Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
In search of a perfect definition.
This past Sunday, November 7th, it was Kris's turn to conduct during the Fast and Testimony Meeting. He bore his testimony, as is customary for the member of the Bishopric who is conducting. During his testimony he told of his love for me, among other things, and what he said made me feel that I needed something to describe 'the essence' of Kris.
The obvious choices, in saying who Kris is, is son, husband, father, papa, and Bishop, mentor, hard-worker, son of God and so on. He is loved by so many, and rightly so, but I've never felt like I could express adequately how I feel about who Kris is. Then I read this article by Brother Johnston. The italicized portion is what I feel perfectly describes my sweet husband. I have much to live up to with the lofty perch he places me upon, whilst I truly believe he deserves the one he sits so modestly upon.
"Last Friday, Clive Romney, his wife, Bonnie, and bass player Rob Honey trekked north to perform for our little band of brethren in Brigham City, Utah. Clive, engineer and conductor of the group Enoch Train and a celebrated songwriter, gave us a taste of our own medicine. He sang about shared pioneer heritage.
One song, a haunting little ballad he'd just penned, has stayed with me for days now. It tells of a pioneer wife who was going through hell but kept seeing bits and pieces of heaven.
The woman isn't in denial. She acknowledges the suffering. She's no Goody Two Shoes.
She simply chooses to see the stars, not the darkness.
She chooses to taste the sweet within the sour and hear the masterpiece, not the missed notes.
I think the ability to do that — to feel joy behind the pain — is a spiritual gift, right up there with healing and preaching.
And the people who have that gift live in a world vastly different than the one most of us know. It is world where goodness lies hidden inside of everything — like maple syrup in a tree.
And Clive's song quickly had me bustling to my bookcase for a book called "Here and Now" by the Christian moralist Henri Nouwen.
Nouwen and Romney are singing the same wonderful song in harmony.
Nouwen writes:
"Joy is not the same as happiness. We can be unhappy about many things, but joy can still be there because it comes from a knowledge of God's love for us. … Often we discover the joy in the midst of sorrow.
"Joy is contagious, just as sorrow is. I have a friend who radiates joy. … He doesn't deny the great sorrow that surrounds him, nor is he blind to the agonizing sights and sounds of his fellow human beings, but his spirit gravitates toward the light in the darkness. … There is nothing sentimental about him. He is a realist, but his deep faith allows him to know that hope is more real than despair."
Nouwen ends by saying he used to get distracted by the clouds instead of looking for the sun. Then he realized it was the sun that allowed him to even see the clouds.
So with the gentle pioneer ancestor in Clive Romney's song. Her story both broke my heart and made my heart soar.
Clive says when he records the song he'll send me a copy.
Maybe I can learn it and sing it for others.
It seems to be the kind of thing the woman in the song would want me to do."
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
My Happy Chum
I've been typing up the poems of my great-grandmother, Kitty Friend, and I thought this one was sweet.
MY HAPPY CHUM
The sun rising with flaming gold
Illumined the dawnlight grey,
And with a strength re-born
In the joy of morn
I hailed another day
And as forth to my daily toil I fared
It seemed that the joy of my heart was shared.
Oh the gladness stayed all through the hours
And made each task a delight,
What mattered to me,
Any difficulty
when Life was so wondrous bright?
for aye it seemed that a Comrade strode
Keeping in step along the road.
The setting sun has disappeared
In a glory of Rose and Pearl,
And in sweet content
As the daylight went
I watched nights' wing unfurl;
For I knew, when eventide was come
I had walked with God, my Happy Chum.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Because we don't give up ... maybe.
I really struggled with my last entry, and what a cute one it was too! The pictures ended up all over the place, except on the blog. Kimi tried to fix things for me, because she's kind like that, and a few others have given me their two cents worth. I appreciate it and all, but some of the two cents make no sense to this techy-challenged brain. I'm not going to give up, though, because my grand children are too dang cute and the pictures Kris took were even cuter. Plus, the stories that go along amuse me and should do the same for you. So, here goes, again.
I got really adventurous, something that happens to Nanas, I have found, and went on line to www.thelongthread.com There was a pattern for capes for little heroes and heroines that I thought I could manage sewing. Brinkley's favorite color is green, his favorite shape is a square and so, of course, I had to meet those requirements. The above picture shows the results of my efforts. It's wonderful that these are such little ones because they don't do quality control!
We were with the kiddos from Tuesday night until Saturday afternoon before we had to take off so we could be back home in New Jersey in time for Kris to be at his Bishopric meeting at 6:30 in the a.m. (we got home at 2:00a.m.). The following picture was how we felt at the end of each day. Kris is taking the picture so you don't get to see him, but he would have looked the same if I had taken the picture. Well, he wouldn't be a 'platinum blond' like me, but you get what I'm getting at.
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| Caelen Glenn loves her some bath time. Her hair is so blond and fine that sometimes it's hard to see she even has any. This bath time we decided to show off the spectacular do created with shampoo and her sweet smile. |
As women, we have a thing about our hair, what we do with it, how much we have of it, how it looks on us and so on and so forth. For those of us who have the pleasure of bathing our little Caelen Glenn, we have absolutely cannot, will not and do not shy away from creativity with hair. We were taking care of the kiddos whilst Kimi and Jeremy escaped their real lives in Canada, eh, and this was the first night of bathing. What is there to resist? Water, soap, and THE cutest little face to show off the do.
Caelen has this thing about capes. Brinkley has this soft, athletic-themed throw that his Grandma made him, and Caelen has Kimi tie it around her shoulders. She will usually yell, "Away!" and off she tears down the hallway, blankie flying behind her.
Caelen has this thing about capes. Brinkley has this soft, athletic-themed throw that his Grandma made him, and Caelen has Kimi tie it around her shoulders. She will usually yell, "Away!" and off she tears down the hallway, blankie flying behind her.
Brinkley's favorite color is green and his favorite shape is a square. Yup, met those requirements. Notice how Brinkley's baseball cap matches the colors of the cape. Purely coincidental, but it almost looks like I used the Piperlime Accessory wall very wisely. (Nota bene: reference made to Project Runway, thank you very much.)
The park we were in in Olmsted Falls was an old quarry and there were cute little stone benches, old grinding discs, tables and pathways all through the forest. How cute are these two as they took a moment, a very brief moment, to sit and check out the scenery. It was a super hot day and their little cheeks were soon rosy, I was drippy and soggy and Kris was doing a fantastic job of chasing the kiddos and taking awesome pictures.
There was a little local fair going on and the fire department had a fire engine that the kids could sit in. Brinkley wasn't overly sure about it at first, but as soon as Kris hiked him up there and started taking pictures he was all for it. There was also a little movie set type house set up that the kids could shoot water at to put the "fire" out, but Brinkley wouldn't have any of that.
One of the local stores in downtown North Olmsted sold old organs (the musical kind, of course) and various other bits and pieces from the past. They had this cute little train going round and round so we decided to go inside and check it out. They also had air-conditioning, which was a HUGE plus since it was a brazillion degrees outside and I was one soggy mess. One of the first things both kiddos wanted to do was touch the train, which would have resulted in it derailing. We began the "hands-behind-your-back" indoctrination, lesson #1. Brinkley may be more inclined towards the "hands-in-your-pockets" method, since he has pockets and likes them a lot.
They have the cutest little library right next to the park we were visiting and Brinkley wanted to go in. I was not about to argue since the place also had air-conditioning. Kris was the most adventurous of the two of us wanting to visit any and everything and whilst we tried to read to the kiddos, they were way more interested in us playing with the toys they had in the children's' section.
We were with the kiddos from Tuesday night until Saturday afternoon before we had to take off so we could be back home in New Jersey in time for Kris to be at his Bishopric meeting at 6:30 in the a.m. (we got home at 2:00a.m.). The following picture was how we felt at the end of each day. Kris is taking the picture so you don't get to see him, but he would have looked the same if I had taken the picture. Well, he wouldn't be a 'platinum blond' like me, but you get what I'm getting at.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Party in a Blog # 2
Noah had his first birthday party and I've been trying to figure out how to take pictures from Picasa and post them individually, but within the same blog. Yeah, not so brilliant at it as is evidenced by Party in a Blog #1; no commentary yada yada. SO, there was the option to make a collage, to which I thought, what the heck, I'd give that a shot. I then posted same collage on to the blog. We'll see how wonderful that turns out.
Now, you may or may not wonder at my selection of photo giraffes, but if you did wonder, there's absolutely no rhyme or reason for doing what I did, other than I liked the pictures. The end.
Oh, and I love my familia and I would spread pictures of them far and wide if I could whilst lauding their lives, their brilliance and amazing photogenicness/phontogenius/photogenii???? Whatever ... you get what I'm trying to say.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Trek of '09 - Day 1
Hume, Virginia is a beautiful area. Grassy, rolling hills some covered with trees, others just knolls. Cows dotted some of the fields, rolls of hay others. Streams waved in and out of the valleys and the smell of fresh air and grass wafted with the breezes that sometimes carried 'cow' along with their cooling effect. We were going to hike this area, pretending we were like the pioneers of old who crossed the plains of the United States in search of a place where they could live their religion without fear of the extermination ordered by Governor Boggs of Missouri.
Why would we do such a thing? Why put ourselves through what was surely to be a hard, dirty and maybe pointless effort? We all know that saying about not knowing someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes, well, that's pretty much what this was about. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we have an heritage, whether by birth or adopted upon baptism into the church, of the men and women who braved immense hardship as they made their way from Missouri to the Great Salt Lake Valley. These pioneers sacrificed homes, family, businesses, worldly possessions and sometimes their lives because of their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and His chosen prophet of this dispensation, Joseph Smith Junior. We wanted to feel in some small way of that sacrifice so as to more fully appreciate it. We needed to walk a mile, or fifteen, to gain a small inkling of what they endured.
I had to wear boots. My skirt was cute and so was the bonnet that I swapped mine for; girly, white, lacy. The boots? Ugly and brown and squished around my fat cankles. Being a "Ma" on the Trek, I was in the know about some things and knew that on the first day we would be fording streams and to wear my tennis shoes first. The outfit didn't look too bad then, although I know the pioneers didn't have tennis shoes and sometimes even boots, let alone shoes. The tennis shoes/boots are worn with two pairs of socks, one a liner, the other cotton, to prevent blisters forming. We also had a podiatrist hiking with us for any who succumbed to the rigors of the Trek and whose feet paid the price. We were going to trek in style compared to the early pioneers.
Our handcarts had to be put together by the youth. They were handy, well-made vehicles of seasoned wood, smooth, sturdy wheels and strong ropes for the yokes. We were divided into Companies and the companies into families. Each company had four families. Each family was roughly four 'sons', four 'daughters' and a Ma and Pa. Kris and I had three eighteen year-old boys and one who was fourteen, and then four sixteen year-old girls. Each of us had a bucket that we were allowed to carry seventeen pounds of personal effects in. Suggestions were given of what to take with us; clothing, underwear, personal items, hygiene items etc., but it was up to the individual. One kid had a bucket that was mostly hair product - he wasn't our 'son'. No cell phones or any form of electronic gear allowed and no extra food, only the food we would be given by the camp cook each day. We had bandannas that identified us as to which company we belonged to. Ours were a vibrant red with the trek logo embossed in the center. "Red is for courage to do what is right", to quote a Primary Childrens' song.
The weather couldn't have been more beautiful. It was in the low 80's with a gentle breeze and clouds scudded across the blue skies, blotting out the sun now and then. We were thrilled to get off the bus after a 5 hour trip. It felt good to stretch our legs. We had doused ourselves with sunscreen, Deet, and pounded sulphur around our boots and socks to ward off the chiggers, ticks and other creepy crawlies. Our company, Pettitt, headed out first, the others following at 15 minutes intervals.
Two boys were at the tongue of the handcart and the rest of us walked either to the side or behind. The bonnets provided great shade from the sun and swarms of little gnats that would appear out of nowhere. It didn't take us long to be in the fields with not a building in sight. Fences and gates, however, outlined acreage like the stitches of a patchwork quilt. It was right before one of our gates that we came across a group of women pleading for our help. Several young 'babies' had been orphaned and needed to be taken to family in the Valley. Each family was given a 10 lb. bean sack 'baby' to carry for the rest of the trek. No putting the baby down or letting them ride in the handcart. Our 'children' named her Delilah Philippa Davide and were very good with her. Deanna even caught herself rocking back and forth whilst holding Delilah. Dylan liked 'tending' Delilah too, it meant he wasn't pushing or pulling!
"As we journeyed, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances; except those to which they had been accustomed - in tents and wagons - in rainstorms and in snow storms.
"Let it be remembered that the mothers referred to, were not savages, accustomed to roam the forest and brave the storm and tempest - those who had never known the comforts and delicacies of civilization and refinement. they were not those who, in the wilds of nature, nursed their offspring amid reeds and rushes, or in the obscure recesses of rocky caverns. Most of them were born and educated in the Eastern States - embraced the Gospel as taught by Jesus and his Apostles, and for its sake had gathered with the Saints; and under trying circumstances, assisted by their faith, energies and patience, (in making) Nauvoo what its name indicates, 'The Beautiful'. There they had lovely homes - decorated with flowers, and enriched with choice fruit trees just beginning to yield plentifully. to these homes without lease or sale, they had bid a final adieu, and, with what little of their substance could be packed into one, two, and perhaps in a few instances, three wagons, had started out desert-ward, for where? To this question, the only response at the time was, God know." (The Personal Writing of Eliza Roxey Snow.)
On day one, we knew we were going to have to cross the trek equivalent of the Sweetwater river, the Rappapanock River. Virginia had experienced quite a bit of rain in the weeks preceding our trek so we weren't overly sure what to expect. We knew that we were going to be crossing so we had worn regular tennis shoes as opposed to our hiking boots which would take forever to dry out in the humidity. Lucky us, we had a change of shoes, not like our pioneers, some of whom ended up with rags wrapped around their feet in an effort to protect them from the elements and rigors of the every-changing terrain. Here are a few excerpts from journals regarding such crossings.
"The handcarts moved on November 3 and reached the Sweetwater river, filled with floating ice. To cross would require more courage and fortitude, it seemed, than human nature could muster. Women shrank back and men wept. Some pushed through, but others were unequal to the ordeal.
"'Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue; and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snow-bound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, "That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end"'. (Handcarts to Zion)
Our crossing was made during eighty degree weather and we were able to put dry shoes and socks on after we waded through calf deep water. Several of the boys rose to the occasion and either carried or piggy-backed the girls through to the other side. We ended up going over three water crossings that required shoe changes, but no hardship considering our feet were comfortable.
"Some of the men carried some of the women on their back or in their arms, but others of the women tied up their skirts and waded through, like the heroines that they were, and as they had gone through many other rivers and creeks. My husband (Aaron Jackson) attempted to ford the stream. He only gone a short distance when he reached a sandbar in the river, on which he sank down through weakness and exhaustion. My sister, Mary Horrocks Leavitt, waded through the water to his assistance. She raised him up to his feet. Shortly afterward, a man came along on horseback and conveyed him to the other side. My sister then helped me to pull my cart with my three children and other matters on it. We had scarcely crossed the river when we were visited with a tremendous storm of snow, hail, sand and fierce winds ... " (Elizabeth Jackson Kingsford, Martin Handcart Company, 19 Oct. 1856)
On we trekked encountering some difficult parts and the heat and humidity began to get to us. The trail began to be a little more tricky with rocky outcroppings that we had to be careful going over with the handcarts. The trail was narrow with warnings of poison ivy echoing down through the groups. During our training sessions as Ma's and Pa's we were advised to be ready to talk our family through their wanting to give up as the trail became more difficult. Not once did we have to do that.
Then, suddenly,the shout was given that we were stopping at "Independence Rock". Independence Rock is a smooth, rounded mass of granite at the East end of the Sweetwater Valley, 5 miles east of Devil's Gate. It was one of the most prominent landmarks on the trail. Saints would leave messages for family members and well-wishes for other Saints by writing on the rock. Our rock was a very vine-covered, scrappy outcropping of rocks, very wanting in majesty but sufficient for our purposes of remembering how the pioneers communicated with one another and we did the same, writing our names and some, messages to the companies coming up behind us. The early Saints would follow the trail from Independence Rock for nearly 100 miles along the Sweetwater and the Willie Company had to cross the river eight more times to get to the South Pass to be re-supplied with food.
It had been a long haul at this point. Thank goodness for cold, pure water from ice-filled 5 gallon coolers. It was getting late, around 6:00 or 6:30p.m. and we hadn't eaten since around noon. Our energy was beginning to flag but we continued to be determined to reach the camp for the evening, surely it couldn't be that far away? We rounded a corner and saw a sister, kneeling on the ground, digging in the dirt with a spoon.
'Mary Ann Mellor' greeted us, "Good day. I am about a sad task. This grave is for my twins. They lived only but an hour. I was too weak yesterday to go on with our company. I have sent my husband on ahead with our other children and the handcart company. He's coming back for me and the babies. I was so discouraged yesterday to be left here alone, but my daughter, Louisa, had such great faith. she went off by herself to pray to the Lord that He would help us and protect me while they journeyed ahead. After praying, she found a pie in the road. Can you imagine? A pie out here? the Lord has been wonderful to spare us so many times. I wish you safe journey. If you see my husband, tell him I will try to catch up to my family." (Clark, Louisa Mellor, Reminiscences - Trail excerpt transcribed from "Pioneer History Collection")
We were touched by the scene we came upon and the family seemed to be invigorated after the encounter with 'Sister Mellor'. We had barely walked a quarter of a mile and there was a couple of trail hands with baskets loaded with individual pies for the trekkers. Peaches and pastry had never tasted so good! The energy we needed to finish that last little haul came flooding back into us and we surged forward, rewarded fairly quickly with the distant sight of the base camp hailing us with the bright colors of the tents. Of course, the tents weren't for us, we would have to deal with that ourselves once we arrived.
And the day isn't over. Camp has to be set, fires pits dug, coals encouraged to burn and food to be prepared and cooked. At least we had food; fresh potatoes and carrots, meat, onions, seasonings, peaches, cake mixes and the pots, pans, water, everything to make a delicious and nutritious meal. Camp was a hive of activity as the children buzzed around setting up tents, carrying and fetching, determined to have each family in order so we could rest for the night.
We finally got to do that. This was not accomplished with a tiny bit of drama. One camper had a close encounter of the arachnid kind and after screaming like a girl was told to, "Deal with it, step on it and go to sleep!" It must have been somewhat traumatic because it took him a couple of minutes to accept that he was bigger than the spider and whether he dealt with it or someone else did, who knows, but eventually all was quiet on the home front and we settled in for the night, comfy in our waterproof, sleeping bag filled tents. What would the morrow bring?
Why would we do such a thing? Why put ourselves through what was surely to be a hard, dirty and maybe pointless effort? We all know that saying about not knowing someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes, well, that's pretty much what this was about. As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we have an heritage, whether by birth or adopted upon baptism into the church, of the men and women who braved immense hardship as they made their way from Missouri to the Great Salt Lake Valley. These pioneers sacrificed homes, family, businesses, worldly possessions and sometimes their lives because of their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and His chosen prophet of this dispensation, Joseph Smith Junior. We wanted to feel in some small way of that sacrifice so as to more fully appreciate it. We needed to walk a mile, or fifteen, to gain a small inkling of what they endured.
I had to wear boots. My skirt was cute and so was the bonnet that I swapped mine for; girly, white, lacy. The boots? Ugly and brown and squished around my fat cankles. Being a "Ma" on the Trek, I was in the know about some things and knew that on the first day we would be fording streams and to wear my tennis shoes first. The outfit didn't look too bad then, although I know the pioneers didn't have tennis shoes and sometimes even boots, let alone shoes. The tennis shoes/boots are worn with two pairs of socks, one a liner, the other cotton, to prevent blisters forming. We also had a podiatrist hiking with us for any who succumbed to the rigors of the Trek and whose feet paid the price. We were going to trek in style compared to the early pioneers.
Our handcarts had to be put together by the youth. They were handy, well-made vehicles of seasoned wood, smooth, sturdy wheels and strong ropes for the yokes. We were divided into Companies and the companies into families. Each company had four families. Each family was roughly four 'sons', four 'daughters' and a Ma and Pa. Kris and I had three eighteen year-old boys and one who was fourteen, and then four sixteen year-old girls. Each of us had a bucket that we were allowed to carry seventeen pounds of personal effects in. Suggestions were given of what to take with us; clothing, underwear, personal items, hygiene items etc., but it was up to the individual. One kid had a bucket that was mostly hair product - he wasn't our 'son'. No cell phones or any form of electronic gear allowed and no extra food, only the food we would be given by the camp cook each day. We had bandannas that identified us as to which company we belonged to. Ours were a vibrant red with the trek logo embossed in the center. "Red is for courage to do what is right", to quote a Primary Childrens' song.
The weather couldn't have been more beautiful. It was in the low 80's with a gentle breeze and clouds scudded across the blue skies, blotting out the sun now and then. We were thrilled to get off the bus after a 5 hour trip. It felt good to stretch our legs. We had doused ourselves with sunscreen, Deet, and pounded sulphur around our boots and socks to ward off the chiggers, ticks and other creepy crawlies. Our company, Pettitt, headed out first, the others following at 15 minutes intervals.
Two boys were at the tongue of the handcart and the rest of us walked either to the side or behind. The bonnets provided great shade from the sun and swarms of little gnats that would appear out of nowhere. It didn't take us long to be in the fields with not a building in sight. Fences and gates, however, outlined acreage like the stitches of a patchwork quilt. It was right before one of our gates that we came across a group of women pleading for our help. Several young 'babies' had been orphaned and needed to be taken to family in the Valley. Each family was given a 10 lb. bean sack 'baby' to carry for the rest of the trek. No putting the baby down or letting them ride in the handcart. Our 'children' named her Delilah Philippa Davide and were very good with her. Deanna even caught herself rocking back and forth whilst holding Delilah. Dylan liked 'tending' Delilah too, it meant he wasn't pushing or pulling!
"As we journeyed, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances; except those to which they had been accustomed - in tents and wagons - in rainstorms and in snow storms.
"Let it be remembered that the mothers referred to, were not savages, accustomed to roam the forest and brave the storm and tempest - those who had never known the comforts and delicacies of civilization and refinement. they were not those who, in the wilds of nature, nursed their offspring amid reeds and rushes, or in the obscure recesses of rocky caverns. Most of them were born and educated in the Eastern States - embraced the Gospel as taught by Jesus and his Apostles, and for its sake had gathered with the Saints; and under trying circumstances, assisted by their faith, energies and patience, (in making) Nauvoo what its name indicates, 'The Beautiful'. There they had lovely homes - decorated with flowers, and enriched with choice fruit trees just beginning to yield plentifully. to these homes without lease or sale, they had bid a final adieu, and, with what little of their substance could be packed into one, two, and perhaps in a few instances, three wagons, had started out desert-ward, for where? To this question, the only response at the time was, God know." (The Personal Writing of Eliza Roxey Snow.)
On day one, we knew we were going to have to cross the trek equivalent of the Sweetwater river, the Rappapanock River. Virginia had experienced quite a bit of rain in the weeks preceding our trek so we weren't overly sure what to expect. We knew that we were going to be crossing so we had worn regular tennis shoes as opposed to our hiking boots which would take forever to dry out in the humidity. Lucky us, we had a change of shoes, not like our pioneers, some of whom ended up with rags wrapped around their feet in an effort to protect them from the elements and rigors of the every-changing terrain. Here are a few excerpts from journals regarding such crossings.
"The handcarts moved on November 3 and reached the Sweetwater river, filled with floating ice. To cross would require more courage and fortitude, it seemed, than human nature could muster. Women shrank back and men wept. Some pushed through, but others were unequal to the ordeal.
"'Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue; and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snow-bound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, "That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end"'. (Handcarts to Zion)
Our crossing was made during eighty degree weather and we were able to put dry shoes and socks on after we waded through calf deep water. Several of the boys rose to the occasion and either carried or piggy-backed the girls through to the other side. We ended up going over three water crossings that required shoe changes, but no hardship considering our feet were comfortable.
"Some of the men carried some of the women on their back or in their arms, but others of the women tied up their skirts and waded through, like the heroines that they were, and as they had gone through many other rivers and creeks. My husband (Aaron Jackson) attempted to ford the stream. He only gone a short distance when he reached a sandbar in the river, on which he sank down through weakness and exhaustion. My sister, Mary Horrocks Leavitt, waded through the water to his assistance. She raised him up to his feet. Shortly afterward, a man came along on horseback and conveyed him to the other side. My sister then helped me to pull my cart with my three children and other matters on it. We had scarcely crossed the river when we were visited with a tremendous storm of snow, hail, sand and fierce winds ... " (Elizabeth Jackson Kingsford, Martin Handcart Company, 19 Oct. 1856)
On we trekked encountering some difficult parts and the heat and humidity began to get to us. The trail began to be a little more tricky with rocky outcroppings that we had to be careful going over with the handcarts. The trail was narrow with warnings of poison ivy echoing down through the groups. During our training sessions as Ma's and Pa's we were advised to be ready to talk our family through their wanting to give up as the trail became more difficult. Not once did we have to do that.
Then, suddenly,the shout was given that we were stopping at "Independence Rock". Independence Rock is a smooth, rounded mass of granite at the East end of the Sweetwater Valley, 5 miles east of Devil's Gate. It was one of the most prominent landmarks on the trail. Saints would leave messages for family members and well-wishes for other Saints by writing on the rock. Our rock was a very vine-covered, scrappy outcropping of rocks, very wanting in majesty but sufficient for our purposes of remembering how the pioneers communicated with one another and we did the same, writing our names and some, messages to the companies coming up behind us. The early Saints would follow the trail from Independence Rock for nearly 100 miles along the Sweetwater and the Willie Company had to cross the river eight more times to get to the South Pass to be re-supplied with food.
It had been a long haul at this point. Thank goodness for cold, pure water from ice-filled 5 gallon coolers. It was getting late, around 6:00 or 6:30p.m. and we hadn't eaten since around noon. Our energy was beginning to flag but we continued to be determined to reach the camp for the evening, surely it couldn't be that far away? We rounded a corner and saw a sister, kneeling on the ground, digging in the dirt with a spoon.
'Mary Ann Mellor' greeted us, "Good day. I am about a sad task. This grave is for my twins. They lived only but an hour. I was too weak yesterday to go on with our company. I have sent my husband on ahead with our other children and the handcart company. He's coming back for me and the babies. I was so discouraged yesterday to be left here alone, but my daughter, Louisa, had such great faith. she went off by herself to pray to the Lord that He would help us and protect me while they journeyed ahead. After praying, she found a pie in the road. Can you imagine? A pie out here? the Lord has been wonderful to spare us so many times. I wish you safe journey. If you see my husband, tell him I will try to catch up to my family." (Clark, Louisa Mellor, Reminiscences - Trail excerpt transcribed from "Pioneer History Collection")
We were touched by the scene we came upon and the family seemed to be invigorated after the encounter with 'Sister Mellor'. We had barely walked a quarter of a mile and there was a couple of trail hands with baskets loaded with individual pies for the trekkers. Peaches and pastry had never tasted so good! The energy we needed to finish that last little haul came flooding back into us and we surged forward, rewarded fairly quickly with the distant sight of the base camp hailing us with the bright colors of the tents. Of course, the tents weren't for us, we would have to deal with that ourselves once we arrived.
And the day isn't over. Camp has to be set, fires pits dug, coals encouraged to burn and food to be prepared and cooked. At least we had food; fresh potatoes and carrots, meat, onions, seasonings, peaches, cake mixes and the pots, pans, water, everything to make a delicious and nutritious meal. Camp was a hive of activity as the children buzzed around setting up tents, carrying and fetching, determined to have each family in order so we could rest for the night.
We finally got to do that. This was not accomplished with a tiny bit of drama. One camper had a close encounter of the arachnid kind and after screaming like a girl was told to, "Deal with it, step on it and go to sleep!" It must have been somewhat traumatic because it took him a couple of minutes to accept that he was bigger than the spider and whether he dealt with it or someone else did, who knows, but eventually all was quiet on the home front and we settled in for the night, comfy in our waterproof, sleeping bag filled tents. What would the morrow bring?
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