“Again, how happy we are as we find our grandparents’ journals and follow them through their trials and joys and gain for our own lives much from the experiences and faith and courage of our ancestors.” (President Spencer W. Kimball – “The Angels May Quote from It”)
“It is not only the dramatic and colorful events that are worth recording. It is also valuable to know the daily round of activities, the hard physical labor that occupied most of the time of our ancestors, the hardships, and discouragements. Besides there are many incidents of daily life that are easily forgotten. Those who record them, preserve precious moments that can later be cherished, relived as it were, by members of the family. Moments of humor, family incidents, sickness, prayer, conversations, visits – such is the stuff of diaries that become rich veins of delight and inspiration.” (Bitton, Davis, “That Your Children May Know”, The New Era, Nov. 1973.)
Here are some questions for you to consider and answer to yourself. What do you know about the life of your great grandfather, your grandmother – or even your favorite ancestor? What do you know about their lives? What were their hobbies and interests? How did they cook their food? And what did they eat – for that matter? What was their house made of? What kind of job did they have? What kind of dates did they go on as they were courting? How did they meet their spouse? Did they drive a car – or ride in a horse and buggy? How did they join your Church? What kind of parties did they attend? What did they teach their children?
Were you able to answer all of the questions? How much do you really know about your own parents, grandparents, or your ancestors? What would you like to know about your ancestor(s) that you don’t now know? Did they keep a journal or otherwise write about their life? What details of their lives do you wish they’d written about?
And on the other hand, what have YOU written about YOUR own life? How and what will your descendants know about you? What would you like your posterity to know about you?
I have had a long-time friend, Chuck. I inspired him to learn about his family. I heard him later lament, “I can’t believe how little we know even about our grandparents.” How sad!
Most of us think that our own lives are boring – or at least just routine and normal – or that we don’t have anything to write about. We believe that we do the “same old things” day after day. We think that no one will be interested in us years from now. We live in the current moment and don’t even think about the future. Maybe we think our lives are “so bad” or “so depressing” that we don’t even want things written down.
It is interesting that we would welcome any details of the lives of our ancestors, but yet we don’t write for our own posterity.
We sometimes think (without thinking) that things of the world will always be as they are now. Or we think that somehow people of the future will somehow know all about the people of our day. But, in reality, life changes a lot – even from one generation to the next. Think of the inventions, the new gadgets, the changes in clothing, in transportation, in communications, and even in plumbing – that have come about just in the lifetime of your parents and grandparents.
I love the journal history left by my wife’s 2nd great grandmother, Elizabeth Jane Perkins Belcher (1839-1922) who lived through the pioneer era. Of course, she just lived a normal life – and nothing of her life would be of interest to us. (Or so we say about ourselves …) But I’ll let you decide as I quote from her own journal or personal history records:
“I was born in Jackson County, Tennessee February 11, 1837. My parents moved from TN to MO in 1839. My brothers William A., James M., John Preston, and Marion C. were also born in TN. My sister, Ann, Harvey H., Louisa, and Jasper N. were born in Grundy County, now Alphia County, MO. While moving from TN to MO, John Preston fell out of the wagon. He was run over and killed.
“Our home in MO was in a thick forest. Father had to clear the timber off for a building spot – about two acres of ground and fenced it in. He had other farming land that was not timbered, but this was a choice building spot. Our home consisted of a double-hued log house. There were two large rooms with two large fireplaces – one in each room. The forest that surrounded our home was composed of large trees of different kinds. There were oak, hickory, walnut, sycamore, elm and many other gigantic trees that furnished us with an abundance of nuts. We also had plenty of fruit – such as wild strawberries, black berries, raspberries, crab apple and plumbs. We spent many happy hours swinging in the grape vines. There was any amount of wild game – such as turkey, geese, prairie chicken and quail, squirrel, possum and raccoons and many other small animals.
“My mother was a very industrious woman. She did all the spinning and weaving of the material to clothe the entire family of eleven. She also knit the stockings too.
“In my childhood I was called Jane, later Betsy Jane, and still later, Betsy. I have heard my grandfather say that he went after the mid-wife when I was born and that she – Granny Bowlen, rode behind him on his horse.
“Our cooking was all done on a fireplace until after I was eleven years old – as stoves had not been introduced in that part of the country at that time. The fire was not allowed to go out. Such a thing as a match had never been seen. The fire was kept over night with hickory backlogs – which was as large around as a man’s body. They were brought in by a colored man whom we called Ike. He was a present to Father from his father when married. He helped with the heavy work on the farm. Nigger Ike used great hand spikes to roll the logs in and put one at the back of the fireplace and small ones in front. This huge log would burn until bedtime and then was covered up with ashes – which would keep the coals alive until morning. If the fire was allowed to die out, we would have to go to the nearest neighbor – which was about one fourth of a mile – and borrow fire. If they were out, then father would get down old gee – his flint lock gun and strike sparks of fire from it. These sparks flew into a timber box prepared for the occasion. From powder and toe (toe is flax combings) the sparks would ignite the powder and toe and the toe would start the blaze.
“There was an iron bar covered with hooks – called a crane – which was placed across the fireplace and the cooking kettles hung on the hooks. Then there was a large skillet for frying and a Dutch oven for baking. This oven was heated by sitting it on hot coals and covering the lid with hot coals. In those days, if people wanted to give a sociable and make themselves agreeable, they would invite all the neighbors from far and near to come and join them in their simple pleasures and work. The men would spend the day in what was called a log rolling, barn raising or corn shucking. Mother would have a quilting and sewing bee for the women. Sometimes there would be 25 to 30 guests. They would come before breakfast and stay until after supper. Mother would hire two girls to help her cook – Mary and Joicy Flowers. It would take two or three days to cook sufficient food for the expected company. I can tell you the wild turkey and quail would suffer. Talk about big roasts of pork right out of the tenderloin, or perhaps a southern style boiled ham – was it good! There were all kinds of pastry. Just think of all that cooking over a fireplace. You can imagine how many cakes were baked, when the eggs were beaten in a churn. Mother used a reflector to bake the pies. This consisted of a piece of bright tin about two feet long, and standing on two little legs. When placed in front of the fireplace, this reflected the heat and baked the top of the pies. They were set on hot coals to bake the bottoms.
“Young folks would usually spend the evening with a candy pull. One evening my brother William grabbed the kettle of candy and away he ran with the rest of the young people after him.
“When my three oldest brothers, William, James and Marion wanted to have a big time, they would go with Ike about half a mile from the house, down on Medicine Creek and hunt coons and possums. They would take the three hound dogs and when they had found a victim, there would be the greatest yelling and screaming and barking of dogs – until they made the woods ring. They would keep the chase up until both boys and dogs would be exhausted. Then they would come home with all the coons and possums they could carry. The boys would catch quail in traps which they made – also prairie chickens and turkeys. My sister, Mary Ann, and I would go with the boys to their traps and bring home our aprons full of birds. Mother would make great pot pies served with corn doggers – which was eaten every day in the week, except Sunday. White bread was served on Sunday as a great treat. When the supply of corn meal was getting low, father and the boys would have a corn shelling. This would take place in the evening in front of the big fireplace. Ann and I and our little brothers would build houses with the corn cobs, or throw them in the fire and watch them until they became bright red. This we considered great fun.
“While the corn shelling was going on, mother was in the other room spinning and weaving. After the corn was shelled, it was put in bags and taken to the mill on horseback. My father fed his sheep, cattle and horses corn. It was a common thing to find flocks of prairie chickens feeding with the cattle.
“I well remember one morning when mother and I were milking the cows. Ann came running down to the corral with a little burnt footed goslin in her apron. Mother asked what she wanted and she said she had seen a Mormon dog and was very much frightened. She said she was afraid the dog would eat the goslin as it couldn’t get out of the way. So, she had brought it in her apron. Mother asked her how she knew it was a Mormon dog. She said, “because it had six legs”. She had made up this story so that she would not be sent back to the house. The Mormon people had been misrepresented to our family. We thought they were a band of outlaws, killing and destroying everything they came in contact with. So, Ann thought the story of the Mormon dog would justify her in leaving the house when her mother had cautioned her to stay there.
“In the hot summer days, the cattle would lie down in the shade of the huge walnut trees and us girls would sit astride old Davie’s back (our old black and brown bull) and catch green-headed flies. In the fall, father would kill a beef and 25 hogs for our winter’s use. He built a smokehouse in which he would smoke the hams and shoulders. The lard would be stored in barrels. The scraps were saved to make soap. The lye for the soap was obtained by pouring water over wood ashes – which were saved in a large hopper. After the water filtered through the ashes, it came out a red liquid. This lye was very strong. The grease was put into this lye in large iron kettles which would hold as much as a washing tub. Mother would usually make four of these kettles full in one day. Ike would fix up some kind of apparatus to hang the kettles over the fire – which, of course, was out of doors. The soap was poured into troughs which were hewed out of large logs.
“This soap was made in March and would last until the next March. Mother would dip out a large gourd dipper full of soft soap for each washing. In the summertime, Mother and the boys would build a cam fire and heat the water in one of the large iron kettles. Mother would wet the clothes and soap them well, then they were laid on a bench and the boys would beat them with a large wooden paddle. After the beating process was finished, they were washed by hand. – as such a thing as a washboard had not been heard of in that remote part of the woods. The clothes were then boiled and rinsed and dried.
“While the washing was in progress, the small children would be catching turtles, playing in the sandbank, wading in the water or gathering muscle shells.
“When Ann was three or four years old, she went with the other children to see a young calf. Father had brought the cow and calf up to the corral. We all gathered round to look at the calf, and the dog, of course, must see it too. The dog came and stood by sister Ann. The cow, thinking the dog meant to harm her calf, made a dive at the dog, missed him and caught Ann on her horns and threw her up in the air. She came down on one of those iron kettles and broke two of her ribs. Our Negro, Ike, made butter bowls, ladles and bread trays.
“Chillicothe, MO and Trenton were the two nearest towns. The people in those days did most of their traveling on horseback. Mother rode a big bay named Old Bay. When mother went to church she always took the lead on Old Bay. It made no difference how many people were along – she was the leader. They did not have a regular church but held cottage meetings. I remember one time that Malinda McClelland, Aunt Rhoda’s sister, got mother to let me go with her up to Marimons to stay all night with them. The next day, when we came home, a young boy, Ben Marimon, rode by me, and of course I thought he was my beau and that I could go to church with him that night. But, when we got home, Mother said to me, “Get down off that horse, young lady, your father and I are going to church tonight.” I tell you what – my feathers just dropped. I was a badly disappointed girl. I was eleven years old and I thought I was old enough to have a sweetheart.
“Mother wore a long coat when riding. It was kind of reddish brown and lined with pink and pleated to the waist from the yoke. A wide silk girdle of many colors fastened with a buckle in front. I remember well some of mother’s dresses. She had one home-made – that is she made it herself. It was a dark blue and copperous check or plaid. Another one was striped with side stripes of blue, white and red. The skirt was cut off at the knees and a flounce gathered on. Still another was made out of Chintze, a fine material like French gingham.
“All I remember about Father was his stove-pipe hat. It seems as though it was fur. I can see him take a yellow silk handkerchief with white polka dots in it and draw it around his hat to make the fur lie down just right. He also had a black stock of some kind – to wear with a dickee – a separate stiff shirt front.
“When Jasper was born, Mother sent us children for Grandmother Anderson and Mrs. Crawford, the mid-wife. We stayed all night at Crawfords and when we went home next morning, we found to our delight the stork had left a baby brother.
“In the spring of 1848, my father sold out and left MO. He had joined the Mormon Church the fall before – in November. As soon as our neighbors heard my father and his family had joined the church, they sent him word that he must leave the state in a certain length of time or suffer mob violence – and that they would not permit them to stay in the state longer.
“Every place we went and every turn in the road were notices which read: “Take warning by this, so say all, and leave this county at once.” Father packed the wagon with the things that we needed most and sometime in April 1847, we started for Council Bluffs, Iowa. We must have made a late start for we only traveled twelve miles that day. I remember well that night. It was just after supper and mother was washing the dishes. All of a sudden we heard bugles and horns of all kinds – and beating on tin pans.
“About fifteen masked men came into our camp screaming and cursing: “Old Joe Smith and his followers”. The howling mob frightened mother and us children almost to death. We climbed into the wagon and father faced the mob of insulting men. When they had swore and cursed and raved until they were exhausted, Father stepped upon a tree stump and said, “If you are through talking, I would like to say, I know almost everyone of you. I don’t owe one of you a cent. I have always been honorable in all my dealing with you.” He then told them what he thought of them and their conduct towards a family had had always been their friends. They turned and went sulking away like whipped dogs.
“After we had traveled a short time, my little sister, Louisa, five years old, took desperately ill. When Mother and Father found that she was so sick, they took her in the buggy and went on ahead of the ox teams. They thought they might save her life if they could reach Council Bluffs soon enough. But she died shortly after they arrived there.
“This was a terrible blow to poor Mother – who had just left a good home of peace and plenty, through the compulsion of ignorant and evil people. And now her little golden-haired girl was taken from her. To go on without her was almost more than we all could stand.
“We stayed at the Bluffs about a month. Then we made the great start towards the far west of Rocky Mountains. We left the Bluffs in a company of several hundred other saints. The people were divided into companies – fifty people to a company. After we had traveled a short distance, it was found that fifty wagons were too many to travel together – on account of the cattle that traveled more slowly in large herds than in smaller ones. So, the company was divided – twenty-five wagons in each. People took their milk cows along with them. Some of them were compelled to work the cows on their wagons. This was usually when the oxen would give out or die. I remember that Father loaned Brother Erastus Snow a yoke of cows and he drove them through to the Salt Lake Valley.
“This immigration of wagons was called a “train”. There were many trains scattered along the route. President Brigham Young was in one of these trains but not the one that we were in.
“As this was in 1848, it must have been a second trip for President Young. I remember seeing him many times – riding in his carriage. Uncle Billie Perkins was Captain of our Company. He was grandfather’s brother. I have forgotten most of the names of people who traveled with us, for I was only eleven years old.
“As we traveled along the Platt River, we saw a lone tree which was the only tree for miles around. There was a dead Indian papoose in the top of the tree – the Indians way of burying their dead.
“Aunt Betsy Whitson Perkins, John Calvin’s mother, told me that when they came through the following year with Grandfather Perkins, that the buffalo frightened the ox teams so badly that some of them stampeded and ran away and killed one woman. I think her name was Hawk. It was almost impossible to keep the ox teams from plunging into the Platt River. Aunt Betsy’s team ran away and when she dashed past her sister Mimey’s wagon, Mimey called out to her, “Goodby, Bets.”
“Game was scarce crossing the plains. But there were great herds of buffalo. I have many times seen then plunge into the Platt River and swim across. They looked like a black streak in the water.
“Our trip was full of exciting experiences. One which I will never forget was the day our brothers went to see their first Indian camp and left us girls to drive the ox team. They told us not to touch the oxen with the whip. They were hardly out of sight when Sister Ann took the whip and walked out on the wagon tongue between the oxen and whipped the leaders. As she came back she fell off the tongue and the wagon, loaded with flour passed over her stomach – both the front and back wheels. She had bread and milk for her dinner – which came pouring out of her mouth as the wheels passed over her. She was picked up for dead. Uncle Billie administered to her and she came to and was playing with the other children when we camped that night. This would seem impossible to some, but I saw it with my own eyes. My oldest brother, William, killed an elk – which we ate with great relish.
“Some of the men killed a buffalo and the train laid over and the people jerkied the meat. Jerkying consists of cutting the meat in strips, stringing it on sticks and then smoking it. This meat was not very good even when fresh. It is a very coarse grained.
“One evening we children built a bonfire on the side of the mountain. We were sitting around telling stories and having fun. William took the buffalo hide, unbeknown to us, and wrapped it around himself and came pawing and bellowing down the mountainside, throwing dirt and rocks in every direction. We could not see very well as we only had the light from the bonfire. So, we thought that some wild animal was about to spring on us. We all went tumbling down the mountainside screaming and yelling at the top of our lungs. William thought this was a big joke. His would-be-girl hurt her shin bone. The dresses were ankle length then and the girl started to pull up her skirt to show him her skinned shin. William yelled, “Never mind. Never mind! I’ll take your word for it.” I cannot remember any other events on our trip from the East – for it is like a dream to me.
“I know that when we first arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, it was nothing but a fort – just a few scattered houses. I think we arrived here in July 1848. We attended school in the old fort that winter and my teacher was Zina Young. She was one of President Brigham Young’s wives. Father and Mother joined the church in November 1847, before they left Missouri. They were baptized by Andrew H. Perkins, Father’s brother. I was baptized the first of August 1849 by Uncle Billy Perkins. William, James, Marion and Ann were also baptized at that time.
“One of the things that happened to us right after we came to Salt Lake was when William and James had been to the canyon after wood. When they got home they unhitched the oxen and chained them together and one of them, Old Ned, in some way broke his neck. The boys cut his throat and dressed him and he was our winter’s beef – although he was very poor and hardly fit to eat. Poor old Ned – he hauled his share of a heavy load all the way from MO and across the plains that spring. No wonder he was so poor.
“Talk about rats, there were so many we hardly knew what to do. We had no cat so Father finally bought one and it cost him $3.00. Things were very high. Father paid three dollars for a peck of potatoes.
“Times were hard and grew harder every day. We arrived here in Salt Lake just after the crickets had been here and eaten everything. I know that we lived on Bran Bread most of the time. Many a morning we had to walk a mile and a half and dig Sego Lily Roots and Thistle Roots. We used sharp sticks to dig them out.
“One day mother made a kettle of soup from some of the bones of Old Ned and set the kettle on the hearth to cool. The kettle and the tantalizing odors proved too much of a temptation for our cat that Father had paid such a high price for. Up on that kettle it climbed and the lid slipped off and the cat slipped in. We never had any dinner that day and what was worse, it killed the cat.
“Jasper was about three years old at that time and he cried every day for bread. Uncle Billie had a little while flour and every day the bread was rationed to each one of his family. At first they each had one biscuit daily and then there were cut down to half a biscuit. Of course, we had the bran bread. Patty Perkins, Uncle Billie’s daughter, would bring her share of the white bread over and give it to Jasper. That was surely a noble act – giving bread to another when she was almost famished herself. Father paid $5.00 for a peck of corn and ground it in a coffee mill.
“We had sufficient means which we brought with us from MO, but there was nothing to buy. Our greatest calamity befell us after we had been in Salt Lake about a year. Our dear mother was stricken ill with what was then known as “Mountain fever”. She passed away to the great beyond August 12, 1849. Our father had been almost down sick for some time. When he knew Mother was gone, he threw himself across the bed and said, “if it was not for my children, I would pray to die also.” He was stricken down with the same disease and on September 3, 1849 at 2 PM, he joined our darling mother.
“This left seven orphans to the mercy of the people. But there were not seven of us long. My oldest brother, William, was at death’s door and died the next day at 7 AM. He was buried in the same grave with Father. While William was sick, he cried and begged for a fried apple pie. He told me if I would fan the flies off him he would buy me a new hair ribbon. I was willing enough to fan him but I had just got up from a sick bed myself. I was so weak that I could not fan him twice until my hand would drop down with exhaustion. Then he would cry and beg me to fan him some more. I was in this weak condition when they sent for me and said Father was dying. I sat on Mrs. Abraham A. Smoot’s lap and saw my father pass away.
“I was so overcome with grief when I saw my father was gone, and realized that we were orphans, that I took a setback and came very near dying myself. I was so sick that they would not let me see William after he died. It was this same Mountain Fever that we all had. Marian, Harvey and Jasper were dangerously ill with it. Brother James took down with it about this time, and before the month had ended, he too, had passed away – September 16, 1849.
“It began to look as though our entire family would be wiped out. After mother had died and the rest of us took down with the fever, it was impossible for us to stay at home as we could not get help. So, Father and we children had to be taken away from home. We were cared for by good neighbors. Father was taken to Uncle John Vance’s, William to Margaret Larson’s (Uncle Billie’s married daughter). James was taken to one of the Youngs. I believe it was Joseph. Marion was taken to Andrew Love’s. Ann stayed with Uncle Billie Perkins. She was not sick then. Harvey was taken to John Wakeley’s, Jasper to Joseph Murdock’s and I was taken to Doctor Moses until I was able to walk and then I was taken to Uncle Billie Perkins’. Then Jasper was taken to Doctor Moses – he was so very sick. James got over the fever and was up and around. He went over to one of the neighbors and it was too much for him. He had a relapse and died. Uncle Billie’s folks all got sick and I had to go to Emma Harris Smoots.
“Artimissie Harris was working for Aunt Dicey and she took me behind her on a horse. When I went to get on the horse, I was so weak that I fell off backwards and lit in a big cow pile. Maybe you think that I didn’t feel badly to have to go to the Smoots’ with my clothes in such a condition. When I got there, I was quite sick and it was then I had a relapse. Shortly after we recovered this terrible siege of sickness and death, we were blessed by the arrival of Grandfather and Grandmother Ruben Perkins. They did not know of our great loss until they arrived at Fort Bridger. While there they were met by a relief train of wagons from Salt Lake. Grandfather’s sons and families came in the same company.
“There was uncle Andy who was Captain of the Company, Uncle John, Uncle Jessie and Uncle Monroe, who was not married at that time, also Uncle Ephraim’s family. Uncle Ephraim had died a number of years before. He was Aunt Betsy Whitson Perkins’ husband and John Calvin’s father. Grandfather’s brother, Uncle Absolum and his three married sons came. Ute, Louis and Dave and their families came in the same train. Uncle Absolum’s wife’s name was Nancy Martin. Their children’s names were Susanna – who married Lue Whitesides, Adaline (who married Ike Carpenter, Levi, Washington and Columbus. (Ute and his wife, Ann, are Dezy Perkins parents). Dezy married John H. Perkins, Uncle Jessie’s boy, and she was a cousin. Uncle Absolum had a girl named Polly. She married a man named Shipley. She died on the plains and left two boys, Jack and Jasper, and I believe two girls. Francis Marion was another of Uncle Absolum’s boys. He went to California and was lost track of. I believe Uncle John Vance came the first year – as he was here when we arrived, and we came the second year.
“Uncle John married Grandfather’s sister Sally. Grandfather brought a family of his Negro slaves. The family consisted of Old Frank and his wife, Easeher, whom we called, Old Ease, and their children: Black Ben, Black Sarah, Black Mary and Black Downey, also Ephraim and Wesley. These Negroes helped Grandfather on the farm and Old Ease did the cooking the best they could under the circumstances. It must have been a great worry and responsibility for those poor people to take care of us children in the evening of their lives – after they had raised a large family of seven boys of their own.
“We children and “The Blacks”, as we called them, could not always agree and of course, it was no small worry to keep peace between the two families. When Grandfather first came to the valley, he lived in Father’s house in Salt Lake. We lived there the first winter, but I do not know how much longer. Then we moved to South Bountiful. Uncle Jessie and Uncle Andy’s families moved there also. Grandfather built a double log house.
“Grandfather, Grandmother, Ann and I slept in one room and the boys and Uncle Monroe slept in the other. Old Ease did the cooking and dishwashing in the kitchen of her cabin, which was some distance away. The floors of these houses were bare boards but they were kept as white as a biscuit board – also the chairs and tables. They were scoured with white sand. Grandmother would not allow one particle of lye or soap to be used on her floors because she said they made them yellow.
“Our light consisted of the fire light from two big fireplaces – one in each room – and tallow candles which Grandmother made by melting tallow and running it in a mold with a piece of cotton for a wick.
“Besides farming, Grandfather raised cattle, horses, sheep, goats, pigs and chickens. I remember one of the cows. Her name was Slick. She was a moleskin color. We had a bay horse named Murk. The wolves got into the sheep one night but the Blacks heard them and so they did not do much damage.
“Grandfather and Grandmother, poor old people, were constantly kept in hot water. We children were always into mischief and the Negroes stole everything they could get their hands on from the old folks. There was also a neighbor who told us that part of the property was ours and if we wished to dispose of it, it was our own affair. Believing her, we took things from those poor people and gave to our neighbor. I remember on one occasion our neighbor decided she wanted some meat. There was two barrels on hand. One contained the fleshy part and the other one the bones. Pop (my sister Ann) gave them half of the best barrel. Grandfather corned the beef shortly before this and decided to see if it was keeping. Imagine his surprise when he found that half the barrel was missing.
“Grandfather said there must be an adversary on the place, for everything he owned was being destroyed one way or another. The poor old man could not find out what or who was at the bottom of all this mischief. So, he made it a matter of prayer. Grandfather began fervently praying. “Oh, Lord, make it known to me who is the adversary on my place?’ His prayer was not answered.
“One Sunday, when the old folks were attending church, we children drew the staples out of a large wooden chest – which Grandmother had brought across the plains. There was a jug of honey in the chest – which had been saved for sickness. We gave Old ‘Ease enough honey to make a cake big enough for both families. We children were around the table eating bread and honey when who should we see coming but Aunt Mimey. She said, “Let me taste your molasses.” Jasper said, “Aunt Mimey, this isn’t honey, it’s just molasses.”
“When Grandmother came home she found the mischief had been done. There were dried apples in the chest and we had helped ourselves to them. But I know she felt heartsick to think they could never leave the house without the most prized things being wasted and destroyed. The neighbor was Grandfather’s brother and family. They were very poor and could not get enough food to eat. Grandfather did not want to help them.
“My brother, Marion, stayed home until he was about nineteen years old and Ann and I stayed until we were married. Brother Harvey stayed until he was about fifteen. He left to go and live with his sister, Ann. At eleven years, Jasper also went to live with Ann – who married Albert Burns.
“When I was about fifteen years old, I went to Brother Perry’s to a prayer meeting. After meeting, Ed Pace, a neighbor boy, asked if he could see me home. Of course, I did not dare say no. So, when we got home, he said goodnight at the door. Grandmother heard him and when I came in, she asked who said goodnight to me. I told her, “Ed Pace”. Said she, “Me gal, let this be the last time you come home with a boy. You are entirely too young to have a beau.”
“However, later on he took me to dancing school, and no doubt he would have kept coming. But a fine-looking young man appeared on the scene – John Calvin Perkins, my cousin (Uncle Ephraim and Aunt Betsy Wilson Perkins’ son). John Calvin was taking his sister Adeline to dancing school also. He asked Ed Pace to exchange girls with him and Ed did, and all hands were so happy as the little birds in the branches – as Grandma Mack would say.
“Old Dan Woods, as most people called him, put himself out a great deal in order to give the young folks a chance to learn to dance. But they did not appreciate the fact that he and Sister Woods were practically turning their home over to them. It made them a lot of work besides the noise and confusion. The boys got smart and threw red pepper on the floor, caught the geese and threw them in the room. They also cut up the cheese that was in the press and was not ready to use yet. Of course, it was all wasted.
“One night when they came to dance, they were told that Sister Wood was very sick and that there wouldn’t be a dance that night. Well, they wouldn’t go home. They just stayed and annoyed those people. Sister Wood was expecting to become a mother any minute. Of course, John and I never went to the dances anymore after they began cutting up with those pranks. We did appreciate the fact that Brother Wood had opened his house to us – and that Sister Wood had cleaned up the mess the next morning and they never charged us a penny.
“John Calvin and I had a cousin, Harvey Lightle Perkins, son of Andrew and Aunt Mimmy Perkins. He was a fine-looking chap and was coming to see sister Ann. We sure thought that we were right smart with our first steady beaus. If the boys happened in before supper time I couldn’t persuade John to eat with us because Old Ease made the bread with her black hands. Of course, we children had always lived near Grandmother and had been eating Old Ease’s cooking all our lives. Even before our parents died and we didn’t think anything about it. If Harvey Lightle ate supper with us, Ann disappeared. She wouldn’t eat with Harvey because the food was so poor. I’ve heard her say that while Harvey was eating she went outdoors and ate raw beets to keep her stomach from growling while she entertained him. All the food was in the combined dining room and kitchen where supper was being served. Ole Ease had cooked the food in her cabin, and the boys carried it up to our kitchen.
“Grandmother informed the boys that they were not to stay too late and if they did, that it would most likely be their last trip. At least that is what they thought. So, one night, John Calvin stayed too long, nevertheless, he decided that he must have a drink before leaving for home. He did not want to disturb the old folks who were sleeping in the next room. So, he stealthily made his way to the water bucket, which by the way was tin, and upon a small high shelf. He knew how it happened, but he upset the bucket and it came down with a crash, throwing water all over everything and making the most outlandish noise I ever heard. John Calvin made a dash through the door and never stopped to open the gate – but leaped over the fence and away he ran with the three dogs after him – barking at the top of their lungs. I sure thought the world had just come to an end for me.
“I slipped into bed with my clothes on and Grandmother never did know what happened or that would have been the end of John Calvin’s visits to the Perkins farm. My dear old grandparents were frightened out of their wits. By the time they got to the kitchen it was dark within and everything was quiet as any kitchen should be at that time of night. So, naturally they thought the bombardment came from the outside. John Calvin and I saw a great deal of each other and it wasn’t very long until we decided to get married.
“My grandparents were very much opposed, but childlike, I thought I knew best – and on the 20th of August 1852, we were married by Bishop Stoker at high noon. I wore a fine white dress and white kid shoes. I sold a three-year-old steer which Grandfather had given me and used the money to buy my trousseau. I wore a red jacket trimmed with white to the dance that night and everyone said that I looked just beautiful. John Calvin was well-built and rather a fine-looking man. He was about as tall as Ann’s son Will, and that is about six feet tall – but much heavier. He must have weighed nearly two hundred pounds. He had a kind of light brown hair, medium blue eyes and a small well-shaped foot.
“We lived in South Bountiful five years. Our daughter, Lenora Jane was born there December 10, 1855. She was my first baby and such a fine girl. I had to do my very best to outshine not only the relatives but everyone in the neighborhood.
“Her best dress was white calico with a lavender vine all mingled through it and the commoner ones were white checked with red. Last, but not least, was her petticoat, made of bright red flannel – gaily bedecked with yellow and green. Around the bottom was embroidered with green leaves and yellow sunflowers. These best clothes were just for Sunday and best wear.
“John Calvin and I, Ann and Burns, our baby brother, Jasper and our brother, Harvey, started for California and stopped at Clear Creek, Nevada. By the way, Aunt Mimmy, Ruben, Harvey Little, Zina, Lizzie and all the Parkeses, Charley, Ira, Toms, John and the Parents, Horace and Hulda, his wife, went as far as Nevada with us. Old lady Parks’ baby girl, Unice, lived at Clear Creek. She married Blen Abernathy when very young. They ran away and were married. Unice had St. Vitus’ dance and when she was in delicate health, her hands were flying in every direction. She would break her dishes and had such a time in doing her work.
“Ed Belcher, who afterwards became my second husband, was boarding there at this time. Also, several other men. We were camped by the creek and the men would come down and get water for Unice. Her husband, Bolen, would carry but very little. So, the men felt sorry for her when they would come for water. I never paid any attention to any of them but Ed Belcher. I always felt embarrassed when I saw him. He told me after we were married that he used to look at me and wish he could have me for his wife. But he said to himself, “It is not right to want another man’s wife.”
“Ed looked so much more spry than the other men and had such pretty curly hair. I suppose that is why I noticed him more than the others. While we were camped there, I had a miscarriage. I had promised to wash for Unice the next day – as everybody was trying to help her. The next morning, I started bright and early to wash, water all day. I was all in when night came. It did not kill me but I do not know why it did not. John Calvin worked in the timber, and Ann and her husband went on to California. We stayed about a month near Unice and then went on to town and visited with Aunt Mimie about a week.
“Then John went over the mountains for provisions and I came back to Clear Creek and stayed with Annie and Manny Penrod. They had a boy named Allen but called him Buck. He is the one Nonie named her Allen after. I tell you, he was a handsome boy. He was a little older than Nonie. One girl was Helen, and they called her Black John. The other was Artia, or Missie.
“After John had been gone some time, he wrote and said he was sick. Cousin Ruben Perkins went after him. He found him at a hotel in the mountain and he had walking typhoid fever. Ruben brought him to Penrods where Nonie and I were. He was walking around all night and made such a disturbance that Mannie told Ruben he would have to take John away.
“One morning we all got in the sleigh and went to Harvey Little’s in Washoe Valley – a distance of about twelve miles. I made a bed in the sleigh and put hot flat irons around John to keep him warm. The snow was four feet on the level. We stayed all night at Harvey’s and the next day Harvey put two or three quilts on a horse and lifted John on the horse. We could not take him any farther in the sleigh as the path was too narrow for the sleigh to pass. John could hardly sit on the horse. He bent over on the horse’s neck most of the time. John had to get off the horse twice and he passed pure blood. The trip had caused a hemorrhage of the bowels. When we arrived at Aunt Mima’s he was quite sick but he lived a week or ten days after. He wanted so much to pet Nonie and make over her. But she was afraid of him as he was delirious most of the time. I had been sitting up with John until I was about worn out. So, Henry Coltrin said if I would lie down, he would call me if John got worse. He gradually got worse and the last words he said were, “Take the sleigh and go for my mother – quick”. Henry called and a little after midnight he passed away December 24, 1859. He was buried Christmas Day. He never saw his mother – for she was in Salt Lake City, Utah.
“I was now left a widow with one child and no home or money. I took Nonie and went back to Penrod’s and stayed until spring 1860. While I was there, Ed Belcher came over and went duck hunting with Manney. I went down to Unice Abernathy’s while he was there and he walked down with me. When we came back, Doc Penrod, Mannie’s brother, was sitting at the table and he went as pale as death when he saw Ed. For Doc was in love with me already, and he had walked twelve miles from Virginia City to see me. He had annoyed me almost from the first – trying to force his attentions on me. He asked me for my company and of course I told him “No”. He then went to Virginia City to work and only stayed one week and then walked home twelve miles. I was so annoyed when I saw him perched up at the table eating. Just as soon as Ed went home, I made my getaway and went to bed.
“Of course, Ed had more sense than to make any advances towards me so soon after John’s death. But, just the same, he kept his eye on the squirrel and as soon as he dared, he wrote me a nice friendly letter – the first letter I had ever received from anyone – and I could not read it. I had not learned to read writing. I could read print just fine. For some reason or other, Zina Young did not teach me to read writing, nor did any other teacher.
“When the letter came, I thought Ann had written it so I handed the letter to Henry Coltrin and asked him to read it to me. He glanced at the signature and said, “This letter is from Ed Belcher”. I snatched the letter from him and I spent days trying to read it. At last, I had to ask Mannie Penrod to read it to me. Just think of it – a widow with one child and could not read my first love letter.
“The following spring after John died, I went to live with my cousin Ruben and Jane Perkins. I believe it was in April. Jane was expecting her youngest baby. They lived in Washoe Valley. The town was composed of Perkins and Parks. It was about this time that it was reported that the Indians were about to raid the white people. We all went to Carson City for a few days until we found out it was a false alarm.
“Ed Belcher became very attentive and we were about to get married. Ed had built a house and bought nine cows and was going into the farming business on a small scale. Of course, he thought he had his future companion just about secure. But, when Burns came and told me that my sister, Ann, wanted me to go home with him and not to get married, I just packed up Noni’s and my things and Burns hitched up the ox team and away we went.
“We had to pass Abernathy’s where Ed and my brother Harvey lived. I intended to tell Ed that I would sure come back and fix things up with him. But he was not home and Harvey said I should not do such a thing – that Ed would be very angry with me. He said that it was not right to treat him like that. I told Harvey that I felt sorry for Ed, but that I had made up my mind to go and see Ann and would come back in the fall.
“Well, we could not wait for Ed – as we did not know how long he would be away. So, I set sail without even telling my sweetheart goodbye. We had only been traveling a short time and had come to a place called Jack Valley. There were no houses there. We were jogging along and all of a sudden, I heard Jingle-jangle-jingle and I knew a horseman was coming – and wearing spurs.
“Nonie and I were sitting back under the wagon cover and when I heard the jingling of spurs, I thought it must Ed. I felt mighty guilty, the closer the jingling came the guiltier I felt. At last, a man rode up and pulled back the wagon cover and looked in. He said to Burns, “Stop this wagon,” and to me, “Betsy, get out. I want to talk to you.” So, I got out and he dismounted and we walked behind the wagon and Ed insisted on me going back with him. But I told him I did want to see my sister and if he would come after me in the fall, I would come back with him.
“Well, we talked and talked until Burns said, “Betsy, if you are going back with that man, here is your team and wagon. But, if you are going with me, we must go on or we can’t make the next camping place.” After many promises, Ed let me get back into the wagon and the poor man went back to his disappointment. The people where we boarded told me later on that Ed nearly went crazy that summer. I did not realize what a terrible thing that was to do or I would not have done it.
“The trip is just like a dream to me. I think it took us three days. I don’t remember where we camped the first night. But the second night we camped at a place called Lake Valley. There were several men camped there cutting timber. Burns was well acquainted with them all. There was Bill Griffis and Houston and the Zorner brothers. They got a nice supper for us and treated us just fine. We ate breakfast with them next morning and then went on our way rejoicing. We traveled all the next day until midnight before we reached Ann’s. When I started to the house, a big black dog came charging at me. I thought before I could wake Ann the dog would bite me. Ann got up and fixed supper for us and Ann and I sat up all night talking over the new and the old.
“Ann was living in Logtown at this time in one of the most God-forsaken places I have ever seen. It was a big frame house that had been built for a boarding house for the men working at the big quartz mill. The mill had been torn down and that, of course, closed the house. The house sat on the side of a sloping hill and it faced the East. In front of the house there was a ravine which had been mined out. Water run in the bottom of this gulch in the springtime when there were storms. Back of the house grew buckeye bushes with snowy white blossoms and Manzanita bushes laden with the most beautiful pink blossoms. Women were very scarce in that country and as soon as it was known that I was there, people wanted me to work for them and I had myself and Nonie to support, I decided to try some of the places.
“The first place I went was to Jackson’s. He run a store of General Merchandise at Nudesprings. It was two miles from Logtown. The woman had leakage of the heart and they had one adopted little girl. Everything was so fine that I became scared out. When I had been there a few days, I told the woman that I was homesick for my little girl and that I must go home. She begged me to stay. She said she liked me so well. I suited her and she would have Nonie brought up for a few days. But I would not stay. When she told her husband, he was just as mad as could be for my excuse was such a lame one.
“After that, I went to stay with a family named Carpenter. I took care of her through her confinement. I went to dancing school while there and met a young man named Ike Hatch. He thought I was a young girl. I was only about twenty-four years old.
“In 1861, I went to a May Party and Ike Hatch was sitting by me. Nonie came up and called me Mother. Well, sir, Ike acted like he had seen a ghost. “What did she call you?” I told him I was a widow. Well, that settled it. He never came back.
“I must tell about this May Party for Miss Douglass. She was a woman who had a husband in the insane asylum. She had five children to support. So, the people of Logtown decided to give her a benefit party. Everyone ws invited and a committee went to Nudesprings and bought a most delicious lunch. They hired the Pavey Orchestra. We set the big, long table upstairs and served tea and coffee with the lunch. We danced in the big dining room, for this house also had been a boarding house. A Mr. McAffee took me and helped us set the table.
“I had been feeling quite sick all day so decided not to dance – but would just look on for a while. I had on a buff dress, but had a fine white water waved Swiss dress upstairs – just in case I got to feeling better. When the orchestra struck up, every particle of sickness left me – like magic. I got Miss Griffin to go upstairs and help me dress. My white Swiss dress was made infant waist, full skirt, low neck and short sleeves and I had white beads on my neck. I had the whitest and plumpest neck and arms and such a quantity of hair.
“When I went downstairs, Mrs. Douglass gave me a red rose – the first June rose of the season. The dining room window was open. The rose was lying inside the windowsill. All the girls ran to Mrs. Douglass and asked for the rose. But she told them she had promised it to Miss Perkins, so I pinned it on my bosom.
“When McAffee came to ask me to dance, he looked up and down the room for the woman with the buff dress on. Of course, when he saw me looking so sweet, he was quite delighted. Ann was there, but I don’t remember how she was dressed. We danced all night and I had the grandest time I ever had in my life. Gabriel Phyler was there with an injured eye. He said, “Miss Perkins, I wish I could dance with you tonight – you look so sweet.”
“Shortly after the May Ball, I went to Placerville. I nursed Dr. Ecclerath’s wife and when the doctor was gone, her gentleman friend came and stayed all day long. If she wanted anything out of the bedroom, she sent him for it. She let her little girl; three years old – wallow over a dog without any panties on right before that man. While I was there, Dave Wallen took me to the dancing school at French Creek.
“While there I heard that Adeline Carpenter, my cousin, was sick with a young baby. So, I went by to see her and she coaxed me to stay with her – so I did. I stayed there and tripped the light fantastic.
“I next went to the Kingsville House as housekeeper. A man named Lyman Hall run the place. He had an adopted daughter; Isabell was her name – and they fought like cats and dogs. There was also a Mr. And Mrs. Acker, the man was the hostler and the woman was the cook – and she looked after Isabell. Mrs. Acker’s brother, Honie Steinbaker, was casting sheep eyes at me. He let me wear his ring one day. His sister, who had something crosswise, saw it and just about had a fit. She said, “Miss Perkins, I see you have Honie’s ring on. I suppose you are expecting to marry him. That will be pretty news to go home to my folks – that Honie has married a Mormon woman.” “Yes,” I said, “that would be awful, but it wouldn’t be any worse than for my folks to hear I had married a damn Dutchman.” Honie nearly fell off his chair laughing. You bet Honies wanted me alright, but I would not think of marrying him. I went with Honies to one dance just to show my old beau, Dave Wallen, that I could get a beau. Honies took me home one day and when we were on a steep dugway, the iron came off the end of the wagon tongue. We came near being killed.
“That reminds me that I have said very little about Dave Wallen, who was one of the grandest men I had known. I met him at Adaline and Ike Carpenter’s. They thought he was pure gold and was wild for me to marry him and so was he. After I had gone with him for more than one year, I decided I could never think enough of him to marry him. Dave was a medium-sized man with pretty brown eyes. We went to parties for miles away – to one at Diamond Spring – about four miles away and we went on horseback. On our way home, my horse became frightened and threw me off in the deep mud. My riding skirt caught over the horn of the saddle. I would have been seriously hurt if the gathers in my riding skirt had not given away. I had busted the band on this skirt, but had not had time to sew it. So, that is what saved my life. I did not know what to do – for I did not dare get back on that horse. So, I just sat there in the mud. At last Dave changed saddles and I rode his horse. At last we got started again. I was frightened to death and it was almost morning when we got home.
“There had been a new dance hall built at Mudsprings. Dave asked me to go to that dance about a month before it came off. Of course, I was delighted to accept. About a week before the dance came off, Wash Millinger asked me if I was going to the dance and I told him, “Yes”. He thought I meant I was going with him. So, what does he do but go to Mudsprings and get him a new suit of clothes and took them up to Ann’s and went straight through the house and laid them on the bed.
“Well, to start with, he was one of those men that few people liked and does not have sense enough to know it. Wash had tried to force his company on me and I could not get rid of him. So, I thought this was a good time to get even with him. When Wash unwrapped his clothes, he threw the paper away – down in the ravine and the wind had blown it in all directions. Ann was dying to let Wash know that I was not going to the dance with him so she said, “Say, Bets, are you going to the dance tonight?” I said, “Yes, I am.” “Are you going with Wash?” “I should say not. I had an invitation to that dance weeks ago.” Then Wash turned as pale as death and sprung up and rushed madly for his clothes. They he rushed pell mell down into the ravine after his paper – which had blown some distance away. I can hear him now rushing down the walk making the gravel fly. Ann and I was frightened most to death of him for he was the maddest man I had ever seen.
“Adeline and Ike met Dave and me at the Oriental Hotel the night of the dance and it was quite a swell affair. We women dressed and primped. I don’t remember what I wore, but the dance was quite the thing. When we arrived at the dance hall, there stood Wash in the door – dressed in his new suit of clothes and looking just like a thunder cloud.
“At intermission, a nice supper was served. There was two long tables. Wash sat at one table and we sat at the other end. He had his back to us and when he got busy eating with his head down, Ike and Dave threw handfuls of nuts and hit Wash on the head. He looked up and down and then went on eating. In a few minutes blunder would go the nuts again and they kept that up all through the meal. This, of course, afforded us a great deal of amusement. That was about the last time I saw Wash – except one time when he came to sit up with one of Ann’s sick children and one of the Donner girls sat up with him.
“The Donner girl told me that she had eaten the flesh of her mother. She said that a company of emigrants were traveling through the Sierra Nevada mountains. The snow became forty feet deep and they were snowed in for a long time. They nearly all starved to death. They ate their cattle and horses and then when there was nothing else, they ate the people that had died from starvation and exposure. The sent some men over the mountains for provisions and they could not get back. Some of the people would walk out every day to see if they could see them coming with food, and some of these would never come back. They would fall by the wayside. Then their bodies were used for food. I believe this girl’s name was Jennie.
“I must tell you of some of the visits Wash paid me before this dance. Whenever he came to see me, he brought the choicest fruit and emptied it in my lap. The big ninney – that made me hate him. He did that one time when old lady Close was at Ann’s and I was embarrassed. I felt like throwing him out. He annoyed me nearly to death trying to force rings on to me. At last Ann said, “Betz, I would take one of his rings. You might as well have them as someone else.” I took one – very much against my will – and gave it to Ann. She traded it to a peddler for ten dollars worth of goods. Wash asked me why I did not wear my ring. I told him I thought too much of it and that I only wear it on state occasions.
“I treated Wash so hateful all the time that Ann said to me one day, “Betz, treat Wash decent. I believe he has something he would like to say.” So, I warmed up to him a little, as bad as I disliked to – and he commenced making love to me. I went into kitchen. I thought I could get rid of him by leaving the room, but Washington was not so easily gotten rid of. He came into the kitchen also. He said, “Miss Perkins, I don’t know any reason why we can’t get married. You have a wagon and two yoke of oxen and I have some mining property. Now, lets put our things together and see what we can make.”
“I was not interested in what we could make and I told him so. Then one day Wash brought some apples – not for me – and left them there for a while. I sat down on the lounge – not thinking of a single thing – not even apples. Wash reached down to pick up the apples and tried to kiss me. I said, “What are you trying to do?” He said, “I am just trying to kiss you a little.” I said, “I know people like you to get their head broke for their freshness.” Ann was sitting in the doorway sewing and I thought he had his gall.
“Oh, yes, I forgot to say that I had forgotten to tell Ann what Was said to me in the kitchen. She told Burns and Bill Griffin and they nearly split their sides laughing. Bill Griffin laughed so hard that he cracked his jaw. Another time I went out to get the ax for burns and Wash followed me and tried to kiss me. I told him I would split his head open with the ax if he did not leave me alone. That ends my story about Wash Millerger.
“I forgot to say, when I told you about Dock Penrod walking twelve miles to see me that when he went back to the store to work, Ed Belcher came in. Dock said, “Belcher, one of us must die. We both love the same woman.” Ed was standing by the end of the counter and he could see a revolver underneath. So, he stepped back and picked up the revolver and said, “I guess if anybody dies, it will be a son of a bitch about your size.” Dock cried, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
“Just back of Ann’s house there was an Indian camp. I believe they called them the Digger Indians. They would come down by the house to the spring in the ravine. They would bring acorns which they had gathered from the Oak Trees on the mountainside. They would grind or crush them by putting them in a bowl-shaped rock and pounding them with another rock which fit into the bowl. The squaws would start early in the morning and pound all day until one squaw would have a bushel basket full of fine nut meal – a kind of grayish color. The squaws would carry the basket to the spring and wet the meal with water then they would build a fire and throw in a lot of rocks and when they were hot, they would take two sticks and get the rocks out of the fire and throw them into the basket. They would keep on doing this until the meal was cooked. They called this Chumuck. This shook or quivered like jelly when cooked.
“There was a squaw named Sooky who lost every one of her babies when they were nine months old. She told us about her misfortune and hoped that if there were any more that’s life might be spared. So, one day, a number of Indians went to Placerville and on their way home, Sookie took very sick. The other Indians went on home and before night, here came poor Sookie carrying her newborn baby wrapped up. She evidently had been alone and been patient, doctor, and nurse at the same time. Well, Sookie was very much worried as her baby drew near nine months old. Sure enough, when the nine months was up, the baby got sick – and although they had Dr. Balis, one of the finest doctors in the country, the baby died. The squaws beaded a blanket and sewed the baby up in it. They first put its knees up on its chest – so it would not be so long. They then built a pen around the baby of pitch pine wood and set it on fire. While the fire was burning, the Indians – who stripped naked to the waist and painted – would pitch tar in their hair. The mother had her hair cut off and her head covered with tar. They all danced around the burning pen with long sticks and kept poking the baby. To make it burn faster, as they danced and poked, they sang – or rather wailed. This performance was carried on in order to keep the devil from getting it. When the fire died out, the ashes were taken and some left in every camp where the baby had visited with its mother and every place they had camped.
“One fall it started to rain and never stopped raining day or night for six weeks. Of course, we never saw the sun. We washed the day it started to rain and we put the clothes in the tub and waited for days to hang them out to dry and at last we had to dry them in the house. It was so dark in the daytime that we could hardly see to do our work. You would have to sit up against the window to see to sew. The men were working the sluice boxes and there was very little gold – as it had been mined before.
“One day my brother Marion found a gold nugget that brought eighty dollars. This caused great rejoicing – as money was scarce and food high. Flour sold for twenty-five dollars per hundred. This is about all I remember about Logtown except I went and took care of Mrs. Ecklerath while confined with one of her babies. … I lived at Sly Park, California fifteen months.
“I met Hat Fuller there – who I think, without a doubt, was the handsomest man I had ever seen. He was medium tall, a little heavy set, with black eyes and hair and the most beautiful complexion. It was not long until Hat and I were on the best of terms. Hat’s brother, John, owned an interest in a big sawmill. John measured the lumber as it was shipped out. One day he was called to help roll a log into the mill. His foot slipped and the log got the best of him and rolled over his body and mashed him as flat as a pancake. He was ready to get married and his sweetheart nearly went insane.
“Then there were two brothers, George and Lafe Rhodes. Lafe took Nonie and me to a dance down somewhere in the valley and on our way home, we were going very slow because the horses were almost tired out and Lafe could not get them to go off a slow walk. Nonie and I were about half asleep when all of a sudden, the horses started rearing – plunging first backwards, and then forwards until we thought we were all going to be killed. We were on a dugway with the mountains on one side, a big plunging river on the other – also trees and stumps.
“Later on, we went up to a boarding house to a dance. The proprietors name was Lucy and they had a Polparret there and it cried like a baby. I told Mrs. Lucy that her baby was crying. She said, “It’s only Polly”. She opened the door and the parrot hopped on her shoulder and kissed her on both sides of the face. She put Polly up on the transom so she could watch the people. When she spied Nonie with a red dress on, she pounced own on her and nearly frightened her to death.
“One time [a lady] was having a baby. They sent for the only midwife in the country. She was drunk so they came post-haste for me. When I got there, they sent to Diamond Springs for a doctor and it was night when he came. I tied the cord and washed and dressed the baby and fixed the mother up the best I knew how. The baby died before night and the mother was very sick. I stayed there about three days until they got someone to nurse her. I sent for Kate, but she did not know as much about it as I did. That was very little. I believe if I had oiled the baby and wrapped it up instead of washing and dressing it, it might have lived. Mr. Kent was completely heartbroken over the death of that baby. The mother was too sick to think much about it.
“… While Ann was with me, Burns went to Washoe, Nevada and decided that he liked the place better than Logtown. So, he sold their household goods and came by Sly Park for Ann and Lovisa. Of course, I did not want to be left behind so I packed up and Nonie and I went with them. It was at this time that I had to part with the handsome Nat Fuller. He came over and told me goodbye and cried like a baby and we said our goodbye by the silvery light of the moon. He said that he would come after me that fall.
“But, when I got to Nevada, Ed Belcher had returned from St. Louis three days ahead of me. It was not very long until we made up and left Nat in the lurch. We arrived in Washoe Valley in July and stayed with Aunt Mimi that night. The next day we went to Unice Abernathy’s and had dinner with her. Ed was at Abernathy’s and when Unice saw us coming, she asked him to go to the spring and get a bucket of cold water. When he returned, I was there waiting for him. I was afraid he would not speak to me – I had treated him so badly. But he rushed up to me and shook hands with me. He was so excited that he spilled the water all over the floor. It was not long until I was right in the swim with him. Ed and I were going to horse races and parties and I decided after long and serious thoughts of first Ed, and then Nat, to marry Ed.
“We were about to get married in November when Lovisa, Ann’s baby, took sick and died. She had what was called Putrid Sore Throat. Of course, I could not get married then when Ann was in so much sorrow. So, we waited until December 2nd, 1863 – Marion’s birthday.
“We rented old man Parks’ house and Ann rented Charly Parks’ house. The Parks moved to Salt Lake City, Utah. I cleaned my house up and got everything ready to step into after we were married. Then I helped Ann cook my wedding dinner. I wore kind of a Mull dress – white with pink rose buds and green leaves. There was a deep border of pink, green and rose buds and green leaves, and blue – very dainty and sweet. There were three flounces of the border on the skirt and it was made infant waist. I had it made to wear to a big ball, but it never came off. So, I thought I just as well get married in it.
“I had promised to go to the dance with Nat Fuller, but poor Nat was disappointed again. There were our wedding guests: Sister Ann, Rueben and Jane and their families, Harvey Lytle and Betsy and their families. Aunt Mimi Lizzie and Henry Coltrin. The only thing I remember having for dinner was baked chicken and oyster pie.
“Nonie was about eight years old when I married Ed. She was so insulted because I put her in another bed. She left home and went up to Ann’s house and stayed several days. She passed by our door and did not even look in. She told her Aunt Ann that she thought it was awful for her mother to let a man sleep in her bed. Well, it wasn’t very long until Ed got on the good side of Nonie. He bought her everything she wanted and she thought he was just the thing.
“It was impossible for Ed and me to go on our honeymoon at the time we were married. So, sometime in February, we went to San Francisco. We took in all the most important sites and theatres. But I was so sleepy all the time I was there that I hardly knew I had been there. When we went to the big theater and they were killing men and digging graves on the stage, I went to sleep. We took the steamer to San Raphael and as soon as I got on board, I began to get sick and did not get over it until I got off.
“Brother Marion was living there working up in the Redwood Forest cutting timber. We took him to San Francisco. San Raphael was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The grass was like green velvet and the cactus grew as high as a one-story house. The leaves were as large as a house door.
“We went to see the Abernathy’s. … I did not want Abernathy’s to see me asleep all the time so I walked around outdoors. Presently I came to the kitchen door. I asked the maid if there was any place I could take a nap. She said I could use the couch in the kitchen and I was soon in the land of dreams. In the meantime, Ed was searching high and low for me. When, at last, he found his sleeping beauty in the kitchen, he was the maddest man I had ever seen.
“… I was sure glad to get home again where I could go to bed and sleep as much as I wanted to. That summer, Ed, Nonie and I started to Carson City, Nevada. We were riding in our new buggy with a prancing team and new harness. The horses’ names were Fox and Savage. Fox was a sorrel with a light mane and tail. Savage was a chestnut sorrel and they were sure a fine team.
“We had only gone a short distance down the lane when one end of the singletree came loose and the horses started to kick. They kicked back almost into our faces. It was with great difficulty that we kept from being kicked in the face. They kicked through the dashboard and hurt Ed’s leg. He turned them into the fence and it threw Ed out and the buggy was turned upside down on top of Nonie and me. As the buggy turned, the bolts which held the tongue was snapped off and the horses – with the tongue – ran at breakneck speed. The tongue flew in the air and then down on the horses’ backs. It kept doing that – which made the horses frantic with fear and they ran madly for miles. Had it not been for the tongue breaking loose from the buggy, Nonie and I would have been killed.
“Ed lifted the buggy off us and we scrambled out. We were not hurt very much, but badly shook up and frightened. It came near being serious with me, however, as I was in a delicate condition. Ed asked Nonie if she was hurt. She said, “No, but my new dress is all dirty”. She was more worried about her dress than her life – which had been so miraculously saved.
“Sister Ann lived near us and she came to her door just in time to see the buggy go over. Harvey Lytle Perkins also saw the accident. He got on his horse and started like mad after our team. He beat his horses furiously with his hat to urge him on to greater speed but could not catch them. The horses went to Franktown and was caught by some man. This man gave them to Harvey and he brought them back. Ed had bought the team with some of the money he had sold nine inches of his mining property for.” (This autobiography is quoted from the book, “The Descendants of Edward Everett Belcher and Elizabeth Jane Perkins” by June Belcher Roberts, Copyright 1984. June died 17 January 2001 in St. George, Utah.)
Well, I hope that you enjoyed that journal narrative as much as I did. I think it is FABULOUS! Wow! I love it. We learn more about the day-to-day normal pioneer life – through just the journal of Elizabeth Jane Perkins Belcher, than a composite of most other pioneer journals put together. [I should also note that her husband, Edward Belcher was the man who operated the famous Belcher mine in Silver City, Nevada. And his mine is still known by his name today. The mine is now a museum which folks can visit.]
Some of my own ancestors recorded incidents of their lives and they are also very interesting to read.
Elizabeth Stevenson Clark (1825-1911) was my 5th Great Grandmother. She records:
“My parents were Joseph Stevenson and Elizabeth Stevens … My sister, Elizabeth Stevenson was born at Gibraltar, Spain and I, Mary, was born there 29 August 1825. We moved to Albany, N.Y. in May 1827. We sailed on the ship “Canning of Kingston” We landed at Brooklyn and later moved to Albany where James was born. In 1830 we moved west. We spent a short time in Detroit, Michigan, and then went on to Pontiac, Michigan. There father bought a cultivated farm and obtained two hundred and forty acres of land and built a tw- story house. Father died in 1831 after a short illness.
“In 1832, the Mormon Elders came to Pontiac. Mother was baptized in 1832; Edward (who later became one of the Seven Presidents of Seventy) joined in 1833. A branch was organized. In 1834, Edward left Mother, brothers and sisters and 240 acres of land and started for Zion in 1834 to Liberty, Clay County, Missouri. Mother and the rest of the family followed in 1835. She sold some of our land and after she arrived in Missouri, she bought a home – which later she lost in the mobbings. My three oldest brothers did not receive the Gospel. They went to Cincinnati, Ohio, and worked at their trades, one a printer and the other two coopers. I was 6 years old when my Father died in 1831.
“I had a dream of seeing the Savior. He took me in His arms. We sat in a circle. He blessed us and kissed us. It was only the members who accepted the Gospel that sat in the circle. I told Mother my dream. She said it was a good dream and for me to be a good girl. I was about 7 years old.
“We lived in Missouri until the Saints were driven from there to Quincy, Illinois, and from there to Nauvoo. We moved over the Mississippi River to a town called Montrose in Iowa. We lived in a room adjoining Brigham Young’s. From there we moved to a settlement called Clarksville near a town called Charlestown. My brother Edward built a cabin and we went to work as best we could. My sister and I worked for the gentiles for the Saints were too poor to hire us. My Mother was called upon to take care of the children of Sister Morris Phelps while she and her brother, John W. Clark, went to get her husband and others out of jail in Missouri, and she accomplished it for she was directed by the Spirit of the Lord. Mother took care and was a comfort to her children until they returned to their home.
“My sister Elisabeth and I were baptized when I was 12 years old, in Far West, Missouri by David Patten. I have always been taught to keep the Sabbath Day holy and have a testimony of the Gospel from childhood. That testimony I have heard from the Prophet Joseph Smith and others. It has always stayed with me and I can truly say that I rejoice in the Gospel of Life and Salvation. It will continually be a joy in this life, also in the world to come if we will be obedient to keep the commandments of the Lord.
“My Mother was very handy with a needle and used to help the Prophet’s wife and others of the Authorities, and so she was well acquainted and received much instruction and intelligence.
“When we lived seven miles west of Nauvoo, my husband’s Father (Timothy Baldwin Clark, father of Ezra T. Clark) had a good supply of animals, and we went often to attend Conferences and Fourth of July celebrations in Nauvoo and reviewed the Nauvoo Legion in their marching. It was a beautiful sight to see the Prophet Joseph on his prancing black horse that seemed to keep time with the music of the band. We would sometimes attend meetings in the Grove.
“We witnessed the laying of the corner stone of the Temple and later attended the Conference held therein and received our Endowments there on New Year’s Day 1846.
“We passed through the sad afflictions of the Saints in the assassination of our dear Prophet and his brother. My Mother walked the dooryard in lamentation. But with all the persecutions we had passed through, we were driven again toward the wilderness.
“The Prophet Joseph Smith said, before his death, that we would go to the Rocky Mountains. My brother, Edward Stevenson, went with a company in 1847. My husband and I and babe in June 1848. But before starting, my sister’s husband, Job Bailey, was not ready to go with us. But he said he would come in two years. His father had joined the Strangites (an apostate group) and so there was no sign of my sister’s coming as her husband was preparing to go with his father. My brother, Edward, when with my husband in Illinois working for breadstuff, would kneel upon the ground and pray to Our Father in heaven to deliver our sister from apostasy and open the way for her. All of a sudden, her husband was taken violently ill and passed away the day her baby was born. The Doctor sent a note to my husband who went back and settled her business and brought her and her two little girls in time to start with us. We got along nicely.
“I will mention what looked like a sad accident: My husband was driving three yoke of oxen. I tried to jump out of the moving wagon but did not jump far enough and fell back in front of a hind wheel. My husband, as quick as thought, grabbed that wheel and held it from turning. My Mother, who was in the wagon, jumped out and ran to the leads and stopped them. He raised the wheel and said: “Get up if you can.” He was as white as a sheet. I got up and got the camphor for I thought I was fainting.
“We lived two winters at Winter Quarters where my second child, Timothy Baldwin, was born. We left Winter Quarters June 1848 in Amasa Lyman’s company and arrived in Utah October 12. We saw many herds of buffalo and many Indians. We were not frightened. I had all I could do caring for our children and cooking. We used buffalo chips for fuel. We would stop a day, once in a while and cook up all we could and do our washing. Evenings we would milk the cow and put dried bread in the milk and had this for supper. We were happy. We would get around our campfires. We felt we were going to a place of safety where we would not be mobbed and driven from one state to another as we had been. We were poor and had not time to get clothing and food for our needs before starting, that we really needed.
“We arrived at our destination, Salt Lake City, October 12. 1848. We lived in North Canyon two winters. At Salt Lake, we were pleased to meet my brother Edward. We built a log cabin in North Canyon. My husband was ill with mountain fever while building. Here we were near water and timber. While living there our third child was born November 15, 1849. We named her Mary Elizabeth. Quite a number of families lived near us and we would get together and have very pleasant times.
“April 3rd, 1850, we moved into Farmington, took a farm and raised good crops. Several of our neighbors did likewise. Several Clark brothers came from the east and camped a few days and then went on to California to get the precious gold. But John Wesley Clark stopped with us. In 1852 my fourth child was born. We named him William Henry. In five weeks from that time John Wesley, who was subject to fits, fell in the water while after the cows and was drowned. The water was about nine inches deep. He was a good Latter-day Saint. In 1854, our fifth child was born (March 21st), we named him Joseph Smith. When he was five weeks old, our dear little William Henry took croup and passed away. That year the grasshoppers made away with our beautiful field of wheat. We planted and raised corn in its place and so had corn bread instead.
“In 1856 (Feb. 13th), our sixth child was born. We named him Hyrum Don Carlos. When he was seven months old, his Father was called on a mission to England. He started September 10th in Parley P. Pratt’s company. I felt the responsibility of the care of five children but they were obedient and we got along nicely. I had an invitation to go on a pleasant trip up a canyon. While we were there (July 24, 1857) enjoying ourselves, those who were carrying the mail came bounding up with the news that we were to be massacred for they had the ropes to hang us or we were to be driven again from our homes. My husband with others of the elders was called home. The counsel was to leave our homes clean and ready for the match in case Johnston’s army should attempt to enter the city. President Brigham Young said that the enemy should never again inhabit our labors or homes.
“A young brother came to me and said: “Would you like me to help you and drive the team?” He took right hold and helped me out. My husband found me at Payson. The word was to move back to our homes. There were not many things to move and we were soon in our homes again. Of course, no gardens, no crops raised. But we gathered greens and there were some onions in the ground. The Saints were blessed and prospered after the sacrifice. Our homes looked beautiful. The grass had grown all over the place, even up to the doors. We had left our homes the 5th of May 1858. I had never expected to see our home again but I felt all right. It had always been so. I felt blessed in returning. This was the 9th of July 1858, over lively roads.
“The basement of the Salt Lake Temple was filled with earth. It was taken out and the work of the building resumed. I felt that I wanted to make a donation. My little boys drove out of the yard one of the best cows. I said, “Send it!” I wrote to my husband about it. He said it was all right. My brother, Edward, made a note of it as one of the first donations. I wrote my husband about it and he replied that it was all right.
“April 7th, 1859, we had a child born. We named him Edward Barrett. Although we raised no crops in 1858, we were prospered having our health and strength. April 1st, 1861, we had a child born and named him Charles Rich. Shortly after this, a Sister Susan Leggett came from England and lived with us. She became my husband’s wife. She had ten children. Three passed on the other side.
“One lovely son (John Alexander Clark) died near Jerusalem in Palestine while filling a mission.”
John Zera Alger (1852-1933) was my 2nd Great Grandfather. Here is an excerpt from his journal writings:
“I was born at Salt Lake City, Utah, 15th of January 1852.
“Father’s home was located on the northeast corner of the block, on the West Side of Main Street on third south. When Father was called to St. George he sold this home for $900.00 and took his pay in a team of horses, harness and wagon, a yoke of oxen and wagon and three cows.
“Before we moved south Father helped to guard Echo Canyon to keep the soldiers back, until his trousers were all worn out, so he made him a pair out of a piece of striped carpet he had with him to help with his bedding. These striped carpet trousers he wore back into Salt Lake when he was through guarding.
“When they were expecting the soldiers to march into Salt Lake I was only a little boy, but I helped Father stand sticks on end and pile kindling to set fire to our home. This, of course, was never done as the soldiers marched straight through. I sat on a fence, straddle of a post and watched them march through.
“Mother had a brother by the name of William Pulsipher who lost his mind. He lived with us, because we had great control over him. One day Uncle Will and I sat on a bench outside of the Saddle-tree shop that belonged to Father. Uncle Will sat for some time with his arm around me looking at me. He talked a little but looked more. Then he got up, went to a chopping block a few steps away, picked up an ax, laid his own head on the block and raised the ax and was going to chop off his own head. In a frightened voice I called Father, who came running and caught the ax before any harm was done. He asked Uncle Will what he was doing. Uncle Will replied, “Either Johnny or me have to have our heads cut off and I thought it better be me”. He had always seemed to think a great deal of me.
“In my early youth, many and many times I gathered sego and other kind of roots for the family to eat. I was a peddler in my early childhood too. Father was a splendid saddle-tree maker, which were in great demand at that day. The soldiers, as well as other men, would pay me father’s price for the saddle-tree and then give me a good price for bringing them the saddle-tree. I also peddled hoops (a ridiculous thing the women wore in those days) which mother made. I did not like to peddle hoops so well, as the women paid me no bonus for myself, as the men did for the saddle-trees.
“In the early fifties father was called out to Fort Supply to build a flour mill. He, of course, took his family with him. I used to like to sit on the bank of the stream that afforded the power to run the large coffee-mill of like concern, that ground the wheat. One day when my oldest sister, Sarah Ann, was tending the mill, I sat on the bank watching an eddy whirl beneath me. All at once the bank gave way carrying me with it into the eddy. Sarah Ann heard me cry and ran for father. I must have been the next thing to dead when father pulled me out, but they were able, with repeated efforts, to bring me to.”
My own Grandpa, Henry Erastus Larsen (1879-1962) wrote:
“Born Ephraim (Utah) July 11, 1879. When I was 3 weeks old, my parents moved to North Bend, now called Fairview.
“Childhood was uneventful for me. Being the son of a farmer, at 8 years of age I helped my father in the hay and being considered an experienced farm worker at age 10, was asked by a Mr. Neilsen to work for him. I spent one week on Mr. Nielsen’s farm – but became so homesick, I never went back. It was my first stay away from home.
“From 10 to 15 I labored on the farm – for my father and my eldest brother. At 16 my brother, James, gave me a job weighing wagons, selling coal, and switching cars at a coal mine. This I enjoyed very much. He paid me $1.00 per day and board.
“It was a healthy job for me – as it not only took physical labor, but I had to use my brain figuring the price each man had to pay for the load of coal.
“The next summer I became a cowboy and rancher. My eldest brother homesteaded 320 acres in the Upper Gooseberry Valley and hired me to look after cattle and to do some fencing. My brother’s eldest son stayed with me in the log cabin located on the ranch. We would work at fencing until we got tired and then would saddle up our ponies and ride out to locate the whereabouts of my brother’s cattle.
“There was no national forest in those days and cattle roamed everywhere. So, we had to keep track of them during the summer so we could find them when they had the cattle drive in the fall. It was fun.
“I will now tell of my educational opportunities. Starting my schooling at the age of 8, I entered the 2nd grade – skipping the first. I continued in school during the winter months, till I partially completed the 8th grade – which was the highest in the district schools in those days.
“Being very popular, I was selected as “Orator of the Day” for a Mayday celebration. I remember, too, I read the “Declaration of Independence” at a 4th of July celebration.
“Then, in the fall, I decided, after ranching all summer, to attend the Brigham Young University (Academy it was then). I followed 8th grade studies until Christmas. And then, after the holidays, I entered high school, taking a normal course – which was to prepare one for teaching.
“I was especially apt at English and spelling, passing off English” B” and “C” without any trouble. I also passed off Algebra “A” 100%.
“I felt like I was on top of the world when I quit school in the spring but my eldest brother didn’t want me to become a school teacher – so I went to work in the coal mine, operated by my two eldest brothers. But, I still intended to go back to school – had it not been for a romance I had with a very beautiful girl. I was afraid that if I went to school, I would lose her.
“In the spring, she refused to say whether she would marry me or not. So, what did I do but take a trip to Canada and stayed for 2 months – which ended the romance – and which left me ill as a result.
“As I was recovering, I began to take all kinds of work: manual labor – that is trench digging, digging cesspools, cleaning wells, working on a farm, coal mining in the local mines, and all kinds of work, the exception being working on the section (train tracks) – which was one job that I missed.
“But, about this time, the sheepshearers of Fairview would come home – telling of how they beat their way on the freight trains – tipping off the “brakies” for rides. Seeing how they made their way in the world so fascinated me that I thought they were real heroes. And it made me think that I was a real sissy to hang around town and never get out.
“So, I made a break for it. With $6 in my pocket, I bought a ticket to Salt Lake City and pronto, the same night at 11 o’clock, I was on my way to Ashton, Idaho to work on the railroad. I was going to show everyone that I was a man and could take care of myself anywhere in the world. Those days, you could ship anywhere on the railroad for $1.00.
“I worked for eight days at this job, sleeping in an open tent, heisted four inches from the ground, and without any bedding. The first night it snowed 4 inches – which almost closed up the gap from our tent to the ground. We did, however, have a few flakes of hay – which we obtained from the horse managers to cover over us.
“The boss was good to me, gave me easy work – but when the eight days were up, we were a bunch of sore guys – ready to quit. I fell in with a guy from Kansas City and the day we quit, there were 2 bosses and 5 other workers that drew their time.
“We all started back to the “end of the line” – which was Ashton. When we went out to camp where we worked, which was about 12 miles from the end of the railroad line, we were hauled out in a wagon with a 4-horse team. But, when we quit, they wouldn’t furnish transportation back.
“We made it all right until we came to the river – which was a good half block wide, where we had to strip off our clothes and carry them above our heads to keep them dry while we waded across. After that experience I thought I was quite a man.
“When we got into Ashton, in the middle of the afternoon – which at that time was a town of 2 log cabins, the construction office and a saloon, we went immediately to the office of Morrison and Woodmansie Contractors and drew our time checks – which was the way they paid off. We took our money over to the saloon and by buying drinks, got them cashed.
“Our wages were $2.25 per day – with $1.25 held out for board. We bought tickets to Idaho Falls and stayed there over night in a rooming house.
“The next morning, we decided to get rid of what luggage we had – which consisted of a small grip, a suit of underwear, and maybe an extra pair of socks and handkerchiefs. So, we went to a second hand store and pawned everything.
“Free, with no encumbrances, and only the shirts on our backs, the Kansas City lad and I decided to make it to Blackfoot. We started to walk (along the railroad) and counted ties for 6 miles. When we got to Shelley, I says to my partner, “I’m going to ride the cushions” and he said, “I’ll be there as soon as you are”, and sure enough, he was. But, he rode the rods (under the train) and I bought my ticket.
“When we got off the train, we walked up Main Street and decided to hang onto a railing where they tied horses – to take a rest.
“We wasn’t there long till an elderly gentleman came over and asked us if we wanted a job hauling hay. He said they paid $2.00 a day and board. That was good wages for that time so we readily accepted his offer. He said that we would have to walk to the ranch – which was 2 miles east of town.
“We didn’t make it there till nearly night as we ran into lakes where there all kinds of ducks – little ones, half grown ones and full-grown ones – and we just had to stop and watch them. However, when we arrived at the farmhouse, the man showed us to our room where we were to sleep and they later called us in to a nice supper.
“After breakfast, the next morning we went to work. Everything went okay that day but the next noon, the wind was blowing so hard that the farmer said we would have to discontinue for the day. The wanderlust struck me and I told him I was quitting. He kindly paid me $3.00 and I lit out for town and boarded the train for Ogden.
“The next morning as I was walking in the Ogden railroad yards, I ran into my partner from Kansas City. That night we slept on the ground near the Ogden Depot. It’s a wonder we were not “run in” by the police. When we awoke in the morning, I sorrowfully bid goodbye to my friend from Kansas City – as he was on his way to California.”
My own Grandmother, **Augusta Wilcox Hunt (1903-1997), recorded a great deal about her life. I include here just an excerpt – about the day that she met my Grandpa Ray Hunt:
“We moved to Enterprise in 1915 and arrived there December 5. Golden and I drove the old white topped buggy full of household goods from Modena to Enterprise. We thought we were lost, since they told us it was sixteen miles to Enterprise, and Golden was sure that we had gone farther than that. We camped for the night, then drove on. I always maintained that I slept on a sack of coal, fully clothed, even though Mother assured me that there was no coal in the buggy.
“There was a little snow on the ground and the bridles were so frosty that Golden warmed them with matches, so they wouldn’t burn the horse’s tongues. When we got nearly into Enterprise, we met Frank Hunt going with a wagon to help haul our “goods” from Modena. We arrived in Enterprise about a half hour before Sunday School started. Uncle Ed was already at church for prayer meeting. He told me how to find their home, so I went there and washed a bit and went back to Sunday School. I went in, though I was a little late, and sat by Bernice Canfield. Cyril Bastion and Lafayette Terry were still wearing “knee britches” as they were called. Ray Hunt had his first pair of long trousers and I thought he was the cutest boy in the building. That night he came to Aunt Clara’s with Golden, and she introduced him to me. He had helped Golden unload the buggy into the old Relief Society Building where we kept our things until we could move into the frame house we bought from Zera and Clarrissa Truman Hunt.”
My great grandmother was Eliza Jane Cheney. I love her words:
“ELIZA JANE CHENEY Written and Composed From Her Memory I was born August 29, 1837 at Kirtland, Georgia County, Ohio of good honest parents. I love to speak of them and cherish their memory. My parents were among the first to go to Nauvoo. Here was where my first recollection began. I remember the Mississippi River and the rock house where the steam boats used to land. I also remember seeing Joseph Smith’s store and the Nauvoo Temple being built.
“In 1846 we left Nauvoo and went to Bentonsport, Iowa where we remained until the fall of 1847. During the winter we went to Winter Quarters and remained there until the spring of 1848 when we went down into Jefferson County, Missouri. We remained at this place for two years until the spring of 1850 when we started for the valley.
“ I was thirteen years old when, with my parents and family of four children, we crossed the plains. The Cholera was raging very badly that year, and several of the company died with the dreadful disease. We came in the William Snow Company and arrived in the Salt Lake City on October 6, 1850.
“ We located in Centerville in Davis County, Utah. My father bought a 20-acre farm and built a log house, covering it with willows and dirt. The ground for the floor, but the water would rise to the top of the ground and we had to put our wagon bed in the house on a couple of logs. That was our bedroom. This is how we passed the first winter in Utah.
“ On July 27, 1851 my youngest sister was born. Mother got up from her confinement and had better health than she had for years. There soon came a change in our happy home. My mother was called to go and leave us in this world below. On October 2 she was taken sick with Erysipelas and died October 6, 1851 just one year to the day after we arrived in the valley. My father was overpowered with grief and on the evening of the funeral became sick and never after stepped his foot out of doors. He was confined to his room for four months. On February 10, 1852 he too passed away to the great mercy of the world.
“We had no relatives in Utah to care for us, therefore, we were scattered one in a place wherever charity would open its doors. The next July 1853 my brother Franklin died, that being three years in succession that death had visited our family. During this time, they had what they called the hard winter, the worst ever known in the valley. I was only fourteen years old when my father died. I struggled along without any loving watchful care, working for weekly wages, in a barren desert, full of poverty and hard work, helping to build up a new country which has been prophesied would blossom as a rose.
“ The circumstances surrounding my girlhood and the scarcity of schools in the newly settled country, deprived me of the education I would like to have had. Although deprived of scholastic education, I have read a great deal and have availed myself of every opportunity of storing my mind with useful knowledge.
“I was married to William Coffin Rawson October 12, 1856 by Bishop John Hess at Farmington, Davis County, Utah. We were sealed in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City March 22, 1862. The fruits of this marriage were seven children two boys and five girls. I lived to see them all married in the House of the Lord for which I was very thankful. We also took an orphan boy (Harry Armstrong) when seven years of age and made his home with us until he was married. My husband died April 26, 1891. I was a widow for 31 years making 36 years of my life that I paddled my own canoe.”
Being somewhat of a canoeist, I love Eliza’s graphic words as she said, “I was a widow for 31 years making 36 years of my life that I paddled my own canoe.”
My father-in-law, Everett “H” Belcher (1915-2004) was somewhat of a character – but he would have thought his life “normal”. I like these insights from his “normal” life:
“Our car had 3 pedals, the one-on-one side was low when you pushed it in and high when you let it out, and the pedal in the middle, it was reverse and the one on the other side was the brake. Of course, you had to crank it to get it started. The car had two levers. The gas was on one lever and the spark was on another level. You would have to put the spark lever up to start the car and then pull it down when it started – so the engine wouldn’t kick back when you cranked it. My dad showed me how to hold the crank so I wouldn’t get my arm broken if it kicked back.
“I got my driver’s license in 1928 when I was 13. you just had to stand in line and sign your name for a license. …
“One day we took the old Model T up the canyon and we ran out of oil so we used melted butter in the crank case. …
“One time I took my brother’s car and we had 25 cents to buy gas. We would go up a hill as far as we thought the gas would take us and we would coast down the hill. We would have to take four or five tires with us on trips. All along the road we saw people stopped to fix flat tires. One time I put a rope inside of the tire and put the tire back on the rim.”
My own father, Russel Frank Hunt, wrote a concise and very interesting account of his life:
RUSSEL FRANK HUNT
Autobiography – (Written 1985)
“You would never believe it, but I had lots of black hair when I was born. I was born June 20, 1928, in Enterprise, Utah at Aunt Beulah and Uncle George Hunt’s place.
“The first thing I can remember was when we lived at Clifton, Idaho. I was about 3 years old. I nearly cut my toe off with the axe. Dad had told me not to use it.
“One day the horses got in the orchard and kept running around and around. Uncle Max threw a pitchfork at one of them and hit it in the ribs. It was funny to see the horse running around with that fork in its ribs.
“I can remember when Clyde was born. I woke up and wondered what all the excitement was about. I heard a baby cry and then Grandma brought my little brother over for me to see.
“When we lived out to Junction Valley, a colt fell in the well. Dad and Uncle Max and Grandpa used the hay derek to get it out.
“There was an earthquake when we lived at Junction Valley. It started while we were in the house eating breakfast. We all ran outside. We could see the quake moving right up the mountain.
“In the summer of 1934, we moved to Buhl, Idaho. I started 1st grade that fall. The next spring, Stanley and I each got an Eversharp pencil because we hadn’t missed one day of school. I loved to go down to the Snake River to go fishing with Dad and the gang.
“I used to have a bunch of warts on my hand. On the last day of school at Buhl I got in a fight with a kid. I hit him in the face and the big wart got knocked off and it never came back again.
“We lived at Buhl until March 1936. We were a whole week moving back to the desert. Our truck broke down at Tremonton. Some of us boys were in a chicken coup with some of the local boys playing marbles. This one kid didn’t like it ‘cause I was winning all the marbles. We got in a fight. I got the worst of the deal though: I got a bloody nose. I finished 2nd grade at Enterprise, Utah.
“We started working on the farm, clearing the land. We used to use an old hand pump to pump water for all the cows. One old horse we had learned to pump water for herself. She’d pump the water then reach down and drink it, and then she’d have to start all over.
“Once a yearling calf died. Clinton and I harnessed Old Toby up to pull the calf out of the sagebrush. When we went out, we left the corral gate open. Just outside the gate was a little sand dune. As we headed back, we let Old Toby run. We liked to have him run. While we were gone, someone had shut the gate. Old Toby knew he couldn’t stop so tried to jump the gate. He hit the top. All three of us, horse, Clinton and I went flying. We landed in the middle of a puddle of manure water – slime. The horse was so ashamed, he just stood there for a long time. Clinton and I smelled so bad mother wouldn’t let us in the house. We had to have a bath in ice-cold water under the water pump outside.
“We had to work in our growing up years but we had a lot of fun, too. When we were younger, we had to feed the pigs and the calves, pump water with a hand pump to water all the animals. In the winter, the pump was so cold that when you would touch it, your hands would stick to the pump. As we got older, we helped milk the cows. A time or two, I milked 12 cows by myself by hand.
“I attended a one-room schoolhouse on the desert – usually walking the 2 ½ miles. Later they moved the school so it was only one-half mile away. I graduated from the 8th grade there. I went through high school and two years of college at Cedar City. Sometimes I rode the bus and part of the time I lived in Cedar City.
“On the farm we had to learn to be mechanics because we used to pump water with car engines running the pump. It seemed to be my job to help dad repair the engine.
“When I was 14, I went over to a place left vacant by some people who moved to California. I brought back a bunch of car parts that had been left there. I put them all together and that was my first car – a 1926 Chevrolet Roadster. That was some car. For a gas tank we had a pressure tank that we stood on the running board. To keep the pressure in it, we would have to blow through a tube connected to a valve. Whenever the car started to miss, we’d open the valve and blow air into the tank through a hose to build up pressure in the carburetor. We could go about 10 miles in between stops. This was my own invention. Mother still laughs about a trip to Cedar she made in that car. A neighbor asked mother if she wasn’t worried about us driving around in that old car. She said, “What if something would go wrong with it?” Mother replied, “They built it in the first place. I guess if something goes wrong, they can fix it.”
“One of my favorite things to do was exploring old houses that had been abandoned – “haunted” we called them. One time we found a half case of dynamite in an old mine. We fixed it up with a long fuse. Marshall Austin and Lane Moyle took Clinton and I home. It was 2:00 AM. They lit the fuse on their way back home. Clinton and I were just crawling into bed when it went off. It shook the whole house and we lived one half mile away. The Austin’s thought we were being bombed by the Japanese. It was during the war. Mrs. Austin always blamed me for the things that were done by Clinton and I and Lane and Austin.
“Some of the most fun times were going to Garrison fishing in the summer and deer hunting in the fall.
“I played football in Cedar City and ran track. I went to Hurricane for a track meet. They didn’t have enough track shoes for everyone so I ran bare footed. I got my feet full of puncture burrs.
“As we got older, we really had fun going to dances all over the country – to St. George, Hurricane, Santa Clara, Cedar City, Anderson Junction, Enterprise and Pioche, Nevada.
“When I quit college, I started working for the power company in Beryl Junction. I worked there until I went on my mission to the North Central States.
“One winter an old Air Force plane crashed in the mountains between New Castle and Enterprise. In the Spring, we went up and found some 50-calibre machine guns. Stanley was in the Army at the time and sent home some bullets we could use. We mounted it on the old tractor and would shoot it out through the sand dunes. Mother just loved to have us shoot it out the upstairs window, also. (That is about as upset as I ever saw her – when we were doing that!)
“I can remember tying strings around kernels of corn and letting the chickens try to eat it. I won’t tell about tying the cat’s tails together and throwing them over the clothesline. Mother sure yelled when she found the frog that Clinton and I put in her wash bucket.
“I’ve only missed three or four years that I haven’t gone back home to help Dad hunt deer. We spent many hours hunting on horses. I always had pretty good luck getting deer. I always got my share of deer plus a few more I don’t mention (except to understanding buddies). In the good old days, all the uncles were happy to have a little help getting their deer. I was always happy to oblige them. One year I had 5 deer by noon the first day. Of course, that wasn’t my fault. I hit two with one shot. I enjoyed many pleasant hours hunting with Dad. We hunted together so much we knew where the other was – even if out of sight. Some of the fondest memories were of him and me loading the deer on the horse and heading back to camp. I shot my first deer at the Twin Peaks Country when I was 15 years old. If I never shoot another deer, I guess I’ve had about my share.
“When I came home from my mission, I went to BYU for 2 quarters. Uncle Sam was going to draft me in July, so in April I joined the Idaho Air National Guard at Boise – as they were called to duty. This was in 1951. I spent 20 months in the Air Force. I was stationed at Boise, Valdosta, Georgia and I went to the Air Force Mechanics School in San Antonio, Texas. While there, I received the highest test score of anyone who had ever gone through the school. I spent the rest of the time in California and was discharged December 2, 1952.
“I then went to Salt Lake City and lived with Stanley and Mary and got a job with Clinton as a hod carrier. I met Alura Larsen on a blind date arranged by a friend – on Friday, March 13th, 1953. About a week later, she proposed to me! We spent all summer canning fruit – until Alura’s roommate felt like kicking her out – so we got married September 14, 1953, in the Manti Temple.
“In February of the next year, we moved to Denver, Colorado. I worked for Rena Ware – with my friend, Don Fife, selling cookware. I made $10,000 that year – a lot of money for a young man in those days. Alura worked for the credit union.
“On October 31, 1954, our first son, Kevin Von Hunt, was born in Ft. Collins, Colorado. We had moved up there and I was a manager for Rena aware. We had many good friends and fun times there. We then moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming where our second son, Russel Dean Hunt, was born there on March 14, 1956.
“Kevin kept getting sick and Dean got pneumonia when he was six weeks old. Business was slow and we decided to move to Arizona. We had several friends who lived there and it sounded like the place for us. We picked Dean up from the hospital on our way out of town.
“After about a year of odd jobs, I got a job at the Post Office in Mesa. Our good friends, Clyde and Lucille Farr, let us live rent-free in a house they owned. They sold their property and we then moved into town. Lesa was born 6 May 1957.
“We moved around a few times, bought property and sold it and moved to Orem, Utah. I worked for the Post Office there for two years. Kyle Elon Hunt was born in Provo, Utah, July 13, 1959. We soon decided we liked Arizona best – so we moved back. We bought a house we hadn’t even seen but was picked out for us by a friend, Norman Ray.
“Darcy was born June 26, 1961. Our first five children were all born in different states. We bought a house at 724 E. Park Place and then moved next door to 732 – where we lived for 22 years. Laurie joined us on August 27, 1964 and Ray followed on November 23, 1965.
“I’ve delivered mail on a bicycle in Mesa for 17 years.
“I am still not so old but what I still like to have a little fun. A few years ago, Kyle and his friend Morgan Goff and I were deer hunting. Morgan found a bunch of dynamite in an old mine shaft. I was afraid some KIDS might come along and hurt themselves so we sat it on top of a 50-gallon drum and put the dynamite on top. We went back 115 big steps – like they do in the movies and shot at the dynamite. At first, nothing happened. We shot again. This time we heard the biggest explosion I ever heard – on Halloween. They are probably still talking about it and wondering what it was in Wikiup. The miner is probably still looking for his mining shack.
“After 30 years of hard labor, last year, on August 3, 1984, we moved into a beautiful new home that I designed and helped build. I thoroughly enjoy it and some of the new toys I have around. I have Mother and Alura both around, also, to wait on me so I have things pretty good. I love my children, their spouses and the grandchildren.
“I have a few words of advice for the younger generation. Most of us have to start at the bottom and work our way up. Another thing we’ve found out is that if you help other people, pretty soon someone will be helping you out. If you always pay your tithing first, you can meet your necessary responsibilities.
Russel F. Hunt
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I could share a multitude of other stories of my ancestors and they would all be interesting. But I won’t do that at this moment. Suffice it to say, that our ancestors lived very interesting lives. As we look back, everything about them seemed exciting. Although they probably did not think so in their time and space, it is wonderful to hear of their lives. It is particularly interesting when we can hear of their adventures through their own pen and ink.
But, someday, it will be us who are the ancestors. With that thought, what would our progenitors like to know about us? Will we have left a record that will cause them to think of us? What kind of ancestor will we be to them? Think of those many generations down from you and start writing for them. It doesn’t matter what you write – just write – and do it today. Share the good old days … now!
KevintheScout 