My Early Childhood Memories
Written February 1964 at age 45 (our home)
My earliest recollections of my childhood are vague. Of course, the only home I have ever known was the yellow brick home which I now live in. It has been a wonderful home for me, first while I was a child growing up, and later for my husband and I and our children. There have been a great many changes made around the old home. As a child, I remember the apple orchard east of the house. Gradually those trees were taken out to make way for more garden space. Mother always kept a strip on the far east side of the garden for a lucern patch so her old hens could have some fresh greens in their diet each day. There was a high board fence that separated the coral and barn from the garden area. Against the fence was the garnary and the old Privy (for cases of emergency when the water-works in the house weren’t functioning properly.)
Chicken Coup and the “old hens”
The chicken coup, which was built later, was considered very deluxe for that time—cement floor, and adobe walls with a sloping tin roof. There were two rooms for all Mother’s old hens and there were little doors which would allow the chickens to go in and out of the coral and barn. The windows in the coup were screen wire and they faced the south. One of my jobs as a little girl was to take water and scraps to the chickens. There was a barrel of wheat and “laying mash” which had to be put out also. On cold winter mornings, mother would heat the scraps, put the “laying mash” in and take the “delicacy” out to her pets steaming hot. As a result of her diligent daily care, she would garner her reward—an egg a day from each old hen—and she was just as diligent in collecting her pay. If at any time the old “sisters” reached the point where they became lazy in their duties, her loyalty for them immediately stopped and they were soon ready for the ax and the Sunday chicken dinner.
The Barn
The barn was an important part of our place. Dad always kept a cow or so and I remember well when he milked many cows in the station to sell milk for the Cooperative Dairy. I remember the fun we had jumping from the loft of the barn—down into the stichery hay. Mayola, my oldest sister, used to “dare me” to jump from high places. I could never stand a “dare”—so would bravely sail through the air. I don’t remember ever seeing her jump—she always complained that it was “too high”—after I had jumped.
The Bull and my Red Checkered Dress
I remember well, the time we had a furious looking bull in the coral and we children were romping in the barn trying to excite the old bull. I had a red checkered dress on and nothing would do (Mayola always engineered all these daring feats), but that I take off my dress and let her wave it on a pitchfork in front of the bull. The sad thing was the bull hooked the dress in his horns and raced around and around the coral. The dress wasn’t recovered that day—Mother had to come rescue us. The barn was the favorite place for the hens to hatch their eggs and it was fun to hunt the eggs in the hay. I remember also practicing my singing on the cows—how they blinked their eyes and acted as though they enjoyed the music. This always spurred me on to great volume and expression.
Trees and Bushes Around the Place
There were currant bushes which lined the ditches and gooseberry bushes hid the back of the coop. At the back of the coop, Mother planted a grape arbor. On the south side of the lot, along the fence were plum trees, which each year outdid themselves in a harvest of red plums. The pear trees were a favorite spot for us as we grew up. I well remember hiding in the top most branches to get out of a patch of dishes. They (the pear trees) stood right out the back door. There was always a swing of sum kind—often and old tire swing, and dad kept fresh sand in our sand-box. Our sand pile was under the pear trees—we had it laid out in farms and used to pop bottles for horses. We cut their harnesses from old inner tubes We usually had several neighborhood kids there to play. (I remember when we would run away from home—Mother would tie us to the pear trees) Our place located as it was, was a center for neighborhood games, Run Sheep Run, Hide-n’-Seek, New York, or handsprings and cartwheels on the lawn. I remember the never failing harvest of wormy pears we got each year. So much we couldn’t care for them. We had to gather them and feed them to the pigs.
Irrigation Turn and Garden
One of my earliest recollections was the irrigation days. It was quite a problem to get the water around to each corner of this huge lot. Some of our earliest swimming was done when dad flooded the lawn and we were allowed to splash and wade with the neighborhood children, who came to join the fun. Mom’s garden was always top priority—for there was always a corn, tomato, cucumber, and cabbage patch to water. She was thrifty—there was rhubarb out the back, and a strawberry patch that had to be “soaked down.” Mother was the one who kept the garden—especially the hoeing—by systematically—as she did everything—taking a few rows at a time. She would arise early and work for an hour or so before the family arose. About 7:00 am she’d come in—red-faced and perspiring—and try to rout out her lazy-hone children. She kept a good garden and always there was an abundance to give to the neighbors who weren’t so ambitious or fortunate. Dad was always the one who furnished the “push” to put any hard job over. He could see the problems without explanation and in his powerful way, he would step-in and relieve a crisis. He always had the lot plowed and helped with the fertilizing and planting and much of the irrigating when he was home.
Harvest
In the fall, during the harvest, mother would “rod” the operation of getting all the food into the pit and basement—squash, onions, potatoes, cabbages (wrapped in newspaper), and carrots buried in the sand. I remember the operation and job it was to get the cabbage cut for sauerkraut—I remember how good it was to eat it icy out of the crock jar. The corn was cut-off the cob and placed upstairs on sheets to dry. Nothing was wasted. I remember how cold our hands got, trying to carry the vegetables into the pit. The bottling of fruit was one of great concern in the fall. Mother couldn’t seem to rest until all the jars were full. One of the good fall smells was that of pickles and chili sauce cooking on the back of the stove.
Wood gathering
One thing that stands out in my mind was the gathering of wood. Many times dad let us go with him to get a load of wood. Often times he went out on the old Woodruff road to get his wood. I remember seeing my father tearing off limbs of trees or lifting the entire tree and loading them on the wagon. He was a mighty man! He was never satisfied with a little load of wood, always it had to be just as much as the wagon would hold or the horses could pull. It was said of him that “he never liked to make two trips.” When the load arrived home, there was the tremendous job of unlading and cutting it. Later in my childhood, Dad hired a man with a round saw to come and saw the wood. This was a great help—for even after sawing, the wood would often need to be split so that it would fit into the stoves. This was my brother’s job. The familiar whine of the saw somewhere in town was another of the “fall” noises and sounds.
Farming
For years, in my early childhood, my father tried to make his living farming. He was a hard worker and an excellent provider. His great shoulders bent over a plow is still a familiar picture in my memory. One particular incident stands out in my minds’ eye. He was plowing in the field next to town across the street from the Old Ramsay home. He was using the old horse, named “Old Doc,” which had a big knot on his knee that caused him to be extremely awkward. I was riding “Doc,” and as I remember, this was a great privilege, I was happy to be with my father; when suddenly, “Doc” stepped into a hole and down he went with me. I was able to jump free (I was as nimble as a cat)—and was not hurt. Dad was so frightened that he jerked the reins and started to swear at “Doc” for his clumsiness. I, knowing Dad’s fault for swearing, crept over in the bushes and knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to please bless him so that he wouldn’t swear at dear old “Doc.” When dad came and found me, he picked me up tenderly asking if I had been hurt. He was always so tender with his little girls.
Another incident I remember during the days of farming was the following: We children had been tromping hay for Dad and had brought in a load of hay and unloaded it into the barn. I wanted to go for another load with Dad, but he didn’t understand that I did, so had whipped the horses and they left the corral on the run. I just got out of the barn as Dad left the corral and my shouts to “wait daddy” couldn’t be heard over the noise of the wagon. I started to race after the wagon, calling—but to no avail.
Finally, after running all the way down to the fields (about a mile), I reached the Creek at Silas Crossing. Dad had already crossed, but had slowed down some. Just then one of the neighbor farmers spied me and stopped Dad. I was so exhausted after my race that I couldn't tromp hay. Dad was half-cross with me and half-apologetic over the incident.
My 8th Birthday—Baptism in the Creek
I was baptized October 8th, 1926 on my 8th birthday. I remember that Grandpa Smith performed the ordinance while my father and mother witnessed. There was a pretty good “hole” of water in the creek under the big Creek Bridge, and mother selected that to be the spot. If my memory is right, I believe it was necessary more than once to get all parts of me completely immersed. After the ceremony—I remember playing in the sand for a while before going home.
Soap-making
One activity, I remember well, one that is now in the dim past is that of making soap. Mother saved every scrap of bacon rind or fat, then when the soap-making day arrived, she rendered them out, using a huge black kettle over a fire in the backyard. All day long the soap (fat and lye) cooked, with us all helping to keep the stirring going (with a wooden board) and the fire hot. It was fun to finally cut the gray-white soap into bars. It was slick and was fun to let it slide in our hands. After a day or so of setting in the hot sun, the soap was ready to be stored in the upstairs for winter use. On wash days, and the old boiler was steaming on the kitchen stove, we would cut up the homemade soap and let it dissolve in the boiling water. All the white clothes had to be boiled in order to get them clean and sterilized.
Our Neighbors
We always felt that we had the best neighbors and neighborhood in town. Many families have gone now—completely moved away from town. Our first neighbor that I remember so well was Aunt “Em” Smith. She was always patient with us as children. I remember her hees—in memory I still see her in her hee—had and veil. I remember her old granary where she sat to weave her rag-rugs on the loom. Later, after Aunt “Em” died, there were many to occupy the house—Aunt Marie and Uncle Dave lived there once, Aunt Phosia and Uncle George Smith, many school teachers and students were housed there and finally Aunt Lorana Broadbent and Uncle Hyrum and their family.
“Hulets” and “Averys”
Faintly, I remember Aunt Dena Hulet—the upstairs playroom was an intrigue for us as children. The first toy piano that I ever saw was owned by Eugenia and Vivian. I remember the front parlor with the red-velvet furniture and the lace curtains. We were only allowed a peak into this room. Later Aunt Dena's daughter, Sadie Avery and her family lived there. I tended Sadie's baby and she gave me music lessons in return. I was very attached to these children. It was a great tragedy in my life when little Joyce was killed as a result of a fall from an upstair balcony—down on the old Flake (Virgil Flake) home. I remember when Chad Avery had the dreaded spinal meningitis—which left him a cripple.
“Mr. Chaffie”
As a small child I remember the little frame shop of Mr. Chaffie's on the east end of our lot. I remember going in to get shavings to use as curls for our straight hair. Faintly, I remember when Rollin and Susie Fish built their home. The children of that family still remain in my memory—Myrle, Frank, Earnest—my age—who later died—Gracie—this family has been gone so long they are almost lost to us. Rollin Fish sold his home to uncle Dave and Aunt Marie and this is the home they raised their children in. I used to help Aunt Marie on Saturdays with her house-work (waxing, polishing floors—she was an immaculate house keeper and I learned a lot from her) and baby tending. Here is where Paul contracted St. Kate's Dance. Aunt Fern and Uncle Lorence bought the home from the Heywoods and have reared their family here and have been our good fine neighbors!
The Butlers
Other neighbors that were dear to us as we grew up were: the Butlers (can still hear the beautiful violin music which drifted out to us as Max practiced); Aunt Sarah Smith—how wonderful she and her family had been over the year—faintly I remember Aunt Jana Smith—remember seeing her sit out on her front porch in her old wicker rocking chair. There was Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Andrew a little way down the street, Aunt Minnie Rogers, and Grandma Rogers—all gone, but all so much a part of the memory of my childhood.
Aunt Pauline
Aunt Pauline and Uncle Ashel Smith’s family were among our dear neighbors. Maria and I spent hours together playing house, dress up, or dolls. We had a secret communication up in Aunt “Phron’s” apple tree—the first one to arrive rang the cow bell which gave the signal to come. I remember the huge cakes Aunt Pauline made for Sunday dinner. Maria always cut generous pieces for her friends too. Always in my memory I will see Uncle Ashel as he and his boys walked towards the fields to work. What a good and great family they were.
David Smith’s Death
How well I remember David Smith (son of Ashel and Pauline Smith and our neighbor) and his death. He had a bad heart and I remember his blue arms—thin and cold—as he walked around the house before he died. I remember Aunt Pauline’s strength—so self-assured—looking always on the better side of life. The family was poor, but the children were always well-dressed—Maria’s clothes made over from someone else’s. Maria played the cello and Ida the piano and what a joy it brought their mother. Marion was always a dear friend also.
December 28 th, 1932: Grandma Rogers’ death from mother’s journal
“December 26 th, 1932—9 am
Received a telegraph from Grandpa Rogers saying ‘Mama passed away last night, leaving Mesa today with the body for burial’—A.L. Rogers—he had not known she had been so seriously ill, the news was a shock. The cause of her death was yellow jaundice. She had had several attacks before…I immediately took the word to Andrew, Alvirus, and LeRoy. Andrew with Bishop W.M.C. Smith staked out her grave. Alvirus and LeRoy arranged for the coffin to be built and the digging of the grave. Rebecca and I bought and arranged for her burial clothes. Aunt Julia Ballard made the temple clothing. Rebecca made the slip. I made her dress—I wanted to do that as it seemed the last bit of service I give her. Father Rogers arrived with the body in the afternoon of the 27 th about 4 o’clock pm. The body was unloaded during a snow storm. All the family were there except Chase and Thora—(at the old home). Father R. was lonely but brave. He said before Mother R. died he pleaded with the Lord to spare her for him. He was comforted by a vision. Mother R. about to go looked up smiling and said: “There is Dessie and Leone (the two little girls who had died previously with diphtheria) with their hands outstretched”, Father R. claims he heard their voices saying “Momma we are so glad you have come”. Then he said: “I thought well go, Momma, it won’t be long till I’ll be with you.” The body was dressed by Clara—Lois, Rebecca, Cora, and I. The funeral was held in the stake house December 28 th at 2pm. Speakers were President Samuel F. Smith, May H. Larsen, Joseph Peterson, and Nettie H. Reucker—(the balance of funeral recorded in mother’s journal p. 125).