I know too dern much already.”
Of course we were always taught it isn’t right to use tobacco, so when John and Lorin Smith were small boys they thought they would help Aunt Sally overcome her habit of smoking. They saw her pipe lying on the table. Aunt Sally was out of the room, so they took her pipe and hid it, then went home thinking they had done their good turn for that day.
When Aunt Sally looked for her pipe, she couldn’t find it anywhere. She then suspected John and Lorin were the culprits, so came down to our home and asked Father and Mother if they knew whether John and Lorin had hid her pipe. Of course, Father immediately asked John and he fessed up. They told her where her pipe was.
We children were always anxious and willing to take some butter, cheese, or any food Mother wanted taken to Aunt Sally. John says he remembers more than one time Father sent him with a fifty-pound sack of flour in a little wagon to her, and to other widows in Summit.
My grandmother, Catherine Hulet, also, was addicted to the habit of smoking. She tried very hard to overcome the habit. Grandfather didn’t use tobacco and likely was anxious for her to leave it alone. She would try to do without, but her tongue would swell until she couldn’t talk. It must have been a great trial to her to want so much to get away from tobacco, and be unable to do so. She was such a wonderful, kind, and devoted wife and mother. She was always willing to help her neighbors when they needed help in time of sickness or sorrow. Her life had been one of hard work and hardships, from the time her family joined the Church, throughout the rest of her life. She and Grandfather were just getting to the place where they could enjoy some of the fruits of their labors when she became seriously ill and passed away. She must have been a good manager to raise the healthy strong family that she had, under all the trials and hardships they passed through.
Father always spoke of his mother with great love and admiration for her kind, gentle disposition, and her consideration and kindness toward everyone. Many times he mentioned how much he enjoyed her cooking. It seems she made each child feel he or she was her special, favorite child.
Grandmother Catherine Hulet passed away 5 November 1882, so I never did know her, but Grandfather Hulet lived until 22 October 1901. I well remember seeing him pass by our home every day on his way to take his cows to the pasture. He continued to do this task up until a day or two before he passed away. I often wondered why he didn’t have some of his girls do that chore for him. His last two families were all girls. In his first family there were five boys. Grandfather was always a hard worker and took good care of what he had. He never wasted anything. He had a nice orchard in Summit, and always had a good garden and a few hives of bees. He had cattle, horses, sheep, and some farming land. He was always a faithful Church worker. I never did talk to Grandfather Hulet much in the years we lived within a block of his home. He didn’t pay much attention to us children.
Grandfather James Dalley was more friendly with us. He, too, was a hard worker as long as he was able to work. He had farming land, two big orchards, cattle, sheep, horses, and always had chickens and pigs. His wives always made their own butter and cheese. In their early married lives, the women folk washed wool, corded it, spun yarn, and knit stockings for their families. Although theirs was an exceptionally large family, they always had as good clothes, food, etc., as anyone in town and often gave things to others who did not have enough for their needs.
Grandfather Dalley was a patriarch in the Church for many years. Three of his sons were also patriarchs. He and his three wives raised thirty children to manhood and womanhood. Not one of them, to my knowledge, ever used tobacco or liquor. They all made the best of the chances they had for education. Some became schoolteachers; several filled missions for the Church, and all were active in the Church and held responsible positions in the Church and in civic capacities.
Most, if not all, of our school companions and associates in Church activities were our cousins. There was very little friction on the playground, or elsewhere, among us. For each of us children, there were several cousins about the same age for classmates and chums. The girls near my age were Lettie Jones, Hilda Hulet, Luella Smith, and Clara and Thurza Dalley. Often we joined with the cousins of Nephi’s age or those of Opal’s group, Aunts Cora and Thresa Hulet (Aunt Zina and Grandfather Hulet’s daughters), Hazel Dalley, and Aunt Emma (Aunt Betsey and Grandfather Hulet’s daughter). The boys near my age were Arthur Pratt, Otto Dalley, and Leland Dalley.
We see boys with long hair now days, but I doubt if many of you have seen a boy with hair as long as my cousin, Leland Dalley, had. I am sure it was not his wish to have such long hair, but his mother thought his hair was so beautiful she didn’t let him have it cut until he was nine or ten years old. His hair was a beautiful brown with a golden or bronze tint. He usually wore it in a long thick braid, that reached below his waist. When he would be running and playing with the other children, that long pigtail would swing to and fro. I don’t remember ever hearing any of the other children tease him about his long hair. We all likely sympathized with him because his mother wouldn’t have his hair cut. He was not a sissy type boy.
Cousin Lettie Jones and I were together most of the time. I was either at her home or she was at my home. She was a year older than I was. Her birthday was December 26, mine was December 24. About 1901 when she was about ten years, old her parents, Uncle Isaac Jones and Aunt Lena (Mother’s sister), moved to Otto, Bighorn County, Wyoming. How I did miss her. We had been so very close to each other all our lives up to this time. We have never seen each other since she moved away from Summit. Lettie and I corresponded until I was about 17 years old. She got married about that time and quit writing. She raised a fine family.
Not long after Cousin Lettie moved away from Summit, Cousin Hilda’s family moved to Dayton, Idaho. Uncle Charles had to care for a large herd of cattle. Due to the hard work and being out in freezing weather during the winter months, he became afflicted with serious back trouble and was unable to work. They returned to Utah and settled first at Enterprise, Washington County. Later they lived at New Castle, Utah. About 1907 they moved back to Summit. When my parents moved to Peterson, Morgan County, Utah, in 1908, Uncle Charles and family moved into our Summit home.
Cousin Therma Green was about the same age as my sister, Belva. She was the eldest daughter of Uncle George B. and Aunt Amelia Dalley Green. (Their family moved to Driggs, Idaho). She passed away 31 December 1966. She took nurses’ training and worked in that occupation many years, and also in public health. She was only a few months old when her father was called to serve as a missionary for the L.D.S. Church. During his absence, Aunt Amelia taught school in Summit and lived with her mother, my grandmother Dalley, whose home was just across the street from my parent’s home. Aunt Amelia was a wonderful teacher.
Many of my Sunday School and Primary teachers will always be dear in my memory for their faithfulness and kindness as well as the valuable lessons they taught. We children enjoyed the wonderful lessons taught in religion classes held after school by our religion class teachers.
My teachers in Church activities were aunts or uncles in most instances. I remember Aunt Lillian White and Aunt Nora Madsen as Primary and Sunday School teachers; also, Aunts Esther (Winters), and Minnie (Thorley). I do remember having Sister Tweedie for a Sunday School teacher.
There were only about twenty families in Summit. All were members of the Church except the White family. I think the family had been pioneer members of the Church, but for some reason, I never did know why, they had ceased to be members. I think it was likely the parents were cut off from the Church, as some other early pioneers had been, because they didn’t pay tithing. This family was brought up to be honest, industrious citizens. One of them later joined the Church. The parents kept rather aloof from the townspeople. I am sure they had been deeply hurt in some way in the past.
When Mr. White was very ill, before he passed away, my father went to their home and offered to help in any way he could. Mrs. White was very appreciative and accepted help at that time. I think the funeral services were held in the Ward church for both Mr. and Mrs. White when they passed away. Mrs. White, I remember, was a very gentle, kind, little lady. They were from England. For some reason, we children never dared go through Mr. White’s premises. Maybe someone had imposed on him, and he had chastised them, and we got the idea that he was cross with everyone. I am sure he was a very good man, but had been offended so badly sometime he couldn’t get over it.
In 1899, when I was five years old, President Lorenzo Snow and a group of the General Authorities made a tour through the wards in Southern Utah. I can remember very vividly when they came through Summit. The people of Summit had tried to do all they could to prepare for their visit. They cleaned their yards and the streets, to make the town look as nice as they could. Folks were lined up on the sidewalk from Grandmother’s house down to the Bishop’s home. Uncle Joseph B. Dalley, Mother’s half-brother, was the bishop at that time. We little girls were all decked out in white dresses.
I don’t remember any of the visitors who accompanied President Snow in buggies drawn by horses, but I remember President Snow’s hair and beard were so white, and he wore a stovepipe hat. We were greatly impressed just to get to see him. He didn’t get out of the buggy to shake hands with folks, but smiled at us and talked to some of the brethren who stood near him.
Joseph F. Smith
About 1901 or 1902, President Joseph F. Smith and some other authorities came to visit the Summit Ward and stayed overnight. I remember how anxious Aunt Annie, the Bishop’s wife, was to make everything as pleasant and attractive in her home as she possibly could, when the Church authorities were to be their guests. They had a nice, new, brick home, but didn’t have it completely furnished yet. Father and Mother had bought a set of nice furniture for our parlor. Aunt Annie borrowed that furniture to use while she had company. The meeting house was thoroughly cleaned and fixed up with curtains at the windows, strips of homemade carpet were laid in the aisle, white bunting was draped around the stage, and bouquets of flowers were plentiful. Everyone who could, attended that meeting and heard President Smith and his companions speak. I can remember as clearly now as if it had just happened, seeing President Smith on the stand speaking in his gentle, kind voice, and his inspiring countenance.
He asked the audience if there was a boy there who was fourteen years of age. A second cousin, Raymond Dalley, son of Moroni and Martha Dalley, was pointed out to him. President Smith asked him to come up on the stand by him. He put his arm around Raymond and said, “Can you imagine what a wonderful thing it was for the boy, Joseph Smith, the age of this boy, to be so anxious to know which church was the right one to join?” President Smith told how Joseph Smith had not been able to get a satisfactory answer from any of the ministers or people in the area where he lived. He studied the Scriptures and asked questions of the ministers and others, but they all had different ideas concerning the Scriptures. Finally, when he was reading in the Bible from the Book of James 1:5 he read, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” Joseph decided to ask the Lord for the answer to his question, and received the wonderful vision, saw his Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, and was given the answer to his question. Later he was visited by heavenly messengers, and told of the gold plates that were buried in the Hill Cumorah by Moroni, one of the ancient Nephites. He was told the true Church would be restored to the earth, and given instructions concerning the work he would have to do to bring about this great work.
What a thrill it must have been for Raymond Dalley to have President Smith call him up to stand by him, and have his arm placed about his shoulders.
Incidentally, Raymond Dalley went to Sevier County to work two years later. He had to swim the Sevier River to get from the place where he was working, to the Post Office to get his mail. He had done this many times, but one day while swimming across the river, he must have been seized with cramps and was drowned. He was a husky, well-built boy. He was the only son of his parents.
David O. McKay
Another time, when some of the Church authorities held a meeting in Summit, Elder David O. McKay was one of them. I think he was representing the Y.M.M.I.A. He was just a young man, but his personality and his talks were so inspiring I never forgot him. I do not remember who the other visitors were, although I am sure they all were very special people. Brother McKay was so friendly with all the little children and shook hands with us, which made us feel highly honored.
Father seldom failed to take the family to Quarterly Conference in Parowan or Cedar City. We rode in a white-topped buggy drawn by a team of horses. The people of Parowan were very hospitable and never failed to see that all the visitors were taken into homes for dinner.
Father and Mother always held some Church positions. Father was a Bishop’s Counselor for several years, was Stake Superintendent of the Y.M.M.I.A. in Parowan Stake for many years, a teacher in the different auxiliary organizations, a Ward Teacher for many years, and still faithfully fulfilled his duties as long as he was able to do so.
Mother was made President of the Y.L.M.I.A when she was eighteen years of age. She worked in the Primary and other organizations. She supported Father while he was on his mission. I remember going to evening meetings with them. They would carry a lamp to help light the building. It was very hard for me to keep up with Father because he walked so fast I had to trot to keep up.
While Father was Stake Superintendent of the Y.M.M.I.A., the General Authorities of the Church sent representatives of the General Board of the Y.M.M.I.A. to visit the stakes and spend several weeks visiting the different wards in the stakes. Since Father was the Stake Superintendent, a visitor would expect to make his headquarters at our home. The first visitor we had was John Glen. He seemed to enjoy teasing us children. I think he only meant to try to be friendly with me, but when he tried to get me to sit on his lap, that settled it with me. I went over to Aunt Lena’s home and stayed most of the time he was living at our home. I didn’t want any special attention from Brother Glen.
A Rude Comment
Mother went to Relief Society meeting one day, and when she got home Brother Glen said, “So you have been to a hen cackle, have you?” Mother didn’t answer him as she felt, but didn’t like such a remark. Sometime after that, Brother Glen had been to a M.I.A. meeting, so Mother said to him, “So you have been to a rooster crow, have you?” He didn’t like that any better than she had liked his remark.
The next Y.M.M.I.A. representative was David Nickles White from Ogden. He was a more congenial person, I thought. He spent more time visiting the wards. He liked to tease some, too, but I kept pretty well out of his way, so I wasn’t troubled. One evening Nephi, who was about five or six years old, had been showing off like little boys sometimes do. After a while, Brother White said, “Young man, if you don’t behave yourself I am going to hang you up by your toes.” Quick as a flash, Nephi had his shoes off and put his feet up toward Brother White and said, “Here you have it!” Mother was surely embarrassed to have Nephi act up, but most of all because his toes were sticking out of holes in his stockings.
Brother White later became a dentist in Ogden. During the time I taught school in Peterson, I went to Dr. White to have some dental work done.
In the school in Summit, we had only one teacher in a one-room concrete building, which also served for church gatherings and social events. It was heated by a large stove. At one end of the room was a stage or platform, which served for various uses. For school, the teacher had us sit on benches on the stage for class recitations. There was a blackboard across the west end of the room over the stage.
When I started going to school, they required us to start in the “Beginners” grade, as today they have Kindergarten before first grade, then we had from the first to the eighth grade before completing grade school. There was never more than one teacher for that school, and I doubt if there were ever more than twenty-five students. However, it was a challenge to any teacher to take care of that many pupils in all the grades.
Since my birthday was late in December, I didn’t start school until I was nearly seven years old. It seems I wasn’t overly anxious to make the venture. When once I started I was plenty interested, and wouldn’t miss a day of school if I could avoid doing so. I did miss being away from my pal, Nephi, and I know he missed me. We had always been very close pals.
My first teacher was William Gurr, a young man from Parowan. I think this was his first teaching experience. He was always very kind to me, and I thought very highly of him. My brother, John, used to like to tease me about my teacher by repeating some of the ways he used to teach us to read and write. When he wanted us to write a number or word on the blackboard he would say, “Make the chalk say ‘one”, or “Make the chalk say ‘blue,’ or ‘black,” or anything he wanted us to write. I thought Mr. Gurr was tops for a teacher and resented anyone casting any reflections on him. I think John and Mr. Gurr didn’t hit it off too well with each other. John likely was somewhat mischievous, and tried his teacher’s patience plenty.
For my second year my Aunt Amelia, Mother’s sister, taught the school in Summit. She was a wonderful teacher and I was happy to have her for my teacher. Nephi also wanted to have her for his teacher, but he was nearly two years younger than I, and wouldn’t be six years old until November 8. He would follow me to school and stand outside and cry, because he couldn’t go to school. This, of course, made me very unhappy because I wanted to have him with me. One day the County Superintendent, Mr. George Decker, came to visit our school. He saw Nephi outside the schoolhouse crying. He asked Aunt Amelia what was the trouble. She explained the situation to him. He said, “Oh, let him come to school.” That was a happy day for Nephi, and for me too. So Nephi and I went through the grades together. He was a very good student, even though he skipped the “beginner’s” grade, and was the youngest student in the class.
Funny School Story
I remember a few humorous incidents that happened at school. One day Aunt Amelia was trying to teach us the word skip. She had each of us take a turn skipping across the stage, as we had our class recitations on the stage at one end of the schoolroom. When it came Nephi’s turn, he started to skip a few steps then became so self-conscious he just went head first off the stage and stood on his head with his feet sticking up above the edge of the stage. Aunt Amelia couldn’t help laughing as heartily as the children did.
The schoolroom was heated with a large wood heater. Nephi persisted in slipping out of his desk and going by the stove. Not because he was cold, but because he enjoyed sitting by the heater. There was a chair with the middle of the seat out of it. One day Nephi got down through the middle of the chair and was sitting on his heels, his head was sticking up through the seat of the chair. Although Aunt Amelia must have been vexed to have Nephi do such a thing, she had a good laugh because it was such a funny sight.
Miss Ruth Sterling of Leeds, Utah was my third grade teacher. She was a good enough teacher, but was rather irritable at times. No doubt she had good cause to be so. Aunt Amelia taught me in the fifth and sixth grades. I will always remember how kind Aunt Ella Hulet (Father’s half-sister), Aunt Amelia, and Uncle Vet (J.S.) Dalley were as teachers. They were always very dear to me. I appreciate what all my teachers did for me. Mr. Jake Bergstrom of Cedar City taught me for the seventh grade.
John was always a kind and thoughtful brother. When I was about nine years old, he gave me several pigeons he had had for pets. How I did love those pigeons. They were so gentle I could call them from as far as they could hear me. I would say, "Pidgie, pidgie,” and they would come to me. They never would eat out of my hands, but would pick grain off the toes of my shoes. Some of them were pure white in color, others had a few brown feathers mixed with the white feathers, and some had purplish-blue feathers. John had made a row of little houses for the pigeons on top of the buggy shed. I could climb a little ladder and get up to their homes. It was interesting to watch the parent pigeons feed their babies, like the robins feed their young ones. How fast those baby pigeons did grow.
I was real sad when we moved from Summit, that Father and John didn’t want to take my pigeons along because they sometimes roosted on top of the white buggy.
I think I must have been about nine years old when I was plagued with a wart on the middle joint of the forefinger on my right hand. That pesky wart was always in the way and was painful when it got bumped. One day someone told me that if I would steal someone’s dishrag, rub it on the wart, then bury it, my wart would go away. I was desperate, so decided to try that plan for a cure for my wart, although I had little faith in such a superstitious idea.
Anyway, I went over to Grandmother Dalley’s home and watched my chance to steal her dishrag. I managed to get that nice, clean, soft dishcloth, and made my escape without anyone noticing what mischief I had been up to. I took it, rubbed it on my wart, and buried it without being suspected of doing such a dreadful crime as stealing my dear grandmother’s dishcloth.
I must have told someone who couldn’t keep a secret, because Grandmother told me later how she had hunted for her nice, soft, clean dishrag, and couldn’t imagine how it could have disappeared so suddenly. Of course, my conscience had bothered me plenty for stealing anything. Grandmother didn’t scold me. Likely I would have felt better if she had. But, believe it or not, my wart soon disappeared, and what a relief that was to me! But I have never forgotten how guilty I felt about stealing even a dishcloth. My parents were very careful to impress upon us that honesty was all-important
When I was ten or twelve years old, our schoolteacher and Ward officers worked very hard to put on a special program on Christmas Eve. We children were all dressed in our best. I remember I had a pretty light blue dress. It was special to me. Relatives were coming from Cedar City, Parowan, and Enoch.
About an hour before the program was to begin, Cousin Frank Dalley and his wife, Nellie Davis, came from Cedar City for the program. They had gone to his father, Uncle William Wright Dalley’s home. Frank climbed on the haystack to pitch some hay down for his horse when he suffered a heart attack and died suddenly. Of course, the sad news was soon known all over the town and the program was called off. The sad event put a feeling of gloom over the community.
Frank and his wife had been married only six months. A little daughter was born to Nellie about six months later. She was named Francella.
Hilda Hulet was a very dear cousin. Her parents, Uncle Charles Hulet and Aunt Harriet (Mother’s sister), moved away to Dayton, Idaho for several years. The year they moved back to Summit, we were in the seventh grade. Jake Bergstrom, a redheaded eighteen-year-old was our teacher that winter. He had about 25 pupils, and all or most of the eight grades. I remember every Monday morning when he came back from his home at Cedar City he gave us a “pep talk.” He was a very good teacher.
The older girls in school played baseball or Danish ball with the boys at recess. Mr. Bergstrom
sometimes played with us. One day while I was playing with the group, I was running to a base, and fell down. I was really embarrassed. I was well covered, as I was wearing brown outing flannel bloomers, but I wasn’t wanting my classmates to see them. What got me worse, too, was that every time I happened to look at Mr. Bergstrom he looked as though he could hardly keep from laughing. He knew I was really upset and embarrassed.
When I look back, I wonder how he ever had the patience with us that he had. When I was alone I didn’t cause any trouble, but Hilda was mischievous and together, I am sure we were a nuisance. We sat together in a double desk. The cast iron support at one side of the seat was cracked so, if we were not careful, when we moved it would creak loudly. Sorry to say, we were not always careful. Our teacher was very patient, and endured the annoyance without saying much to us. Likely he felt sorry we didn’t have better manners and more consideration for him and our classmates.
Mr. Bergstrom made the rule there was to be no gum chewing in school. This rule we also disobeyed sometimes. Still, he was patient with our foolishness. However, Hilda was quite often requested to stay in at recess time. I can’t remember of his ever keeping me in at recess. I think he figured Hilda was the more mischievous of the two. However, she wasn’t entirely to blame for all the disturbance.
Sometimes Hilda invited me to stay over night with her. It was part of her work to clean Mr. Bergstrom’s room. One time while we were cleaning his room, we discovered a large wad of chewing gum on the dresser. That was a big joke for us. That, we thought, was great, after all he had said about gum chewing. But he didn’t chew gum in school.
One night when I slept at Aunt Zina’s house with Hilda, during the night we heard Mr. Bergstrom, sort of moaning and mumbling in his sleep. We fixed up a story to tell him of what he had said in his sleep, and told him he sang part of a hymn. He laughed when we told him, but I doubt if he believed us. We really hadn’t heard anything but a mumble and moan. No wonder he moaned in his sleep with such pesky girls to deal with. I never saw him after that school year, but he finally became a doctor and practiced his profession in Cedar City, his hometown.
The last Christmas we spent in Summit was in 1907. Nephi and I were in the seventh grade. Our schoolteacher, Jake Bergstrom, planned a Christmas program for the school, and the Ward Primary planned another program. Hilda and I had the leading parts in both programs. There was much singing to do. Before all the practicing was done we both became very hoarse. I don’t know how we were able to take our parts, but we did make out pretty well. However, I have never done very much singing since.
I was called “Princess Beautiful” in the school play. Imagine that. My sister, Edna, dressed me in her wedding dress. My long hair was waved and hung loose as so many girls wear their hair now days. I don’t remember of seeing how I looked in the mirror. Somehow we made it through the program, after which I received many compliments, whether I deserved them or not. Aunt Ann Pratt told me she wished I could dress like that all the time. I guess I never was too fussy about dressing up.
The Ward Primary and Sunday School occasionally had children’s dances. I usually went to those dances, but would keep out of sight as much as possible, because I was afraid to get out on the floor and dance with a partner.
One time a basket party was held. Mother and Edna made a nice basket for me, and packed a lovely lunch in it. When the boys drew numbers for partners, a nice young man got my number and came to eat lunch with me. I ducked my head and would have nothing to do with him. What a bashful chump I was! I wasn’t very old then.
There was quite a group of cousins near my age. We often met at our home, or at one of their homes, to play games out in the yard. Such games as pomp-pomp-pull-away, steal stick, hide-and-go-seek, and blind man’s buff were some of our favorite games.
There was seldom much snow in the Summit Valley, but one winter the snow was deeper than usual, and stayed on the ground longer. Cousin Charlie Pratt, who was a few years older than I, made a small bob sleigh by putting sleigh runners under a large wooden box. He hitched a gentle little pony called “Tessie” to the sleigh and gave us youngsters turns riding with him. We surely felt highly favored to have such a rare treat, a bob sleigh ride.
I remember how we children used to like to have our turn to ring the little hand bell to call the other children in for school in the morning, at recess, and after noon. There was a large bell that stood in front of Aunt Lette’s home that was always rung thirty minutes before school time or before church meetings. That was a chore we vied to get a turn doing. Father was Superintendent of the Y.M.M.I.A. for several years, so he used to ask us children to go and ring the big bell thirty minutes before time for the meeting.
Luella Smith was one year younger than I. She lived just through the fence from us. Her mother was Father’s sister, Aunt Barbara Hulet Smith. Her father was William Hoy Smith. We spent much time together and visited back and forth quite often. One thing that troubled us with the Smith cousins was they picked up things and took them home, and were never required by their parents to return things they took.
Telling the Truth
We had a large white marble, about the size of a large walnut. It disappeared and we didn’t know what had happened to it. One day I was at Luella’s home and there, among her playthings, was that big, white marble. I was sure it was our marble so I put it in my pocket and took it home, not thinking I was doing anything wrong. I showed it to Mother and told her where I got it. She said, “Oh, you shouldn’t have taken it. You know it is a sin to steal a pin, much more to steal a larger thing.” I surely felt terrible to think Mother thought I had stolen that marble when I knew, and was sure she knew, it was our marble. She didn’t want us to take anything from anyone else, even if we knew it was our own property. However, I have never forgotten the lesson my mother taught me that day. She and Father were always very strict with us children on honesty, both in material things and telling the truth.
I remember once when Nephi was five or six years old, he and Cousin David Hulet decided to go on a picnic. David and his mother and her other children lived with her mother, Aunt Lette Dalley. Aunt Lette kept a little store in a one-room concrete building near her home. There was a cellar under the store where extra supplies were stored. Aunt Sarah did most of the waiting on customers and likely David thought nothing of their helping themselves to a few eats. But as soon as the report got to Father that Nephi had been with David and took something from the store cellar, he ordered Nephi to go immediately and ask Aunt Lette’s forgiveness. Nephi wanted me to go with him, so I did. We went over to Aunt Lette’s and waited hours it seemed, but didn’t get a chance to see her. Father never did ask us about it, so we didn’t tell him we didn’t see Aunt Lette. I think she purposely kept out of sight, as she knew the boys hadn’t figured they were stealing.
Since my birthday is December 24, the weather at that time of year is usually cold. When I was eight years old I wanted to be baptized, but Father wasn’t home on my birthday. However, on 29 December 1901, even though the creek in front of our home was frozen over, Father managed to let me get baptized. He heated two big brass kettles of water to about the boiling point then poured the hot water into a large, scrubbed out tank of creek water. It was still plenty cold, but not too bad. Father baptized me, and they hurried me into the house to get dry clothes. Uncle Isaac Jones confirmed me that day in the kitchen of our home. Cousin Lettie was with me that day.
Nephi’s birthday was November 8, so the same plan was used to get him baptized when he was eight. Father baptized him and confirmed him
Father was a great hand to joke with the clerks in the stores at Parowan when we went for our groceries. They seemed to like visiting with him. One day, just for a prank, one of the lady clerks, Barbara Matheson, gave Father a comical little old-fashioned hat (for a woman). It was black with a few dingy flowers on it, and black ribbons to tie under the chin. They had plenty of fun about that hat. When we got home, Father said we girls could have it to play with. It took Eleanor’s eye for a “play dress-up hat.” She was about four years old, and liked to pretend she was visiting Mother quite often. She would wear that comical hat, a long dress, too large high-heeled shoes, carry a purse, and wheel her doll in the buggy.
When she came to the room where Mother was, she would knock at the door. When Mother told her to come in she would say, “Good morning Mrs. Hulet, how’s your folks? Got any yeast? I want some candy.” It was very amusing to see how serious and dignified she tried to be. Of course, Mother treated her as though she was a very special guest.
Occasionally a photographer would come to Summit and do work for people. One time a photographer was in Summit for nearly two weeks. Mother hadn’t gotten around to having any pictures taken of the family. Eleanor was about seven years old then, but she decided she was going to take things into her own hands, and have her picture taken regardless of whether anyone else wanted to have pictures taken. She went by herself to the photographer’s trailer house studio, and asked him to come to our house and take her picture. When he came, of course, Mother was taken by surprise, but helped arrange for the picture taking.
Eleanor had her doll buggy with Belva (a year old) sitting in it. Verda stood by the side. That picture brings back many interesting memories.
A year or so after this picture was taken, Mother had made arrangements to have pictures taken of some of the younger children. She had taken special effort to have our hair looking as nice as possible. For some reason, Verda, who was only three or four years old, was not in the mood to have her picture taken. When the photographer was about to snap the picture, Verda ran her fingers through her hair and ruffled it up until she looked anything but a picture model. This was very embarrassing to Mother as well as a time-loser for the photographer. In later years, Verda must have regretted that “hairdo," as she has always been extra particular about her personal grooming.
Eleanor and Verda with Belva in the doll buggy
The little town of Summit is located on the main highway through Iron County, Utah, not far from the mountains on the south. Several families in Summit owned ranches in the mountains south of town where they would take their cows, horses, and pigs for two or three months in the summer.
Father and Mother owned a ranch about four or five miles south of town. It was a rough, uphill road most of the way to the ranch house, but what a lovely, peaceful place it was to spend our summers. The temperature was cooler than down in the valley in the daytime, and the nights were always cool enough to be pleasant.
Grandfather Dalley had a ranch a few miles further up in the mountains for his cows. Some of his family would live there in the summer and make cheese and butter. That ranch was called the “Old Place.” Perhaps it was one of the oldest ranches in those mountains. Grandfather Hulet had a ranch still farther away called “Soakum.” I think it was given that name because there was so much rain one summer when they lived at that ranch.
The road that went to the other ranches in the Summit Mountains passed quite near our ranch. Our place was called the “Pole Ranch,” likely because there were so many aspen trees in that area. There were many quaking aspen, scrub oak, and pine trees from the first mountains near Summit all the way back for many miles. There was an aspen grove just below the house. Back of the house was a mountain covered with pine trees, aspens, scrub oaks, rabbit brush, and many other kinds of bushes. It was a beautiful location for a summer home. We loved to gather wild flowers, climb the mountains, ride horseback, or visit our ranch neighbors.
On the west side of the ranch there was a low hill next to higher mountains. This little hill we called “Flint Hill.” We children used to enjoy going and picking up a large variety of colored flints. We would go back to the house loaded down with flints of every size and color.
On the east, not far from the house, was a steep, rocky mountain. This we called “Snake Hill.” We never went to it very often, and were very cautious when we did go there because there were many protruding flat rocks under which many rattlesnakes lived. The snakes didn’t trouble us often at the house, but we were always on the lookout for them.
Just back of and a little to the west of the house, was a spring of sparkling clear and cold water, a pleasant treat for anyone, any time. There was another spring down the hill from the house at the edge of the quaking aspen grove, through which the canyon road passed. We frequently had visitors from the other ranches in the mountains.
We were high enough on the mountain to have a splendid view of the valley below. We could see the Little Salt Lake in the distance. Father said before the stockowners started putting rock salt on the mountain ranges for the livestock, the cows used to get so salt hungry they would go all the way down to the Little Salt Lake to get salt. It would take them a week or more to make the round trip.
Our one-room ranch house faced north. It was built of sawed logs. It had a shingled roof and the side walls were quite well chinked, so we were well protected for summer weather. For some reason, a few logs were missing up near the gable at the west end of the room. That space was covered with a heavy canvas. There was one window, about two feet square, with four glass panes. The door was homemade, also. Between the door and window, a board was left out of the cupboard about six to eight inches wide. This was to allow one to reach through to remove the peg that served as a lock for the door. There was another hole lower down in the doorframe for another peg that could not be removed by reaching through the opening. This was for a safety lock for us at night.
We didn’t take much in the way of furniture. The furniture was all handmade except the cook stove. Along the east end of the big log room that served for kitchen, dining room, bedrooms, and parlor, there was a long built-in bunk bed. There was room for two regular sized beds and a small bed between them for a child’s bed. The large table was homemade of 2 x 4’s and ordinary boards. A long bench of the same material was at each side of the table for seats. We had a few common chairs for seats at the ends of the table. The cupboards, washstand, etc., were also homemade. The floor was made of wide pine boards. This had to be scrubbed regularly to keep it looking nice and clean.
East of the log house we lived in, was another well-built log room, which served as a cellar. It had a bunk built along the east side of this room, large enough for two regular sized beds.
Along the west side were enough shelves built to hold the many pans of milk which were set there for about twenty-four hours before the cream was skimmed off to make butter. The milk from the night and morning milkings was strained and kept separate. In that way, the age of the cream was known. When the cream was skimmed off the milk, it was put in a jar for about twenty-four hours before it was churned into butter. The shelves for the milk pans were covered all around with clean white factory (muslin) curtains to keep out the dust.
The dirt floor was kept damp to help keep the room cool and keep the dust down.
In the center of the cellar was a table. It was simply a slice from the trunk of a huge tree, the right height for a worktable and about three feet in diameter. It made a very good table for its purpose.
Due to a shortage of water in the Summit area there was never a surplus of feed for the livestock. It helped in more ways than for our health to take the cows, pigs, horses, and sheep to the mountains to get their summer feed. Father had a large band of sheep he took to the mountains during the summer, and to the Nevada desert for winter range. The cows, pigs, and horses not needed for farm work were taken to the ranch.
In the springtime, Father would move Mother and the children to the ranch. The summers Mother could be with us on the ranch were the most enjoyable. Mother, with the help of John and the older children, milked cows, made butter and cheese. In the summer Father stayed at home in Summit alone most of the time and batched. He took care of the farm, garden, and orchard. He usually made a trip to the ranch on Saturday to bring supplies to us, and to the sheepherder. He always had a good garden and brought vegetables, fresh fruit, flour, sugar, and other groceries. Of course, we always had plenty of milk, butter, and cheese at the ranch.
Sometimes one or two of the children would go home and spend a week with him. We liked to do this, but there was much to be done on the ranch.
John often took the supplies from the ranch to the sheep camp. They used three little gray donkeys to carry the supplies up into the mountains where the sheep had their summer range. I often wondered how those little animals could carry such heavy loads as they did, up those steep mountain trails. They had sort of a little saddle for each of the donkeys, with a large canvas bag on either side. Sometimes they would have a large piece of rock salt in both bags on a donkey, a sack of flour, or anything they happened to want to take. The one who took the donkeys would ride a horse and herd those little animals up the mountain trails.
Sometimes the sheep were camped not too far from the ranch. I remember Father taking the family to the sheep camp for dinner. There was a tent to sleep in, but the cooking was all done out of doors on a campfire. How good the sourdough bread tasted baked in a Dutch oven, and the fresh mutton cooked in another Dutch oven.
There was much to be done on the ranch. It was a regular chore to do the milking night and morning, and drive the cows far enough away so they wouldn’t come back and get with their calves, if the calves were turned out to graze for a while. The children would go to find the cows if they didn’t come home of their own accord. Usually the calves were kept in a pen until the cows had gone far enough away to be safe to turn the calves out in a different direction to graze for a while. If the calves and cows did happen to come back to the corral about the same time, that meant everyone available had to help keep them separate, and put the cows in the corral and the calves in the calf pen so the calves did not get all their mother’s milk.
At milking time, the older members of the family would each take a big bucket and a milk stool and proceed to milk the cows. When they got most of the milk from a cow they would leave and go start milking another cow. We younger children were given a small pail and had the job of “stripping” the rest of the milk. The stripping took extra time, but the last of the milk had more cream in it than the first part of the milk. Since I was one of the children assigned to “strip”, I never leaned to milk a cow with both hands. I would hold the little pail in my left hand and strip with my right hand. When I have had to milk cows since, I used the same method so was not an efficient cow milker.
Mother was taught the art of making cheese and butter by her dear Danish mother, who was an expert butter and cheese maker. When Mother made cheese at the ranch, at night she would strain the milk into a large wooden tub kept for that purpose. The tub of milk kept was on the cellar table and covered with a clean white cloth. Next morning, the cream was skimmed off, the milk was put in a big shiny brass kettle and placed over a fire in the dooryard in front of the log room, and heated to the right temperature, about 100 degrees F. The morning milk was strained into the tub. When the last night’s milk was warmed, it was mixed with the other milk in the tub. The cream that had been skimmed off the night’s milk was stirred back into the milk, and a dissolved Rennet tablet or two (according to the amount of milk) was added. The milk was covered and allowed to stand until it set like yogurt.
Mother would cut the curd into about six-inch squares with a long knife, then pour clean warm water around the edges and over the top, then set a pan containing water about one inch deep on top. This was allowed to stand about ten minutes. Then she carefully dipped the whey and water from the top of the curd, and cut the curd pieces in half. More warm water was poured over the top again, covered, and allowed to stand for another ten minutes. When the curd began to get firmer she would gently break the curd in small pieces with her fingers, and continue pouring warm water on it and then dipping off the extra whey. This was repeated until the pieces of curd became about the size of marbles, and it squeaked when it was chewed. The curd had to be handled very gently, or the cream would separate out of it. We children were always glad for the chance to test the doneness of the curd.
As much whey as possible was dipped off the curd, then a plug in the lower part of the tub was pulled out, so the whey could all drain off into a bucket. A sieve was placed over the bucket to prevent losing any of the curd. The curd in the tub had to be carefully handled, and stirred with the hands to prevent it from setting in a lump. It was now ready to have the right amount of salt added.
The curd was then put into a cheese hoop. The metal hoop was made of zinc. It was about twelve inches in diameter, twelve inches high, and open on the top and bottom. This hoop was first set on a clean board about fourteen inches square. A large square of cheesecloth, or a thin muslin sugar sack was placed over the hoop. The curd was put into this and the cloth carefully folded over the curd. Then two round boards called “followers” that fit snugly in the hoop were placed on top of the curd in the hoop. Now it was ready to be pressed.
Between the house and cellar was a space of about six feet where the cheese press stood. It was a frame about four feet square and the timbers were about fourteen inches wide and very thick. The cheese in the hoop was placed on the frame. A block or two of 4 x 4 inch pieces were placed on top of the cheese followers. A wagon jack was placed on top of all the other blocks, and at first gentle pressure then, after an hour or so, more pressure was put on it.
In the evening the cheese was taken out of the hoop, turned over, and put in another clean cloth in the hoop and returned to the press again until morning. It was then taken out of the press and the hoop. The edges that stood higher than the rest of the cheese were trimmed off. We children were always eager to be there to get the “trimmings” as we called them. We were also eager to have some of the curd after salt had been added.
In the morning, Mother would take the cheese out of the press and the hoop, and rub it all over with butter to keep the rind soft, so it wouldn’t dry and crack open. Each morning she would turn the other cheeses she had made, and rub the outside of them well. The finished cheeses were kept in the cellar on a swinging shelf, so they would be safe from mice.
It wasn’t unusual for Mother to have twenty to thirty cheeses weighing ten to fifteen pounds each to take home in the fall. She always paid each tenth cheese for tithing, and paid tithing on the butter she made. Many pounds of the delicious butter were packed in crocks with salt water over them to keep them fresh. Never has anyone tasted better butter and cheese than my mother and grandmother used to make.
If any of the butter was sold, it was for twenty or twenty-five cents per pound. Cheese was about the same price. Many are the cheeses and pounds of butter she has given to folks whom she knew had not enough of such healthful and delicious food. Father and Mother were always freehearted and generous toward anyone whom they thought needed help in any way.
The pigs were never put in pens. They stayed near the place always. The pigs enjoyed taking care of the extra skimmed milk, and the whey from the cheese making, and thrived on it. The family never thought of drinking skimmed milk. We either used the fresh new milk, or stirred the cream into a pan of sweet milk. Once when a hired girl put skimmed milk on the table for us to drink, I was so vexed that I went to Aunt Lena Jones’s home and told her my tale of woe about having to drink skimmed milk. I thought that skimmed milk was just for pigs.
About 1905 or 1906 Hyrum and Ordena Dalley bought a cream separator from Sears Roebuck. That was the first cream separator we had ever seen. Ordena let the neighbors bring their milk to her home and separate it. She charged one turn of milk out of every seventh batch of milk. My folks were among the ones who tried this plan. It was a convenient way to take care of the cream. The next year Father bought a separator so we could take it to the ranch and not have to set the milk in pans and wait for the cream to rise to the top.
About the summer of 1900, my Mother’s sister, Selena (Lena) Jones and her children spent the summer on the ranch with us. Her husband was serving a mission for the Church at that time. She had Joseph, Freddie, Margaret, Lettie, and Ruelon.
Ruelon was a year younger than I, but was willing to help strip the cows at milking time. Had Ruelon and I known people could get infected with “cowpox” by being around cows, we likely wouldn’t have been so willing to help. We were the only ones in either family to get that disease. Both of us had sores from ear to ear, below our lower lips, and under our chins. I think I had more pox sores than he had.
When we started school that fall, we had to wear a white cloth around our chins to cover the sulphur and Vaseline ointment we had to use. It was a matter of several weeks before we were cured of that miserable cowpox. However, it proved to be a help to both of us later. When Ruelon’s family moved to Big Horn County, Wyoming, they moved into a house that had previously been occupied by a family that had recently suffered from the dreaded disease of smallpox, and had not thoroughly disinfected the house before leaving.
Uncle Isaac, Aunt Selena, and all their children except Ruelon were stricken with that disease. They were very ill, and among strangers. They all recovered safely, however. When their pox sores healed and the scabs would loosen and fall off, they would have Ruelon take them and burn them to make sure no one else would get the disease from them. Of course, they did a thorough job of fumigating and disinfecting everything. Ruelon was the youngest member of the family, but likely did many things to help his dear ones while they were so ill.
In later years when I was teaching, I was in two different communities where there was an outbreak of smallpox, and to make sure that I would not get the disease and expose others to it, I was vaccinated, but the vaccination never reacted. So my case of cowpox made me immune for life to smallpox, but I think what we had to endure was much more miserable than a vaccination.
Verda is Born
The summer of 1901, Mother was not able to go to the ranch because my sister, Verda, was born 6 June 1901. Father and Mother hired some neighbors to stay on the ranch with Edna and John through the summer. Brother and Sister Tweedie and their three teenage sons were very good help. They got along fine that summer. Sister Tweedie was a good cook and housekeeper. In the evenings she would read good stories to the family.
One evening after the supper dishes were done, Sister Tweedie had been reading to the family. The boys were tired so they went out to their beds in the cellar. Sister Tweedie continued reading to those who were in the house for a while longer. Suddenly, they heard the rocks that had been on each side of the stovepipe roll down the roof on either side. Sister Tweedie was very vexed. She thought the boys were playing pranks. She went outside to the cellar to give them a scolding, but the tired boys were sleeping peacefully, never even dreaming of such mischief. Then she decided it must be someone else playing pranks, but they never did discover who the disturber of the peace was. Never before had anyone tried to disturb any of the folks while they were at the ranch.
Mother was at the ranch for the summer of 1902. All went well. We enjoyed hiking over the hills or going for horseback rides between times of the necessary work that had to be done.
1903 We Move to the Ranch
The spring of 1903, Father and Mother prepared to move to the ranch. They decided it would be best to send the pigs to the ranch the day before they took the household needs by wagon. A shorter route could be taken with the pigs by going almost directly south from town instead of going by the wagon road. They thought my brother, Nephi, who was not yet eight years old; my cousin, Leslie Pratt, also eight years of age; my sister, Eleanor, five years of age; and I, then not yet ten years old, could drive the six or eight pigs the four miles to the ranch and stay overnight. We felt very important to be given the responsibility of helping move to the ranch.
We left home about 4:00 a.m. Father and John must have helped us to the foothills with the pigs. We prodded them gradually up the mountains until we were about a mile below the ranch. It was a steep climb. It was about 11:00 a.m. and, by that time, the sun was beating down on us. The pigs decided they had gone far enough. They found a shady place under the bushes, and that is where they intended to stay for a while.
When we could urge them no further, we decided to leave them there to rest awhile, and we walked up to the ranch house to get us some dinner. Father had left food and bedding there for us the day before when he took supplies to the sheep camp. We had some lunch and rested a little while, then the two boys went back for the pigs. Eleanor was real tired; so I fixed a bed for her to rest on while I washed our dishes, swept the floor, and made up the beds. We never had a thought of being nervous about being there alone.
Soon, a man on a horse stopped in front of the door. I had no idea who he was, but wasn’t frightened. He asked me who we were and if my father was there. I told him, “No.” He asked when he would be coming. I told him Father and Mother would be there the next day. He kept quizzing me about who was with me. I told him my brother and cousin had gone down a ways to get the pigs. He asked other questions and I answered truthfully. I noticed he was very uneasy, and shifted about often in his saddle. He never once smiled or acted friendly. Finally, he said he would go see the boys. He did go down where they were, and questioned them, then left. They were as unsuspecting as Eleanor and I were. We didn’t see any more of him.
That evening I fixed our supper early, as we were all very tired. We went to bed before it was really dark. I made sure both heavy pegs were pounded in tight to hold the door securely shut. There was an opening about eighteen inches from the edge of the door that one could reach through to put one of the pegs in or take it out. The other peg was lower down and could not be reached from the outside, so was a safety lock.
Eleanor and the boys were soon sound asleep, and I mean they were sound asleep. Even though I was real tired, I couldn’t go to sleep. However, I wasn’t nervous. After a while, I heard someone trying to open the door. Then I was scared. I got out of bed and tried to wake Nephi and Leslie, but there were so sound asleep I couldn’t rouse them. I tried talking to them, shaking them, and rubbing their faces, but to no avail. I talked out loud pretending I was talking to some older person, so the one trying to get in wouldn’t be too sure we were alone. Finally, I heard the person climb up on the roof.
At the west end of the roof where the stovepipe went through the roof, the wall lacked a couple of logs up near the openings and was covered with a piece of canvas. Likely the person thought he could get in through that opening, but I think he got a big surprise. I knew I had to wake Nephi, so made a desperate attempt and succeeded in rousing him, and told him of our danger. Luckily, Nephi had been taught how to use a 22 rifle. He fired two or three shots through the roof. We didn’t hear another sound on the roof until about daylight when we heard someone slide down off the roof and go through the bushes back of the house. Leslie and Eleanor slept peacefully through the night, but Nephi and I didn’t sleep a wink. How thankful I was that Nephi had been taught to handle a gun safely. I had never thought it necessary for me to know how to handle a gun, but decided now it might be smart for me to learn.
I am certain our parents had not the least idea that we children would be in any danger when they let us go to the ranch alone to stay overnight. There had never been any trouble at any of the ranches before. The people of Summit were all good people, most of them relatives. I have always felt sure we were saved from harm through our prayers, and I am certain our parents prayed for our safety, although they had no idea we were in such great danger.
We surely were glad to see Father, Mother, and the other children when they arrived the next morning. Father later learned that an ex-convict had been hired to herd sheep in the Parowan Mountains. We always figured it was he who had come over into the Summit Mountains, and just happened there at the time we children were alone at the ranch. How thankful I have been many times that our Heavenly Father protected us.
About 1904, Mother’s Aunt Annie Bertelsen Farnsworth and her husband, Alonzo Farnsworth, came to Summit from Mexico where they had made their home for several years with other Mormon colonists. They were thriving and thought Mexico was the choice place on the earth. Uncle Lon talked to my father urging him to move his family to Mexico. It appeared he was making headway convincing Father it would be a good move to make, but for some reason Father decided it would be best to remain where he was. I have an idea that Mother used her influence to stay put. How thankful we were we didn’t move to Mexico, when the Mormons were all driven out of Mexico in 1912 and had to leave all their possessions to the Mexican rebels.
About the spring of 1904, all the family had the miserable experience of having red measles. There had been a masquerade party held in Summit. Someone who was either just starting with the disease or was not entirely over with it attended the masquerade dance. Two weeks later nearly every person who had not had the measles, who had attended that party, was down with the measles. Of course, the younger members of the family were exposed in that way. We all had our turn with it. Father was away with the sheep on the Nevada desert, so Mother had the big responsibility of caring for a family of sick children, which was not at all easy for her.
Sick children can often be very thoughtless, thinking only of their own comfort. I remember how refreshing it was to be sponged with cool water, and have the bed sheets replaced with cool, fresh sheets. I did wish I could have my sheets changed real often. That, of course, was an impossibility to change sheets every day for each of the family, especially when Mother had no easy method of doing the family wash. I have thought many times since then of how weary Mother must have been, and how very kind and patient she was with all of us. One thing I remember that was a special treat was lemonade. Most food did not taste good while we had so much fever.
John didn’t have a severe case of the measles, which was fortunate because Father needed him to go to the desert to help him. I recall how worried Mother was to have John make that trip to the desert alone on horseback. The weather was still quite cold in early May. Mother saw that he had plenty of wraps, but since he had just barely gotten over the measles, it was dangerous for him to be out in the cold. He said he really suffered from the cold, riding so far, but he got to the camp safely and didn’t seem to suffer any bad effects from the trip. However, I know that Mother was extremely worried until she learned John was safe and well. I remember waking one night and seeing Mother kneeling by her bed. I realized how worried she had been with a family of sick children to care for, and now how worried she was about John making the trip to the desert. However, I offered a silent prayer and felt an assurance that Mother’s prayer would be answered and all would be well for us.
We had been taught to pray when very young. I had great faith in prayer and especially felt the prayers of my parents were sincere and their petitions for help would assuredly be granted.
We thought we were through with the measles once and for all time, but that was a mistaken idea. The very next spring we had a siege of German measles. Opal and John didn’t take them, but the rest of the children in the family did. We couldn’t account for their escaping this disease. Mother decided it must have been because they liked lemons so much. Mother said she couldn’t hide lemons where Opal wouldn’t find them. Some people thought German measles were not so severe as the red measles, but I couldn’t see that there was much difference in them. I remember with one or the other (I do not remember which) Edna got a severe case of nosebleed. Mother had Grandmother and Aunt Lette come to help her before they could stop the trouble. Cousin Charlie Pratt went up to the mountains and got some snow for Edna. She had a high fever and asked for snow or something cold to drink.
Belva is Born
On 25 June 1904 my sister, Belva, was born. Mother wasn’t able to go to the ranch that summer. My brother John had to take care of the sheep much of the time, and Father had the farm to take care of, so John, Edna, Opal, and Nephi took care of the ranch work that summer. John had the responsibility of herding a bunch of rams during the day and putting them in a pen at night. Edna and Opal helped with the milking and made the cheese and butter.
Mother had a hired girl part of the time, but much of the responsibility of the housework was up to me. There was always much to be done for our large family. I was about eleven years old. I remember going to the ranch for a short time that summer. When I got back home I thought the baby was so very dear, and wanted to hold her every chance I could get.
In the summer of 1905 Mother and the family were all at the ranch except for Father. That summer Father had hired Arthur Jones of Enoch, Utah to herd his sheep in the Summit Mountains. During the warmest part of the day, while the sheep were willing to rest in the shade, Arthur would come to the ranch house. He was attracted to my sister, Edna. Of course, we children were plenty curious and interested. Their friendship continued and the next spring they had plans to be married 12 April 1906.
I will never forget how excited I was when I learned Arthur and Edna were planning to be married. All the family thought highly of Arthur and were happy for them.
I remember the day we were expecting my sister Edna and her husband home after they had gone to St. George to be married. Opal went with them. I was 13 years old. I was helping Mother clean the house. The cloth I had to dust with had a button on it, so I took the scissors to cut off the button. In the process, I also clipped a piece of skin on the knuckle of my left forefinger. It hurt quite a bit and as I looked at it bleeding, my head began to swim and I fainted. It seemed I was floating through the air in our white-topped buggy. When I opened my eyes there I was on the floor. Mother and the two little tots, Therma Green and Belva, looked very frightened.
For a few months Edna and Arthur lived in part of Joseph (Dode) Jones’s home. Dode was a brother of Arthur. Then they lived in part of Grandmother Dalley’s home just across the street from our home. Their first child, a son, was born there. Later they moved to a little house on Uncle Oscar Hulet’s place. Uncle Oscar’s wife, Aunt Susannah, was Arthur’s sister.
One evening while they were living there, Edna, Arthur, and their son, Theone, were invited to a neighbor’s house for supper. They enjoyed the meal, but that night after they had gone to bed and slept a while, Arthur and Edna both awoke feeling very ill. They figured something they had eaten must have caused food poisoning. Luckily, they hadn’t fed the baby at the table that night.
Edna thought Arthur was sicker than she was, although she was deathly sick. She walked two blocks in the middle of the night to come to our home to get Father to administer to Arthur. I remember hearing Edna talking to Father and Mother about them being so ill.
Father took Edna home and administered to Arthur, then to Edna. Edna said she would never forget the feeling she experienced when Father placed his hands on her head to administer to her. She said there was a distinct tingling sensation under Father’s hands, and that sensation passed down through her body and passed out of her feet. Both Arthur and Edna felt much better immediately after they were administered to, and soon were well again.
They moved to Enterprise, Washington County, in the spring of 1908, I think. That was their home for the remainder of their lives. They were the parents of eleven children.
Edna was talented in music, sewing, cooking, was always active in Church activities, and was a devoted wife and mother. Arthur was a good one to go ahead with the cooking, and helping where needed. I remember how kind he was in caring for the children. Arthur was always active in public affairs, and served in responsible positions in the Church. He served many years as a bishop’s counselor, then as bishop of the Enterprise Ward. For many years before he passed away he held the position of Patriarch of the Uvada Stake. He was a very good public speaker. They raised a fine family who are all talented and are living honorable lives.
When I was twelve years old, Mother was a counselor to her sister, Lillian White, in the Y.W.M.I.A. They asked me to be the secretary as there were so few young people left in Summit in the wintertime, because they went to high school in Cedar City. There were only about twenty families in Summit at that time. Most of the residents were Hulet or Dalley relatives. We held meetings regularly that winter, but the attendance was very small. Sometimes only Aunt Lillian, Mother, and I attended. We had a lesson and enjoyed a wonderful spirit.
The summer of 1906 my sister, Thora, was born on July 9. Mother did not go to the ranch. I think John, Opal, and Nephi took care of the ranch work that summer. We had difficulty getting a girl to help with the housework while Mother wasn’t able to do much but care for the fretful baby. Finally, we got Aunt Emma Hulet (now Hanks), Aunt Betsy’s daughter, to come for a few weeks. She was a very good hand with the cooking and housework. I tried to help all I could, but couldn’t keep up with all there was to do for our large family. I remember how much I appreciated Aunt Emma’s good help. We would stand side by side most of a day doing a washing with tubs and washboards.
During that summer, Father and Mother thought I should take a few days off and go to the ranch for a change to spend some time with Opal and Nephi. It was nice and restful up in the mountains. John must have been with the sheep, or helping Father with the hay hauling at home. Opal and Nephi spent much time riding over the hills, and both of them could use a gun very well to hunt pheasants, etc.
One evening, after a day of hiking over the hills, we got the evening chores taken care of, had our supper, and decided to go to bed early. The temperature was warmer than usual. Opal and Nephi wanted to leave the door open, but I insisted on locking the door securely. I attended to putting both pegs in securely. We hadn’t been in bed long, Opal and Nephi were asleep, but I didn’t feel sleepy. Suddenly, I was aware of someone reaching through the opening by the door to try to open it. Luckily, I had put both pegs in securely. The lower peg couldn’t be reached from outside the house. I woke Opal and told her what was happening. We thought it might scare whoever was there trying to get in, if she shot through the roof. By this time the person had climbed on the roof, just as the person had done three years before, likely with the intention of coming through the opening at the gable of the roof. Opal fired two shots from a revolver through the roof. There was silence until about daylight when we heard whoever it was up there, slide off the lowest corner of the roof, just over our beds, and went go out through the thick bushes back of the house, as the other person had done.
Again, through heeding a good hunch or timely prompting, and being prepared to protect ourselves, we were saved from great danger. I have always attributed our being protected to our prayers, and the prayers I am sure our parents had offered for our protection.
I have had people laugh at me about being nervous about keeping doors locked, but my hunch to lock the doors has been a good hunch more than just those two times at the ranch.
It was not unusual in the summer time in Summit to have a flood after a heavy rain in the mountains that were so near. The weather would be so sultry and hot, then there would be a terrific electric storm. Soon after the rain ceased we would see muddy water pouring down the street in front of our home. Soon it was running all over the yard, just a moving mass of dark, muddy water everywhere.
I remember especially during the summers of 1904 and 1906 there was the most severe flooding. At such times we were stranded without clean water for household needs. There was no piped water in Summit then. All our drinking water, and water for household needs was carried from the creek. It was difficult to get good drinking water during flood times. Father would have to haul clean water from a ranch a few miles away.
After the water became less muddy in the creek, Father or some of the older children would fill tubs and two or three sixty-gallon barrels with water and let it stand until the mud settled. This was used for washing clothes. A little lye would be added. This likely made the water more sanitary to use.
During the summer of 1906 when we had a turn of storms and floods, and it was a problem to get clean drinking water, John and Cousin Charlie Pratt thought they would help solve the problem by going to Parowan and getting some beer to drink. They took our white-top buggy. On the way home they were cutting up, playing tricks on each other. Charlie knocked John’s hat off and it fell out of the white-top buggy. When John got out to get his hat, Charlie put some brandy in with some beer. He gave some of it to John. I don’t know how much either of them drank, but when they got home John was real sick and stayed out in the barn.
Mother was in bed with Thora, who was about a week old at the time, and she was worried about John being too sick to come in the house, as she didn’t know about the drink he had had. Grandmother Dalley went out to see John and came back into the house so excited. She said, “John is out there so sick he can’t get up, and his eyes look like buttermilk.” Someone told Mother what the trouble was, so she wouldn’t be so worried. John wasn’t sick very long, but he didn’t want any more of Charlie’s drinks.
One evening in 1907 when Belva was about three years old, Opal and Nephi took her with them when they went to do the night chores and milking. Just before they left the house, we had had a very heavy downpour of rain. No one had noticed that Belva was not in the house until the floodwater started spreading all over the yard and street. We began searching for Belva and couldn’t find her anywhere in the house or yard. We were afraid she had gone across the street to Grandmother’s home, as she had been over there that afternoon. We didn’t know if she had tried to cross the street after the floodwater started coming. We were thoroughly frightened. At that time there was no telephone to contact Grandmother to ask if Belva was still there. It was a great relief when Opal and Nephi came to the house with Belva. They had never taken her with them before, and hadn’t thought to tell anyone they were taking her.
Thora and Howard were both born in the month of July, in 1906 and 1908 respectively. Both of those summers there were many floods in Summit. There would be a heavy rainfall in the mountains and the water would accumulate down the canyons and come down Summit Creek.
Father and Mother bought a new Esty organ in about 1907. None of us had ever taken music lessons, so all the musical entertainment we had was when some of the children tried pumping the organ pedals and pounding on the keys. Not melodious music, but very amusing at times.
We children were all anxious to hear some music. There were not too many opportunities to hear musical programs other than at church and school. Occasionally a traveling troupe would come to town and put on a show for the townspeople. Most of these were not first-class entertainment, but were usually quite well attended because entertainment was scarce in those days.
One time a group of foreign-looking people came and wanted to put on a show. They had a number of monkeys of various ages and sizes. The show was rather interesting (if not uplifting). One monkey took a dislike to a certain girl in the audience, and was very disagreeable toward her. The owner said that monkey often took a dislike to certain people, but he didn’t know why.
The next morning, Uncle Vet Dalley was very provoked with those show people. Of course, the building used for the show was the schoolhouse and Church house. Those men let their monkeys stay in the building all night. There was tobacco juice all over the room. Uncle Vet told them to clean up the mess and get out as fast as they could. They were soon on their way.
Another time, a group of Negro entertainers came to Summit. They put on a pretty good program. After their show they stayed in a house about a mile west of Summit. That ranch was called Windham. I don’t know who named it Windham. It must have been someone who had lived at Windham, Connecticut. Anyway, those Negroes stayed at Windham for nearly a week. They must have enjoyed the nice, cool, restful atmosphere after their traveling.
On a Sunday afternoon, Father took the family for a ride in the white-top buggy. As we came near the Windham house we saw those Negro people sitting in the shade of the trees. Father, who was always friendly with people, stopped at the gate. Several of the group came to the gate and chatted for quite a while. They wanted to be friendly, too.
Not long after the Negro entertainers were at Summit, Verda, who was only about five years old, was trying to play the organ and accompany herself. She was too short to sit on the stool and reach the pedals. She could barely reach the pedals with her toes while she fingered the keys and chanted her own little songs. She was very serious about her musical renditions. She finally became exasperated that she couldn’t make real music and said, “Oh, I wish I was a nigger so I could play the organ.” She evidently decided that only Negroes were musicians, since none of the family was able to play the organ then.
When Verda was a year old, I remember seeing her sitting on the floor at the Summit ranch with a book in her hands pretending to read. She just chattered away as though she were reading a story to someone. It was very amusing to see her and listen to her chattering. She was very serious in her reading efforts.
At age five she was Mother’s “big girl” at home when the rest of us were at school. She decided to train us to enter the house at the kitchen door instead of taking the short cut and coming in the front door. She gathered some large pebbles and placed them in her apron pockets. Thus armed, she met us at the front door and defied us to enter. We soon took the “hint” and went to the kitchen door.
The summer of 1908 Eleanor and I were given the chance to take music lessons from Cousin Ada Dalley who was very talented in music. Eleanor made good progress, but I didn’t advance very fast. Howard was a baby, born 29 July 1908. He was very fretful and Mother’s time was almost completely taken up caring for him. With Opal and Nephi being on the ranch there was much work to be done at home, and I was the oldest girl at home. Edna was married and living at Enterprise. We did have a hired girl part of the time, but my time for practicing music was very limited.
Eleanor was abut ten years old and was not expected to take much responsibility at her age, so she applied herself diligently to learning to play the organ and, as time passed, she became very efficient in playing the organ and later the piano.
After completing the eighth grade in Summit, John and Edna attended the Branch Normal in Cedar City for three or four years. Part of the time they batched, and the rest of the time they boarded with Grandmother Dalley who was living in Cedar City, cooking for Uncle Parley, Uncle Vet, Aunts Ester and Amelia, and some other relatives who were attending the Branch Normal at that time. Father furnished a cow, “Old Violet,” to provide milk and butter for the boarders. He also furnished flour and other supplies to help. John said he was always glad to get home so he could spend more time out of doors. He liked the wide-open spaces.
John always had a lot of responsibility in helping Father with the farm, doing many of the chores, helping take care of the sheep, taking supplies to the sheep camp whether they were on the desert or on the mountain range. He loved to take care of horses and had some he thought were very special animals.
He was gifted with a good voice for singing, and played a trombone in the school band. After we moved to Peterson, he took vocal training for some time. He served as the chorister in the Peterson Ward for several years.
In the summer of 1908 Father decided he wanted to move the family to another part of the state. He made a trip to the northern part of Utah and found what he thought was a good location, an eighty-acre farm and some range land in Peterson, Morgan County in Weber Canyon seventeen miles southeast of Ogden, Utah.
There was much to be done to make such a move. This was a great undertaking to prepare to move from the home we had lived in all our lives. The preparations were made too hastily. Father sold all of his farm and mountain land, his herd of sheep, and some of the horses and cattle, and didn’t get nearly the value for it he should have done.
Father and Mother gave many things to relatives. My sister, Edna, and her husband received many useful articles. They were just starting out making a new home at Enterprise, Washington County, Utah. They were given the ranch house and cellar to build them a home at Enterprise. They had a dear little son, Arthur Theone, and their little daughter, Agnes, was born in October, soon after we arrived at Peterson. That was hard for us to leave them at this time, and be so far away that we couldn’t see them as often as we were used to. It was also hard to leave our dear Grandmother Dalley and our many relatives who had always been so near and dear to us. Grandfather Dalley had died 3 May 1905.
The latter part of September 1908 Father, John, and Nephi took the household goods, farm equipment, and livestock; cows, horses, a few sheep, and chickens to the railroad station at Lund, Utah, which was thirty miles west of Summit. They loaded everything on two freight cars.
Mother and the remainder of the family stayed with Grandmother Dalley for about two weeks until Father sent word for us to follow.
While staying at Grandmother’s home, Belva and I got pink eye infection, and that was a sad blow. Before leaving Summit my eyes were well again, but poor little four-year-old Belva was at the bad stage of it. She could hardly see her way around. I was given the responsibility of taking care of her. She was very patient, and not difficult to take care of, but I did feel so sorry to have her feel so uncomfortable.
We got cousins Charlie Hulet and Alex Dalley to take us to Lund in our white-top buggy that Father had given to his brother, Charles F., who was in very poor health at that time. Charlie and Alex, together with Mother, Opal, Eleanor, Verda, Belva, Thora, Howard, and I, all packed in with our luggage didn’t allow for any free space.
We move to Peterson
We had a day’s trip in the white-top buggy to reach the railroad station at Lund. The morning we left there was snow on the ground. It was early October. Luckily, the weather was not cold and windy, so we got along pretty well. We started early and the thirty-mile trip to Lund took us all day. Mother was weary from caring for her fretful baby, Howard. Opal took charge of Thora, and I took care of Belva. Eleanor and Verda were to stay near us, and look to us for any help they needed. When we arrived at Lund, it was nearly dark. We had time to eat a little cold lunch we had brought along and get our tickets.
Charlie and Alex came to see us get on the train. We had noticed them whispering and chuckling, but didn’t know what it might be about. When we were ready to get on the train, Charlie and Alex came and kissed both Opal and me. We were rather shocked and surprised. Although they were cousins, we hadn’t expected them to do this. We decided the reason they had been whispering and chuckling was that they had been daring each other to do this. Opal and I thought it was quite a joke, too. They had been good company on the trip.
The last time I saw Charlie at the Hulet reunion in Summit, I asked him if he remembered that trip to Lund. He said, yes, he sure did.
That night on the train was not too bad. We fixed places for the little ones to sleep on the seats of the train, and they were tired enough to sleep most of the night. Mother wasn’t so fortunate, and must have been very weary, because Howard was restless all night.
We arrived in Salt Lake just about daybreak and went into the depot. I remember I was wearing a wide-brimmed dark maroon felt hat. We must have been a weary-looking bunch after being on our way for twenty-four hours.
Uncle Albert Dalley, Mother’s half-brother, (a son of Grandfather Dalley’s wife, Emma Wright) was at the depot to meet us. I wondered if he were embarrassed to claim us as his relatives. If he was, he gave no evidence of his feelings. Uncle Albert was a very wonderful person. He was very cheerful, kind, and considerate, I am sure. That was the last time I ever saw Uncle Albert. We visited with him for about an hour before we had to take the train for Ogden and Peterson.
I have had many pictures in my mind of how we looked when we arrived at the Peterson railroad station where Father, John, and Nephi met us. Our hair and clothes must have been in a rumpled state. Now we really needed the white-top buggy and the team of horses Father had given to his brother, but a wagon was all we had for a long time, until we acquired a one-seated buggy.
I am sure the onlookers at Peterson must have gotten their eyes full to see a large family, looking as we did, all get into a wagon. We had two miles to go to our new home. The weather had been stormy, and the mud was hub deep. There were no paved roads. Of course, we hadn’t been used to paved roads, but we hadn’t been used to such deep mud, either.
We felt that there were many curious eyes and plenty of comments when such a large family arrived in that little town. However, we soon found the people to be very friendly.
Our house was a well-built, three-room stone building, but when we arrived at the house, we found that the people who had been renting the place were still living in the front room. For our large family of eleven people to have only two rooms, was something to consider. It was easy to see the disappointment Mother felt even though she did not express her feelin.
There was a nice room in the basement to store fruit and other food, but we didn’t have any bottled fruit to store that winter. Some of the neighbors gave us some apples, which helped. Mrs. Annie Whittier gave us some big Wolf River apples. They were so nice for cooking, Mother often made apple pie for us.
The house was nice and comfortable, except it was too small for such a large family. There was space for three bedrooms upstairs, but they were not finished until several years after we moved there. The house was on the east side of the road that traveled from Peterson to Morgan. On the west side of the road opposite the house was quite a high hill. Part of the farm was along the river side and part was on higher ground, or bench land, next to the mountains. The county road, another road, was between the house and farm, and the mountains. The stack yard, corrals and barn were southwest of the house on the west side of the road. The pasture was mountain land.
Father paid the Anderson Brothers $10,000 for the farm and mountain land he bought from them. They invested the money in a canning factory for green peas.
The place Father bought was a nice place, but it was different from what he had been used to. He didn’t have his sheep for extra income, so we never were as well fixed financially any more as we were at Summit. The main crop was hay, and that didn’t make much profit.
Peterson is situated about seventeen miles southeast of Ogden in Weber Canyon. It got its name from an early settler by the name of Peterson. The canyon is beautiful because there are so many trees and bushes on either side of the river. The houses are built on the higher ground next to the mountains. It is narrow some of the way. The widest part is not more than two miles wide. It is wide enough for farms on both the east and west sides of the river for twenty to twenty-five miles. We were located on the west side of the river. The land nearest the river was often too wet to farm until late spring. The main crops raised were hay and grain. The farms around Morgan raised green peas for the canning factory. There was a cheese factory at Morgan. Milk was hauled from all parts of the country to Morgan.
Father raised a crop of hay and grain each year. Most of the hay was timothy grass. It was baled and hauled to the railroad depot at Peterson, two miles north of our home.
The railroad tracks run parallel with the Weber River on the east side of the river along the lowest part of the canyon. It was a new thing for us to hear the train whistle so near when we had never lived near a railroad before. A mile from the depot, on the same side of the river was located the little settlement of Peterson.
The highway through Weber Canyon was along the foothills east of the river. There was a bridge across the river about 50 yards south of the depot, which provided a crossing from the highway to Peterson and the other small settlements on the west side of the river. Near the east side of the highway, directly east of the depot was a small mercantile store and Post Office owned by a man named Fingal Bohman.
Most of our mail was delivered by the R.F.D. from Morgan. A Norwegian man by the name of Rheinhard Olson was the mail carrier. For many years he drove a little pony on a two-wheeled cart. He was a very pleasant and accommodating mail carrier. He would always greet us with a cheerful, “Good Morning,” regardless of the time of day he came. I remember at Christmas time he often was making the rounds after dark delivering the extra amount of mail. He always called me “Hop.” He and his wife both spoke English rather brokenly.
When we first arrived in Peterson, all Church activities were held in a one-room frame building in this settlement. Not more than twenty families were in this little town. However, there was another settlement about three miles north of the railroad depot, on the east side of the river, called Mountain Green. About ten or twelve families lived there.
About a half-mile south of the store and Post Office, near the east side of the highway was the two-roomed red brick Peterson schoolhouse with a furnace in the basement. About three miles farther south along the foothills, is the little settlement of Enterprise. The three settlements, Peterson, Mountain Green, and Enterprise, were considered as one ward for Church activities and for school.
The schools of Morgan County were maintained under a consolidated school administration. From each of the three settlements, the school children were transported to the schoolhouse by a vehicle driven by a hired driver. Our means of conveyance to school was a covered light spring wagon, driven by a neighbor, Mr. Lou Cobabe, who lived about a half-mile from our place. The wagon was covered with a canvas wagon cover. When the snow got deep, the wagon box was put on sleigh runners. There was a door in the front and in the back of the sleigh. When there wasn’t snow, the covered wagon box was put on wheels again.
Usually, in this canyon, there was much snow during the wintertime. It was not unusual to have to dig paths in waist-deep snow to get to the barnyard. Hence, it was common to ride in sleighs during the winters in Weber Canyon. Until we lived at Peterson we had never known what it was to have much sleigh riding. In the Weber Canyon there was nearly always plenty of snow for sleigh riding in winter. Our conveyance to Church and other activities was in a sleigh during the winter. Father and John had horses, so John often took a crowd of young people for a sleigh ride to dances or other activities.
John and Opal didn’t attend school that year, but enjoyed joining with the young people of the Ward.
Nephi, Eleanor, Verda and I were a couple of weeks late in entering school in Peterson. Nephi and I were in the eighth grade, Eleanor in the fourth grade, and Verda in second grade. Miss Rae Farley taught the four upper grades and was also the principal. We both liked Miss Farley for a teacher. The Primary grades teacher was Ansta Gamble.
Being driven to school was different from we had been used to, as in Summit we could always go home for lunch, just two blocks away. Now we had to take our lunch.
Until we moved to Peterson, Mother had always made excellent bread. I think no one ever made better bread than my mother did. But for some reason, after we arrived in Peterson, bread making was a lost art for quite awhile. We had always used yeast made from starts. We didn’t bring a start of yeast from southern Utah, so had to use the compressed dry yeast cakes bought from the store. It took time to get the knack of making good bread with them. The bread was soggy, and not all like what we had been used to having. I remember how I disliked taking that soggy bread for school lunches. There were Eleanor, Verda, Nephi, and I who attended school at Peterson that first winter. Since I was the oldest, I had the responsibility of getting the lunches out of the dinner pail. Mother always tried to make good, nourishing, appetizing lunches for us, but the soggy bread made me reluctant to eat lunch.
We soon became acquainted with our classmates and teachers and made friends, so that the adjustments were not as hard to make as we had feared.
The friends I remember at school the first year at Peterson were Eva Swartzfager (also spelled Swartfager in some accounts), Hattie Farley and Stella Wardley. The boys I remember in the class, besides Nephi, were Frank Wardley and Elmer Olsen. Elmer Olsen’s mother had died and his father married Frank Wardley’s mother. He usually looked rather unkempt and shabby. I felt rather sorry for him, but never paid any attention to him, just treated him as I did other classmates. I was really shocked and surprised when Valentine’s Day came, to receive a very pretty valentine from Elmer. I hadn’t even been interested in any of the boys so went on as usual, just friends to all.
At the close of school, the eighth grade pupils of Morgan County all had to go to Morgan and take the State examinations in all the subjects to graduate from the eighth grade. We passed them all right and I had the honor of being valedictorian for the Morgan County eighth grade graduation. Nephi passed with a good grade even though he was the youngest in the class.
As long as I lived at Peterson, we attended Church meetings in a big one-room frame building in the Peterson settlement one mile south of the railroad depot on the west side of the river. The depot was on the east side of the river. Our home was one mile south of the Church house.
Father and Mother were always very regular in Church attendance, and the family went together either in a wagon or a sleigh depending upon the time of year and how the roads were. Father later got a one-seated buggy that was handy to take when only part of the family was going anywhere. We had a gentle bluish-gray mare that we called “Old Blue,” that even we girls could drive. There were few cars at that time. I remember how kind and considerate Father always was if we girls needed to go someplace. He would always see that we had a way to go.
Mother, Eleanor, Howard, Father, and Old Blue
Thora and Mother with Old Blue in front of the Peterson home
Father and Mother were soon given responsibilities in the Church in Peterson. This continued throughout their lives. Father had many priesthood assignments, and was a home teacher as long as he was able to go. He served several years on the Morgan County School Board, and was instrumental in getting the Morgan County High School built and established. Both he and Mother were always interested in promoting the public welfare.
Mother served in various positions in the Church. She worked faithfully in the Relief Society for many years as chorister. She had a beautiful singing voice. She was always anxious to learn new and better ways of doing things.
Father and Mother belonged to the Morgan County Farm Bureau Association and attended the meetings faithfully. When the Annual Farm Bureau Convention was held in Logan at the U.S.A.C. (now U.S.U.) Mother attended that. Father would have attended also, but he could not ride on a train or in a car without becoming very ill from motion sickness. Due to this problem, Father could not do many things he would have enjoyed doing. When his brother John Riley’s son was married in Salt Lake City, he was invited to the wedding. He wanted so much to attend that he rode to Salt Lake horseback for that occasion.
Mother and Father were always interested in the County Fairs. Father was much interested in high-grade livestock. When we lived in Iron County, he often purchased some of the prize-winning animals. He wanted high-class rams for his sheep herd. We had a flock of barred Plymouth Rock chickens from prize-winning stock.
Mother was always interested in preparing something to display at the County Fairs, such as her handiwork or garden products.
Father and Mother were both members of pioneer families and had limited chances for getting an education, but made the most of every opportunity to learn, and continued to study and learn throughout their lives. The early pioneers had to pay the teachers for teaching their children. Their families were large, so only a few of each family could attend school at a time, and their attendance was not regular. Mother was able to obtain about the equivalent of a third-grade education. However, due to her eagerness and capability to learn, she continued to progress in knowledge. She was a very good reader, and her handwriting was very good. She was an excellent speller, and so was Father. Father prided himself on his fine penmanship.
For several years after we arrived in Peterson, we thoroughly appreciated the peacefulness of having no windstorms. Had there been hard winds like were common in southern Utah, we would have had some huge snowdrifts in winter. The windstorms we had so often at Summit were very frightening to me, and they often would last for two or more days at a time, and were so strong it was almost impossible to walk anywhere. The dust would be so thick in the air, and get into one’s eyes, causing much discomfort.
However, for reasons we did not understand, the wind conditions in this area changed. Occasionally we would get a sudden windstorm. Once, in the fall of 1912, a very sudden windstorm came up. I was in Logan at the time, but Mother told me about it. It was a south wind. It was so strong and rough it blew the large glass window of our kitchen and living room in. There was glass everywhere, and that terrific wind blowing into the house. How the folks managed to get that large opening closed while the wind was so strong, I do not know. This was an experience never to be forgotten. Shortly after this happened, Mother received the sad news of the death of her sister, Minnie Thorley, who had been living in Otto, Big Horn County, Wyoming.
At that time there was not a high school in Morgan County, so it was necessary to go away from home to attend high school. The older sisters, Edna and Opal; and brother, John, had been fortunate to be able to attend the Branch Normal school at Cedar City, just twelve miles from Summit.
The fall of 1909, my parents planned for me to attend high school at Ogden High School. They felt they couldn’t afford to send both Nephi and me, as finances were not too plentiful. Opal went to Salt Lake to take a business course. They felt Nephi was too young to go away alone to school. Although he had graduated from the eighth grade, they thought he might like to repeat the eighth grade work. He was willing to do so, and I heard him say later that he enjoyed that year of school very much. His teacher was a man, Mr. Oscar Olsen.
Nephi was still young to be in the eighth grade and not large for his age. Some of the bigger boys thought they could put a few things over on Nephi, but he met their challenge and a few “rough and tumbles” ensued. Nephi said the ones who had seemed to be most antagonistic before he stood up for his rights, became his best friends.
One thing I regretted was that he became chummy with a neighbor boy who smoked cigarettes. Nephi never overcame that habit until shortly before his death. One day one of his little granddaughters said to him, “Grandpa, if you didn’t smoke cigarettes your breath would be lots nicer.” He adored his little grandchildren. That really hit him with more force than one can imagine. He said presently, “All right my dear, I will not smoke any more cigarettes.” And he never did, but why couldn’t he have made that great decision in the beginning? Smoking cigarettes caused the disease (cancer) in his lungs, which caused his death.
Nephi had worked herding sheep for a Mr. Thornley quite a lot from the time he was thirteen years old. He had to be alone often, but he had a lot of courage and good common sense. He was conscientious about doing his work well. He always kept the Standard Works of the Church with him, and studied the Scriptures diligently whenever he had any spare time from his work.
One time when he was spending some time at home, he went to Sunday School with the family. During the lesson in the Sunday School class which Nephi attended, the teacher misquoted some scripture. Nephi thought it should not pass uncorrected, so gave the quotation correctly. The teacher was furious to be corrected by one of her pupils. She gave him a tongue-lashing and told him to get out of the class and never come back. He never did go back to her class again. I am sure he never got over the hurt of being treated that way before his classmates because the teacher would rather let her mistakes remain in the minds of her pupils, rather than admit she had made a mistake. A teacher’s false pride can do far-reaching harm in the lives of the pupils who look to them to teach correct principles, if they think more of their self-esteem than of what they teach.
Nephi’s high school education was interrupted some, so he did not complete the four years for graduation. He started working for the railroad. On 25 July 1918 he was drafted into military service (Army). When the time came for him to enter the service, he was just recovering from a bad case of the mumps. He was not well enough to safely leave his bed, but go he must, when Uncle Sam said so. He took his training and in November, his Company went on board a ship that was to take them to the European war zone. However, they had been on the ocean only three days when the war was ended on 11 November 1918, and they were returned to the United States.
How thankful we were that the war was ended and he and others could be spared the terrible experience of active duty in such a cruel war. How unnecessary wars are, and how tremendous is the suffering it causes human beings, the destruction of life and property.
The waiting period before the soldier boys could be discharged was a trial, just marking time for several months after the training and anxiety they had already experienced. No doubt all were anxious to return home and start over where they had left off when called into military duty.
Nephi married Nellie Nelson Jenkins on 27 December 1930. They lived on a little farm near our home. Nellie had two children from a previous marriage; a daughter, Beth, and a son, Max. On 14 May 1932 their first child, Mark Reed, was born. Their second son, Bert James, was born 20 Feb 1934.
Nephi had been used to carrying a gun since he was about seven years of age. Father had taught him to be very careful with his .22-caliber gun, and he always was very cautious in handling guns. He trained his own sons to be careful with their guns. They enjoyed going on hunting and camping trips together.
Nephi worked for years as a signalman for the Union Pacific Railroad in Nevada, on the Wyoming Division, and later in Ogden where he and his family lived for the last ten years of his life. He continued to work until he became so ill it was necessary for him to have hospital care. He passed away at the Veteran’s Hospital in Salt Lake City 8 February 1958. He had many friends. His funeral service was held at The Chapel of Flowers in Ogden. Interment was in the Milton Cemetery in Morgan County, Utah.
I didn’t feel happy to go away to school without Nephi the year after we graduated from the eighth grade, and I have regretted ever since that I did not let him have the chance for school that year instead of my taking it. I could have used my scholarship to the University of Utah and had my tuition paid for four years, but I was a timid little country girl and didn’t feel that I could go to Salt Lake alone, as I didn’t know anyone in Salt Lake.
The Swartzfager family kept a hotel just across the Weber River from the train depot. They were nice, friendly people, although they were not L.D.S. Eva was in the eighth grade class, so we had become close friends.
Mr. Swartzfager worked at the railroad freight depot in Ogden. They had made plans to move to Ogden that fall so he wouldn’t have to travel back and forth from Ogden so often, and their son and daughter could attend high school. They invited me to board and room at their home. This seemed to be the best solution for me, so I registered at the Ogden High School. Their address was 2020 Washington Boulevard. About every two or three weeks I went home on the train and the folks met me at the depot. Howard was about one and one-half years old then, and still demanded much of Mother’s time and attention. When I would get home I could see how badly Mother needed help, and would try to get as much done around the house as I could in the time I had at home. Mother said the floors never got scrubbed that winter except when I scrubbed them. One night she decided she was going to scrub the kitchen floor before she went to bed regardless of how late she had to stay up. She said it was 3:00 a.m. when she went to bed. I told her not to do that anymore. She should go to bed and get her rest and let the floor wait until I could do it. She always tried to keep the house neat and clean, so it worried her very much not to be able to do all the cleaning she thought necessary.
I always enjoyed getting home to eat Mother’s cooking. Mrs. Swartzfager was an excellent cook, but I still was glad to eat at home.
I quite enjoyed that winter’s schoolwork. I registered for algebra, Greek Mythology, and Latin. My Latin teacher was Miss Maud Tabor. At first I was very apprehensive about her. Latin was something new to all the class, and it took a little time for us to become oriented to it. I thought surely that I would be the dumbest student in the Latin class. When some of the students made mistakes, Miss Tabor would be very critical of them. I shook in my boots for fear I would be the next victim. However, I got by safely and so did Eva. When test time came, we both made a grade of 98 per cent. From then on, we had nothing to fear from our Latin teacher. However, after missing the next two years of high school, I felt that I had forgotten most of what I had learned, and never took any more Latin or any other foreign language. This I regret.
About March of that year (1910), the youngest girl of the Swartzfager family, Katie, became ill with the contagious disease, scarletina, so the house had to be quarantined. Even those who were well had to stay at home. What a situation! The doctor was called in. He prescribed medicine for the patient, and for the rest of us as well. He said that the last one to get the disease likely wouldn’t know they had had it.
I think the youngest boy, Vernon, got the disease. I don’t remember now if any others got it. I do remember that I didn’t get it, so after being cooped up for a month or so, I was real anxious to go home. The house was fumigated, clothes washed, every body scrubbed. I went home for a weekend. While there I noticed when I rolled my stockings down one day that my skin was peeling off. My little sister, Belva, was sitting near me at the time. I hadn’t been ill at all, but must have had the scarletina without knowing it. In two weeks Belva was very ill with that miserable disease. Next, Thora and Howard took it. How I regretted that I had been in such a rush to get home, when it caused so much sickness and trouble.
One time I had a very unpleasant experience, and it was embarrassing, too. I had planned to go home to Peterson on the morning train, which left Ogden before daylight. Mrs. Swartzfager insisted that her eldest son, Ray, take me to the depot. Likely he was irked to be roused so early in the morning. He didn’t have any special liking for me anyway, I am sure. However, he was kind enough to take me to the depot. We had to catch a streetcar. Of course, I went into the car and sat down. I noticed he didn’t come inside, but stayed out where the driver was. I didn’t see any more of him, and wondered what had happened. When I returned to Ogden I found out what the trouble was. Ray had gotten off without any money for carfare. I never thought to ask him if had his carfare. Had he mentioned that he had not brought any money I would have gladly paid his fare.
Eva Swartzfager was a very dear and special friend, but I never saw her many times after that winter I stayed at her home. She was married about a year later to Glen Cory. They were very happy a few years, then she was stricken with dreaded disease, cancer, and died.
None of the Swartzfager family were members of the Church. Mrs. Swartzfager’s mother was a convert to the Church from Italy. She was a very refined and lovely lady. She and her husband had settled at Lyman, Wyoming, an isolated little town. They had raised their family away from contact with the Church. Their children were fine people, honest and upright, but they chuckled aside when Sister Gild sincerely testified of her belief in the Gospel principles.
Had they been raised in activity with the Church, they would have had an entirely different attitude toward their dear mother’s testimony, and no doubt would have been sincere members of the Church. I heard Mr. Swartzfager say if he ever joined any church, it would be the Mormon Church. Now, I feel sure that if he had had some special encouragement from members or the missionaries, he and his family likely would have become very worthy members. One of Sister Gild’s grandsons, Daniel Gamble, who was a son of her daughter, Emma Gamble, joined the Church. He married a Mormon girl named Camilla Warren. She, incidentally, had been one of my pupils when I taught school at Peterson. She was a dear, dependable little girl who mothered all the other children in her class.
When we moved to Peterson, we didn’t take the organ with us, but my parents purchased a fine Farrand piano. The summer of 1910, Eleanor, Opal, and I started taking piano lessons from a music teacher who came out from Ogden.
Nephi was away working and John was helping on the farm and taking vocal lessons. Edna had learned to play the guitar very well, and often accompanied herself or others for singing. Mother, and all the family excepting me, had very good singing voices. My voice was never very strong, but I could carry a tune in a bucket. The summer of 1910 turned out about like that of 1908 for my music lessons.
Camping trip summer of 1910
Sadie Hulet, Archie Madsen, Eleanor, Hope
Nephi, and Amos Hunt
During the summer, Father was irrigating his crops. One day he didn’t stop to put socks on his feet before he put on his rubber boots. While he was walking, the boots chafed his right ankle. He didn’t think anything of a little chafe on his ankle and took no precautions. The next day his ankle became inflamed, and he had Mother look at it. She tried to doctor it for him, but the inflammation increased so rapidly, Father was soon in terrific pain. It was necessary to call a doctor.
Just that day, John, Opal, and I had gone to the Peterson Mountains west of Peterson with our cousin Sadie Hulet and some friends, Fannie Jordan, Amos Hunt, and Archie Madsen, for a camping trip. At that time Nephi was herding sheep for John Thornley in that area, so he was able to visit with us during the warmest part of the day while the sheep were enjoying the cool shade.
When we left home we had no idea of Father’s condition, and that we were leaving Mother alone with the small children and so much anxiety. She had no telephone or anyone to send for help. She did all she could to relieve Father’s suffering, but to no avail. Finally someone came, and she sent for Dr. Abbott. He said Father had blood poisoning from the infection in his ankle, but soon the infection went to his knee. The doctor seemed as helpless as Mother to ease the pain.
Luckily, we returned home sooner than we had planned, and soon made arrangements to take Father to the Dee Hospital in Ogden. However, the treatments he received at the hospital were of no avail for a cure for the trouble. There were several operations making incisions between his ankle and knee. They even put iodine in the incision, but with no results for relief, just agonizing suffering.
After weeks of this intense suffering, the doctors told Father they would have to amputate his leg. He said, “No, I will not have my leg amputated. If I have to die, I will die in one piece.” The doctors told him they could do nothing more for him. They let Mother take him home. He was so very ill, weak, and discouraged.
When they arrived at our home and were taking Father out of the car, an elderly man, Mr. Watts, who was peddling molasses, stopped at the gate. He asked Mother what Father’s trouble was. She told him that Father had been suffering from blood poisoning. The man said, “Oh, I can tell you how to cure him of that.” He went into the house and showed Mother how to make a bran mush using a little lye in the water, just enough lye to make the bran look a little yellow, then spread the mush on a piece of cloth (an old, clean sheet), and wrap it around Father’s leg. The poultice was to be as warm as was bearable and to be applied night and morning.
Mother thought she would try this kind man’s method, as she figured there might be some good come of it, even though the doctors, with all their scientific knowledge, had failed completely. She went to work immediately poulticing Father’s sore leg. From the first poultice she applied, Father began feeling relief from his intense suffering.
It required several weeks to completely draw out all the infection so that the wound could heal, but finally Father’s leg was entirely healed. However, his knee joint was stiff due to remaining in one position for so long. Father tried very hard to restore the joint movement of his knee but to no avail, it remained stiff. This was a great handicap for him, but he was thankful he didn’t have to have an artificial leg.
What a blessing it was to have this kind old gentleman come just at the right time, and give us this simple but precious help. It surely was a miraculous blessing to our family. We knew we had been given special help. This poultice has been valuable to us many times since for helping people, and animals as well.
During the weeks and months of Father’s illness, of course there was much extra work besides the fact that practicing music lessons could be distressing to a very sick person. My practicing was very inadequate for making the progress I should like to have made. When there were so many problems to consider, and so much to be done, it was hard to concentrate on a music lesson.
Due to Father’s long illness, there were many problems and expenses which made it impossible for Opal, Nephi, and me to continue our high school education for the two years 1910-1911 and 1911-1912. During the summer of 1912, Father bought a house in Logan so we could attend high school there.
In the spring of 1912 Aunt Amelia Green (Mother’s sister) wrote to Father and Mother to ask if either Opal or I could go to Alta, Wyoming, to stay with her and her four little girls, Therma, Theola, Vuela, and Minnie, while Uncle George was away shearing sheep in Montana. It was decided that I should go.
I took the train as far as St. Anthony, Idaho. From there it was 50 miles to Driggs, Idaho. The mail carrier, who drove a white-top buggy and also took passengers, was my only means of transportation to Driggs, where Aunt Amelia had spent the winter. I was the only passenger on the stage that day, and felt rather reluctant to travel that way. However, the driver was a well-mannered, pleasant young man and took me safely on that journey.
Aunt Amelia and her family remained at Driggs almost two weeks while waiting for the snow to melt at the house at Alta, Wyoming, which is about four or five miles east of Driggs, just over the state line. When we made the first try to get to Alta, the snow was over two feet deep all over that area, so we waited two more weeks before we tried again and went to stay at the home place of Uncle George and Aunt Amelia Green.
It seemed strange to me that the houses in that area were all log houses. They were well made, which was necessary where the winters were so cold and there was so much snow. There was a stream of clear water running near the north side of the house. On the south was a grove of quaking aspens. On the east, the beautiful Teton Mountains were a grand and never to be forgotten sight.
I enjoyed that summer at Alta. Each Sunday we walked a mile to Sunday School and again to Sacrament meeting. I remember one Sunday there was rain. I told Aunt Amelia I thought I wouldn’t go to Sunday School. She said, “Are you a sunshine Mormon?” I decided I had better go along with her if she was willing to go and take her four little children, even if she had to go alone.
We didn’t have any close neighbors, and I think Aunt Amelia must have been rather nervous although she never betrayed how she felt. She did say she wished she knew how to use a gun. I told her I had used a gun some when we were on the ranch in southern Utah. She said she was glad of that, and would buy some bullets for Uncle George’s .22-caliber rifle. She let me practice shooting at ground squirrels. I succeeded in hitting quite a number of them, as they were very numerous around the place.
Occasionally we went to visit Uncle Robert Dalley’s (Mother’s brother) families, about a mile’s distance. Aunt Sophia lived on one side of a big creek, and was in Wyoming. Aunt Luella (Father’s sister) lived on the opposite side of the creek, and was in Idaho. Aunt Sophia had three children, Camilla, Clement and Gladys. Aunt Luella had Robert Milton, Luella, Lowell, Claude, Milo, Ora May, and Katie. Luella, Camilla, and I were near the same age, and had much enjoyment together. Milton was always very kind to take us to dances or other places of amusement. Cars were scarce then, we went in a white-top buggy drawn by a team of horses.
My father’s twin brother, Uncle Sylvester Hulet, and his families lived at Driggs. We visited at their homes a few times. Aunt Sarah’s son, Modie, was a little older than I. (Aunt Sarah was Mother’s half-sister, a daughter of Lette Bertelsen Dalley), and Aunt Mallie’s son, Francis, was also a little older. (Aunt Mallie was Mary Elizabeth Dalley, Mother’s half-sister, a daughter of Emma Wright Dalley). Modie and Francis helped their father care for his sheep, so I didn’t see them often. I always enjoyed the good soup Aunt Sarah and Aunt Mallie made, as I also always enjoyed the good chicken soup Mother made.
One day someone mentioned they wished they dared go to the saloon that was just across the road and over the Wyoming line, and buy some candy. None of us had any money with us, so they jokingly suggested buying candy with eggs. Modie dared the other boys to take eggs to buy candy. No one was game, so Modie said he would go. He just took three or four eggs, but the saloonkeeper gave him an armful of bars and gum. Of course, it was to encourage him to come again. Anyway, we had a lot of fun about it, and enjoyed the treat.
That summer, Modie suffered an attack of appendicitis, and had to undergo an operation. He was always a very congenial cousin. He was called into military service in World War I and lost his life in France in October 1918. He was wounded before that, and was in the hospital until he recovered. He was again sent to the front lines and fatally wounded. I had been corresponding with him after he went into the service. I was teaching school at Declo, Idaho when the letter I had written to him was returned marked “Killed in Action.” That was a sad day for all who knew him.
About the fall of 1912 a friend, Wallace (Mecham), asked me if I would like to go for a horseback ride. I thought that sounded interesting, so I accepted the invitation. What he didn’t know was that I wasn’t as good a horseback rider as my sister, Opal. He gave me the faster horse of the two, and the one with the toughest mouth. We had gone only about a half-mile from my home when we had to pass a neighbor’s place. I was unaware that their dog came out quietly and bit my horse’s heels. The horse, of course, was very much frightened and immediately started out on a run. I tried to pull hard enough to slow the horse down, but my efforts were useless. Wallace told me later that even he would not have been able to stop that horse under the same circumstances. I rode at that fast speed for about one and one-half miles. Likely the horse would have stopped when he reached his home place about one mile farther on the road. I was wearing a hair switch and could feel it was nearly ready to fall off. I couldn’t bear the thought of Wallace picking up that switch along the road. I decided to slide off the horse and let him go. I took my feet out of the stirrups, and holding to the horn of the saddle eased myself down the horse’s side. I landed on the ground not too gracefully or softly, but when Wallace came in sight I was sitting up by the roadside with my hair switch safely tucked down the neck of my blouse. Wallace was pale and frightened for sure. I wasn’t hurt at all, but my knees shook the rest of the afternoon and evening. He never asked me to go for another horseback ride with him. He was a very kind and considerate person. He had recently filled a mission for the Church.
Wallace and I had some very pleasant times together. We often went to dances and other entertainments with Opal and her friend, Raymond Whittier. I remember that at some of the dances at Peterson there were two sisters who sat on the sideline much of the time. They would sit with their white scarfs on their heads much of the time. Some of the boys called them “the nuns.” This was very unkind; they should have danced with them.
I wasn’t too interested in dating; I wanted to go to school. In the fall of 1912, I went to school at the Utah Agricultural College (now Utah State University) in Logan, Utah.
Nephi thought he would like to attend the Agricultural College, we had heard so much about that school. We both enjoyed our work there. However, that was the last year the U.S.A.C. gave first year high school courses. The next year they dropped the second year high school course. The next year the third year courses were not given, and the fourth year was dropped the following year. Thus after the 1914-1915 school year, no high school courses were given at that institution.
Opal was married 4 September 1912 to Raymond Madsen Whittier in the Salt Lake Temple. She didn’t plan to attend school, but her husband wanted to get work for the winter. Opal thought she could cook for Nephi, Eleanor, and me and take in a few boarders. The house was quite large, but not real modern. It had no bathroom.
Eleanor was going to take her first year of high school at Brigham Young College. It was much nearer our home than the Utah Agricultural College. I have often wished I had also attended Brigham Young College. It would have been better for me in several respects. I would not have had such a long walk night and morning. We lived on First East and Second South in Logan. Also, I would have gotten more religious training and, too, we could have been together more of the time.
Wallace Mecham’s brother, Leland, was one of the boarders at our place in Logan. One day he very cautiously announced to me that his brother, Wallace, was married to Florence Young. I thought he expected me to have a severe shock at the news. I said, “Oh, good for them. I wish them the very happiest life together,” and I meant it. I had no regrets for myself. However, I was rather amused that he had chosen one of “the nuns.” She was a fine girl.
Opal’s husband, Ray, worked at available jobs until the sugar factory was ready for operation, then he started working there. After a few weeks of that work, he became ill. The workers were necessarily in rooms filled with steamy, moist air. The weather at that time of year was crisp and cold. To change from a warm, steamy room to the cold outside atmosphere was not good. He came near developing pneumonia, so by Christmas time Opal and Ray decided to return to Peterson for the remainder of the winter.
We were all anxious to go home for the Christmas Holidays. How good it was to be at home again with Father, Mother, and the younger children!
When it was time to return to Logan, it was with much apprehension that I faced the situation of cooking for four people and making good on my studies. Leland Mecham and one of the other boarders stayed with us for the rest of the winter. We managed the best we could. The main part of the housework fell to my lot. The long walk each day, besides the necessary household work and schoolwork, left little time for rest or recreation. Finances were very limited. We knew Father and Mother were sacrificing to the limit to make it possible for us to attend school. We tried to be as conservative as we possibly could be.
The washings had to be done with tub and washboard, which was no snap of a job. It was good the boys were not fussy about their food, because they didn’t get anything fancy to eat. They were lucky to get sufficient nourishment to live on. Anyway, we made it through the winter and went home for the summer months. We could do some things to help the folks then. There was always plenty that needed to be done.
I remember one night when Mother was staying with us in Logan the next winter, and had Thora and Howard with her. I was so tired I had lain down on the couch in the living room to rest. I intended to stay awake, but went to sleep so soundly that Mother couldn’t rouse me to get up and go to my bed. Finally, one of the boys offered to carry me to my bed, so Mother said O.K. Next morning when I learned what had happened I was embarrassed beyond expression and “hopping mad.” I would rather have been left on the couch all night than have one of the boys carry me to bed. I was dead tired. I walked over a mile to and from school each day and usually studied until late each evening, but I didn’t want any boy carrying me to my bed, if I never got there. The part that bothered me most, I guess, was that I didn’t know what was carrying on, and the joke they had on me.
After spring vacation, Mother felt she should go home and help Father. One of the boarders quit school then and went home, the other stayed on and fared as the rest of us did. About a month before school was out in the spring I told him I thought he would fare better if he went to Mrs. Alice Whittier’s place where she kept boarders. I felt I couldn’t do justice to him and the rest of us, nor to my studies as the main responsibility fell on me.
During the time I had been away at high school in Logan, some of the family had been taking music lessons at home in Peterson from a Miss McGlophin from Ogden. One evening she came to our home to give some music lessons. Later she said she should go to Morgan that evening for an appointment she had there. The train had already gone by, and there was no means of transportation for her. I offered to take her horseback if she would like to go that way. She gladly accepted the offer. Father saddled my pony, “Fanchon,” and “Blackbird” for us. We had a pleasant ride in the cool evening air. I figured she planned to return home with me, but when we got near the residence she wished to go to, she informed she was going to stay in Morgan. Likely she was tired, not being accustomed to such activity. I felt rather let down.
There I was, seven miles from home, it was after dark, but luckily it was a beautiful moonlit night. I couldn’t ride both horses at the same time, and I thought I would have to lead one all that way. For a while I did lead Blackbird, but it was very tiring, so I decided I would have to take a chance and put her reins over the saddle horn and let her loose. Those two horses seemed to realize how I felt that night. They were both so quiet and dependable. Blackbird would walk or trot along by the side of Fanchon or trot a little ahead, but never once did she made a dash to leave us. We got home safely and I have never forgotten how dependable those two animals were that night. Of course, Father and Mother were anxiously awaiting my arrival home, and were surprised that I had to make the return trip alone with two riding horses. They likely would not have been as willing to let us go had they known it would be that way.
My Brother, John, had seen a beautiful little cream-colored mare in a band of wild horses in the mountains above our home. She had a lame knee, likely caused from a fall when the horses were being chased by someone who was trying to corral them. This mare had no brand on her, so John brought her home one day. Later he gave her to me because I thought she was so pretty. I named her “Madge.” During the next several years she raised three beautiful colts.
The first was a bay. I named her “Fanchon.” She was the only one that was broken to be a saddle horse. The next was a dark brown animal. Her name was “Brownie.” I gave her to Nephi to repay him for some money I borrowed from him while Eleanor and I were at school in Logan. He thought so much of her, and was very sad when she died of colic. The third colt was brown also. Her name was “Gale.” I think she was sold. Father and John used Fanchon as the regular saddle horse on the ranch. They likely were rougher with her than I was, because she seemed nervous around men folk.
I remember one day I wanted to go somewhere on Fanchon. Father had saddled her for me. Father was always so willing and thoughtful about saddling horses for us girls, or hitching the horse to a buggy if we had to go somewhere. I started to get on Fanchon on the wrong side. Father was watching from the house and called excitedly, “Don’t get on her on that side or she will throw you off!” I didn’t understand what Father was trying to tell me, but proceeded to mount Fanchon on the wrong side. She must have realized I didn’t know much about the rules for horsemanship. She didn’t object in the least to my way of mounting her. She always seemed to realize how much I thought of her, and knew I would never hurt her. I could always rely on her to be steady and quiet.
Howard on Blackbird
Blackbird was Howard’s pony. She was all black and a very nice little animal to ride, but at times seemed rather nervous. Occasionally we would hitch her on the one-seated buggy. At times she was unwilling to pull the buggy and would balk. When she decided to do so, she would go faster than we wanted to travel. Even though she had this fault, we thought a lot of her.
Eleanor and I appreciated the privilege of attending school and realized it was a great sacrifice for the folks to let us be there. We knew they were sacrificing to give us what they did, but those were lean years for us. We couldn’t have as many clothes as most other girls had. We had one dress at a time and would wear it all week. On the weekend, we would clean and press our clothes, wear them again the next week, and repeat this as long as things could possibly be worn. The next outfit went through the same routine. Eleanor wore a red sweater all the first winter. My coat was not new. I was thoroughly embarrassed when someone mentioned my having a new dress. However, we kept well and didn’t miss any school.
Nephi didn’t continue school and graduate from high school, but Eleanor and I stayed in Logan the next two years. Mother was with us part of the time. In the spring of 1915, I had completed the equivalent of high school graduation.
The summer of 1915 I stayed in Logan to attend summer school at the U.A.C. The subject I took was psychology under a University of Utah instructor, Henry Peterson. I also had to take the State teacher’s examination. I made the grade with psychology and the teacher’s exams. I was planning to teach school in the fall and had been offered a job at Peterson by one of the trustees, Rudolph Bohman. I taught there for three years. My beginning wage was $50.00 a month, and received an increase of $5.00 per month for the following two years.
That fall, about a week after my school started, Mother took the other children, Nephi (?), Eleanor, Verda, Belva, Thora, and Howard to Logan so she could take care of the ones in high school as well as the younger ones. I felt sunk to think of trying to teach four grades and keep house for Father and a hired man. One morning I hurried to make baking powder biscuits for breakfast. They were as flat when they came out of the oven as when they were put in. Father and Earl Hagen, the hired man, didn’t comment, but I was embarrassed when I realized that in my hurry, I had forgotten to put the baking powder in the biscuits.
It really kept me hopping until John and Elva came to live there, too. They had just gotten married the 8 of September 1915 in the St. George Temple. It was a great relief to me when Elva took over the main part of the cooking. She was an excellent cook and housekeeper. In the spring they moved to the Peterson settlement one mile away. Their first child, VaLear, was born 19 April 1917 at Peterson. They had six children.
Earl, the hired man, was a boy about seventeen or eighteen years of age. He liked to try to tease and joke with me, but I returned his teasing now and then. One evening during the fall before Mother went to Logan, Earl went to the Peterson store, which was kept by his uncle, Fingal Bohman. There had been some rain during the afternoon, and we had forgotten to cover the bed he slept in out in the orchard, although he knew he was to sleep in the house that night on account of the damp weather. I decided to play a trick on him. I put a pillow in the bed he was to sleep in, and put a nightcap on the pillow so it looked like someone was in the bed. When he came home rather late, he went in the room to go to bed and saw that it looked like someone was in it. He went out in the orchard and slept in the damp bed. I felt rather guilty to think he might have caught a bad cold. He admitted he had thought someone was in the bed, for sure.
Before Mother left she had so many things to do to get ready, and I couldn’t be there to help, as I should like to have done. She had to leave some grapes for me to make jelly with. That was a chore, but I finally got it done. The jelly didn’t gel too well at first, but after Elva got there, she set it on the back of the cook stove for a few days and it set very nicely.
The principal of the school that year was Mr. David L. Thomas from Wales, Utah. He was a single man and quite a bit older than I. He was a good principal, and we got along agreeably.
Teaching in Peterson
The first year that I taught school in Peterson, the snow was so deep that it covered the fences. The school children could coast down the hill back of the schoolhouse right over the fences without any trouble
We were asked to hold a religion class once a week after school. Three of the Ogden girls helped with the piano playing and singing. I had the responsibility of teaching the class. We got along real well.
I attended summer school in Logan that summer and stayed alone in the big house until Ella McEwen, who married Francis E. Hulet, came to live with me. The next summer Ella and a teacher friend, Mrs. Smith, stayed with me. The summer of 1917 Eleanor attended summer school and was with me. She taught school at Manila, Dagget County, Utah the following winter.
The second year I taught, Mr. Howard Holiday was the principal. Before that year was over, the trustees hired a third teacher for the Peterson school, Miss Becky Thompson of Salt Lake City, who taught the intermediate grades.
I was transferred over to the Peterson meeting house with the pupils of the first two grades. I quite enjoyed being there with the little tots. Toward spring, there was an epidemic of red measles. One day one of the pupils became ill in school and had to be taken home. It turned out that she had a case of measles. Two weeks from that day, only two of my pupils came to school. They had had measles before. The rest of the children were home sick with measles, so we had a two-week’s vacation from school while they recovered.
For two years I taught the first and second grade children in the Peterson meeting house. During that time, I was given the jobs of being secretary of the Peterson Ward Primary, and was also secretary of the Sunday School for a year. Mr. Holiday and Miss Thompson taught those two years also.
In the spring of 1918, Opal’s husband, Ray Whittier, came from Declo, Idaho, to visit his mother at Milton, Morgan County, Utah. He came to our home also. At that time he was a school trustee at Declo, where the new and rapidly growing community had a large number of school age children. They were having trouble getting enough teachers for their needs. Ray asked me if I would consider going to Declo to teach the coming year. The wages were better than I had been getting in Utah, so I thought I would give it a try.
I had started teaching at Peterson in September 1915 for $50 a month. The next year I got $55 and the third $60. I was offered $90 at Declo. Although I had a teacher’s certificate in Utah, it was not honored in Idaho, so I had to take summer school in Albion and take the Idaho State Teacher’s examination to get a permit to teach.
The Move to Idaho
I made plans to go to summer school at Albion Normal. Albion was not more than ten miles from Declo. I persuaded Ray’s sister, Alice Whittier, to go with me as she had graduated from high school. When we arrived at Albion Normal, we were made aware that Utah teachers were not welcome in Idaho. We were a week getting registered. We were sent from one office to another for one excuse or another, just to freeze us out, we thought. But we had a stubborn streak in us, and we stayed with it until we did get registered, and started in the classes we wanted to take.
Wash day at Albion, 1918
We got board and room at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Aseal Chatburn. They had two little girls, Margaret and Catherine, about six and eight years of age. They were a very nice, kind family. This was at the time that food had to be rationed during World War I. It was impossible to get good flour for bread making. It was necessary to use grain substitutes. Mrs. Chatburn did the best she could to make good bread, like all the other women then did, but I still have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach when I think of that wartime bread. Mrs. Chatburn often made French toast to try to make the bread more palatable, but it was still soggy. She did very well by us anyway.
Near the closing time of summer school we had to take the Idaho State Teacher’s examinations to get a permit to teach in Idaho schools. We made the grade on most of the subjects, but I felt they purposely flunked us on a few to discourage us on teaching in Idaho. Yet we had plenty of company when we had a second chance in late November.
One thing that surprised and disgusted me was to see how many teachers cheated on those teacher’s examinations. I figured if I couldn’t make the grade on my own ability I would have to flunk, which I did on two subjects the first time. I thought teachers should make honesty a prime factor of their teaching and be good examples of the same.
When it came time for us to retake the examinations in the subjects we had failed in before, we had to go to Albion to take them. The weather was frigidly cold. We got a room at the only available hotel in Albion. Four of us shared one room. The only heat was a small oil heater which we huddled around to try to keep it warm. It couldn’t keep us warm. We combined the bedding of the two beds, put chairs along one side of the bed, and slept crosswise, four in a bed. That is, we tried to sleep, but were not comfortably warm enough to sleep well.
The next morning we had to go to the Courthouse. Incidentally, Albion was the County seat for Cassia County at that time (1918). The building was a large barn-like frame structure, and not much more comfortable for warmth than the hotel. I got a bad cold during the time I spent in Albion that took quite a while to get over.
The number of school children in the Declo School District exceeded the schoolroom capacity available. To meet this emergency, the school trustees found it necessary to have a building hurriedly built. Until this was available, we were crowded into any possible space. I had fifty-five first grade pupils registered that fall. When the new building was ready to be occupied, Alice Whittier and I were given that place for our classes. She had the second grade. We had more space, but scarcely any equipment to use outside of the textbooks. In desperation for busy work and for supplementary materials, I bought quite a lot with my own money, whether I could afford it or not. It was a challenge to be responsible for so many little first grade children and to be so handicapped for room and supplementary materials. And this was not the most serious problem I had to cope with that first winter of teaching in Declo. That winter of 1918-1919 was the time of the terrific influenza epidemic. Only one day in that school year were all fifty-five of my enrolled pupils present. Due to the great amount of sickness, there were many absent at one time and for too long a time to make it possible to keep the class progressing at a satisfactory rate or even making progress. Then, too, the school was closed for one month.
Regardless of all the unavoidable circumstances and problems that had to be dealt with that year, some parents found fault because their children didn’t make the progress they wanted them to make. I retained quite a number of children because I figured it would be better for them to repeat their first grade than to be promoted and be unprepared for the next grade. It didn’t look too good for my teaching ability, but I thought it was better for the children’s welfare. However, the trustees realized the situation and asked me to return and teach the next school year. The trustees that year were John Darrington, Lars Gillett, and my brother-in-law, Raymond Whittier.
The County Superintendent was Miss Mae Lowe. She came to the door of my schoolroom one day that first fall and asked how many pupils I had enrolled. When I told her I had fifty-five, she threw her hands above her head and said, “You earn your wages.” She never did come to visit my schoolroom. She always treated me very well, but I heard some teachers say she had given them a bad time.
Since World War I was still being fought in the fall of 1918, people were much concerned about that at this time, especially those who had loved ones doing active duty in the war. My cousin, Modie Hulet, was serving in the armed forces in France. I had corresponded with him from the time he had entered the military service, and looked forward to his letters, fearing each might be the last I would receive from him. I had heard from his mother that he had been wounded twice in the battles, had been in the hospitals, recovered from his wounds, and been sent back to the front lines again. In October, I received a letter from Modie but, alas, on the envelope was written “Killed in Action.” That was a letter I never forgot. He was such a fine young man, and like so many other fine young men, gave his life just because some selfish government leaders stirred up trouble that led to a world war when the trouble could have been settled through wise communication, as it finally had to be done. So many lives could have been saved, billions of dollars saved, and all the anxiety and sorrow would not have been necessary.
My brother, Nephi, was drafted into military service in 1918. He received his military training in the various training camps in the U.S. On 8 November 1918 he, with many others who had been in training, including Josiah Adair (who married Eleanor after the death of her first husband), were assigned to go aboard a ship to go overseas to the war zone. They had sailed for three days when they were notified that the armistice for peace had been signed. The ship returned to the U.S. and those men did not have to go for active duty. How happy we, and many others, were that our dear ones were not required to fight in the war. However, it was several months before Nephi and his fellow soldiers were discharged from the military. Nephi was discharged on 13 February 1919.
The End of WWI
I was at Declo, and vividly remember the night of 11 November 1918. Everyone was excited and happy to hear the good news that the war was over. Ray took Alice and me to Burley where there was much going on in the streets. Some were marching in the streets in a snake dance. One group had a “dummy Kaiser” which they proceeded to hang from a high pole. There was much noise and excitement that night all over the United States because of the wonderful good news
The winter of 1918-1919, Alice and I lived in the home of my sister Opal and her husband, Ray Whittier. Just before Christmas, Ray and Opal’s fourth child, Lamar, was born. About this time we were becoming very apprehensive about the influenza epidemic that was spreading so rapidly over that area. In due time, Ray was stricken with the flu and within a short time the whole family were victims of the disease, even the little new baby. One after another became ill, and I was the last to get sick. I think I would have escaped had I not stayed in the room where all the sick ones were and taken a nap. I had been waiting on them night and day for a while, and was so weary that I dropped off to sleep when I sat down for a few minutes.
The neighbors had been doing the chores and sending food for the sick. My sister, Eleanor, came from Peterson to help us, and one of the teachers, Miss Fanny Nyman, came and helped some too, or I don’t know how we would have made out. Before I got sick I often picked up the baby and held him over the cook stove to warm his clothing and his little body. He would feel so cold even though they had a heater in the room they were in. I was in a room with no heat except what came in from the kitchen stove. Eleanor and Fanny loaded me with bedding, but I couldn’t get warm. So I could realize how the dear, tiny baby must have felt. That was a hard time for Opal with her young baby and all her family down sick, and with her not being able to care for them. She was a very good nurse when she was able to care others. For a long time after they recovered from the flu the baby was very fretful. He required much care, as he was afflicted with a bad case of eczema over his face and head. This was hard on Opal in her weakened condition. She would be exhausted when I got home from school, and would turn the baby over to my care. Many nights it would be past midnight before I could get the baby to settle down to sleep. Likely he was so exhausted he couldn’t stay awake any longer. I didn’t feel too rested myself when morning came and I had to teach school all day, prepare for the next day’s busy work, then go home and take care of a little baby until midnight or after.
While there was so much sickness in the town and all over the country, I dreaded to hear the telephone ring in the morning. Usually, there was a sad report. So many people were victims of that influenza epidemic.
When we were just recovering from the flu, Ray’s mother, Sister Annie Whittier, came to help the family. That was a great blessing to us. Since the school was closed for a month, I decided to go home to my folks at Peterson to recruit my strength, since Opal would have good help. I knew the remainder of the school year would be anything but easy, after all the loss of time due to sickness.
1919 Teaching in Declo
In the spring of 1919, after I had taught first grade at Declo through the school year, I decided to try teaching summer school. Miss Lowe gave me a position for a school at Meadow Creek, a dry farming area thirty miles northwest of Snowville, Utah. The interstate highway now runs through that area, and the homes of the dry farmers who once lived there have been cleared away.
Meadow Creek School
Mr. Ben Wilcox had a dry farm in the Meadow Creek area, but had moved his family to Declo. He was a school trustee at Meadow Creek, so offered to take me to Meadow Creek in his pickup truck. My trunk was loaded into the truck and I was honored to have that for my seat for the trip. I rode in the back of his pickup truck sitting on my trunk. He and one of his sons sat in the cab. I didn’t think too much of his chivalry after that. He drove like the devil was after him. I think that was the wildest ride I ever had. I did get to see a lot of country, anyway. I kept wondering why there was so much beautiful almost level land that wasn’t in use as farming land. Of course, I had no opportunity to communicate with Mr. Wilcox. I just hung on the best I could and wondered “Why this?” and “Why that?”
Before I had arrived at Meadow Creek, it had been decided that I was to stay with the Morris Welch family. I soon learned that they were living in the ranch house of Mr. Fred Gardiner, who was a farmer and sheepman. The house was located about a quarter of a mile from the schoolhouse. The Welches had abandoned their own dry farm as many other dry farmers were doing at that time, due to the repeated dry seasons and the economic depression that was making it so difficult for many people at that time. However, those who remained wanted their children to have the opportunity of attending school. They had built a nice one-room rock building. Of course, there were not all the modern conveniences of city schools or the desirable amount of equipment. However, I really enjoyed my summer’s work there. I had only ten to twelve pupils. The children were well-behaved and the parents were friendly and cooperative. For the drinking water supply, there was a well-covered, cement cistern but, to be honest, I never took a drink from that cistern. It was clean looking, but didn’t appeal to me for a water container. The schoolhouse was not far from the Welch’s home so I could easily walk to the school and back each day. I took a lunch and stayed all day as some of the children came two or three miles to school and had to bring their lunches, too. Mrs. Welch and her mother served good meals. I did my own washing by hand.
The Meadow Creek Schoolhouse
I soon learned that they thought it a mark of credit to have very limited sized families. When I proudly told them that I was sixth in a family of twelve, it almost took their breath away. They said, “Oh, we thought you must be an only child.” As time went on, I heard so much about how smart people were who had few or no children that I became disgusted with their ideas. One day when they were harping on the subject, I decided to give my point of view. I said, “If I didn’t want to have children, I wouldn’t get married.” That was the last they had to say about small families to me.
The Welches were not LDS and very few in that area of the county belonged to the Church. There was a small ward at Sublett, but Fred’s work took him out on the range so much of the time that he had had little connection with the Church activities after he left Salt Lake. He had missed this side of living, but always had the Standard Works with him and studied them whenever he could. He always had a dictionary handy and liked to learn new words. While riding alone, he practiced the times tables and could give offhand any of the times tables up to the twenties. While I was teaching summer school that summer, I too felt the lack of Church activity, and our belief in common for the Church made us become friends very soon. I didn’t get to attend Church all summer, as I didn’t have any means of transportation to get over to Sublett where I could have attended services.
The dry farmers sometimes gathered in the evenings to enjoy dancing or a party, and had an enjoyable time together. If, by chance, any roughnecks came to their parties thinking they could be loud and boisterous, they were promptly ordered to leave by the one in charge. The people were not members of the LDS Church, but were good people. The only members of the Church that I met that summer were Fred Gardiner and Abe Stevenson and his family. I learned that Abe Stevenson was married to my cousin, Clara Dalley Stevenson. She had two little boys attending my school. She came to visit me once, and Mrs. Welch and Leora took me to visit Clara and her family once at her home at Sublett.
Meadow Creek Home
Although Fred Gardiner owned the home where I boarded, I did not see him for some time after I arrived there. He was away on the summer range with his sheep and only came to the ranch occasionally. He seemed rather shy and did not have much to say for a while. As time went on we became good friends. He was good company to be around. He had a keen sense of humor and liked to tease. The Welches seemed to think a great deal of him, but the women folk sometimes didn’t know how to take his joking.
Times were hard for people then, and they were many miles from a store. Likely at times it was hard to provide the necessary food. However, while I was boarding with them, they served adequate meals. But I learned that once they had cooked a jackrabbit when Fred was with them for a meal. He couldn’t bring himself to partake of any of that meat. Mrs. Welch and Mrs. Whitney were very much offended and no doubt embarrassed. I do not know what was said or done at that time, as it happened before I arrived.
One morning as I was walking to the schoolhouse, Fred was leaving to go to his sheep camp. He walked along with me as far as the schoolhouse leading his saddle horse, “Pud.” When we reached the schoolhouse, Fred noticed that the cover was off the water cistern. He said some motorist passing by must have stopped to get some water and left the cover off. When he looked into the cistern there was a drowned jackrabbit in it. Fred got the rabbit out and, with a mischievous look on his face, proceeded to tie that stiff, bedraggled, wet jackrabbit on the back of his saddle. I said “What are you going to do with that old rabbit?” He said, “I’m going to take it down for Mrs. Welch to cook.” The thought of him offering that specimen to them to cook struck me as being so funny and ridiculous, I could hardly keep from laughing every time I thought of it during the day. Then when I learned that evening that Fred had actually taken that wet, old rabbit down to the house to those folks, I couldn’t keep from laughing, and couldn’t stop laughing for a while even though I didn’t blame them for being vexed with me. I know Mrs. Welch was boiling mad at me, but I had to have my laugh out anyway. She said, “Well, laugh if you want to, but I don’t think it is funny.” Well, from her point of view, it wasn’t funny. It was embarrassing and I felt foolish to think I had added to her hurt feelings. It was the picture in my mind of that wet, stiff jackrabbit tied on the back of that saddle to be offered to anyone to cook that struck me as being so unheard of and funny. If they had had a sense of humor and not taken it so seriously, they could have laughed along with me and we all would have been happier. Those people were very kind and thoughtful of me as long as I stayed with them. The cistern had to be emptied and cleaned out, and more water hauled to fill it.
During that summer there was very little recreation for Leora and me, so occasionally we went for a horseback ride on Fred’s gentle little bay pony, Pud. He was very nice and easy to ride, as he did not jolt one as some horses do. I really enjoyed riding that pony.
Fred Gardiner and Pud Hope and Pud
When Fred knew how much I liked Pud, he told me he was going to give him to me. But such a prize was not to be for me. Before I went back to Meadow Creek the next summer, Pud had found the granary open and ate some poison grain, which killed him.
It has been so long ago that I do not remember the names of all the pupils that were enrolled that summer. One Stevenson boy’s name was Merlin, the other one I cannot recall. They were lovely little boys, and soon told me that their mother was my cousin. She knew when she heard my name, Hope Hulet. It was good to feel I had relatives nearby. We had opportunity to visit a few times during the summer.
Katie and Frances McGraw lived about three miles from the schoolhouse. Katie was seven years old and Frances was five. Their parents didn’t like to have Katie walk so far alone so asked permission to have Frances attend school with her. They were very good students. Frances always wore ringlets to school. Her hair was a pretty blonde. The three Evans children, Helen, Clinton and Ray, were good students. They came from a very poor family. They usually seemed happy and cheerful, and since I have learned more of their home conditions I have wondered how they could be as pleasant and cheerful as they were. I met their mother only once. She seemed to be a very nice person and must have had an extremely hard life with the kind of husband she had. Different people told me what a terrible temper he had. He sometimes whipped the little boys cruelly.
Ray Hull was six years old, an only child of the second wife of Mr. Hull, whose two older sons had dry farms in that area. He was a quiet and studious little fellow. Herbert Dorman was thirteen years old. He was a good student, and never caused any difficulty in discipline as I feared he might when I first saw him. Sometimes I wondered why he stayed around the schoolhouse so long after school. Had I known his home conditions, I would have realized how very lonely he was. He was always anxious and willing to do anything he could to help me in any way he could. I later learned that his mother had died in 1915. He lived alone with his father, who was unkind to him and would never take him anywhere with him. The names of the other children I do not now recall.
After fifty years, Herbert Dorman came back to Malta and hunted me up. He said that I was about the only one he could remember that he had known at Meadow Creek. I asked him if he remembered wanting to teach me to roller skate. He didn’t remember, but he did ask me several times that summer if I would like to learn to roller skate. I made lots of excuses, but finally he brought his skates and wanted me to put them on. When I put my foot on one of them, the toe of my shoe only reached as far as the clamps on the side of the skate. He could see that our feet were not the same size, even though I was older than he. He was a large boy for his age, and had a better “understanding” than I had. Incidentally, Herbert’s father took him to Declo that fall and left him with the Wilcox family, then disappeared. Herbert has never seen or heard from his father since then. Herbert soon after left for California and has made his own way ever since. He seemed to have made out all right. When he and his wife called on me, they were on vacation. They owned a group of motels at Pacific City, Florida. His main purpose for coming back to Malta was to locate his mother’s grave. He and his wife took me with them to the cemetery. We had to get Clarence Barrett to locate the grave as it had only a flat marker, and was covered with grass. Herbert had a marker placed on his mother’s grave. Since that time, when I and members of my family have gone to the cemetery on Decoration Day, we have tried to place a bouquet on Mrs. Dorman’s grave, as no one else seems to know about that lonely grave.
About the middle of August 1919, the school was closed. As I had a contract to teach in Declo for the coming school year, I wanted to go home to Peterson for a short vacation before starting the new school year. As my skin tanned very easily, I had a real tan by fall. When I arrived home my brother, John, said I looked like I had summered on a south side hill. I was well, so that was the main thing. I had overcome the trouble I had had with pains in my stomach after I had the flu the winter before. I wondered if I had a case of ulcers. My year of school at Declo had been very difficult. I enjoyed my visit at home and was ready to start another hard winter.
Fred had a natural talent in music and enjoyed playing the violin, although he never had the opportunity to take many music lessons. While he lived at Meadow Creek, he often played for the dances at the schoolhouse, and often was asked to play for dances at Malta. Flossie Smith usually accompanied him on the piano at Malta.
When I was ready to leave Meadow Creek to go home the fall of 1919, Fred took me as far as Malta. He had been asked to play for a dance that night at Malta. I went over to the dance with him for a little while, but soon decided that I was too tired to stay. I had had a busy day at the schoolhouse, besides getting my belongings packed. I had a room at the Deardorf Hotel for that night. During the evening Fred came over for a few minutes. He brought a welcome treat, a large glass of pineapple ice cream soda. The weather was very hot and sultry. He went back to play for the dance a while longer. I went to bed and soon fell asleep, but was awakened by a lot of wild whooping and hollering out in the street between the hotel and the dance hall. I couldn’t figure why there was so much noise and commotion at that time of night. I had heard something in the past about some of the Malta boys being rowdy and drinking liquor, so decided something like that was happening. Next morning when Fred came to take me to breakfast, I asked him what was happening the night before. He said some of the boys had been drinking, and got too noisy. One of those noisy fellows had been a passenger in Fred’s car when we rode to Malta that afternoon. During that ride he was as quiet and timid as a little mouse, and I figured he must be very reserved and bashful. It took only a swig of whiskey to make him as loud and uncouth as an Indian on the warpath. I thought then, “One thing for sure, I never want to live in Malta.” Little did I think that Malta would be where I would spend most of the rest of my life. However, I have found there were many fine, good people living in Malta.
The Church in Malta
At that time, the majority of Malta people were non-Mormons. The stake had only recently been organized. Brother John A. Elison was the first stake president in Raft River Stake and was called to fill the position from the Oakley Ward in Cassia Stake. President Elison held that position for nearly twenty years, and was followed by Brother Ephraim S. Miller, who was the principal of the Raft River High School. President Miller held that position for over eighteen years. He was followed by Brother Edwin H. Paskett. Brother Paskett was released after three or four years when the stake was reorganized. The Declo and Springville Wards were combined with the Raft River Stake to form the Cassia East Stake. Joseph A. Gillette was made president of the stake. Elder LeGrande Richards was the general authority at the conference. Later, the name of the stake was changed to the Declo Idaho Stake.
Opal and Ray had treated Alice and me very kindly while we lived in their home during the first year I taught in Declo, but the distance we had to walk to and from school was rather difficult for us, especially during the severe cold weather. So we decided to get living accommodations nearer the school. Alice got a boarding place with a Mrs. Patrick. I thought I would rather batch, so got a room at the Enyert Hotel. My room was one that had just been built onto the old hotel. It was a northwest upstairs room, not elaborately furnished, but comfortable. The stove was a small combination heater and cook stove. It had two stove lids on the flat top and had no oven, so I could cook on it and keep warm, too. Of course, I had to buy my bread and other bakery items ready baked. I did my washing with a tub and washboard. There was a washer in the basement that I could have used, but I preferred the tub and washboard, as it seemed there was always someone else using the washer whenever I had time to do my washing.
Mother prepared a winter supply of butter for me. She packed about one gallon of delicious fresh butter in a porcelain enamel kettle with a good fitting lid on it. She told me that when I got to Declo to make a strong salt brine and pour over the butter about one inch deep to keep the butter from becoming rancid. I did as Mother told me to do. When I was ready to leave Declo in the spring, I invited another teacher, Miss Nyman, to eat dinner with me. I still had over a pound of that butter left. Miss Nyman remarked about the butter being so delicious. I told her that I had had that butter in my room all winter. We didn’t have a refrigerator then. Miss Nyman said, “If you have any of that butter to spare, I would surely like to buy it from you.” I told her that she would be welcome to what there was. I am sure no one could make better butter or cheese than my mother and grandmother made.
Occasionally that winter, Fred came for a home cooked meal. With the cooking equipment I had, the meals were very simple and plain, but served the purpose of overcoming hunger. Fred especially enjoyed toast made on top of the little stove. It is good that he didn’t expect a highfalutin meal.
One evening Fred called in when he was going to Burley. He was taking Mr. Carlos Carnahan and a Mrs. Mallory with him. They wanted a ride to Burley. “Did I want to go along?” Well, I did need a ride to Burley, too. I had to get a smallpox vaccination. There had been a case or two of smallpox in town, and I didn’t want to take any chance of getting it. I had had a real case of cowpox when I was seven years old, but wasn’t sure I was still immune to smallpox. I was.
Well, it seemed that Mrs. Mallory and her husband had been having difficulties that we didn’t know anything about. When we got to Burley, Mrs. Mallory left the car. I went to the doctor’s office. When I went back to the car, Mr. Carnahan and Fred were there. Mr. Carnahan was really amused about something. Fred wasn’t saying much, but they told me that Mr. Mallory had followed us to Burley. He was angry at Fred for taking Mrs. Mallory to Burley. He had a gun and had threatened to shoot Fred. Fred had no idea of trying to step out with Mr. Mallory’s wife. She had asked him for a ride to Burley and he said she could go. She seemed to think it a lot of fun to have her husband jealous of her. Under the circumstances, it didn’t seem so funny to Fred and me. Mrs. Mallory rode home with us, and giggled and chattered all the way.
Although I had a heavy load at school that year, the principal came to me one day and asked if I would take two Japanese boys in my room. He said that none of the other teachers wanted to be bothered with them. The one, Ray Tanaka, was about eighteen years old, the other, Henry Togasha, was sixteen. Their reason for wanting to attend school was just to learn to speak English. It seemed strange to have those big boys in the room with all those little children. However, they and the little ones got along very well, and didn’t seem to mind the difference in their ages. Those boys were so kind and thoughtful of me always. At recess time, Ray would often say, “We will watch the children so you won’t have to worry about them.” Those boys would play games with the children and perform acrobatic stunts to entertain them. The children became very fond of the Japanese boys. I don’t know how much I helped them, as I couldn’t give them much special help.
Henry’s family lived in Declo, and Ray had a brother living there. They were farmers. In making conversation with Ray, I learned that he worked with his brother truck gardening. I asked if they sold their vegetables in the local stores, or if they shipped them to outside markets. He said, “Yes, we sell our vegetables here. Would you like some?” Of course, I couldn’t say, “No,” under the circumstances. So I told him that I would like to buy a few of his vegetables. I thought no more about buying vegetables until a few days later when here came Ray to the school with a big burlap sack full of assorted vegetables. I didn’t want to offend or embarrass him in the least, so had to hide my frustrated feelings and appear very appreciative. I did appreciate his kind thoughtfulness, but did not expect this. I asked him how much they were. He said, “I give them to you. I don’t want any pay.” Of course, I thanked him and told him how much I appreciated the lovely vegetables, but what I was going to do with them I didn’t know at the moment. Another teacher, Miss Nyman, had a room at the hotel and was batching as I was. We could use the vegetables for sure, but how were we going to get them to our rooms without attracting attention or arousing the curiosity of people who saw us carrying that many vegetables from the schoolhouse? I told Miss Nyman I would divide the vegetables with her. We waited until evening, then carried part of them at a time to our rooms like pack rats and stored them under our beds; that being the only place we had to store that many nice, fresh vegetables. They were all used and really appreciated.
Ray and Henry had great musical talent. When I learned that they played the flute, I managed to have them play for the children occasionally. They seemed pleased to play for us, and we certainly enjoyed and appreciated their music. During the winter those boys gave me several little tokens of appreciation, such as boxes of candy, a glass pen, and souvenir cards. Before spring, when the other teachers and students learned how cooperative and well-behaved and talented those boys were, they began requesting that they be allowed to attend some of the higher grades. I think Henry began to be a little anxious to be with students nearer his own age. I did not blame him for that. Ray didn’t seem anxious to leave the first grade class. They both went to other rooms before school closed. I have not seen either of them since.
That winter Ray was living with a family named Terhune and doing housework for his room and board. Often when he returned to school after lunch, the perspiration would be dripping off his face. He told me one day that Mrs. Terhune required him to scrub all the floors during the noon hour. The poor boy didn’t get time to eat lunch. I surely was wishing that I could give him a sandwich. He never complained. Once when he came to school, he had a very bad cold. He asked me what I would suggest that he do for his cold. I knew he needed something done for it, but didn’t know what to tell him. I suggested he take a hot bath and drink some hot lemonade and get into bed and try to get a good sweat. I don’t know what he did, but he was soon over his cold.
One day in the spring, Henry Togasha’s father came to my schoolroom and brought his six-year-old son with him. He wanted to start him in school. My room was full of children. He stayed part of the afternoon, then he said to me, “I wanted to start my little boy in school, but I can see that you have a very large group to teach, and wouldn’t have time to give him the necessary amount of help.” Although I would have liked to help that little Japanese boy, I knew that I couldn’t give him the individual help he needed. Mr. Togasha gave me two sacks of peppermints to treat the children. Those Japanese people were very kind, generous and intelligent.
Set a Date to Get Married
When school closed and I was ready to go home for the summer, Fred insisted we set a date to be married. So June 2 was the date. Since I had only about two weeks to get ready to be married, my mother and sister, Verda, did much to help. They did most of the sewing on my wedding dress.
I was home about two weeks before Fred arrived there. He had been to Salt Lake to see his folks. His brother, Clarence, was a bishop in one of the wards there at that time. He ordained Fred an Elder on 30 May l920. Although I was of age, I insisted that Fred ask my parents consent. He did so, but took good care that I was not present when he did. I remember how shocked Father was when he learned that Fred’s hair was grayer than his own. Fred’s hair started turning gray quite early. Father’s hair was not all gray when he died at eighty-five years of age. He always had beautiful, thick, wavy hair. Fred’s hair was not too thick, but had a natural, kinky curl.
I had wished that both Father and Mother could go with us to be married, but Father could not ride in a car without becoming very carsick. Mother went with us to Salt Lake. On our way, we had just reached the foot of the mountain road near the mouth of Weber Canyon when the car stopped. Fred looked the situation over and found that there was no gas in the tank, although he had filled it the day before. There was nothing to do but for him to walk about three miles to the nearest store to get some gas. Although it was an inconvenience, we still thought it quite a humorous happening at such a time. Mother and I stayed at a hotel that night. Fred stayed at his brother Clarence’s home.
Fred and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 2 June 1920. Elder Alvin Smith performed the marriage ceremony. That evening we spent at the home of Clarence and Edna Gardiner. They had a family of four children at that time, two boys and two girls. His brother, Charles, and wife, Althea, and little six-month old son, Harold, were there. Also his sister, Eva, and her husband, Harry Cushing, and his sister, Beatrice Low, with her little daughter, Myrle, and son, Gordon. We spent a very pleasant evening with the Gardiner relatives. Fred’s mother had passed away in 1917. He had often spoken of her, how he missed her, and what a good mother she was. His father was still living, but did not join us that evening for some reason. I never saw him until a year and a half later when we were visiting at Eva’s home. That was the only time I ever saw him even though he lived until 1927.
When we returned home to Peterson the next day, Verda had a lovely dinner prepared for us. We didn’t have a shower or wedding reception, so were not burdened with presents. Mother gave us some quilts. Opal gave us a dresser scarf. Leora Whitney sent us a framed picture. The glass got broken in its journey by mail. I had bought some dishes and cooking utensils, a mattress, sheets, etc. Mother had given us a nice goose feather bed.
Since Fred had to go to the range soon to take care of his sheep, I decided to go to summer school at Albion. My sisters, Eleanor and Verda, went with me and attended the Albion Normal too. After summer school was out, Eleanor and Verda went home to Peterson. I think Eleanor taught school in Peterson that year. Fred moved me to his Meadow Creek ranch to the house I had lived in the summer before, and I began my first housekeeping there. I had no neighbors nearer than a half-mile. Fred had brought the sheep near enough that he could be home nights and some days. As I was able to keep busy, the time passed quite pleasantly. It was a lonely place and we had only plain necessities to start housekeeping with, but it was a challenge to make the little ranch house as cheerful and comfortable as possible. There was much scrubbing and cleaning to be done before I felt satisfied. Fred told some of the neighbors that I had scrubbed everything but the alfalfa fields.
One day he asked me to make him a raisin pie, so I proceeded to do so. When it was done, the crust was a nice brown and looked flaky and good. The oven door opened from the side instead of letting down, and when I tried to take the pie out of the oven, it slipped and landed sidewise on the floor. I was hurriedly trying to scoop it up with the intention of throwing it out before Fred got to see the scrambled pie, but just then he came in the door. I told him I would make another pie for him. He said, “You aren’t going to throw that good pie out. I am going to eat it.” Luckily the floor was clean.
Fred had his sheep on the summer range in Bull Canyon quite a distance southeast of Meadow Creek. He had to make a trip to get the rams and bring them back to the ranch. He thought that I should go along with him, and I thought that it would be enjoyable to camp out a few nights. We went in the Model T. The first night we slept in a cabin. The cool, fresh air of the mountains was pleasant for sleeping out, but when he woke me before it was good daylight and said it was time to go, I had a hard time not to be irritated. I was enjoying my sleep too much to want to be disturbed.
We got the rams out of the herd and started back to the ranch. All went well the first day, but the next morning was rainy. Fred said I could either drive the car or follow the sheep. I didn’t want to try driving on the mountain road, so followed the sheep. My skirt was long, and when it got wet with the rain, it would stick to my legs and almost trip me when I tried to hurry to head straggler sheep. It was cold, too, being wet so long. Once while I was following along quietly after the rams, a large flock of sage hens suddenly flew up making a loud humming sound, which really startled me. I was surely glad to get back to the ranch and get dry clothes and sit by the warm stove. I caught quite a bad cold from being chilled so long.
Howard Jacobs and his wife, Margaret Hitt Jacobs, and son, Sydney, had a farm a few miles south of the Meadow Creek schoolhouse. Mrs. Jacobs taught summer school the summer of 1920. She either rode a horse or drove a one-horse buggy to school. After Fred and I had gotten settled at Meadow Creek the fall of 1920, Mrs. Jacobs decided to leave in August as she had a contract to teach in the Burley school the coming school year. (Mr. Jacobs died a few years after they moved from Meadow Creek). So the Meadow Creek school trustees asked me to teach two months before the weather got too cold for the children to come to school. The weather was pleasant for a few weeks, but in early November we got a heavy snow. It was difficult to keep the schoolroom warm enough to be comfortable, and it was hard for the children to walk so far in the deep snow. I didn’t have so far to go to school. Each morning Fred would go and make a fire in the heater in the schoolhouse. He made a good path for me all the way to the schoolhouse from home, so it wasn’t as hard for me to get there as it was for the children.
It must have been a comical sight for anyone who saw me walking to school following nine cats. Our nearest neighbors, the George Scott family, went away for a while and left their mother cat and her seven little kittens. They weren’t long in making their way to our place. We had a large black and white tomcat, which Fred had named “Jimus.” He seldom came to the house, but every morning when I started toward the schoolhouse, that bunch of cats lined out in front of me on the path Fred had made for me in the deep snow---old Jimus in front, then the mother cat followed by her seven kittens. If the mother cat or any of her kittens happened to try to go ahead of old Jimus, he would quickly slap them down in the snow and walk sedately ahead. He was the General and no one was going to walk ahead of him, not even me.
When the weather got so wintery, the trustees decided it might be best to close the school until spring. It was fine with me, because Fred had to take the sheep to winter range and would have to be away from home most of the time. I couldn’t possibly stay alone out in that lonely country for the winter.
After I had quit teaching, my brother, John and his wife Elva and their two little daughters, Valear and Theta, came and stayed with us for a while. John was planning to help Fred with the sheep for the winter, and Elva and the children returned to their home in Peterson. When Fred and John left for the winter range I, also, went to stay with my parents at Peterson until March. The winter was a cold one, but my parents kept their home warm and comfortable. I enjoyed being with my dear ones.
In March I went on the train to Burley, where Fred met me with the Model T car. He was located at the lambing sheds a few miles northeast of Malta. He had three hired men to help during lambing time. Of course, I became chief cook and bottle washer in a sheep camp. The hired men had a sheep camp, too, but they ate their meals with us. My brother, Nephi, was one of them. Sam Shaw of Malta was another, and the other man was Bill Findley, a man with a cleft palate. They were all agreeable and pleasant to cook for.
The first part of March was pleasant, weather wise. The lambing went well, and there was a good crop of lambs. The latter part of the month was like a lion. We had cold winds and blizzards. Fred’s birthday was March 26. He said when his birthday came there were always blizzards. However, the men took good care of the sheep and there was a beautiful crop of lambs. April brought sunshiny days and soon the country looked pretty and green. We thought winter was gone for sure. It looked right to start for the summer range at Meadow Creek. I drove the camp wagon part of the time. The team was a pair of very large and gentle and dependable horses. “Chief” was a bay and “Dime” was a black horse. I would drive for a short distance and then get out and help urge the lambs along. Each night we would have to search our clothing and bodies for wood ticks, as they were numerous on the bushes along the way. About the third day out the weather was extra warm. The lambs wanted to get under every bush they could find. We couldn’t make any progress. Then suddenly a cold north wind began to blow. I had to get my sweater to keep warm. In a short time, snow was coming down thick and fast. We had to stop right where we were. Next morning there was over a foot of snow on the ground. No grass was in sight and we were far from any hay supply for the sheep. It was a heartbreaking sight to see hundreds of those beautiful lambs and many of the older sheep die in spite of all we could do. It was several days before we could move on to the Meadow Creek Ranch and from there, the men took the sheep on to summer range.
That was just a beginning of our financial troubles. While Fred was back East to take a bunch of lambs to market, someone (he suspected one of the herders) made off with about 300 ewes. Those depression years had ruined many stockmen. The banks and loan companies, which had loaned money to buy feed and stock, began closing in on those who had been obliged to borrow money. We fared as others in the same situation. About August of that year both of Fred’s ranches were lost as well as the sheep.
The first day we got to Meadow Creek, the man from the bank that had the mortgage on the sheep and ranches came to see Fred. We knew what was ahead of us, because many others had lost all their possessions in that depression. When the man from the bank came, he hadn’t had any dinner and there wasn’t any place but our place where he could get any food. I had mixed bread early that morning before I started driving the team, but hadn’t had a chance to bake before dinnertime. So I made some fried bread for our dinner. That was all I could do for Mr. Hoover. I thought I gave him a fairly good meal considering our just arriving in a camp wagon. I asked him if he had had enough to eat. He gave me a rather smirky answer, and said it would keep him from starving. If I had known his lack of consideration I might have let him go without dinner.
The spring of 1921 while I was at Meadow Creek, I was alone much of the time while Fred had to be away with his work. I tried to keep busy with housework and sewing, etc. The days were lonely enough. Occasionally someone would stop and ask how far it was to Snowville. I usually felt rather nervous about answering the door. Brother John Smith laughed when he told me about stopping in when he passed through Meadow Creek. Of course, he knew Fred, and thought he might be home, but I didn’t know Brother Smith. He said I looked frightened when I answered the door.
About May 20th, Fred went to Utah to bring my mother and sister, Belva, to stay with me for a while as we were expecting our first child soon. I was alone for two days and one night. The day he left for Utah, I did a washing and scrubbed my floors and did some baking. I stayed alone that night. Some of the neighbors, Mrs. McGraw and Evelyn Scott, told me later they would have gladly stayed with me if I had hinted I wanted company. The next morning Tom Wilson, who had been working for Fred came. I got breakfast for him, and he left for Malta. That day seemed so long. That evening I decided to go to the spring for some fresh drinking water. The spring was about a quarter of a mile from the house. When I was returning, I saw a man standing near the house. He came hurrying to meet me. I recognized him as the old Jew, Louie Cohen, who often came to buy sheep hides from Fred. He came and took the bucket of water and headed for the house. He went in and went to the cupboard for a cup and proceeded to have a drink. He must have been real thirsty as he dipped the cup in the bucket two or three times. He soon left. I decided to go for more water after thoroughly washing the pail and cup
Before dark I was happy to see Fred’s car coming around the turn in the road. Mother said she was relieved to see me standing in the doorway when they came around the turn. She was worried because I had been alone. Only the inexperienced would remain alone in such a lonely place under the same circumstances. It was wonderful to have my mother and sister, Belva, with us.
The morning of 1 June 1921, Fred decided to go to the hills west of the place to cut cedar posts. He had brought some ice from Malta the night before. So we were going to have ice cream and cake for dessert for dinner. He had no more than arrived at the place where he was going to cut cedar posts when George Scott was there telling him that he was needed at home. Someone went to Sublett to call Dr. Sater, but he didn’t know if he could come or not because there was such high water in the Raft River Valley at that time. The possibility that Dr. Sater couldn’t come caused us no small amount of anxiety. Someone, however, made arrangements with Sister Horne of Sublett, who had helped as a midwife on many occasions, to come in case Dr. Sater could not get there. However, Dr. Sater did get over the bridge in Bull Lane. The bridge washed out shortly after he passed over it. He had to go by way of the Yale road to get back to Malta that night.
JH is born
I will never forget how thankful I was to have my mother with me at that time. I had always thought Mother was a beautiful woman, but that day I realized more than ever how beautiful she really was. She wore a light blue dress with a pattern of blue and white squares. Her hair was so white and beautiful, her eyes so blue and her skin was so fair, and her kind gentle smile so comforting. The gentle touch of her hand gave one a feeling of security. She said “I wish I could suffer this for you, but this is one time I can’t.” Mother said, “Today is Brigham Young’s birthday. He said that every baby that is born is a miracle.” I have thought many times since then how very true are those words. About 6:00 p.m. that evening our dear little son was born. We named him June Hulet Gardiner. This name, June, proved to be embarrassing many times to him as people considered it a girl’s name. After he had a family of his own, he had his name legally changed to James Hulet Gardiner, but to me he will always be June.
When the baby was about three weeks old, Mother and I went for a walk and carried the baby. We walked toward the schoolhouse. Mr. Albert Evans came along riding a horse. He had the meanest look on his face that anyone can imagine. The Evans family lived about a half mile from our place. He was unpredictable in his temperament. One moment he would be one of the most pleasant people to talk to, and next he would be just the opposite. He got angry with Fred once because the sheep got on his land. He threatened Fred’s life for that. He came one day about a week after the baby was born and offered to help in any way he could. Fred told him that he didn’t know of anything that we needed right then. Mr. Evans likely was offended the reason he was so angry the day Mother and I met him. Mother said, “He is the meanest looking man I ever saw”. He was really a handsome man, but his terrible temper and bad disposition were something to deal with, both for his family and his neighbors.
Mother stayed with us until the baby was a month old; then felt she must go home. I know my father always missed her so much when she was away. We were loath to have her leave, but appreciated having her for that long. Belva stayed with us until September, when we moved to Declo, and helped me very faithfully. She was always so cheerful and willing to help. I could never express in words how much it meant to me to have them there.
Swearing and Yelling
One evening Belva and I heard some men yelling and swearing down at a ranch just north of us, about a half-mile away. We could hear them banging and thumping on something. We couldn’t figure out what was happening then. They sounded so loud and rough that we became rather nervous, but didn’t have any way of finding out what the trouble was. Two men came the next morning with a poor, forlorn looking donkey. They said their donkey was too tired to travel any farther, and asked if they could leave him there a few days to rest. I told them they could leave the donkey, as it looked as though it needed to rest. That poor animal lay down and hardly ever stood up for three or four days, and it seemed to be asleep most of the time. The men must have beaten it severely; as I am sure the thumping sounds we heard were of heavy objects hitting that poor donkey. Its favorite place to sleep was under the south window of the kitchen. We didn’t bother it. Belva’s bed was by the inside of the south kitchen window. She was nervous about our being alone when Fred was away, as I was. One beautiful moonlight night, she woke up and saw something or someone looking in the window. She was really frightened because her first thought was that Mr. Evans was there. Then she discovered that it was Mr. Donkey looking in the window. She didn’t tell me until next morning about her fright.
When June was just a month old, the weather turned suddenly cold. There was a cold wind for two or three days, and snow covered the surrounding mountains. During the warm weather, we didn’t need much fuel. Fred hadn’t left much wood chopped, so we were wondering how to keep the baby warm. Belva and I scouted around and found some short poles about six or eight feet long. We found they were hard to chop, so stuck one in the stove door and propped the other end with a box and let the one end burn, then pushed it in further as needed A neighbor, George Scott, happened to call in that morning. He thought that was the funniest thing he had ever seen. He had a good laugh about it, but never offered to chop a stick of wood for us. I wondered why he thought it so funny, but later learned that his wife did all the wood chopping for them. He thought we should do the same, I suppose.
That summer of 1921 while we lived at Meadow Creek, we had a few incidents that I remember well. We didn’t have a screen door, so sometimes a ground squirrel would come in the house if it didn’t see anyone inside. Fred put a new floor in the room we used for a kitchen, but the bedroom had a floor of wide boards. There was a large knothole in one board. One day while I was lying on the bed with my baby I heard a swishing sound and raised up to see what it was. There was a large blow snake just going down through that knothole. I had that hole filled up, but never did feel easy about what might come in the house. I used boxes on a table for my makeshift cupboard. I had some dried prunes in a cotton sack hanging on the wall above the cupboard. One day I looked up and there was a medium sized snake hanging over the nail that the prune sack was hanging on. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I likely wouldn’t have believed a snake could get up that high.
In August 1921, the bank foreclosed on us and we lost the sheep and both ranches.
Incidentally, in the 1960’s, the interstate highway was built through Meadow Creek. In the time since I taught in the Meadow Creek School, most of the dry farmers had left their farms and homes, and moved to other parts of the country. Mr. Arthur D. Pierce, of Malta, had bought many of the abandoned dry farms from the County or the banks. Thus, he became a wealthy landowner and stockman. He became owner of both of Fred Gardiner’s ranches, as well as many others. The old rock school house and the Pierce buildings on Fred’s home ranch are about the only landmarks left in the Meadow Creek area now that the freeway passes through.
It was a hard blow to leave the place that had been home, even though it was for a short time. The first week in September 1921, we packed our few belongings into a wagon and our Model T Ford. Our prized possession was our little son. We went to Declo and rented an apartment while Fred worked in the beet and potato fields for two months. June was blessed and given the name of June Hulet Gardiner on 6 November 1921, by Elder William Black. In December we decided to move to Malta. John Smith, a friend of Fred's, had offered to let us live in part of his ranch house out south of Malta about five miles, at Clover Lane. His family was in Malta for the winter, so the children could attend school. The house was a snug and warm log cabin. We had two rooms so were comfortable. Brother Smith didn’t charge us rent. Fred tried to help some around the place. Fred and Brother Smith went to the hills and got a good supply of firewood for both families.
While we lived at the Smith ranch, Brother Smith would come into the part of the house where we lived and holler “hello” at baby June so loud that it would frighten him until he would cry and cling to his father or me. Brother Smith thought that was funny, and laughed about it. I am sure his intentions were good, but it was not good for the baby to be so frightened.
We went to church at Malta quite regularly. Fred went more regularly than I did. We were by ourselves so much of the time that June was very timid when we were around other people. Many little children like a lot of attention, but not our baby June. June was only about six months old when we first went to Malta. When we went to church, some of the children would try to be friendly with him, but he didn’t crave so much attention. When we would get back home after being at church or elsewhere, June would seem so happy and just relax and enjoy lying on the bed quietly.
There was very little work available that winter, so there was little income. Occasionally Brother Smith, who was a counselor to Bishop I. J. Neddo, would ask Fred to play the violin for a ward dance. That was expected to be done as a free service. Had our circumstances been better, I would not have thought much of it, but I did feel that it was not quite fair to Fred. He had to buy gasoline and travel about five miles to town. One night at a dance, not a Church dance, a man decided to pass the hat to pay for the playing. When he reached in his pocket for money to pay Fred, he brought out $1.50. He kept the rest. He was so considerate.
Brother Smith had more young roosters than the family wanted to use, so gave us one once in a while, which helped. He also gave us some eggs. When spring came, he told me that if I would set some hens, I could have half the baby chicks. I set several hens, but the day they were to hatch we moved to a little house on Dr. Sater’s farm. So no baby chicks did we get. We moved in May when the Smith family moved back to the ranch when school closed.
The Sater house was just a small single roofed shack. It had a partition to separate the kitchen from the bedroom. The bedroom was barely large enough for our bed. There was no shade around the house, and it was a hot place to be during that hot, dry summer. There was a well not too far from the house, but the water was too alkaline to drink. When I used it for washing, I had to use lye to soften it. There would be a thick layer of hardness rise to the top of the boiler of water. It felt almost like rubber. It was difficult to get clothes clean in that kind of water.
That summer Fred worked with his team for Dr. Sater, clearing the sagebrush off the Sater land, plowing the land and planting some grain. But due to the shortage of irrigation water, there was not much of a crop raised. During the haying season, he worked for the Smith brothers and other Malta farmers in their hay fields. He, of course, would be very tired when he came home at night, but never complained that he had to go to Pierce’s for drinking water and milk for the baby. We had no refrigerator and it was difficult to keep milk sweet for the baby. Fred carried our drinking water from A.D. Pierce’s well. The Pierce’s were very kind neighbors, both Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Beulah Pierce and Mr. and Mrs. Jesse and Lois Pierce. One evening when Fred went for water, Mrs. Beulah Pierce gave him some ice cream, and then sent some to me packed in ice chips. Oh, how good that tasted after a hot day. I ate all the ice cream and then all the ice chips, too. The Pierces gave us vegetables out of their garden several times.
June learned to talk early. He said “Mama” before he was five months old and “Daddy” when he was six months old. Before he was two years old he could say many of the Mother Goose Rhymes and could sing several little songs before he was three years old.
While we were in the Sater house, I had a curtain around a homemade table to store things under. One day June was crawling around on the floor playing and decided to go under the curtain. After a little while, I heard a little frightened cry and out he came looking so frightened and crying. I wondered what had frightened him, so looked under the curtain. He had tipped a bottle of syrup over and spilled some on the floor. As young as he was, he knew that wasn’t the thing to do, and didn’t know what to do about it. He had to be comforted and reassured that the accident was not too serious.
That fall (1922) my folks wrote and insisted we go down there for the winter. So we stored most of our household possessions, which were not many, at Mr. and Mrs. A.D. Pierces’s house. They had a large house and some spare room. They were very kind and considerate neighbors. I will always remember them and the Jesse Pierce family as very dear and special people. No one could ask for kinder or more generous neighbors than these families were for us. Pierces took good care of the things we left there, but the things we left in the little Sater house were all gone or in the dooryard when we got back.
Back to Utah
One November morning we packed our clothing, etc., in the Model T and headed for Utah. As the Model T did not travel very fast, we were all day making the trip from Malta to Peterson. We received a warm welcome from my parents and the family, and were made very comfortable. Fred got work on the railroad very soon after we got there. June soon learned to love all the family. We had lived out of town all the time and seldom saw many people except when we went to church. June was always glad when we got back home, so he wouldn’t have people make a fuss over him. June appreciated the kind ways of my folks. My folks always served good nutritious meals, and always had a good supply of fuel to keep their home warm in the winter. Much of the transportation in winter was by bob sleigh. It was a pleasant way to travel. Sleigh riding was something our family had not known much about while living in southern Utah. In the Weber Canyon where my parents had their farm and home, it was not unusual for the snow to get waist deep in the winter.
June was always very cautious when he was learning to walk. He would go up and down stairs very slowly and carefully, usually backwards, balancing himself with his hands. He didn’t attempt to walk alone until he was about fourteen months old. I am sure he could have walked alone much sooner had he had the self-confidence to feel sure he could. He had been sitting on the floor in Mother’s kitchen playing with Father’s lantern. Suddenly, he stood up without touching his hands to anything. He picked up the lantern and walked across the room just as though he had been walking for a long time. It really surprised all of us, and I think he was as surprised as any of us.
Just a few days before Christmas, the family all got into a sleigh and went to Morgan to do some Christmas shopping. Fred drove the horses and how they did trot all the way. We had a pleasant evening. Howard and Thora were attending high school in Morgan. They came home for the weekends.
Golden is Born
One Saturday evening in February, I was cooking doughnuts when Fred came home from work. It was nearly 11:00 o’clock when I retired to my bed. But before I got a chance to go to sleep, I was aware that something important was going to happen—and soon. We were expecting an addition to our family. So soon Fred was riding like Paul Revere to the Peterson store two miles away to telephone Dr. Dorland. Mother was relieved that the doctor got there to take over the responsibility. She had been pushed into caring for some such situations, but did not feel confident about it. We were happy to welcome a second dear little son. He weighed a few ounces over nine pounds. We were so proud and happy to have two such lovely children. But the next morning, the baby seemed to be ill and that was a great anxiety for all of us. For a few days he was troubled with jaundice. Mother was a very good nurse, having had so much experience caring for her own children. She went to work doctoring the baby as she thought best, and before long he was well and seemed to be doing fine. We chose the name of Golden Frederick for this baby. His birth date was 18 February 1923. On 4 March 1923, he was given a blessing and name by my father, Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Jr.
Baby Golden grew and we thought all was well with him until one morning when my sister, Thora, was holding him, she noticed that one side of the baby’s neck was swollen and felt hard. We called Dr. Abbott. When he came, he said an abscess was forming caused by some infection and said it would have to be lanced, which he did a few days later. Mother and Thora helped the doctor. This was a frightening experience for all of us and a painful one for such a young baby. He seemed to improve rapidly and gained weight right along. But about a month later, the same trouble developed on the other side of his neck, and he had to endure the same painful ordeal of having it lanced. Through it all, he was so patient and made much less fuss than one would expect a baby to make under such circumstances. After he recovered from this trouble he was healthy and strong, for which we were so very thankful.
When I was finishing high school in Logan, I had the chance to take nurse’s training. When I wrote home and asked my parent’s advice, I got a definite reply from Father that I positively should not take nurse’s training. He may have had good reasons for his decision, but after I was married and had to care for my children, I often wished I had training to help me take better care of them than I had the knowledge to do. Every girl should have a good training in home nursing and the care and feeding of children before she marries and has the responsibility of caring for her own children. Such training would prevent many errors and much trouble in raising a family. When June was nearly two years old, we realized he was not very strong and that he was anemic. He hadn’t been sick, but his color was too pale. He didn’t want anything to eat but milk. I think it likely was because first one and then another would tell me not to let him eat this or that until we restricted his diet until he was not eating a balanced diet. We had taken advice from the wrong sources. My parents had never restricted our diets that way, so I don’t know why we were so overly much that way. We had a lot of worry and work to overcome the damage that had been done to June’s health. We took him to a specialist, Dr. Smith, in Ogden, who put us on the right track to build up June’s health. By eating green vegetables, fruit and a variety of good nourishing foods, June soon began gaining in health. One food that Dr. Smith recommended was cabbage juice, which seemed to especially help him to overcome his anemia. He was never troubled with sickness except when he had rheumatic fever when he was fourteen years old.
Because those two little boys were very good-looking and well-behaved, they were always noticed by people. June adored his little brother, and never seemed to resent losing his position as the baby of the family. June was well cared for and received much attention from all members of the family. Thora often took him with her when she went on errands to the store, or elsewhere. Mother and Father also took him with them when they went places, or were working out of doors.
Golden waited until he was sure of himself before he ventured to walk alone. We never urged the children to start walking. We figured they would walk when they were ready and that is what they did. Likely they saved themselves many falls and bumps by waiting until they could walk steadily.
When Golden was old enough to walk, he was always anxious to go with any of the family wherever he could go. He loved to go with Father at chore time. He was so interested in the animals, especially the horses. Father had a white horse he called “Chub,” that seemed to be special to Golden. Later when we returned to Idaho to live when Golden was two and a half years old, when he would say his little prayers, he would always mention Grandpa and Grandma, Aunt Thora and Uncle Howard, and then say, “And bless Chubby Boy.”
It pleased their Grandfather so very much that the boys were so anxious to go with him; and, although it must have been rather inconvenient to Father to have the little boys with him, he always invited them to go with him if he could possibly do so.
Fred on the Railroad
Fred continued to work on the railroad. He would usually come home for Sunday. The little boys looked forward to his coming home. June was old enough that he enjoyed having his Daddy tell him little stories. He could say many Mother Goose Rhymes before he was two years old. And when Golden was that old, he could also repeat many of the rhymes.
June had a vocabulary all his own. “Donger” was something like a swear word, shoe was “sidder,” chicken was “didder,” door was “banger.” He had heard some of the folks talking about a fire in the hills and added that word to his vocabulary. When he would get excited or upset about something, he would repeat a list of words like “Donger, fire, sidder, didder, banger.”
Thora often took June with her when she went on errands. One day, before he was two years old, she took him to the home of a little Norwegian lady who always liked to show children favors. She gave him a few cubes of sugar. He gave one to Thora, he ate one, but the other he saved for Mama and no one could induce him to give it up until he gave it to Mama. He was always considerate of his mother, and always was willing to share anything he had, and was not jealous of another’s progress or advancement. One thing that surprised me about June’s choice of colors was that when he had a choice of different colored flowers, he would always choose the white ones. Most children would pick pink, blue, red or yellow flowers.
The weather in December 1924 was extremely cold. It must have been about 20 degrees below zero for about a month. Father and Mother kept a fire in three stoves day and night most of that time. It was one of those very cold nights on 20 December 1924 that my brother, Howard, was sent on old “Fanchon” to the Peterson store to call Dr. Dorland to come to our assistance. We were expecting our third child.
Dr. Dorland lived at Devil’s Slide, about 15 miles southeast of Peterson, in Weber Canyon. He arrived in plenty of time, in spite of the extremely cold weather and a good amount of snow. Our precious little roly-poly daughter arrived early on a Sunday morning, 21 December 1924. She weighed a little less than six pounds. How we did love her. She was healthy and very good-natured. She had brown hair and brown eyes. Golden’s hair was darker. He also had brown eyes. We named our baby Mary Udeta. I had wanted her to have the name Judette, but other members of the family were opposed, as was my Father when my great grandmother wanted me to be named Hope Judette. So I got that near to my wish and had her named Udeta. Her grandfather, Sylvanus C. Hulet, Jr., gave her a blessing and name on 1 February 1925.
The Bridge Place
We now had three lovely children, but didn’t have a home of our own. My parents had been so kind and considerate of us, but we had to make a fresh start somewhere, as soon as possible. So as early in the spring as Fred could go to Idaho, he went to look for some suitable location. He found that there was a desert claim available to be filed on in the Bridge area. The desert claim had to be filed in my name, as Fred had already filed for a desert claim in Meadow Creek. So we bought a desert claim of 200 acres in the Bridge area. The land adjoined the ranch owned by Louis J. Gunnell.
When we left Peterson (April 1925), we had the old Model T “loaded to the bows.” Father and Mother had given us two boxes of bottled fruit, three chicken hens and some other things to start out with. The five of us had to sit in the front seat. June and Golden took turns sitting on a little wooden box on the floor of the car. It must have been very tiring for them to sit that way so long, but those dear little boys never made a bit of complaint during all that long day. They were always willing to take their turn on the box or between their father and me on the seat. Mary was just as patient about being held all day.
The first day we arrived at Bridge we didn’t know if we would have to sleep on the ground or sit in the car, but Fred knew a rancher there by the name of Ray Olson. He had a log building on his place that he let us sleep in that night. It was clean and much better than sleeping out with the three little ones. The next day Fred located a sheep camp wagon that one of his friends told him we could use. It was rather crowded for five of us, but we managed quite well considering everything. Brother Gunnell let us put the camp wagon in his stack yard. We could get drinking water and buy fresh milk from them. They were wonderful neighbors.
The things we didn’t have room for inside had to be left outside under the wagon or where ever. As long as the weather was dry we could manage, but some of my nice quilts that were in a trunk under the wagon got wet when the rain came.
I will never forget one stormy night that summer when Fred had to go Malta for groceries. It was about dark when he started home. The sky was dark with heavy dark clouds. While he was traveling there was a terrific electric storm. I do not remember a more frightening electric storm than that one was. To make bad matters worse, the car lights went out. The flashes of lightning came one right after another so that it was light most of the time. Fred would have to travel as far as he could with each flash of lightning. It took him a long time to get home and I was so worried about him, and so scared of all the thunder and lightning. I had put the children to bed before the storm got so terrific. I was glad they were asleep and were not frightened. Sister Gunnell told me the next day how her children had been so frightened and clung to her, and how they took turns praying for their safety. I, too, was frightened and prayed for Fred’s safety and for our own safety and for others, also. What a wonderful feeling of relief and thankfulness I experienced when Fred finally arrived home safely after such a dangerous and difficult experience. The storm finally passed over and we were very thankful to be safe and able to go to bed and rest.
Fred worked hard all that spring and summer on the desert land. He had to fence the place, and needed help to measure the land so he would know where to put the fence. He had no one to help him except June who was not yet four years old. His father would carry him part way, usually, as he was not too strong. June would hold one end of the long rope for his father and they measured the 200 acres. When they got it measured, Mr. Gunnell said it wasn’t right, so they had to do the measuring all over again. That was a hard thing under the circumstances, but they did it.
He cleared the sagebrush off quite an area. He had to dig a well and irrigate the land and plow it before he could plant it to alfalfa. He irrigated it partly from Raft River and later from the well. One side of the well was dug out so the horses could walk down and get a drink. One day when one of the horses, “Old Nick,” went down to get a drink, he slipped and fell down and couldn’t get up again; probably his neck was broken. Fred felt really bad about losing that horse. He thought so much of that team, “Nick” and “Brownie.” Nick had a white strip down his face and was a tan color; Brownie was a dark brown color. They were such high-spirited animals, always willing to do their best.
One day we took a lunch, and Fred took the children and me over to see what he had been doing on the place. He had bought a nice lamb roast in town the day before. He took his bake oven and roasted that lamb meat, and how good it did taste to all of us. It was a real picnic day for us as a family.
The little boys could get in and out of the wagon by themselves, but Mary was too young to walk and there was no place for her to sit but on the bed. From the time she was six months old she would sit by my tin breadbox on the bed and play with anything available. Soon she was able to stand by the breadbox to play. I never could leave her alone in the wagon on the bed even for a minute. I could put her at the back of the bed, but she would squirm around until her feet were against the back of the wagon and she would push with her feet so that she would go head first toward the front of the bed. I had to carry her with me every time I went out to get water or wood or anything else. One day I was making a cake. I had set the stirring bowl on the seat by the bed, as that was the only counter in the sheep camp. Mary was lying on the bed. I turned to get something out of the cupboard and then, when I turned around, there was my baby, Mary, with her head in the cake bowl. Well, there she was with cake batter all over her head. What a sight! And what a job it was to get the cake batter out of her hair.
One day Golden saw his father coming. He was so excited and happy he didn’t stop to think about the wagon being so high. He ran out of the door and fell striking his forehead on the metal on the wagon tongue. It cut a gash in his forehead that bled profusely. We were frightened to see him hurt like that, but we managed to care for the cut and it healed all right.
June and Golden liked to play with the inner parts of an old clock that didn’t have a case around it. When they would wind it up, the spring would unwind quickly and make a loud buzzing sound. One day they were out in the stack yard playing with the old clock. Some of Brother Gunnell’s chickens were walking calmly around the yard. June wound up the old clock, then let it unwind. The loud buzzing sound frightened an old rooster so badly that he flew, screeching, to the top of a haystack. To see that old rooster clamber so fast up the haystack and hear him screech, really amused those little boys. They had one good laugh that day.
June and Golden often played with Junior Gunnell, who sometimes told them how much better his folk's things were than ours. This hurt the little boys so finally they told Junior they had the best grandpa and grandma, anyway. June said, “When Junior wants to say “to-gever” he says “to-gedder.” June didn’t like living in such crowded quarters, so he said, “When I get as big as Uncle Howard, I’m going to have a truck and shotgun like him. I’ll shoot a skunk, a bear and a coyote and sell their hides to buy a truck. Then we can just keep a traveling and not have to stop and bother anybody.”
Brother Gunnell was bishop of the Naf Ward at the time we lived at Bridge. There were only a few people in the ward at that time, anyway only a few attended church that summer. The only ones I remember who attended were Brother and Sister Gunnell and their family of five children; Brother and Sister Joseph Harper and part of their family; their son Rawlins and his wife, Thera; Brother and Sister Heber Booth and their family of about five children; and Fred and I with our three children. I thought it was good that we could go to church. One thing that bothered me very much was the lack of respect certain individuals showed for Bishop Gunnell, as they seemed to be constantly snickering at nearly everything that he said. Bishop Gunnell was a very kind and humble man, and I thought he deserved the respect of the ward members. I didn’t like the attitude or example of those who lacked respect and reverence at Church, or elsewhere, for those in authority.
My parents had given the children three hens to take with us. Those hens laid eggs all summer until the little bantam stole her nest away. We thought something had killed her until she came back proudly showing off her brood of chicks. I think she had ten chicks. The children thought this was wonderful. Another of the hens raised some chicks, too. They all roosted on the reach of the wagon. One night we heard something bothering the chickens. When Fred tried to find out what the trouble was, he couldn’t see anything around, but next morning two young fryers were missing. Fred made nests of hay near the wagon so the children could get the eggs easily. One day Golden, who was less than three years old, had noticed one of the Plymouth Rock hens on the nest, so was anxious to be the one to bring the egg to me. He sat down outside to wait. After waiting awhile he became impatient. I heard him talking and looked to see to whom he was talking. He was saying, “Son of a gun, son of a gun,” over and over. He was tired and impatient waiting for her to get off the nest so he could get and bring the egg.
June and Golden were constant companions. If one was away or asleep, the other could hardly wait until they could be together again. When they were older, they were the same. They wanted to be together and with other members of the family. They said they didn’t want to go away from home to play as they had more fun at home.
The latter part of October (1925) the weather was cold and windy. The single canvas cover on the camp wagon was not much protection for the family of little ones. Brother and Sister Gunnell were kind and thoughtful, and told us to move into one room of their house, although I am sure they were obliged to crowd their own family to make room for us. I will always remember and think highly of them. This was a boon to us, as it was warm and comfortable. There was a baby bed in the room. I thought that would be wonderful to keep Mary from falling off the bed. I didn’t think of her trying to climb over, although she was nearly a year old by that time. There was a blanket or something in one corner of the bed that made it higher. She climbed up on that and went over the side of the bed onto the floor. That proved she couldn’t be kept in that bed either.
Fruit was scarce. My folks had given us a few boxes of bottled fruit, which was greatly appreciated every time we opened a bottle. Someone from Almo gave Gunnells a lot of rhubarb. They shared this treat with us. In the fall we had the chance to buy two bushels of prunes. I bottled them and we were thankful to get them. Brother and Sister Gunnell were very wonderful friends to us, and I will always remember them. When Sister Gunnell’s health failed and she was ill for so long, I felt so very sorry for her and the family. She was a very special friend to me.
We stayed in the Gunnell house only one month, for by that time Fred had located a one-room house nearer Malta. It belonged to Willis Sears of Albion. He was a brother-in-law of A.D. Pierce who lived just a short distance west of the house we would live in. So on a fairly mild day early in November, we loaded the Model T and headed for a different abode. It was afternoon when we arrived at the place. As soon as we got the car unloaded and had a quick lunch Fred had to go back to Bridge for the bedsprings and some other things. It soon was dark and a brisk wind started blowing from the south. We had a fire in the cook stove. The smoke started pouring out of the stove. The stovepipe was on the south side of the roof and was lower than the ridge of the house. There was nothing to do but open the door. The cold wind blew in then, so I had to hurry and put the three children to bed in a cot to keep them warm. I surely felt creepy to be there with the little ones in a strange house and in a strange area, but it was either suffocate with smoke or have the door open. It was late when Fred got back. He had been having difficulties. The heavy bedsprings kept sliding off the top of the loaded car. In the dark it was hard to see how things were doing.
We finally got the beds set up and were ready to go to bed after our hard day’s work. The wind had calmed down so we could have the door closed. How good the bed did feel. We were just ready to doze off when the springs on our big bed fell to the floor. They hadn’t been set in right. Well, we just let them stay on the floor until morning and slept soundly on them. That winter, and always, we had trouble with the stove smoking every time a south wind was blowing.
The room was large, but was desolate looking. We calcimined the walls (a colored wash made with lime, and used to cover plastered walls) and did some painting, hung curtains at the windows and got things straightened up so it did not look too bad. Mrs. Beulah Pierce said she had not seen so much improvement in a place with so little expense. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were so kind and considerate always. They were wonderful friends and neighbors to us. They seemed to enjoy talking to the children, as the children usually had something to say that amused them. When Fred had to be away from home working, they would always offer to get my groceries. When I apologized to Mrs. Pierce for accepting so many favors, she said, “If you were not welcome to our favors, you surely wouldn’t get them.”
Mary was not in a hurry to start walking alone. She would walk around by the chair or bed, but would not risk going alone without something to hold on to. Then one day when she was about fourteen months old, she had been playing and walking around by things. She decided to walk across the room. She could walk so easily that from that time on she didn’t “walk,” but she “ran.” She would go outside and strike out across the big yard. It kept some of us busy all the time to watch her and keep track of her, as the river and the road were so close by.
We had to carry most of the water we used from Pierce’s well. That was no easy task. After a while Father and Mother sent a little Express wagon to Golden and June and sent us a five-gallon milk can so the water hauling would be less difficult. This surely was a big help.
Raft River ran along the west side of the place, so when we went to Pierce’s place we had to cross a bridge over the river. There were cracks between the planks on the bridge about an inch or two wide. Mary wasn’t two years old, and she was worried when she walked over the bridge. To be sure she wouldn’t fall through the cracks, she would get down and crawl over it. This amused her brothers. There was a spring of nice, clear water about two feet below the bank of the river. We sometimes could get water there, but one day when I went for water I found a large snake enjoying a bath in the spring, so I wasn’t anxious to use that water after that.
Fred worked helping build the highway between Strevell and Idahome, so was away from home much of the time. The summer of 1926, June was five years old, Golden was three and a half years old and Mary was one and a half years. Sometimes the two little boys would take a two-quart pail and bring us a drink of fresh water. They were so willing to help any way they could. Mary was very young, but just as willing and anxious to help.
One day that summer, we had an extra heavy sudden rainstorm. We didn’t have time to see that all the young poultry got under shelter. The water ran all around the house. As soon as we could, we went out to see what had happened. An old hen with little chickens got soaked and one little chick was apparently dead and lying in a puddle of rain. June and Golden felt very badly about it. So we took that chick and some others that were soaking wet and chilled into the house. We put a piece of old blanket on the oven door and rubbed them as dry as we could, and tried to warm them. Mary wanted to hold the little chicken that appeared to be dead, so she played around the stove with it for half an hour or more and dropped it several times. June said, “I wish ‘Fodder’ in Heaven would make that little chicken alive again.” In a little while the little chicken began blinking its eyes and jerking its legs, and in a short time it was up running around with its mother. The children called this chicken, “Whistler,” and he grew up to full size.
We still had the three hens we had brought from Utah and about 15 chicks they had raised. One day June said, “Mama, how are you and Daddy going to get a start of chickens? These are all ours, Grandma and Grandpa gave these chickens to us.”
Fred made a small coop for the chickens. When spring (1926) came we had eggs enough for our needs and could have a chicken to eat occasionally, which was helpful. Fruit was scarce and hard to get, but we did manage to get a few peaches to can. We set the hens that wanted to set and raised quite a few young chickens. While we were still living at the Sears place, I would send about a half-bushel of eggs to the store and get my groceries. I could get a five-pound brick of cheese for $1.25. Now (1977) one pound of cheese costs much more than that amount.
As work on the highway was to continue through most of the winter and Fred would be away most of the time, my parents again insisted that the children and I should spend a few months with them as we were expecting an addition to our family. There was never any certainty that we could get Dr. Sater, the only doctor in the Raft River Valley, so it was risky to stay out at Malta under the circumstances.
In November of 1926, we decided to go back to Peterson for the winter. We were expecting our fourth child. As Fred was working on the highway, he would take us to Peterson and then return to Malta to work and batch it. The highway wasn’t as good then as it is now and the Model T did not travel very fast. We started out in the Model T as soon as it was daylight and traveled all day. It was dark before we reached Weber Canyon. There was construction work being done on the canyon road. We had to detour on a dugway on the north side of the canyon. We could hear the Weber River roaring down below us. Then, of all things, our car lights went out. There we were up on that dugway traveling uphill and no lights. A man who was traveling towards us wanted to pass. Luckily, we were next to the side of the mountain. That man was very impatient and wanted to get by. Fred had gotten June to come up into the front of the car from the back seat to hold the car brake while he blocked the wheels with some rocks. Fred told the man he would help him get by our car, “but would he help get our car lights fixed first?” The man said, “Oh, no, I am in a hurry, I can’t stop. I have to get by.” He managed somehow to get his car past our car, but I expected to see it slide down the mountain. That man surely had no consideration for anyone but himself. Fred finally got the lights fixed, but it was a time of great anxiety for us while he was working. We were surely relieved and thankful when we could get going and reach my parent’s home. We received a warm welcome.
The children and I were very comfortable that winter, but Fred had to go back to Malta and work through the winter on the highway. He had to go home to a cold house at night and get his own meals. He also took care of the chickens. They made it through the winter real well, even if they only had a makeshift shelter.
In the early morning hours of 30 December 1926, Howard was sent post haste to the telephone office at Peterson two miles away. He got the message through to Dr. Dorland, but for some reason Dr. Dorland couldn’t come immediately. He arrived about half an hour after Mother had taken care of the baby and me. Mother was not a trained midwife, but when she was forced into an emergency such as this, she was very efficient. The doctor said she had done a perfect job of taking care of us. How thankful we were that dear Mother was so capable and could take care of us so efficiently. There was only forty-five minutes from the time the message was sent to the doctor until our precious little daughter arrived. She wasn’t waiting for the doctor or anyone else. She had a very red face and plenty of dark hair. We were happy to welcome her to our family. We named her Hope Dawn. Her grandfather, S. C. Hulet, Jr., gave her a blessing and name on 6 February 1927.
Besides me and my children being there with my parents, my sister, Thora, who had been married the year before was there, too, as her husband was away working. She stayed with my sister, Eleanor Winsor, when her little daughter, Thora Huleta, was born 13 December 1926, but she soon came to stay at our parent's home, too. It was no doubt a heavy load for my parents to have their daughters come home for such occasions, but they were always kind and considerate and didn’t complain.
Early in March I decided to go home to Malta. As Fred had to be away much of the time and I was alone with the children, I asked Thora to go with me for a while. Father and Mother took us to the train depot in Peterson. We had to change trains in Ogden. That was quite a stunt for us. Thora and I each had a baby in our arms. June was five and a half years old, Golden was four and Mary was two. Each had to carry some of our traveling paraphernalia. Even Mary carried the diaper bag. They were anxious and willing to help and never caused any trouble on our journey. Thora’s baby cried a lot during the night, or we could have enjoyed our train ride. We were glad to have Fred meet us at the train depot in Burley the next morning. We rode in the Model T to Malta. It was good to have my sister with me, but we were worried about her baby being so fretful, and then becoming very ill. Thora stayed for a month and then went back to Peterson. However, during the time she was there with us she built a coop for the chickens, which was a better place than they had had before. Thora never was afraid of work. I was sorry that her baby did not keep well, and felt that she would get better help with Father and Mother. Mrs. Pierce was very friendly and neighborly, and said that if I hadn’t gone to Peterson she would have offered to help me. I am sure she would have been very helpful.
1927 Robert Dies
In April 1927, Fred went to Salt Lake City to General Conference. While he was there his father, who was 82 years of age, passed away. He had been living for a while at the home of his son, Clarence. While going down the basement stairs, he fell and broke his collarbone. During the time he was recovering from that accident, he suffered a stroke and lived only a short time after that. That April, Fred was made a member of the Stake High Council and worked in that capacity for several years. John A. Elison was Stake President at the time. During the time that Bishop Orson Sanders was in office, Fred was made Ward Clerk for the Malta Ward and served for several years. Later, he was first assistant to William W. Barrett, the High Priest Group leader.
Although Fred had worked in areas where he had no chance for activity in the Church, he was always ready and willing to attend church services and do whatever was asked of him by those in authority. He was a great reader, and always had a good book handy. He studied the Scriptures whenever he had time to read. He never forced the children to attend church, but always was ready to go with them. Many times when he had no means for transportation, he walked a long distance to church meetings.
That summer (1927) a big young horse of Fred's got in the river to drink, and sank in the mud so deep that he couldn’t get out. I was there with the little children. I couldn’t leave them alone and they were too young to send very far for help. We went to see if Mr. Pierce was at home. He wasn’t, but Mrs. Pierce took a team of horses and went to another neighbors place and got the hired man, Mr. Durfee, to come. He came and hitched a chain to the neck of the horse that was in the mud and pulled him out. This was appreciated very much. Mr. Durfee was a heavy-set man and he was wearing a bright pink shirt. For some reason June and Golden thought that that shirt was something special. They told me they would like a pink shirt like Mr. Durfee had. I think Golden finally decided that he would like a bright blue shirt so that they wouldn’t get confused about their shirts.
It was late that summer (1927) that Mrs. Pierce brought three turkey eggs over to me so that we got a start of turkeys. Mrs. Pierce raised a large flock of turkeys each summer. She said it was late in the season and she didn’t want to be bothered with just a few late turkeys. When we left Peterson, Father and Mother had given the children three hens, two Plymouth Rocks and one little black bantam hen. The little chicks that those hens had hatched at Bridge were grown by the spring of 1926. One of those chickens was a special pet of the children. She was a little short-legged dark red hen. The children could pick her up any time they wanted to. She seemed to enjoy the attention they gave her. They would talk to her and she would seem to try to talk to them. The children thought it was so much fun to sit inside the screen door and hold a piece of bread so “Sweetie,” as they called her, could see it. They would move the bread up and down and around and around. Sweetie would move her head to follow the bread. It was really comical the way she did. They would talk to her and she would turn her head from one side to the other and make little clucking sounds like she was trying to talk to them.
June, Golden and Sweetie Mary, June and Golden Mary
Well, when Mrs. Pierce brought those three big turkey eggs, it so happened that Sweetie was broody. So I put the eggs under her. After four weeks of her faithful care the eggs hatched and Sweetie was very proud of her three turkey babies. She took good care of them and they grew so fast that it was not too long before they were as large as she was, and larger. She would get on the roost in the chicken coop with one turkey on one side of her and two on the other. She would have her wings over the backs of the ones next to her. Her wing wouldn’t cover the extra one. This is how we got started raising turkeys.
The summer of 1928, we raised quite a lot of baby chicks and about 20 turkeys. The boys, June and Golden, helped what they could, and helped with the care of Mary and Dawn while I was busy caring for the poultry. Fred worked with his team of horses on the highway that was being built through that part of Cassia County, so he wasn’t home much of the time, but managed to bring our groceries and supplies for the poultry. We had trouble with hawks, magpies and skunks taking the little chicks and turkeys. The sparrow hawks were bad. They would swoop down like a flash and strike a little chick right before us. One day a sparrow hawk struck a little chick and left its head lying on the ground. They hit with terrific force. The mother hens and turkeys were ever on the alert to warn their young. At night the skunks would dig and crawl under the pens where the young chicks and poults were kept. A few times they took a whole brood of little turkeys.
In the fall of 1928 we had the experience of picking and dressing quite a number of turkeys for market. I think we got about $300.00 for them. The price was lower then than it is now.
While we lived at the Sears place, Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were always very kind and thoughtful of the children. At Easter time, Mrs. Pierce always prepared an Easter basket for June, Golden and Mary. I had had trouble getting Mary to eat a variety of food. Mrs. Pierce brought some fresh carrots to us. I cooked some of them and Mary liked them. I told Mrs. Pierce how Mary enjoyed the carrots. She said, “I will see that she has carrots.”
June started school the fall of 1927. He had to ride on the school bus nearly three miles. He was so timid around strangers and, of course, most of the children were new to him. However, the Pierce boys, Monroe and Dale, (sons of Jesse and Lois Pierce) had visited us occasionally before that time. They took June under their wings and saw that no one picked on him. The McGraw girls said that the Pierce boys wouldn’t even let them talk to June. So perhaps they were overly protective of him. One day after June had been going to school for a week or so, he decided he didn’t want to go anymore. We got him ready for school. He still insisted he wasn’t going to go. We didn’t scold or threaten him, but tried to find his reason for not wanting to go. His father just picked him up and carried him to the school bus and put him on. He didn’t resist then and never again refused to go to school. His first grade teacher, Mrs. Irene Udy, said that she couldn’t get a response from June in his classes for about six weeks. She was afraid that he was losing out on what he was supposed to be learning, but when he finally decided to take part in classes, she found out that he was up to date on what he should have learned. From that time on he was always a good student in school.
JH is Short
He graduated from the eighth grade with his class, but was a head shorter than the rest of the boys in his class. The man who gave the talk at their graduation exercises said to June after the exercises, “What is a little runt like you doing here?” June did not think that was an appropriate graduation congratulation.
During the following summer (1935), June and Golden had been helping their father with the farm work, but early in August, June was taken sick with rheumatic fever. His knees were very swollen and painful for several weeks.
At first he had an ingrown toenail. Dr. Sater, who at that time lived across the street from us, worked on that and cut out part of the toenail. That was a very painful ordeal for June, but he never made a sound, just gritted his teeth and endured the pain. I am sure I couldn’t have done nearly as well myself. He had shown his ability to control his feelings in times of sickness and sorrow since that time. (Gloria remembers going with Mom and June to Dr. Sater’s home that day, and sitting on a horsehair sofa while waiting for the operation to be done).
When his knees became so swollen and painful, we got some advice from Dr. Sater. He told us to give June each day one quart of water with one tablespoon of Epsom salts and one tablespoon of cream of tartar and the juice of one lemon. This was to be taken in small quantities during the day.
Also, Fred’s sister, Eva Cushing, came to visit us. She was a nurse and gave some constructive help. She told me to give June at least two steam baths each day. That was not an easy thing to do, as we did not have plumbing for hot water. I would put a little stool in a washtub, put very warm water in the tub and have June sit on the stool with blankets around him. After he had been in the steam for about fifteen minutes, I would hurry him to his bed and cover him with warm dry blankets and rub him with rubbing alcohol and keep him warm until time for the next steam bath. This was repeated two or three times a day.
June was very cooperative in doing what we thought would help him get over his trouble. At that time of the year we were able to have plenty of fresh fruit for him to eat. I would peel a large bowl of peaches and take to him. He enjoyed them and they were good for him. Some of the treatments must have helped him because he gradually improved.
School started about the middle of September, and about two weeks later he was well enough to go to school. I remember watching him start walking to school that morning and wondering if I should have let him go when he had to walk. The school bus, which had burned down several years before, had not been replaced. When the time came for June to graduate from high school, he had caught up in height with the boys in his class.
The spring of 1929 June and Golden helped me build enough turkey coops for all the turkey hens we had to set. We built the coops of panels that Fred had used at the lambing sheds. We used two panels fastened together on one side and spread out at the lower side to form a roof shape, then fastened a panel at the back and one at the front for the door. We covered the turkey houses with anything available--canvas, oilcloth, burlap sacks, etc. It looked like a small village. We had to have cans enough for the turkey’s drinking water and food for as long as they were kept in the individual coops. Of course, after the poults were hatched, the mother turkeys could be out and would go back to their own coop at night. It required quite a lot of time and work to feed and care for a bunch of young turkeys. Fred was away most of the time working, so the children and I had the main responsibility for caring for them.
June, Golden, Mary and Dawn all learned to say verses and Mother Goose Rhymes before they were two years old. They enjoyed hearing stories. Their father often had all of them on his knees or near him while he told them stories. One story they often asked for was about “Billy Muskrat,” an original story of their father’s and a favorite with the children. He also told of amusing and interesting experiences he had had with people, and of places he had been. We should have written all of those stories down then, because now we have forgotten too much to be able to tell them as Fred did. His sense of humor helped make his story telling more interesting.
The Malta Place
By the summer of 1929, we had decided to buy a place nearer Malta. It was one and a half miles south of Malta on the highway. The land was owned by the State of Idaho. It had an unfinished frame building on it, a small barn, and a granary. When we bought it, the windows were all in the house, but by the time we could get moved in someone had taken several of the windows. Also, the sink and glass kitchen cupboard doors were missing. We had a pretty good idea where they had gone, but couldn’t or didn’t do anything about it. There were four rooms in the house. The walls and woodwork had never been painted. The house was not enticing to look at, but we had more room for our family. The children thought it was great fun to run around in a circle through all the rooms, as they had lived in one room for so long. There was much to be done to make the house more suitable to live in.
We moved part of our belongings on the morning of July 3rd. Fred and the boys went back in the afternoon to get more things. Fred went back in the evening thinking he would get the turkeys, but they were not used to him being around them much. When he tried to catch them they scattered in all directions. He had to come back without a turkey. So the next day I went to the Sears place with him and the children. I just put some feed down for the turkeys and could easily pick them up and hand them to Fred and the boys to put them in boxes. There was much green feed on the place. The dandelions were over a foot high all over the yard, and the turkeys did well here. We did have some trouble with skunks.
One turkey hen stole her nest out by the creek in the deep grass and dandelions. About midnight one night we heard a turkey making a fuss like she was frightened. Fred went out to try to locate her and see what the trouble was. He was walking along the creek where the noise had seemed to come from. He saw something white down in the grass. He started to reach down to pick it up to see what it was when he got a whiff of skunk scent. He decided quickly not to pick that white thing up. It was lucky for him that he made a quick decision. Skunks are better left untouched.
Work was scarce and our financial situation was not good. The land was mostly covered with sagebrush when we got there, and the season was too late to put in a crop that year. We sold about $300 worth of turkeys, but that amount had to be stretched to meet many needs. We had a cow we called “Daisy.” She gave sufficient milk to meet our needs, and we were able to make some butter, too. Our poultry provided most of the meat we used.
JH is Baptized
Fred got permission to baptize June in the middle fork of Cassia Creek that runs through the back yard near the house. He was baptized 10 August 1929 by his father and confirmed the next day in Sacrament Meeting by I. J. Neddo.
We didn’t get all the windows put in until September 5th, the day our fifth child and dear little third daughter was born. That day the doctor was not available. When my other children were born, I had always had my mother with me, or had been at the home of my parents. Their kindness and consideration was always a great help and was appreciated so very much. We tried to locate Dr. Sater, but he was not available. We had to call on Sister Emma Smith for help. We always called her “Grandma Smith” as others in the area did. She surely was a wonderful nurse and we appreciated so much all she did for us. She had much experience as a midwife. She came about 9:00 a.m. I had mixed a big batch of bread that morning and couldn’t finish it. She took care of that, and said it was the biggest batch of bread she had ever mixed. She was very efficient and we were very glad she could be with us. All went well. Our third lovely little daughter was welcomed into our family that afternoon 5 September 1929. We named her Margaret. Her father, Frederick, gave her a blessing and a name on 3 November 1929. How thankful we were that we had been able to get efficient help and all had gone well for us. When we asked Sister Smith how much we owed her for her work, she said, “Oh, five dollars will be plenty.” That is quite different from the way doctors charge now for such services.
Dr. Sater was a wonderful doctor. He was never one to charge a high price for helping, and I am sure he never received pay for a good share of the work he did for people in this area. He realized that most people in this part of the country were just getting started and money was scarce. I am sure he should have been less lenient and looked out for his own interests more. He will always be highly regarded by all the people who knew him and his family.
We had difficulty getting a hired girl while I was unable to do the housework. We were able to get Ivy Paskett for two days. She was very good help. She went ahead with the housework very well, and was kind and considerate of the little children. We were sorry that she could not stay longer, but she had previously promised to work for another family after that. The next girl, Marie, did the work pretty well, but some things really bothered me. At that time, no one had fly sprays, fly swatters and the things we now have to control flies. We didn’t have screen doors on the house then. It was a real impossibility to keep the flies out of the house. This hired girl would get a meal and set it on the table, but never cover it with a tablecloth or something to keep the flies out of things if she had to wait the meal for Fred. No matter how long the meal had to wait, she wouldn’t let the children have a taste of food until their father came. Then the food was past being palatable to any of us. When she made yeast bread, she would leave lumps of dry flour all through the dough. The children did not like that kind of bread. One day Mary, who was five years old, came to my bedside and said, “Mama, haven’t you got even one of your biscuits left?” I would ask the children to cover the table with a clean tablecloth when the meal was waiting. Marie would go and snatch the cloth off and just let the flies crawl on the table.
When Margaret was 10 days old, Marie went home. I decided I would have to make some bread even if it was Sunday. There was Stake Conference that day, too. Fred had promised the bishop that he would take his truck and haul some benches from the Sublett church house that morning for use at conference. The children had no way to get to conference so they stayed home that day.
Golden was to start school the next day. June had been going to school for two years. June was glad to have Golden go with him. They had always been so close, one felt lonely without the other. The little boys didn’t have any clean clothes ready for school, so I had them get a tub with some water, the washboard and some laundry soap and told them how to wash their clothes. They did a good job of it. The next morning I ironed their shirts and overalls for them to wear to school. Golden’s first teacher was Estella Neddo. He really thought a lot of her as a teacher.
On 5 November 1929, we received word of the tragic death of my sister, Eleanor Winsor’s husband, Murkins Winsor. He was driving a school bus from Peterson to Morgan. While he was stopped for one of the students on the east side of the Weber River to shut his cows in their pasture, some of the boys on the bus fastened some tin cans tied with strings to the back of the bus. When Murkins got out to remove the cans, another school bus came around a turn in the road at high speed and hit him. He was taken to the hospital in Ogden, but lived only a few hours. He was the father of four little children.
On Christmas morning 1929, Brother David Tracy, who was one of our nearest neighbors, came dressed as Santa Claus and brought popcorn, candy and nuts to the children. They thought it was pretty special to have Santa Claus come and visit them.
The house was not built suitably for the cold windy climate of Raft River Valley. It cooled rapidly when the fire was allowed to go out. It wasn’t unusual to find water in a cup at the bedside frozen solid on a winter morning.
During the winter of 1929-1930, there was an epidemic of red measles in the country. Our children all had the measles, including baby Margaret. They all had a bad case, except Margaret wasn’t so ill. Some thought she wouldn’t take the disease because she was so young, but she did. The measles seemed to have had a bad effect on the children’s eyes. June, Mary and Dawn have had to wear glasses.
1929 The Schoolhouse Burns Down
That winter (1929), the grade school house burned down. (James recalls that this happened just before Christmas. The gifts that the children had brought for the Christmas gift exchange were all burned in the fire). It was necessary to have the children go to school in any available place. Some classes were held in what was called the “Ed Officer” building. I think it had been a garage. The facilities for school were not adequate, but the best that could be provided under the circumstances. The new school building was not ready for use until the winter of 1931-1932. Part of the old school building was rock and did not burn. The new schoolhouse was built west of the old one. The old rock building was repaired and converted into a band room and shop room. (Seminary was held in one end of the building. Chloe Sanders was the Seminary teacher.)
During the 1930’s depression, work was very scarce. When school started in the fall of 1931, classes were still being held in the old “Ed Officer” building. Later in the fall they were able to move to the new schoolhouse. Fred was hired as custodian. The wages were $40 a month. Then when the depression was at its worst stage, the trustees decided to let another man with a large family share the job with Fred. They each got $20 per month. While he had the whole job of sweeping and tending the boiler room, Golden and June would help with the sweeping and dusting. When he just took care of the boiler room and the heating, he often had to stay late when there was a school meeting, a basket ball game, or some other activity. The children liked to go where he was in the boiler room and eat their lunches while he ate his. While Fred was working around the school, if he had a few spare minutes he would read Scriptures or read some good book. He took a high school class or two. He liked mathematics. During those years and later, he completed several correspondence classes.
Those were lean years for most people. We were fortunate to have a few cows, so we had our own milk and butter to use. We raised some turkeys and chickens, but they didn’t bring much if sold. It paid better to use them for food. Along with the depression, we had several years of drought. People couldn’t get feed for their animals. The government decided to buy some of the animals at rock bottom prices. We sold cows for $15 or $18. Then government people had the animals taken down near Idahome and slaughtered them and left them there instead of letting people make use of the meat. I remember some of the welfare people came to the house to see if we needed help. They asked several questions about what supplies we had on hand. They asked if we had any bottled fruit. I told them truthfully that we had nearly 100 quarts of bottled fruit. Of course, for a large family like ours that was a meager supply. The man who was there said, “If you have 100 quarts of fruit, you don’t need any help.” We got by, but I thought how easy those guys were making their money telling folks whether or not they needed help. How little they cared.
The two boys were always willing to help their father with the chores even while they were so young and they did much to help me with the younger children.
The summer of 1930 we had a good crop of turkeys and Fred raised some hay and grain, but there was always a struggle to provide the necessities of life. My folks and Fred’s sisters, Eva and Beatrice, often sent gifts of clothing to the children. At Christmas time they were always very thoughtful and generous.
The spring of 1931 was dry and gave little promise or encouragement for planting crops. However, most farmers in the valley planted some grain. We had very little moisture and the creek water went to those with early water rights. We were told that the middle fork of Cassia Creek that runs through our place would be dry the first of July and so it was. All the water we had to water our animals and for household needs had to be pulled from the well with a bucket fastened to a rope. It always worried me to see the little boys stand over the well and pull water up in a bucket. It was good water, but there was always danger of things getting in the open well.
There was work being done on the highway again, so Fred got employment.. He thought the children and I should go to Peterson for a month or so. We were there during the months of July and August. My sister, Thora, and her two children, Huleta and Ida Mary, were there too, so we were quite a crowd. While we were at Peterson, Golden was baptized by James Carrigan and confirmed by Albert Whittier. We returned to Idaho the latter part of August as the children had to start school the fifth of September. Mother came back with us.
We were all sad when we returned home and found that our little pet hen, “Sweetie,” had died while we were away. She had been a very special pet because she seemed to try to talk to the children, and understand when they talked to her.
Mary was ready to start school by this time. She was real anxious to learn to read, but on Thursday of the first week of school, she didn’t want to go with her brothers. Mother and I had been invited to spend the day with Mrs. McGraw. That likely was the reason she refused to go to school. She wanted to go visiting, too. She was ready to go to school the next day and never again refused to go to school. Her teacher was Estella Neddo. She thought so much of Miss Neddo and said, “I wish that I could have Miss Neddo for my teacher all through my school years.”
On 15 September 1931, we had another dear little one added to our family. We named her Gloria Jean. She soon began asserting herself and letting us know her wants. When she wanted food or needed other attention, she would first fuss a little very gently. If she didn’t get what she wanted, she increased the volume of her request. If she was still ignored, she would make her voice plenty loud to insure getting the attention she wanted. When Gloria was ten days, old my sister, Thora, came to get Mother. Father was too lonely without her. I had appreciated all she did for me and the family, and knew she had worked too hard while with us. We had no power washer. There was fruit to put up and the usual abundance of household duties. How I did dread to see her go. I had to get busy from then on. On 1 November 1931, Gloria was given a blessing and name by her father, Frederick.
Best Children Ever
We had June, Golden and Mary attending school and Dawn, Margaret and Gloria under school age. Now when I look back over the years, I think we must have had some of the best children to get along with that any one ever had. They were obedient and easy to manage, and got along well with each other. They never worried about running off to play with other children. They had good times together at home. They enjoyed reading or listening to stories. We usually spent Sunday afternoon reading or telling stories.
The Schoolbus Burns
One very cold morning in the winter of, I think, 1933-1934, when Nap Smith was driving the school bus from Clover Lane to Malta, he had trouble starting the engine. When he put a burning oiled gunny-sack near the motor to warm it up, the grease on the motor caught fire and he could not extinguish the flames. The bus was burned, and for several years there was no bus transportation for the children. They had to walk one and one-half miles to school, as we did not have a car to take them to and from school. Occasionally one of the neighbors would give them a ride.
At that time, work was scarce for Fred. He had taken the janitorial job at the Malta school. He, too, had to walk. Walking was not so bad when the weather was moderate, but sometimes it was so very cold and windy and stormy. I had to dress all of the children warmer than I would have needed to if they had had transportation to and from school. (The children, especially the daughters, remember wearing long underwear with a trap door in the back. Under their long stockings, it made them have lumpy legs. The girls always wore dresses, not jeans or slacks. They were always eager for spring to come when they could get permission to stop wearing that long underwear).
They had to carry their lunches much of the time. Eventually, the school had the hot lunch program. Then Mary helped in the lunchroom for two or three years and got her lunch and some of the other children got their lunch for her work as well. The pay for janitorial work was very low and had to be stretched to meet our necessities. It was hard to know that our children could not dress as well as some of the other children did. Even though it must have been hard for them they did not complain. I remember Dawn telling me when she was about in the third grade that one of the girls in her class said to her, “Why do you wear the same dress to school for a week?” Dawn replied, “Oh, I don’t get my dresses dirty as fast as you do.” The children were careful with their clothing to keep it clean as long as possible. They knew that I had no power washer. I did our washings with a tub and washboard. When necessary, I sometimes washed some of their clothing at night and ironed it the next morning so they could be clean for school. The children have all been good students and gotten along well with their teachers. The children have mentioned since then how glad they were to get home after school and find a warm meal ready for them. I always was glad to have them come home.
Every year we raised a good supply of chickens and turkeys, which helped with the meat and egg supply as well as having some to sell for cash. We also had cows, which furnished us with milk and butter.
One year (about 1936) we didn’t raise any young turkeys, although we set quite a number of turkey hens. I thought the hens would set better if they weren’t troubled with lice, so I put a little lice ointment under the wing of each turkey hen. Not one turkey egg hatched. My consideration for the comfort of the turkey hens was an expensive experiment. I didn’t give the chicken hens the same treatment, so we were able to raise a good flock of chickens each year. Thus, we had plenty of chickens for our needs.
Earthquake of 1934
One morning in early spring, about 1934, after the children had started walking to school, I was eating breakfast with Margaret and Gloria, when suddenly the house began to shake. It felt as though the house was being rolled back and forth over logs or something of the sort. I hurriedly picked up Gloria and took Margaret by the hand and went outside. There was another quake a while later that morning. The children said that as they were walking down the highway on the way to school, they noticed the water in the barrow pits rolling back and forth and wondered what was happening. About two weeks later, I was attending a Stake leadership meeting in the old church house (the show house) in Malta when another quake occurred. Some of the women screamed. President Elison spoke calmly and told them not to be alarmed and that everything would be all right.
Our little son, Robert Hulet, was our third son and seventh child. He was born prematurely and was always very delicate. He was a lovely child. He had a good amount of dark hair. His eyes were dark but I thought that, had he lived, they would have been blue. He was always so patient and pleasant. He was born 9 August 1934. When he was about a week old, Fred’s sister, Eva, came and stayed and helped for a week. She was very much appreciated. That was before we had insecticides. The flies were bad and she worked so hard to keep them out of the house and to keep things clean.
Little Robert seemed to enjoy having some of us near him, but would lie contentedly looking around the room when left alone for a while. He was given a blessing and name on 14 October 1934.
At Christmas time, I noticed that he seemed to enjoy seeing the Christmas tree ornaments. So sometimes I would hang some of them up high so that he could see them. He would seem so happy while watching them even though he was so young. Soon after he was four months old, we noticed that he would say “Mama” when he wanted my attention. The other children had said “Mama” by the time they were six months old and “Daddy” a short time later.
During the month of January 1935 we had a siege of influenza in our family as many other families did. The weather was very cold and windy. Our house was not built to keep out the cold, as it should have been. We tried very hard to keep the children warm night and day, but although Fred kept a fire going night and day in two stoves, it was impossible to keep the cold winds out.
Each of the children had a turn with the flu, which required care night and day. We, of course, became very weary from lack of rest. We kept the baby in a little bed near the heater and thought we were keeping him warm, but one evening when I took him up to care for him, his little feet were cold. I was thoroughly alarmed. Soon we noticed that he had a cold and sent for Dr. Sater, who lived across the street from us. He came and we did all we could to try to check the cold, but it soon developed into pneumonia. Several friends and neighbors came to help us: Dr. and Mrs. Sater; Mrs. Lillie McGraw, who had been a fine neighbor at Meadow Creek; Beulah Pierce, who had been such a wonderful neighbor for the four years while we lived near her; and some of the Relief Society sisters, Roxie Horne, Stake Relief Society President, and sisters Mary Elison and Alice Neddo of the Malta Ward. Many others came and helped or offered help in any way they could. I was afraid to hold my baby very long at one time, lest I should fall asleep and let him fall, even though I wanted so very much to hold him in my arms. One night while Sister Horne was holding little Robert, she said, “It sounded like he said “Mama.” I said, “Yes, he has been saying “Mama” since he was four months old.” He likely thought I was neglecting him. Regardless of all we could do for him, his little spirit slipped away the morning of 30 January 1935 and he was buried 2 February 1935. No one can realize what the experience of losing a precious little member of their family is until they have had to endure it. At such times the Gospel gives one great comfort.
People were very kind and sympathetic. Fred’s brothers, Clarence and Charles, and sister, Eva, came from Salt Lake to attend the funeral services. Also, my mother, Mary Ida Hulet; my sister, Verda; and my brother, Howard, and his wife, Rae, came from Peterson and Morgan, Utah. Opal and Ray came from Rockland, Idaho. We appreciated all the kindness and consideration. It all helped a great deal but, of course, could not ease our sorrow or loss.
That dear little soul had been such a joy to all the family. Many nights I could not sleep for thinking of that little baby being out in the cemetery, while the cold winter winds were blowing. I wondered just how his little spirit was being cared for. I often prayed to know about him. One night I had a very beautiful dream (it must have been a dream). In the corner of our bedroom was a very large overstuffed chair, but as high as the back of that chair there seemed to be another beautiful chair, it made me think of a throne. In this chair sat a very beautiful woman, quite large in stature, dressed in white. She looked so kind and motherly. In her arms she was holding a small dark-haired child. The baby seemed to be nursing. For a few moments he turned and looked at me. He smiled and said, “Mama,” and then turned back toward that lovely lady. That dream was a wonderful comfort to me. I felt reassured that little children have a Mother in Heaven.
The children liked to make little biscuits when I made bread. One day Margaret had made a pan of little biscuits and was real proud of them. She covered them with a clean cloth and put them on the table to rise, then went out to play. When she thought her bread was about ready to bake, she went to look at it and to her horror, there was an old black cat lying on top of her biscuits. We didn’t have a screen door and the cat had slipped in without anyone noticing it. Margaret came crying to me and said, “Mama, just see my biscuits. That cat has mashed them all to smoothereens”.
When Margaret started to school (September 1935), Gloria was the only child at home (our having lost little Robert in January 1935). Gloria was very lonely and couldn’t endure the quietness when she and I were alone, especially if I had work to do and couldn’t pay attention to her. Sometimes she would say, “Mama, make a noise. Do something.” I would tell her stories and play the phonograph for her and play with her when I could, but there was always much I needed to do. She no doubt sensed my feelings after the loss of the baby, but I tried to hide my sorrow as much as possible around the children.
(Dr. Sater and his family lived across the street from us. The Sater children became good friends. Carmel was an especially good friend of Mary’s, and spent a lot of time in our home. When Saters moved to Albion in about 1936, they gave us their phonograph, which provided us with a lot of enjoyable hours of listening to music. They also gave us an icebox and a kitchen cabinet/table).
Our eighth child and fourth son was born 2 April 1937. We named him Frank Theron. June and Golden said they wanted him named a boy name. Fred wanted the name Frank for his dear friend, Frank Paskett. Mother suggested Theron, but like others of the family, he wasn’t satisfied with his name either. Too bad they couldn’t have chosen their own names. His father, Frederick, gave him a blessing and name on 6 June 1937.
We were happy to have another little son. He wasn’t as quiet as little Robert, but demanded much attention. One day a neighbor, Pearl Ward, came in to visit a short time. The baby was asleep when she first got there, but awoke and started fussing. I let him fuss a few minutes, then he really made a noise. I picked him up and he stopped crying. Mrs. Ward said, “That’s nothing but meanness, when he does like that”.
Frank has said that he has always wished that his brother Robert had lived, as the other boys were several years older than him and there was almost six years between him and Gloria. So he felt lonely many times for a pal although the family all were kind and considerate of him.
The Family Gets a Washing Machine
It was about 1937 or 1938 when I got my first gas-powered washing machine. June and Golden drove derrick horses for the neighbors that summer and spent all their earnings, after paying their tithing, to buy me a washer. It is needless to say their kind consideration was greatly appreciated. The difference it made in my work was great.
June and Golden
(Some additional notes: In 1939 the Raft River Electric Cooperative was formed. Electric lines were built from Albion to serve Elba, Almo, Yost, Malta and Bridge. In late 1940 or in 1941, we got electric power in our house. Until that time there were no electric lights in the house, only kerosene lamps, and there had been no running water or inside plumbing. The water for household use had been pumped by hand from a well just outside the kitchen door. We took baths in a round washtub, which sat on the kitchen floor. Some time after we got electric power, we got a telephone.
In about the late 1930’s, Grandpa and Grandma Hulet gave us their Farrand piano. Dad played piano by ear, and the children enjoyed trying to learn to play. It was a wonderful gift to our family. Dad was very musically talented. He also played the guitar, as well as the fiddle, as has been mentioned.)
During the winter of 1936-1937, Father and Mother lived part of the time in Riverdale, Utah, then visited Thora and family during the winter of 1937 in Venice, California. They later stayed with us in Malta for about 2 months, and some time later spent a month with Eleanor and her family in Panaca, Nevada. For several months they lived with Opal and family at Rockland, Idaho. They then bought a home at Enterprise, Morgan County, Utah where they spent most of the remainder of their lives.
Father always did the chores and weeded the garden. One day during the summer of 1940, he fell and broke his hip when he was coming from feeding the chickens. He had a silver plate put in his hip and got over the injury quite rapidly. At the age of eighty- three he underwent surgery for a double hernia that had troubled him most of his life. He recovered from that operation in an unbelievably short time. In 1941 Father had a stroke, and was unable to do any work after that time. He had often said, “It is better to wear out than rust out.” He surely never had time to rust as long as he was able to work.
In the spring of 1942, Father and Mother came to stay with us for about three months. Father was in very poor health, and was bedfast most of the time. They also stayed with Belva, Roseal and family for a while.
My Parents Deaths
(Sylvanus Hulet died 10 December 1942 at age eighty-five. Mary Ida Dalley Hulet Hulet died 6 May 1948 at age eighty-three. Both died in Enterprise, Morgan County, Utah.)
Sylvanus Hulet, Jr. and Mary Ida Dalley Hulet 1939
In 1944, I was elected to be school trustee in the Malta School District. At about that time (during World War II) teachers were becoming very scarce. So many young men teachers had been called to military duty. By 1946 the other trustees decided that I should teach in the Malta school. Then I was automatically released from my trustee job after a two-year term. I taught one year at Malta, then took Gloria and Frank with me and taught a year at the Miller School in Burley, where I received higher wages. Frank was in the fifth grade, and Gloria was a junior in high school that year. As we had four of our family in college at that time, we needed extra funds, but being away from home all week made too many problems It wasn’t a good thing to be away all week and have my husband home alone, and much for me to do over the weekend. So I decided it was best to stay at Malta and continued to teach there for ten more years. (From her records, we see that she taught from 1946-1947 to 1955-1956, which would be a total of ten years). Sometimes I had only first grade and sometimes I had the first two grades, depending on the numbers enrolled. I enjoyed teaching.
When I first started teaching I planned to go back to school and complete college, I never accomplished this ambition, but tried to progress by attending summer schools, and taking correspondence courses, (and got the equivalent of two years of college).
Our children have been our pride and joy. Even though we have not had an abundance of worldly possessions, we always felt that we have been greatly blessed with our family. They are our jewels and our wealth. They have all been anxious to obtain a good education. They learned easily and got along well with their teachers. Each of them attended Malta Elementary School; then graduated from Raft River High School, except for Frank, who finished three years high school at Malta, then went to U.S.A.C., now U.S.U. and arranged to take examinations that allowed him to take college the next year.
The year 1960 was a very eventful year for the Gardiner family. On 19 May 1960, Fred’s brother, Charles Gardiner, was killed in a tragic traffic accident in Salt Lake City. In May, we received word from James that his dear wife, Elaine, was critically ill with carcinoid, which had metastasized to her heart. Everything that medical science could do, was done. We were very saddened to learn of Elaine’s death August 30. I have often wondered how James held up so well and took care of his family and continued to work at his occupation at N.B.C. I have always regretted that I could not have been near him and helped lighten the burden for them. It was a severe trial for him and the family.
In June 1960, Mary suffered a very serious case of staphylococcal septicemia following a surgical operation. We were notified that she was not expected to live, but her doctors treated her with very large amounts of antibiotics intravenously continuously for several days and were able to control the infection.
At that time, Fred’s health was failing. He had been blessed with a good physical constitution and had seldom had any kind of trouble, health wise, until he began having heart problems. At unexpected times he would have episodes of severe pain that were a constant worry to me. He passed away suddenly on the morning of 26 December 1960. We had had a very pleasant Christmas. Mary and Frank were with us. It was a great shock and loss to us as a family, and home has never been the same since. There have been many years without him, but what a blessing my family has been to me. All have been kind and considerate, and what a satisfaction it is to see them all living good, honorable lives.
After Elaine passed away, Gloria quit her job in a doctor’s office in Salt Lake and went to help James and his family. When their father passed away, Gloria and James came for the service, and Gloria stayed with me for two weeks while we got things taken care of so we could leave. James was struggling trying to take care of his children with the whooping cough and working at his occupation. I had promised to stay with Golden and Barbara in Salt Lake. Golden was attending the U. of U. that winter working towards his Master’s Degree. He and Barbara were expecting their sixth child.
Frank drove to California with Gloria. He was attending B.Y.U. that winter and living with the J. Henry Thompson family. Gloria stayed with James and family until after James and Carol Thomsen were married on 7 October 1961, in the Los Angeles Temple. She then returned to Salt Lake and started working for the Red Cross Blood Program.
Carol took over the big responsibility of wife and mother. It surely was a big responsibility to take over a family of seven children ages two to fifteen years, but she has been a loyal, faithful wife and mother to the family. Her son, James Thomsen Gardiner, was born 28 January 1964, making eight children in their family. James and Elaine’s children are Kent, Sandra, Mark, Janice, Gayle, Jeffrey and Julie.
In November 1961, Gloria and Mary got an apartment in Salt Lake and I spent the winter with them that winter and many winters after that. Usually, I went home to Malta for the summer months.
In the spring of 1963 or 1964, after I had spent the winter with Mary and Gloria, I came home to Malta on the bus. I had had my phone disconnected while I was away, so when I arrived, I couldn’t call Golden and family. They had tried to call me, but couldn’t get an answer, of course, so didn’t know if I had come home. So the next morning after I arrived, they decided to come and see if I had come home or not.
The weather had turned warm and many big flies that had wintered through in the cracks of the old house came out to sun themselves on the kitchen screen door. I got my vacuum and was using it as a flycatcher when the folks drove into the yard. I didn’t even notice them drive in, as I was busy. They saw the extension of the vacuum on the screen door and one of them said, “Oh, there is someone in the house with a gun. Let’s get out of here.” They contacted the town constable and he called the sheriff. They must have worked fast because it wasn’t long after that, I happened to look out the kitchen door and saw a man dressed in a khaki uniform, carrying a rifle. When he got near the door, he stepped to one side by the corner of the house and said, “Come out here.” I said, “No!” and slammed the door shut and locked it. The screen door was fastened with a hook. I went into the back room. I thought it must be a berserk service man and he might shoot at me. Then I heard the door crash open. He broke the hook on the screen door and broke the wood doorframe to splinters.
I came out of the bedroom into the dining room, and there the man was standing. I expected him to shoot me then and there, but I said, “What do you want?” Then I noticed the sheriff’s badge on his coat. I said, “What are you doing breaking into my house like that while you are wearing that badge?” I was so frightened at first that my upper plate nearly dropped out of my mouth, but when I saw that he was a sheriff, I was angry enough to have clouted him over the head with something hard if I had had it to use. He began to hum and haw and said, “Oh, is this your home? Have you been away?” I said, “Yes, I have and I figured I could come home when I got ready to.” He said, “Oh, there must have been some mistake. Someone thought a person with a gun was in the house.” I said, “Yes, there sure has been a mistake.” He said, “I will see that your door is fixed for you,” and he slunk off looking far less cocky than when he came.
The brave constable stayed out in the car to be sure he didn’t get hurt, but he told the story to everyone he met. I should think he would have put his head under a sack. A few months later, I was in the courthouse in Burley waiting to see Mr. Moore. The (County School) Superintendent’s office lady asked my name. She said, “Oh, you are the Mrs. Gardiner from Malta that the sheriff frightened so badly.” She said he surely felt terrible about that. A little later, the sheriff came in. She said to him, “Do you remember Mrs. Gardiner from Malta that you frightened so much?” He looked embarrassed, but only said, “Yes, I remember.”
JH Graduates from HS
June graduated from High School in 1939. Then he went to Fillmore, Utah, and worked all summer on a farm for Ray Robinson. He came home just long enough to get ready to go to Logan to attend U.S.A.C. now called U.S.U. He had made arrangements to stay with Annie and Ella Neddo for the winter. He did their chores, milking cows, etc., for his room and board so he could attend college. They were very kind and considerate, and sometimes gave him little extra jobs to do on the weekends so he managed to have a few dollars in his pocket when he came home in the spring.
Soon after he came home, he decided to go to California to work for the Lockheed Aircraft factory in Los Angeles. He and Kent Horne lived with Kent’s sister and her family, the Earlo Sanders family. He and Kent had been close friends all through their school years at Malta.
JH Gets Married
It was during the time June worked in Los Angeles that he met Elaine Scholl. They attended church activities in the same ward. Their friendship continued, and they made plans to be married. June was married to Elaine Mary Scholl on 19 May 1943, in the Salt Lake Temple. They received their endowments in the Saint George Temple on the 18th of May. They had planned to be married that day in Saint George, but due to some delay in getting a record of their blood tests in time, they went to Salt Lake to be married the next day. From there they came out to Malta and spent a few days with us.
Gloria, Margaret, Hope, Mary, Dawn, Frank, and Elaine
As World War II was going on at that time, June had already been notified that he would be inducted into the military service. This was not a happy situation for them, but they had it to face. Elaine would stay with her parents.
June chose to join the Navy in 1943 and was stationed in San Diego for boot camp, then was transferred to other training centers during the first year he was in the service. The second year, he was stationed at Treasure Island near San Francisco, where he taught classes in radar and radio. He was fortunate that he did not have to go into active duty.
The last six months that June was at Treasure Island, Golden was there, also. They had the opportunity of seeing each other occasionally. They were, also, happy to meet there and associate with other friends and relatives. Karl Staheli, who married my niece, Carita Jones, was at Treasure Island, and they became close friends.
When the War ended in 1945, June brought Elaine to Logan to be with him while he finished his college work. The spring of 1949, June received his Master’s Degree in Sociology. He was not present for the graduation exercises as he was in Los Angeles working for NBC. He has worked for that company since that time and has been given many special assignments and responsibilities. These assignments have included TV coverage of national political conventions, special training in New York in the development and production of color television (in 1956) and many other assignments for special projects. He was given the assignment along with other NBC employees to provide TV coverage for President Nixon when he visited China in 1972. He is now supervisor of personnel (in the department) where he works. All through the years, he has been active in Church work and has held many positions of responsibility. Among these were Sunday School teacher of the Gospel Doctrine class, home teacher, stake missionary, bishop’s counselor and high councilor.
Golden attended the Malta grade school. He skipped the eighth grade and graduated from Raft River High School in 1940. He attended college at U.S.A.C. for one year and a quarter. The first year, he lived in a little trailer house and did janitor work for the college to help pay his way at school. The second year, he lived at the Neddo sisters’ home and did chores for his room and board. Then he served in the Navy for one year. He was given an honorable discharge to come home and help his father as the war was over and the need was not so urgent for service men. He returned to the U.S.A.C. and in the spring of 1949 received his B.S. degree in Civil Engineering. He worked for the ARMCO in Salt Lake City the summer of 1949, until he was called to serve in the Eastern States Mission for two years. He returned home in September 1951. On 31 October 1952, he married Barbara Jean Ehlers of Salt Lake City in the Salt Lake Temple. He worked in Salt Lake until the next September when they came to Malta, and started building a home on some land that his father had given him adjoining our home place.
Golden taught the eighth grade for three years in Declo, and in junior high and high school in Malta for a couple of years. In March 1960 he received a scholarship to attend the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. He completed the requirements for a Master’s Degree in Science Education in June 1961. He was then hired to teach in the Junior College in Long Beach, California the following year. He enjoyed his teaching there, but something in that atmosphere caused him to have asthma so bad he couldn’t sleep lying down.
When he and his family came back to Malta, he received a good offer from the R.E.A. for a job. He was reluctant to quit teaching, but his home and farm had suffered neglect during their absence, so they decided to move back to Malta. He began work at the R.E.A. as Operations Manager, then later became the Manager and worked there until he retired.
Their family is progressing in schoolwork as well as being active in church work. Golden and Barbara are both good public speakers and the children respond to assignments for church and school activities.
Golden and Barbara both filled missions in the Eastern States Mission and have held many responsible positions in the Church since that time. Golden has been Stake Elders Quorum President, Stake Y.M.M.I.A. Superintendent, has served on the stake high council, as a counselor in the bishopric, served in different ward organizations and taught classes in the various organizations. At present, he is First Counselor to the Stake Sunday School Superintendent. Barbara has been the ward Relief Society President and is First Counselor in the Stake Relief Society. Both have classes to teach in the Ward organizations. Golden and Barbara are the parents of eight children, Cathy, Brad, Ginger, a pair of twins—Corby and Nathan, Matthew, Anne and Spence.
Mary attended elementary and high school at Malta. She was valedictorian for her eighth grade class. After she graduated from Raft River High School in May 1943, she went to work at Hill Air Force Base near Ogden as a clerk typist. She boarded at Peterson, Morgan County, with my sister, Belva Jensen, and family. In June 1944, she entered the Cadet Nurse Program and spent the first six months enrolled in classes at the University of Utah, then began her nurse’s clinical training at the L.D.S. Hospital. She graduated from the L.D.S. Hospital School of Nursing in June 1947 and received her R.N. certification after taking the required examinations. She attended U.S.A.C. for one year and received her B.S. degree in 1949. In January 1949, she went to Idaho Falls and worked in the first blood bank at the L.D.S. Hospital there. In 1950 she returned to Salt Lake City, and was employed as a surgical nurse in the operating rooms until she was called to serve a mission for the Church. She served for two years in the New England States Mission form February 1951 to March 1953. Since that time she has worked at the L.D.S. Hospital and at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital in Los Angeles, and has done special duty nursing in San Francisco and Los Angeles. She was head nurse at the hospital in Fillmore one summer while the head nurse there wanted the summer off.
In 1956 she decided to take a business course at the L.D.S. Business College. She worked for the Church Building Department for one year, then went to work in a doctor’s office, where she has worked for several years.
JH Post Grad
On Friday 3 June 1949, James H. received his Master’s Degree in Sociology, Golden received his B.S. degree in Civil Engineering, Mary received her B.S. in Arts and Sciences, and Hope Dawn received her B.S. degree in Elementary Education. That was a big day for our family.
Dawn was valedictorian for her eighth grade and high school classes. She graduated from high school in 1945. She attended Albion State Normal School for one year and attended U.S.A.C. for three years of her college work. She graduated, as stated before, in 1949 with a B.S. degree in Elementary Education. She taught in the primary grades in Park Valley, Utah, for two years, then was called on a mission from the Park Valley Ward and served for two years in the West Central States Mission. When she returned, she again taught one year of school at Park Valley. Her principal was Sydney Carter James, and on 16 April 1954, they were married in the Logan Temple. He had served as a missionary in the West Central States Mission, just a year or two before Dawn was there. Sydney was called into the service that year, and was to be in the Air Force in Texas, so they stored their belongings that they couldn’t take with them and headed for Texas where they stayed for several months. Then he was transferred to Mountain Home, Idaho, where they lived at the Air Base for a year. Sydney had an assignment to fly to England with a group, where they spent a month. Dawn drove their car from Mountain Home to Malta to be home while her husband was away. It was the first long trip she driven alone, but she managed very well.
After Sydney received his honorable discharge from the Air Force, he began working on his Master’s Degree in Agricultural Economics. He studied at U.S.U. until 1958, then they moved to Corvallis, Oregon, where he worked for his Doctor’s Degree, which he received in the spring of 1960. He had a good offer for a teaching position in Las Cruces, New Mexico, at the State University. They lived there for three years. They bought a nice home and were doing very well, but Sydney received an extra good offer for a position at Iowa State University at Ames, Iowa. They were reluctant to leave their home, friends and good job at Las Cruces, but decided to make the change. They have enjoyed the new school and work, too, and have been kept very busy with Church work and taking care of their family. Sydney served as Bishop of the Ames Ward for several years. Dawn has been in the Stake Relief Society Presidency for several years. Each of the children is active in Church work, too. Dawn and Sydney are the parents of five children, Susan, Clair, Cheryl, LeAnn and Jennifer.
They make the long trip to Utah and Idaho each year for their vacation. That is a highlight of the year to have each of the families that live so far away come home for a visit.
Margaret was valedictorian for her class when she graduated from grade school in 1943, and also when she graduated from high school in 1947. She attended U.S.U. for two years, then was married to Dean Udy Ottley, of Elba, Idaho, on 16 September 1949, in the Salt Lake Temple.
Dean had served over two years in the Navy Air Corps, and a two year mission in England. They lived in Malta and Elba for several years. Margaret worked in Sander’s store for a while, then worked for the R.E.A. as a bookkeeper.
In 1955 they moved to Quincy, Washington, and settled on 120 acres of sagebrush land they bought through a G.I. drawing. Since then, they have bought 120 acres of an adjoining farm, and 54 acres from the Government. (They first lived in a small trailer house, then built a two-room cinder block house which they used in connection with the trailer house.) They now have a lovely, modern, brick home, and a large lawn in both front and back of the house.
Both have held many responsible church positions. Among other positions, Margaret has served as President of the Y.W.M.I.A. and also as Relief Society President, and is currently Stake leader in Spiritual Living in Relief Society and teacher of the Gospel Doctrine class in Sunday School. Dean has served on the Stake High Council, as a bishop’s counselor, Sunday School Superintendent, teacher, and other jobs. They have three fine sons and a daughter, Gary, Janet, Richard and Curtis. Gary filled a mission for the Church in the Southern States Mission. Their second son, Forrest Dean was born prematurely 10 July 1952 and died on 12 July 1952.
(Margaret was diagnosed with colon cancer in April of 1978. By that time it had spread to her liver and she died on 25 February 1979.)
Gloria, also, was valedictorian for her grade school and high school classes. She graduated from high school in 1949. She attended B.Y.U. for one year, then attended the L.D.S. Hospital School of Nursing, which was affiliated with the University of Utah and graduated with honors from the University in 1953. She worked at L.D.S. Hospital from 1953 to 1956 when she left to serve a two-year mission in Argentina. After she returned she served for 15 months in the Salt Lake Regional Mission where there were missionaries who spoke Spanish, German, Dutch, Italian, and Japanese.
She worked at L.D.S. Hospital for about six months, then worked in a doctor’s office for about a year and a half before spending a year in Glendale, California, helping to care for James’s children after Elaine’s death.
After returning to Salt Lake, she went to work with a friend at the American Red Cross Blood Program. After six months the friend resigned, and left Gloria the job of being Chief Nurse. It was interesting work. They traveled throughout Utah, to eastern Nevada, and a few times to Wyoming. In January 1977 she went back to work at L.D.S. Hospital for about two and a half years before marrying Dean Ottley and moving to Washington State.
Frank, our youngest son, completed grade school in 1951 and attended three years of high school in Malta, then went to Logan, Utah, and attended U.S.U. for two years before he was called to serve as a missionary for the Church in the Gulf States Mission. He entered the mission home in Salt Lake City on 9 October 1957, and departed for his field of labor 16 October 1957. His mission president was Lincoln Hanks. He was given an honorable release on 26 September 1959, to enable him to enroll for the fall quarter at B.Y.U.
He attended B.Y.U. that year and then went to U.S.U. to get his B.S. degree. During the summer he worked to get money to pay for school. He received his B.S. degree with a major in Zoology and a minor in Chemistry. However, it was not easy to find employment then in work along those lines. He had contacted the government Food and Drug Administration for employment, but it took so long to work through the red tape that he decided to try teaching school.
In the fall of 1963, he got a position in the Ogden Junior High School teaching math and health. The enrollment was heavy and many of the pupils were of the ornery type. After three months, he was glad to have the F.D.A. official interview him and make arrangements for his release from the Junior High. He worked for the government as an F.D.A. inspector from January 1964 to March 1965, when he decided to come to Malta and try to make something of our land here. He planted barley and raised a good crop.
In September 1965, he registered at the University of Utah to begin working on a degree in pharmacy. He has always been active in Church and served as teacher in Sunday School and M.I.A. During the winter of 1966, he served as assistant teacher of the Teacher Training class in the University Ward Sunday School. While at B.Y.U. he was a counselor in the Elder’s Quorum.
Frank and I stayed with Mary and Gloria in Salt Lake during the winters while he was attending the University. They were wonderful to put up with us for so long and do so much for us.
He graduated from the University of Utah School of Pharmacy in June 1968. In the fall of 1968, he went to Buena Park, California, to work in a drug store to work out his internship. I went with him. We first visited with James, Carol and family for a few days while Frank was finding a job. He found work at Buena Park, so we located an apartment nearby. It was an upstairs apartment with plenty of room and very comfortable. He had to take the California State examination at Los Angeles on February 5, 6 and 7, 1969. He passed this examination, although many had told him that only a few passed this examination the first trial. He completed his internship work in Pharmacy on 19 September 1969, as he had some previous hours credit in Salt Lake drug stores.
Getting adjusted to the new kind of work was quite a challenge for Frank. Dealing with the public meant meeting every type of people. Some were agreeable, while others, especially those on welfare, were very demanding and thought they should always have special favors. The employees, also, were different—some considerate, while others lacked a friendly attitude. Soon after we got settled, we had a member of the ward Priesthood visit us and invite us to the ward meetings. Also, the Relief Society visiting teacher, Sister Davies came alone, as her companion could not manage to go visiting with her that day. She invited me to attend Relief Society and offered to take me with her. I attended Relief Society quite regularly that winter, and also Frank and I attended Sunday School and Sacrament Meetings.
My niece, Belva LaRae Tyner, and children called to see us soon after our arrival. They were very friendly and hospitable. We were invited to dinner at their home and we had them eat dinner with us several times. Belva LaRae was very kind and thoughtful and came about every weekend to put up my hair. Her husband, Jerry Tyner, was also very friendly. They had three children, Jerry Lynn, Melody and Howard (Buddy).
We visited at Glendale quite often with James and family. They came only once for dinner with us. Of course, Sunday was the only day they could come and that was difficult when they attended Church meetings, also. It was a short visit, but was appreciated by us. They did many things to help us by giving and loaning articles to help with household needs.
In March (1969), I decided to return home to see how things had fared there. Fortunately everything was O.K. Frank stayed in California, but decided to move to another apartment in the Anaheim area. During the summer my family visited me, not all at the same time, but scattered their visits.
Early in September 1969, James and family visited me. They invited me to go back to Glendale with them, as Sandra was to be married 13 September 1969. So I made the trip to California with them and was there for the wedding. She married Ronald Douglas Blunck, a fine young man, who had filled a mission and was near to completing a college degree.
Frank the Sheep-man
In the spring of 1970, after staying in Anaheim, California, all winter with Frank, I came back to Salt Lake for a short time, then came out home to Malta. There wasn’t much I could do except try to clean up the yard and house. There was no one available to put a crop in. In June, Frank decided to buy some young calves to raise. He thought a hired man could do the work here while he worked at his pharmacy job in California. It was a rainy, dark night when the calves arrived in a truck. They had been en route from California for thirty hours and were in a sad state when they arrived. Mary and Gloria were here at that time, and all available help was used to unload and feed them. No doubt, they were fed too much after such a long fast they had endured. Next morning, many of the poor little calves were very ill. We gave them medication and tried to save their lives, but to no avail. Some mornings, several calves would be dead and more of them very ill. Shipping fever, likely was some of the cause of their trouble and their exposure to the rainy weather. Leonard Hall helped with the calves for a while, and Golden’s boys also helped some. Mary and Gloria were here for the first week, but Gloria had to go back to Salt Lake to her work. Mary stayed and worked very hard to try to save the calves, but we had only twenty-three left that lived to be sold the next spring. We became very fond of those calves. They were very interesting and amusing, and much more intelligent than most folks think calves are.
Some of the grandchildren visited during the summer of 1970. They were interested in the calves. LeAnn and Cheryl James were anxious that each calf have a name and helped choose appropriate names for them.
During the fall and winter of 1970-1971, Mary stayed with me at Malta. I will always remember her kindness and consideration for me. We were taking care of the twenty-three calves for Frank. It was quite a chore, but we quite enjoyed the “pets.” Until one is around animals for a while, they can’t realize how much intelligence they really have. Those twenty-three calves each had a name and they would respond by looking up or coming to us when we called their name.
On 18 January 1971, we had a flood in our area. There had been a heavy snow in the mountains surrounding the valley, then we got a lot of rain, which melted the snow rapidly. That morning was warm and rainy. Mary went out to do the chores and to try to bank up around the feeder, as there was water standing on the ground near the feeders. While she was out in the yard, we could hear a roaring sound, but didn’t think of a flood although we had expected high water in the creek. This was about 9:00 a.m. and Sunday. Suddenly we saw water coming toward the house---all over the field was water. Soon I could hear water running into the basement through the ground level window. All my bottled fruit was in that basement or cellar. I knew it would be impossible for me to carry that fruit and other things that were stored down there out to keep them dry. Luckily, Golden and two of his boys were just passing by on the highway and they could see the situation. They were able to drive their pickup through the water to the house. First, Golden placed some baled straw against the cellar window to stop the water from running in so fast. They immediately went to work carrying things out of the cellar. Soon Mary arrived at the house and helped rescue things from the flooded cellar. My kitchen and dining room were full of boxes of bottled fruit and what not. Soon there was water over a foot deep running all around the house. The creek was not to be seen. The whole place looked like a river. We could see that the water pump for the house would soon be covered with water so we would have no clean water to use. We managed to get a few gallons of clean water, and it is fortunate that we did, because the pump was ruined from standing in water and I had to buy a new one. We had to do some scheming to make our limited supply of clean water last until someone could bring us some and we could get a new pump. How thankful we were that we got such kind help when it was so desperately needed. It was so much appreciated.
We wondered what would happen to those calves, the water was so deep in the yard where they were kept. There was one corner that was fenced off with net wire. That was the highest place in the yard. Those calves were smart enough to know that they had to find a safer place. The whole bunch of them made their way to that high corner and jumped over the wire fence to where they were safe.
The spring of 1971, Frank bought about fifty weaner pigs and kept them over the winter for brood sows. He had Leonard Hall build a good strong pen, bought four big metal self-feeders, and hired the White boys to take care of the pigs. Frank came home when the baby pigs started coming. He stayed all summer, but went back to California to work again in the fall. He hired a man, Marvin Hall, to do the chores. Marvin was teaching school at Springdale, so was here only early in the morning and in the evenings. I often saw things that needed to be done and did them to help along. During that winter, I had much of the ordering of the feed to do for the pigs, and when some of them were ready for market, I had to make arrangements for the loading and the hauling of the pigs. That wasn’t easy because it was hard to find anyone willing to do that work. The price for pigs was not very good. The cost of feed and labor was plenty high, so the profits on the pig adventure was not for profit.
I spent that winter here at Malta alone except when Mary and Gloria came for a weekend visit. Barbara and Golden and family helped in many ways and I got to see them quite often, but they had a full schedule most of the time with their work and Church activities. The children were taking music lessons. The girls, Cathy and Ginger, were taking dancing lessons, too.
In the evening of 28 July 1977, Mary, Gloria, and I left Salt Lake headed for Glendale, California, to attend the wedding of my son, Frank. His marriage to Lillian Madrid was to be in the Los Angeles Temple, on July 30. Gloria and Mary took turns driving that night. We did not suffer from the heat and arrived about 6:00 a.m. at James’s home safely without experiencing any difficulties. It took us about 13 hours to get from Salt Lake to Glendale. James and Carol were watching for us and came out to the car to greet us. It was good to see them and later to see all of their family. Jeffery, who was in Florida as a missionary was the only one of the family we did not get to see while we were in California. About 8:30 a.m. James went to the airport in Los Angeles to meet Dawn, who had come from Ames, Iowa, for the big event. That day we rested and visited and enjoyed the generous hospitality of James and Carol’s home.
The morning of the 30th, James, Carol, Mary, Dawn, Gloria and I went to the Los Angeles Temple. Kent, Suzanne, Mark, Karen, Sandra and Ron, and Lillian’s family met us there. The temple session was inspiring and the sealing ceremony was beautiful. Lillian’s brother, Carlos, and Frank’s brother, James, were the witnesses.
Later we went out on the beautiful temple grounds and the newlyweds had many pictures taken of themselves and their near relatives and friends. Following the picture taking, we were invited to enjoy a lovely luncheon at the “Red Onion Café,” There was an orchestra to provide lively music.
Since we were about twenty-five miles from Glendale, by now it was necessary to rush home to get ready for the reception at Lillian’s ward that evening. Julie wanted to attend the reception, too, and she had not gone to the temple. When we arrived at the ward, there was a large crowd assembled, and in another area more pictures were being taken. I was favored with a lovely corsage. The program was very lovely with singing by a special friend of Lillian, and a talk by Lillian’s brother, Carlos. Later there was delicious food to be enjoyed by all.
We didn’t see the newlyweds after the reception. They disappeared. I heard someone say that their car had been completely surrounded by other cars (purposely). But they somehow made their escape. The next I heard of them was a card from Honolulu, Hawaii. Since their return they have lived at Torrance, California. Frank has continued to work as a pharmacist. They have been getting acquainted in a new ward and have been given some responsibilities to keep them busy.
July 31, being Sunday, we attended Sunday School and Sacrament meeting with James and Carol. Then in the late afternoon, the married members of the James and Carol Gardiner family came and we spent a pleasant evening visiting and getting acquainted with the new in-laws and the new additions to the Gardiner family. What a lovely group of little ones they are.
Frank and Lillian are the parents of two children, Lisa and Frankie.
Fred and Hope Gardiner in back yard of their Malta home
I cannot remember, even as a child, that I did not feel certain that the lessons I was taught concerning the gospel principles by my parents and teachers were not true. My parents were faithful and active members of the Church. They set a good example for their family. They had held responsible positions in the different auxiliary organizations since they were teenagers. They had been brought up by sincere and stalwart parents. Great-grandfather, Charles Hulet, and great-grandmother, Margaret Noah Hulet, were early converts to the Church. Great-grandfather, Charles Hulet, and all the members of his family who were old enough to be baptized, were baptized in October 1830. That was not long after the Church was organized. We have been told that the Hulet family was at the meeting the Sunday after Joseph Smith was tarred and feathered. They heard the sermon he preached that day. Their home was at Nelson, Portage County, Ohio. They had to endure the mobbings and persecutions along with the other converts to the Church in Ohio and Missouri, and the terrific trials at Far West and Nauvoo. They helped build homes in Nauvoo, and helped build the Nauvoo Temple. My great-grandparents received their endowments in the Nauvoo Temple. We have always felt certain that they were also sealed in that temple, but have been unable to find the authentic record of ordinances for them. No doubt, due to the perilous times they were enduring at that time, the record was lost or could not be recorded at the time. Charles Hulet and his family were among the Saints who were requested to remain at Mt. Pisgah, Iowa, to care for the farms that the Church authorities had had the wisdom to secure. Thus, the immigrants who were suited to farm work, and some who did not have the equipment and means to go to Utah with the earliest pioneers, were able to raise crops that could help sustain the needy converts as they made their way westward.
By 1850 my grandfather, Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Sr., was a young man. He met and fell in love with a lovely young convert, Catherine Stoker, who was also from the state of Ohio. They were married 19 May 1850 at Mt. Pisgah, Iowa. Soon they, with Charles Hulet and several members of his family, made the tedious and difficult journey to Utah. They settled in Springville, Utah. There Grandfather and his father took up the vocation of farming and chair making for a livelihood. They built good homes and helped the progress of the Church and community.
In the year 1850, President Brigham Young called three hundred families to go to help settle the Dixie country. Grandfather and Grandmother, Sylvanus and Catherine Hulet, were among this group. After all the trials and suffering they had already endured, it must not have been an easy decision to make to leave their comfortable home and possessions. Yet, they were obedient to the authorities of the Church and went with that group of faithful saints to a desolate and unsettled country, and served a mission of eleven years laboring to build up that country now known as St. George, Utah. During that time that country had been transformed almost unbelievably. The Saints had made farms and planted vineyards and orchards. They were raising cotton, which was shipped to other areas and converted into cloth for use in clothing the Saints.
President Young was most assuredly inspired to have the people in the Dixie country raise cotton as a means of providing clothing for the Saints, since they were so far from the manufacturing centers of the Eastern States.
Among the Church members there were people with many skills. President Young encouraged the Saints to bring as much equipment and supplies of every kind, as
was possible for them to bring. He urged the Saints to bring many kinds of plants and seeds, trees, flowers, etc. President Young encouraged thrift and industry. People were encouraged to use their skills, share their means, and assist in making progress in every way possible. Through President Young’s faith and trust in the guidance of the Lord, he was given great wisdom and foresight in carrying out the tremendous responsibility of guiding and caring for the needs of the ever increasing number of immigrants who came to join the earlier pioneer saints. No man could have accomplished so much without divine guidance. He was a chosen spirit prepared to meet the needs of the Church following the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith. My great grandfather and my grandfather were present when those present witnessed the mantle of Joseph Smith fall upon Brigham Young. This was a great testimony to them. When we read and learn of the lives of each president of the Church down to our present beloved prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, it is very evident that each one was chosen to serve as a prophet to guide and direct the Church of Jesus Christ at a special time to accomplish a special work and need for the Church.
Church Positions I have Held
My first position in the Church was the office of secretary of the Y.L.M.I.A. when I was only twelve years of age. While teaching at Peterson, I was a teacher in the religion class each winter. The last winter I was secretary of the Peterson Sunday School and also of the Primary Association. While at Declo, I assisted with the religion class work.
In the fall of 1929, I was asked by the Malta Primary Presidency to teach a class in Primary. June and Kent Horne were in the class. One day, while teaching, I had an unusual experience. The lesson was about the Lamanites who were left after the great wars between the Lamanites and the Nephites, as related in the Book of Mormon, and the fact that the Lamanites who were on this continent when Columbus came, were descendants of the Lamanites told of by Moroni. This whole story seemed to come before my mind so clearly at that time that I understood it better than I had ever known before, and could explain it better to the children. I felt that the spirit of the Lord was helping me with that lesson.
At that time we didn’t have a good car, and I had to depend on getting a ride to Primary with some of the neighbors. It was very difficult to take the three younger children and then get home after Primary. I didn’t teach that class long, although I did enjoy teaching those children.
In the year of 1933-34, I was class leader for Social Science in the Malta Relief Society and did some work at the Stake Leadership meeting for that class.
On 24 September 1939, I was called to be Stake Literary Class leader in the Raft River Stake. Sister Roxie F. Horne was president of the Raft River Stake Relief Society. Sister Abigail Ottley was first counselor, Mary Elison was second counselor, Nina Barrett was secretary. Board members were Ella Beecher, Jennie Lee, Eliza Chandler and I. The years spent in this work, and the association with these sisters was very pleasant and profitable to me, as I enjoyed them very much and felt I had gained a lot spiritually as well as in knowledge.
Raft River Stake Relief Society Board 1943
Back Row: Florence Ward, Jennie Lee, Ella Beecher, Mary Udy,
Eliza Chandler, Hope Gardiner, Pearl Zollinger, Lora Thompson
Front Row: Mary Elison, Roxie Horne, Abigail Ottley, Nina Barrett
I was released at the quarterly stake conference on 27 February 1944. Elders Harold B. Lee and Marion G. Romney were the visitors from Salt Lake, and they completely reorganized the Stake, then made appointments for the heads of all the organizations. Marion Nye was chosen as president of the stake Y.W.M.I.A, and I was chosen as first counselor, Maurine Sanders as second counselor, and Fontella Harper as secretary. Stake President Ephraim S. Miller set me apart for the office. I was released when I went to teach school in Burley in the fall of 1947.
In about 1951, I was a Sunday School teacher for the class my son, Frank, was in.
I have been a Relief Society teacher several years. Since 1956 I have been a teacher of the Nursery class in Junior Sunday School. At one time I was called to be Stake class leader of the Top Pilot class in Primary when Sister Hazel Beecher was the Stake Primary President. In 1958 I was called to be the Sunbeam class leader.
For many years I have spent a considerable amount of time, and received enjoyment and satisfaction from doing genealogical research, and corresponding with family members and some distant relatives who are interested in the Hulet genealogical line. For several years, I have worked on our family genealogy. I was asked to assist my cousin, Mary H. Coburn, who was family genealogist. When she passed away, I was asked to be family genealogist for the Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet Family Organization. Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet and Catherine Stoker Hulet, my father’s parents, have a large posterity.
Brother Archibald F. Bennett advised that we have a Sylvanus Hulet (Sr.) Organization, but so far we have only a Sylvanus Hulet Committee in which I have been given the work of being the secretary. Sylvanus Cyrus Hulet, Sr. and Mary Lewis are my great-great-grandparents
Among the General Authorities and Church leaders I have met are: President Lorenzo Snow, President Joseph F. Smith, President Heber J. Grant, President David O. McKay, LeGrande Richards, Nicholas J. Smith, Sisters Belle S. Spafford, Florence Richards, Luella Adams, Leone W. Doxey, Arta M. Hale, Addie L. Swapp, and Brother Howard R. Driggs.
Other Church authorities I have heard speak are: Charles A. Hart, George A. Smith, Francis M. Lyman, J. Reuben Clark, Bishop Joseph L. Wirthlin, Henry A. Smith, Antoine R. Ivins, Melvin J. Ballard, George F. Richards, J. Golden Kimball, George Albert Smith, Bishop Marvin O. Ashton, Harold B. Lee, and Marion G. Romney.
SONGS SUNG BY MARY IDA DALLEY HULET AND HOPE HULET GARDINER
TO THEIR CHILDREN
Compiled by Dawn Gardiner James
A little boy went out to shoot one day
And carried his arrow and bow,
For guns they are dangerous playthings they say,
In the hands of small children, you know.
A little bird sat in a cherry tree
And whistled and sang, “Oh, you can’t shoot me!
Coo-coo, Coo-coo, coo-coo, you can’t shoot me!
Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo, you can’t shoot me!”
“Just wait,” said the boy, “Till I’m near enough,
And see if I don’t shoot you through!”
The little bird said, “I am not up to snuff
To sit and be shot at by you.
Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo, you can’t shoot me!”
The little boy drew up his bow to his eye,
And held it quite straight for a while,
The little bird laughed, and away it did fly.
A miss is as good as a mile.
The little boy threw down his bow and cried.
The little bird laughed ‘til it almost died.
“Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo, you can’t shoot me!”
Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree, in a tree,
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to baby and me.
Sing about the roses
On the garden wall
Sing about the bluebird
In the treetop ta-a-a-ll
Little birdie in a tree,
In a tree, in a tree,
Little birdie in a tree,
Sing a song to baby and me.
There’s a little brown thrush sitting up in a tree.
He is singing to you, he is singing to me.
What does he say? “Little girl, little boy,
Oh, the world’s running over with joy!
Can’t you hear, can’t you see?
I’m as happy as happy can be!”
High up in the apple tree,
There a little nest I see,
Built with skill and patience rare,
Lined with feathers, wool, and hair.
Little bird with downy wings,
How I love to hear you sing.
In your song you seem to say,
I am happy all the day.
Once a little daisy
Raised her pretty head.
Robin Redbreast, listen,
This is what she said.
“Oh I am so thirsty,
Robin, Robin, dear,
All the days of sunshine,
All the skies so clear.”
Then dear Robin Redbreast
Called the raindrops down.
On the daisy’s crown.
Said the daisy, “Thank you.”
O’er and o’er again.
Then dear Robin Redbreast
Sang out in the rain.
Funeral Address by JH
ADDRESS GIVEN AT THE FUNERAL OF HOPE HULET GARDINER
23 September 1988
By James H. Gardiner
Brothers and sisters, I find this a difficult assignment. I recently talked at the graveside service of a little grandson who was born too soon, and found it very difficult to talk then, too.
My family says I’m not an emotional person, but sometimes I think that is not true. I find that even driving into this valley is an emotional experience for me, and I’m sure that many of you find that to be true as well. A stream of memories come to me every time I drive into this valley, of the many experiences I’ve had with many of you, and many people who have lived here in the past.
I can even remember when your bishop (Jay Cottle) was a nuisance. When Golden and I would attempt to help his dad, Bert, put up the wild hay in the summer time, Jay was constantly getting in the way of the buck rake or the derrick horse on his Shetland pony. So I have a flood of memories, especially for the people I’ve worked with in this valley. Some people ask me, “How long have you been gone?” Well, I left here in 1940. I’ve come back for many visits.
My mother was, as has been noted, born in Summit Utah, in 1893. In 1908 they moved to Peterson, Utah, which is up Weber Canyon, just below Morgan. She was trained as a teacher, and taught in the early grades in Utah and Idaho.
She met Fred Gardiner while she was teaching summer school in Meadow Creek. I’m sure all of you know where Meadow Creek is. Meadow Creek is a quiet suburb of Sublett. The old rock schoolhouse is about the only landmark that stands to mark where she labored there, but the rock schoolhouse still stands there, just off the freeway. The log cabin that I was born in was taken out when the freeway came through.
She was married on 2 June 1920, in the Salt Lake Temple. Most of her married life was spent in the Raft River Valley. Between 1921 and 1937 she bore eight children. Her husband died in 1960; that’s twenty-eight years ago in December. The first trip she ever had to a hospital was at the age of ninety four, with a broken hip.
Now many of you have memories of her, and each one of you that I’ve talked to, I’m amazed at the things you know about her that I don’t. You’ve had experiences that are unique, that certainly fit in with the qualities that she had, but I’m always delighted that everywhere I go, someone has some story they share with me about either my father or my mother, and I treasure those.
She stood five feet five, not a big woman, rather slender in build, and she took some satisfaction in that. She had dark hair which turned almost entirely white in her older years. She was always pleasant. I don’t remember her being unpleasant in my childhood and youth, always optimistic, and expecting the best of everyone around her. A gracious hostess---if anyone ever came to the house, she was always concerned with their comfort, and would go to almost any lengths to see that they were comfortable and provided with food and a place to sleep.
She was patient to a fault. I think she should have been a little more impatient at times with many of us. She was helpful and compassionate. One experience, I’m not sure if this is in good taste or not, but I remember as a child I think I had all the diseases, as the rest of the family shared. One thing that I recall as being an especially kind and comforting thing was, whenever any of us were vomiting, she would put her hand on our foreheads and support our heads. I still remember what a pleasant and wonderful feeling that was to have her be that interested in us when we were really ill.
If hitchhikers ever came by our place, they were always welcome to food. They were provided milk to drink, and a few sandwiches. No matter what our circumstances were, she always shared what we had.
She came from rugged stock. Most of her family lived a goodly number of years, and she has two surviving sisters and a brother.
I think as youngsters, we thought there was no limit to what she could do. Typically, she would ordinarily get up at 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, and virtually never go to bed before 1:00 o’clock, and how she did that I don’t know. She is of more rugged stock than I.
I can remember her crying twice. Once was at the death of her little son, Robert in 1935. She had been up taking care of him. I can remember that he had pneumonia, which caused him to breathe very rapidly. He panted like a little puppy when it was hot. She and my father stayed up nights with him for a couple of weeks to see if they couldn’t help him over his difficulties, but it was to no avail and on 30 January 1935, he passed away, and my mother sat down and cried.
Another time, which is even more emotional to me, was a time ---it was during cold weather, we had a free-for-all going in our house. We were having a very nice time, the children, that is. My mother was doing the washing on the washboard in a washtub in the kitchen. She was boiling water on the stove in an old boiler. She was sturdy, but there was a limit. She asked some of us to do something, and the free-for-all went on. And she asked again, and still we ignored her, and then she went back to the washing. Then, a few moments later, she asked again, and still the free-for-all went on; and she sat down and cried.
Well, after that, there was a deafening silence in our home. That certainly got our attention, and that changed my attitude toward her, and really changed my life, because from then on, when she asked me to do something, I got right with it. I think it probably had a positive influence on the other children, as well.
She spent most of her life in poverty. Now that’s not too unusual for people who live in this world. Most of the people who have lived in this world have lived in poverty, but her life was one of having to make do, using cast-offs, fitting clothes that didn’t quite fit, working on the sewing machine that she had, and trying to just make ends meet in some way.
One of my sons ran across a note in one of my father’s books in which my father noted he had paid $30 tithing that year, but didn’t have enough money to buy my mother a dress.
When I was in about the third or fourth grade, we had some event happening either in school or Church, I don’t remember which, in which the boys were required to wear white pants. Well, we didn’t have any white pants for boys. Our pants were anything but white. So the problem was, what are we going to do so I could participate? Well, she took some Sunny Valley flour sacks and bleached them out, and sat up with her sewing machine late at night, and made me a pair of pants. I’ve often wondered since then if the “Sunny Valley” was legible during my performance.
Despite the many problems that she had, and the difficulties that we had with lack of money, but not opportunity, she would always jump to the defense of her husband. She never put him down. She always defended him, no matter what the circumstances were. I always thought that was good and, in turn, I can remember when he was in his sixties, he said to me, “The more years I live with this woman, the more good I find out about her,” and I asked him why he was such a slow learner. I had appreciated her as being a saintly woman, for many years.
She was a master of the cooking art. She always prepared great meals, even during the Depression. We never went hungry. Sometimes the meals were a little monotonous, but we never were hungry, and she could prepare a good meal for guests on no notice. “Come, you’re welcome to eat,” no matter who came, food was available, and she would prepare it. If you stayed for any length of time, she would insist that you take some food with you. That always happened. Her rhubarb pie was without peer in this world.
I took a survey of some of the Gardiner cousins who had come to visit the poverty-stricken cousins in Malta during the Depression, and asked them what their impression was of their visit to our home. Some of them remembered we had holes in the screen door, and the flies came in but, without exception, they prized her fried chicken. They said they’d never tasted anything better, before or since.
One Sunday, Frank had stayed home to tend the water, and my mother was preparing chicken. She came to Church with us. Frank was a little anxious to eat, so he began preparing the chicken. When we got home and ate, my children wanted to know who fried the chicken—well, Frank did. They said, “He should have left it for Grandma.”
I’ve told this story once before in this ward, the story about the washing machine. It is typical of my mother. As I noted before, for years she didn’t have a washing machine and washed all our clothes, which was a considerable number of mighty grimy clothes, on a washboard in a washtub in the kitchen, which is hard work. Anyone who has ever washed by hand knows it is really hard work. My brother, Golden, and I one summer had earned about fifty dollars running derrick horse, helping with hay, and odd jobs we could get. We looked in the Sears and Roebuck Catalog, and here was a washing machine for about forty-five dollars. Back in those days, that was about what you had to pay for them. It had a gasoline motor on it, and one of the features of this washing machine was, it had a generator. For an additional five dollars we could buy a generator, and we could charge our radio battery. Let me back up a little bit on the radio story.
Back in the twenties, my Grandpa Hulet down in Peterson, had bought an old Montgomery Ward radio, and it was battery operated, but when they got power into their home, this became a piece of junk to them. They didn’t want to mess with the battery for the radio, so they gave it to us---the battery operated radio. Well, we had an old, about 1925 Chevy coupe, which was very intermittent, and we would take the battery out of it to run the filament on this radio. Somehow we had scraped enough money together to buy the B and C batteries, but because of the nature of our car, and the rapidity with which the battery ran down on the radio, we had difficulty keeping our radio with a charged battery. So, when we saw this generator on this washing machine for an additional five dollars, we thought, “Boy, this is great, let’s order it,” because between the two of us, we had about fifty dollars, and this would take every cent that we had. So we were getting ready to order this for our mother, and our mother looked over our order and asked, “Have you paid your tithing?” Well, no. Well, we ordered the washing machine without the generator. A few weeks later, I was going by the Post Office and J. Henry (Thompson) said, “You have a big freight shipment from Sears and Roebuck that came in on Garrett Freight.” We went and looked--- the freight was open on the side. I looked inside and said, “Oh, oh!” There was a washing machine with a generator on it. I said, “They’ve made a mistake, we’ll have to send the thing back.” But the next day we got a letter from Sears and Roebuck which said, “Sorry that we can’t fill your order as you have requested, but we hope you’ll be happy with what we’ve sent.”
Now here’s a story I know I haven’t told before. When we first moved into the present home, about.1929, across the street we had the Kossman family. There was a set of twins, Earl and Searle Kossman. They were our playmates, and we played with them every day. After a few years we developed quite a routine that we went through.
One day they came up with this great idea. We were going to smoke cedar bark---pull the bark off the fence posts and wrap it up with whatever kind of paper we could get, including the Sears and Roebuck catalog, and light it up and smoke it. What great sport. Our eyes were bloodshot, our lungs were seared. We must have reeked, and we were just having a great old time. Then one day, a cold day, my mother said, “Come on in, your father wants to talk to you.” I thought, “Oh, oh, we’re going to get it now.” But my father said, “Come on in the bedroom and lie on the bed, I want to read you a story.” So he read us the story from the Children’s Friend about boys smoking. After he got done reading he didn’t say a word, he said, “Now just go and play, and have a good time.”
He couldn’t have stopped us better with a sledge hammer between the eyes. That was one of the most perfect psychological treatments I have every received. It was a masterpiece. For years I gave my dad credit, but thinking about it, I know that my mother engineered it. She was that smart.
My mother ended her life in some frustration. She wanted to do things. She couldn’t see, could hear poorly, but wanted to be up and doing things. It was built into her to be an achiever, to do, to help. Lots of things needed to be done, and she didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, but the time comes when our bodies are just worn out, and that was the case with hers. It was well-used, made good use of in her life. She took good care of it; certainly used it to the fullest extent, but she was frustrated. And I am sure now that she is released from that frustration, and is able to see things clearly and understand the significance of the things that have gone on in her life.
She has passed some of her qualities on to all of us, of course. I think especially she has passed them on to my sister, Mary, who has certainly provided a magnificent service to the family and to her mother by taking care of her for so long.
Now I consider it a great pleasure and an honor to have been born to, and been raised by this woman. I pray that each of us can, in our way, reflect on her goodness and the great qualities that she had, and emulate them in our lives.
History of Frederick Gardiner
Some additional notes on the
HISTORY OF FREDERICK GARDINER
By Hope Hulet Gardiner
Frederick Gardiner was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, on 26 March 1879 in the Fourteenth Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah. His parents, Robert Gardiner and Margaret Stewart Gardiner, joined the Church in Scotland and immigrated to Utah in 1868.
(They sailed from Liverpool on 20 June 1868 on the clipper ship Emerald Isle, one of the last sailing ships to carry the Mormon immigrants. Robert and Margaret were married on the ship before it sailed. On 11 August they arrived at New York harbor. On 17 August they began their trip across the country by railway to Benton, 700 miles west of Omaha and 500 miles east of Salt Lake City. Church teams met the emigrants there, and the remainder of the journey was by ox team or mule team. There is more information about the Emerald Isle on the CD Mormon Immigration Index and in the book Saints on the Seas by Conway B. Sonne.
They arrived in New York on August 11. On August 17 they began the journey west by train and arriving in Benton, Nebraska, seven hundred miles west of Omaha on August 17. From there they traveled by ox and mule teams to Salt Lake Valley.
The transcontinental railroad was being completed at this time, and Robert Gardiner found employment with them to help pay for expenses, so he and Margaret arrived in Salt Lake later than most of the rest of their company.)
He had learned the trade of baker and confectioner in his homeland, and brought his candy making equipment with him from Scotland, and carried it on his back from one camping place to another along the journey across the plains. He was the first candy maker in Salt Lake City, but later sold his business to others.
The family first lived in the Twentieth Ward, but lived in the Fourteenth Ward when Fred was born and until he had attended school for a few years, then moved into the Brighton Ward, and later moved back to the Fourteenth Ward, and finally to the Eleventh Ward.
After finishing grade school, he worked for several years for a sheep owner. He then returned to Salt Lake and attended the L.D.S. Business College for a time, then went to work in a bank for awhile. He found office work wasn’t fascinating to him, so he went to work at the Street Railway shops and repaired the electric cars. Then he worked for a while for the railroad.
All this time he had a longing to get out in the wide open spaces, so went to work for livestock owners, and finally came to Idaho to work for Keogh Brothers on the land near Malta, now called the Keogh Ranch. He worked as a foreman for them until he bought some sheep and land of his own.
The summer of 1919 I went to Meadow Creek, Idaho, to teach summer school for the few families who lived in that area. It was at his home ranch that I boarded with a family by the name of Welch. Mrs. Welch’s mother and sister lived there with them. Fred was away with his sheep most of the time, so I didn’t see him many times that summer, but we became good friends, and our friendship grew because we were the only L.D.S. member in that area except the small branch several miles away at Sublett. By spring we had set the date to be married for 2 June 1920. Fred was ordained an Elder by his brother, Clarence, who was then a bishop in one of the Salt Lake City wards.
In 1926 he was ordained a High Priest by Elder Orson F. Whitney, and was soon sustained as a member of the Raft River Stake High Council.
During the time we have lived the Malta Ward he served as ward clerk from 1933 to 1938 while Orson S. Sanders was bishop, and as secretary of the Malta Ward High Priest Group. He taught classes in Sunday School, Priesthood, and M.I.A; and was a Ward Teacher for many years. At the time of his death, he was first assistant to William Barrett in the High Priest Group. He was very faithful in his Church duties and active in the positions he held. He encouraged the family to be regular in attendance for Church activities. He loved to read and study the Scriptures, and was very well versed. Whenever he came in the house he had a book in his hands to study.
Family of Robert and Margaret Stewart Gardiner, taken about 1900
Back row: Charles, Clarence, Frederick and Margaret Amelia (insert)
Front row: Robert Gardiner, Eva Winnifred, Margaret Stewart Gardiner, Beatrice Lenore, and William
Frederick Gardiner by Clarence L. Gardiner
HISTORY OF FREDERICK GARDINER
By his brother, Clarence L. Gardiner
Frederick Gardiner, the subject of this brief sketch, was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, 26 March 1879; the son of Robert and Margaret Stewart Gardiner, who emigrated from Dundee, Scotland, leaving Liverpool on a sailing vessel 20 June 1868 and arriving in Salt Lake City in the late fall of that year.
Robert Gardiner, having perfected himself in the craft of confectioner and baker, began his early life in the valley, at the age of twenty three, by establishing himself in his chosen profession. The first home was at about 5th Avenue and F Street, and later moving into the center of the city, he built a home and candy factory adjoining, and in the rear of the store then known as S. P. Teasdel’s, quite an emporium of those early days. The location of the home and factory was directly back of what is now known as the Kearns Building (136 South Main). It was in the home at this location that Frederick was born, the fifth child in what later grew to ten members---five boys and five girls. Sometime about 1883, the family moved to a farm west of the city at about 2500 West and 3rd South. There were, of course, no regularly surveyed streets or numbers at that early date. However, there was a regularly organized and active Church unit, comprising “all those members living on the west side of the Jordan River,” known as the Brighton Ward.
Fred, as he was always known by his associates, was early enrolled in the somewhat primitive Elementary School, where classes were all held in one room with one teacher, and the instruction confined to about the third grade. However, the teachers were dedicated to their profession, and gave freely of their own learning in a variety of fields of practical knowledge and besides, which was of inestimable value to the students, instilled in them an insatiable thirst for knowledge and a determination to devote their lives to the pursuit of those higher branches of science which lay in the vast and unexplored regions of Eternal Truth. It was not an uncommon procedure, at the opening of classwork, for the teacher to “address himself to the Throne of Grace,” and implore the favor and blessing of the Lord upon their humble efforts to impress the boys and girls with the desire to make the acquisition of Truth the dominating concern of their future lives. The more or less elementary beginnings in learning the value of the “Three R’s” were to be considered but the first stepping stones in their adventure into that illimitable field of universal knowledge, the exploration of which should end only when their life’s journey should terminate.
The social life of the rural community was centered principally in the “Meeting House,” where the members came from far and wide to enjoy their religious and social gatherings; where young and old met together to participate in their religious and recreational activities with a frank and free interchange of genuine good-will that seemed to carry over into their daily lives, and give them an optimistic outlook on the future. Deep and lasting were the friendships formed, the affections awakened, in this congenial atmosphere.
The young people spent their artless days in whatever form of activity they could create, and when not engaged at chores around the farm, or bringing in hay from the field, played games and participated in such other forms of amusements as were common among the boys and girls of the community. In the winter the canals and lakes were frozen over, and the lucky boy who had a pair of skates could skim for miles over the surface of the ice. Among the most amusing activities of those early days were the dances held in the Meeting House, by the older members. We younger children were often taken there by our parents or older brothers and sisters. Blankets and robes were taken along for the youngsters to sleep on, if too tired or drowsy to follow the dancers as they performed the intricate and more or less graceful measures of the Virginia Reel, the Plain Quadrille, the Paul Jones, and the other dance music of that time; the music being accented by the heavy tapping of the foot of Joe Schoenfeld, the one-piece orchestra, who “fiddled” until the wee, small hours of the morning. He was usually seated on a chair atop a table which stood on the elevated part of the podium, and this exalted him in the sight of the throng to a point almost as high as he felt in the “inner man.” As the opening strains of “Old Dan Tucker,” or some other of the familiar tunes of the day, floated out over the animated scene, the “caller” proclaimed in stentorian voice the measures of the dance. The thrill awakened as the sturdy farmer boys escorted their partners onto the floor, and the rhythm of the movement filled the room, will live while memory lasts! Such were the “short and simple annals” of the rural populace of Brighton Ward during the boyhood days of Fred Gardiner.
The regular schooling of Fred in his early boyhood may be said to have ended when these early “grades” were completed, as the fortunes of the family became involved in the disturbed economic conditions of the country which assumed serious proportions in the early 1890’s, when a great depression caused widespread suffering and loss of property throughout the United States, and was particularly severe in Utah. The farm proved unproductive, and Robert Gardiner became involved in financial difficulties. Some of the near neighbors of Fred were “sheepmen” owning large herds, which were taken during the summer months to the mountains and valleys on the upper Bear River, and wintered in and about Skull Valley in the western part of the State. Two of these neighbors, Henry Sutton and James W. Marsh, were engaged in this enterprise, and at an early age, Fred was engaged as a herder and camp-tender in their employ, and in his earlier years spent many months on the “sheep range.” He also engaged in the same activity with Bishop James Wrathall of Grantsville, and was held in high esteem by those keen and careful sheepmen, because of his intimate understanding of the characteristics of the flocks entrusted to his keeping. His associates on the range had him in great esteem because of his rather profound ability, carefully planning the movements of the sheep to the best advantage. The interests of his employers were always uppermost in his mind, and he treated their property, both of livestock and camp equipage, with the feeling that it was a sacred trust imposed on him, and that it had to be fulfilled with the best ability he had.
About the year 1893, the family moved from the farm into the city, locating in the Fourteenth Ward, but Fred continued for some years following his vocation with the sheep. About 1900, deciding to spend more time at home, he was enrolled for two winters in the L.D.S. Business College, and also worked for some time in the shops of the streetcar company as repair man, and took up the study of electrical mechanics. But the “call of the wild” seemed always to be beckoning him back to the life and friendships of his earlier associations and he seemed to feel, in the confinement of the city, like a prisoner waiting for the day of his liberation, or an apprentice counting the days of his servitude and, not long afterward, he had accepted the responsible employment as foreman for a large sheep and cattle company in southern Idaho.
It would seem like the “call of destiny” that Fred should determine on this change in his earlier region of activity and employment; for it was here, in the region in and about Sublett, Idaho, that he formed the acquaintance, fell in love with, and later married Hope Hulet, a beautiful and intellectual young schoolteacher in that somewhat rural community. Life in this semi-barren region was hard at best, but Fred’s companion met all the changing vicissitudes of life with a stoical courage and fortitude filled with faith and optimism that overcame all obstacles, and brought to their union a happy home of eight wonderful, ambitious children. A more gifted pen must record the life and labors of this family in the town of Malta, Idaho, where a lasting impress has been established in the life of the community, both in a religious and civic capacity.
Fred Gardiner, the father, has now passed on to his reward, a well-earned rest from the toils and concerns of this life; joined in the holy bonds of matrimony, sealed by the authority of the holy Priesthood in the Temple of our God for time and eternity; leaving a rich heritage of honesty and integrity to principles of eternal truth to his ever increasing posterity. There is occasion for rejoicing that “he finished his course, he fought the good fight, and kept the faith.”
On the morning of 26 December 1960, Fred Gardiner passed away at his home in Malta, Idaho, just three months prior to his eighty-second birthday. Funeral services were held on the 29th, at the Malta Ward Chapel. A large congregation assembled there, and also at the cemetery. The floral offerings were numerous, and the tributes by the speakers were sincere and appropriate.
The family, some of them having traveled long distances, was all together in the humble home, to mourn the loss of their father, and to contribute their love, aid, and comfort to their mother. It was a touching and lovely scene.
It isn’t the soil alone can grow
A golden crop from the seed we sow;
But there is a “Something” in the How
And the heart of the one who holds the plow!
Who can appraise the worth of a human soul? The philosophers of the ages have attempted the task, with a multitude of varying conclusions. Let us presume that in the life and character of Fred Gardiner, there were elements of true greatness. A great American had this to say of Abraham Lincoln:
“The love of Justice and fair play, and that respect for order and the law, which must underlie every nation that would endure, were deeply imbedded in his nature. These are qualities destitute of show and whose names are never set to music…These are qualities that stand the test when hurricanes sweep by. These are the joints of oak that ride the storm, and when the clouds are melted and the waves are still, move on serenely in their course…His strength arose from that preservation through all his life of that fondness for his early home, and of the tender recollections of his family and their struggles never so far away but that he could still hear the note of the evening bird in the groves of his nativity. He was never so great but that the ties of his youth still bound him.”
Fred Gardiner, in his early manhood, was deprived of many of the tender associations of home and family, and the guiding influence of parents, in his determination to help to alleviate, to some extent, the struggles through which they were forced to face; but from boyhood and throughout his life, he manifested a deep and abiding strength of character, under many and varied forms, and kept himself free from the besetting vices and follies that were common among the vulgar classes of society with which he was often forced to mingle. Though deprived of the many and admirable facilities of the Church in training the young men to lead lives of righteousness, yet there seemed to be inborn in his very nature, a deep and profound faith in the Gospel of our Lord, which sustained him in all the changing vicissitudes of life, and ennobled all his later years. And it may truthfully be said that, in choosing a marvelous woman as his life’s companion, he found the one who could awaken and develop those more or less latent qualities which, merged together, enriched their lives, which qualities they have transmitted to their posterity, worthy of emulation, and a precious heritage “of golden memories that are good and sweet!”
This brief narrative and tribute may add somewhat to your already intimate knowledge of the life, ideals and achievements of your husband and father, dear Hope and family. Imperfect as this contribution may be, it has been a pleasure for me to recall and indite it, as a simple tribute to one whose life has touched my own. I cherish his memory!
I will close with a selection from the poems of Scotland’s Immortal Bard, Robert Burns, written nearly two hundred years ago, somewhat in the nature of a prayer:
The Hoary sire—the mortal stroke
Long, long, be pleased to spare!
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
Oh, bless her with a mother’s joys,
But spare a mother’s tears!
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood’s dawning blush;
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent’s wish!
The beauteous, seraph sister-band
With Earnest tears I pray,
Thou know’st the snares on ev’ry hand—
Guide Thou their steps away!
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,
O’er life’s rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wand’rer lost,
A FAMILY IN HEAVEN!
Clarence L. Gardiner
928 Hollywood Avenue
Salt Lake City, Utah
STORIES ABOUT FREDERICK GARDINER
By James Gardiner
After my parents lost the Meadow Creek place, they moved to Declo, Idaho where my father did a variety of farm work to make a living. I was the baby- -- their first. Over the years of his youth and beyond, Dad had spent a lot of time herding sheep. I don't know how he started, but he took up smoking and it was an ingrained habit when he met my mother.
In those days, smoking Bull Durham tobacco was the in thing to do. The cigarettes were not the neat cylinders we see today, but the smoker rolled his own, and many were anything but a neat cylinder. Bull Durham cigarette tobacco came in a small cotton bag with a yellow draw string at the top. The drawstring went through a three- fourths inch round cardboard Bull Durham tag that dangled at the end of the string. The whole package was compressed into a firm oblong shape that fit neatly into a shirt's breast pocket or the pocket of bib overalls. On the side of the package was a pack of cigarette papers to be peeled off and used one at a time. The package cost 5 cents.
To make a cigarette required loosening the drawstring, deftly using three fingers to hold paper in a little channel and pouring in just the right amount of tobacco, then tongue moistening one edge of the paper and rolling the paper into a cylinder around the tobacco. The moistened paper stuck to make a useable cigarette.
When Dad met Mother and she insisted on a temple marriage, he had to quit smoking. However, when Mother was cleaning clothes in Declo that fall, she found some Bull Durham in my dad’s clothes. She was probably shocked to realize he had gone back to smoking, but likely understanding, since the trauma of losing his property. But that was beside the point. She immediately scavenged the place for any more tobacco, and threw the works into the fire.
When Dad came home that night, she confronted him with the facts and issued an ultimatum: “You have your choice. It is either Bull Durham or me!”
She bore seven more children to the ex-smoker.
Under the influence of that good woman, Dad started studying the Gospel and taking an active part in the Church. He had the habit of taking a few minutes after the noon meal to relax and read his Scriptures. He insisted on regular family prayer and encouraged and supported all the children in Church activity. He never got to the point of enjoying speaking in public, but did it anyway and served on the High Council. He had many wonderful experiences in Church service.
My father told me many times that he felt very fortunate and greatly blessed with the companionship of my mother, a wonderful woman.
James H. Gardiner
In the midst of the great depression of the 1930’s, many of us were delighted and fascinated by the marvels of radio. For our family, scratching out an existence from the dusty, alkali flats of southern Idaho, owning a real operating radio seemed impossible. We did not have electric power nor could we afford a battery operated set. On General Conference Sundays, some of us walked the mile and a half to town to listen to the radio a local storekeeper provided for KSL radio conference coverage. We enjoyed hearing President Grant and the other authorities. For some of the Joe Louis fights, we walked about a mile south, to the checking station, to listen to the radio report of these matches. We loved the contact radio brought.
I read about crystal sets. No batteries were required; they operated from power picked up by an antenna. Their low operating cost, and possibility of home construction appealed to me. The nearest radio station was 90 miles away. I wondered if a crystal set would work. From some of my dollar-a-day, “derrick-boy” earn¬ings, I saved enough to order some earphones and a few parts from Allied Radio in Chicago. From that order and salvaged parts, I made a crystal set, ran out about 200 feet of antenna, put on the earphones, adjusted the tuning and cat whisker and listened. During the day almost nothing, but at night, wonderful. I heard stations from Salt Lake City, Pocatello, Los Angeles, Denver, San Francisco, Del Rio, Texas, and many other places. One night I picked up a scrap of conversation from an airplane.
From a single headset, a crystal radio leaves a lot to be desired for family listening. We were delighted when Grandpa Hulet sent us a battery operated “Airline” radio, complete with gooseneck speaker. We dipped into our savings and mail ordered “B” and “C” batteries. We pulled the 6-volt battery from our 1926 Chevy to power the filaments. It worked. We had a celebration and were soon fans of the great radio programs of the 30’s. That radio brought a new world to us.
We were very frugal radio listeners. Only important listening was allowed. But the batteries were a problem, especially the “A” battery from the car. We seldom ran the car because we could not afford the gasoline. As a result, the battery seldom got charged. After we ran the battery down on the radio, starting the car was a chore. We had to crank the car or pull it with a horse to start it. That can be a problem on an icy morning.
For all my life, I had seen my parents toil to exhaustion trying to keep up with farm and family needs. Washing clothes had always been a difficult task for my mother, who insisted on cleanliness. I recall her boiling the clothes, then scrubbing them on a washboard, then rinsing and wringing. Even with the help of children, it was a tedious, never-ending burden. But once washed and wrung, clothes were hung out to dry in the ever present south Idaho wind. They were gathered in dry, fresh and wonderfully clean.
At the end of a summer, my brother, Golden, and I were looking at washing machines in a Sears catalog. We knew our mother needed to be spared from some of her burden. We checked the prices on washers driven, not by an electric motor, but by a one-cylinder gasoline engine. Remember, we did not have electric power. As I recall, the price was about $43. We pooled our savings and found we could handle that much. But hold on! The catalog showed a gasoline driven washing machine that came with a generator to charge a 6-volt battery! How much more to include the generator? About $5. With that feature, we could do the washing and charge the battery at the same time. No question, we decided to order the machine with the generator. We would have only a few cents left.
Then our mother got involved. How about your tithing? The bubble burst. We paid our tithing and ordered the washer without the gen¬erator. We were disappointed, but were pleased that our mother and the family would benefit.
As delivery time approached, we were excited by the difference this machine would make. Each day after school, we dropped by the post office/freight depot to check on the arrival. Finally it came. We checked the sturdy, wooden shipping crate and noted the address. It was ours. We peered between the case slats and admired the shiny new machine---complete with a small gasoline engine and a coiled, flexible exhaust pipe. But alas, there was something extra connected to the engine. Could that be a generator? It looked like a generator to me. What a cruel twist of fate! Sears had sent the wrong machine. Obviously the washer would have to be exchanged for the one we had ordered and paid for. We were out of money and discouraged — another long wait for the matter to be corrected.
Our father picked up the mail, including a letter from Sears. They said, “We are sorry we could not supply the unit you ordered. We hope the unit shipped will be satisfactory.” It was.
James Hulet Gardiner
A PIPE STORY
I grew up on a farm in the Raft River Valley of Southern Idaho. I was a teenager during the great depression of the 30's. One dry year, about August, the streams dried up and we had to dig a well to get water for our cows and horses. We pulled the water from the well with a long rope tied to a bucket. It is amazing how much water a thirsty cow or horse can drink. We needed some pipe so we could fit a pump and relieve the torture of the bucket and rope.
Money for us was almost unknown, but we were praying for help. My father had an idea. He said he knew where we could get all the pipe we needed, and it would only cost a few gallons of gasoline. That sounded good to me.
Early one morning, we loaded our old ‘25 Chevy with all the gear Dad thought we would need, including five gallons of water to replenish the water that boiled out of the radiator going uphill. Dad drove and my brother, Golden, and I were pleased to see new country.
As we neared our destination, Dad drove through the sagebrush over what was an abandoned dry farm. The sagebrush had grown up since the homesteader had given up. We found the old well site-- -there was a 6-inch steel casing protruding about a foot above the ground and coming out of that a good looking 2-inch, galvanized steel pipe. My dad was pleased that it was still there and gave it a good test pull, and it was obvious why it was still there. He was a very strong man, but could not raise it at all.
We rigged up a tripod with poles we had brought from home, tied our wire stretchers (block and tackle, to you) to the apex of the tripod, and Dad took a couple half-hitches around the protruding pipe, using a chain with 1-inch links, and then hooked the chain to the extended wire stretcher. Dad told me to take up the slack with the wire stretchers while he held the half-hitches snug on the pipe. I took up the slack and soon the wire stretchers were groaning and squeaking under great pressure. I hoped the tripod would hold. Suddenly, the pipe was swinging on the chain and Dad was grinning.
We pulled the pipe to the limit of the stretchers and Dad took a clamp he had made out of a couple of pieces of Douglas Fir 2 x 4’s and clamped the pipe so it could not go down the well while we took a new bite with the chain and extended the stretchers. Each pull was about 5 feet. We slowly repeated these steps until the first pipe coupling came into sight, then uncoupled the pipe above the pipe clamp.
We had a couple of sections out of the well and were very pleased. I was holding the stretcher and as Dad loosened the clamp to put it further down the pipe, suddenly there was a screech, some sparks and a reverberating crash and the earth trembled beneath our feet. The remaining pipe was back down the well.
We were dismayed. My Dad sat down. I could tell he was thinking. Suddenly, I had a brilliant thought, which I expressed. "We have plenty of pipe for our well. There is no easy way to get the rest of the pipe---it is gone forever. Let's load up what we have and go home.” Don't you think that is brilliant? Well, at least logical. How about practical?
My father did not buy any of the above. He said that if we did not get the pipe out, it would be gone forever. No one would ever know that it was down in that black hole. Much to my dismay, he said we were going to get it out.
We reassembled the system, doubled up on the clamps, and gingerly lowered the pipe back down the well casing. My dad retrieved the rear view mirror from the old Chevy and my brother held it to reflect the bright sunlight down the casing shaft---no longer a black hole.
By some miracle of good eyesight, steady hands, patience and some extra help, Dad screwed the retrieved pipe sections onto the one down the well, and we proceeded to pull, with an extra set of clamps for safety. We got the entire pipe out, and my father was very pleased with its beautiful condition. We loaded all our gear and pipe and going home the car boiled a lot with the heavy load.
Almost seventy years have passed and some of that pipe is still in use.
Written by James H. Gardiner
FRED GARDINER STORIES
As a young man, Fred Gardiner spent a lot of summers in the mountains of northern Utah herding sheep. On one occasion, the chokecherries were ripe, and Dad liked them. He found a tree, heavy with fruit and proceeded to fill a bucket. He heard some muffled noises from the other side of the tree and investigated. He was confronted by a huge grizzly bear. Dad dropped the bucket and departed in haste. When he dared, he glanced back to see if the bear was gaining on him. The bear was streaking in the opposite direction.
When my son, Jeffrey and I made a seventy-mile hike around the Raft River Valley (the home of my youth), we had completed the trip on foot, and were waiting for the family car to take us home. It was about 10:00 a.m. on a clear, fresh, lovely day. As we waited beside the road, one of the older natives of the valley, Frank Olson, stopped to investigate a man and a teenage boy sitting alone, ten miles from habitation. I told him I was one of Fred Gardiner’s boys, and Jeff was a grandson to Fred.
He told of passing by Fred's homestead when Fred was still single and just getting a start on improving the property. Fred lived a long way from any neighbor. He noticed a team of horses hooked to a plow and just standing alone in a partly plowed field. He said to himself, “I wonder if Fred is in trouble?" He proceeded to Fred's cabin and was astonished to hear music coming forth. Fred was giving the horses a break and was playing his violin.
Roadside repair, miles from any town or service station was a way of life. On many trips I helped my dad make an emergency repair to a knocking engine. We would drain the oil, (save it of course) drop the engine oil pan, take a few shims from a loose piston connecting rod bearing, check for bearing play, restore the pan and oil and we were on our way.
Coming home from Burley, Idaho, more than a forty-mile trip, my dad's Model T quit and he could not get it going again. So he decided to walk the remaining twenty-five miles home. After several hours of trudging, he was surprised when another Model T. stopped beside him, in a cloud of dust.
"Well, Fred, do you want a lift?"
"No thanks. I have walked 20 miles and I will finish the trip myself."
Sometime in the 30's, now in a different location: Dad was walking the mile and a half to church. A non-LDS man gave him a lift. "Now Fred, if God wanted you to go to church, He would have provided a way." Dad said, “He did."
I estimate that about 1910, my father was hired as foreman of the big spread called the Keogh Ranch. He had a variety of roughnecks working for him. One of his favorite stories was of a cocky, young broncobuster who prided himself in his skill at staying on anything that bucked. Dad gave him a spirited young mustang to tame. The young man got set on the horse and then the helpers let the horse free to do his best. The young bronco rider soon found he had more than he anticipated, but was ready to do or die. In a skillful and violent maneuver, the horse tossed the rider into the irrigation ditch, which happened to be full of water. Sputtering and swearing, the broncobuster climbed out of the ditch, clenched his fist and shook it at the sky and shouted, "Come down and fight."
My father liked to tell about the time he lost his hearing. He was yet a young man, not ready for any hearing problem. He had been herding sheep during the summer and fall and when his duties were completed, he decided he must go to a doctor in Salt Lake City to determine if anything could be done to help his failing hearing. With some difficulty he communicated with the doctor's nurse. She said she would have a look. She proceeded to look and probe. Suddenly my father said he heard the streetcars outside ---clearly---and then after a look and probe into the other ear, he was astounded---he could hear! Both ears gave up a collection of wool and wax. (Earache prevention!)
By James H. Gardiner