Sharing our Links to the Past
by Wally and Frances Gray

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Jacob Isaac Bushman

#M7b BUSHMAN, Jacob Isaac  and
#M8b BILLS, Effie May 

Jacob Isaac Bushman

     Born: 16 Mar 1876 Lehi, Utah, Utah
     Died: 18 Dec 1939 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah
     Buried: Fairview, Sanpete, Utah
     Married: 16 Nov 1897 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah, to Effie May BILLS #M8b (AFN:20RR-LP)

     Father: Jacob BUSHMAN # M14 (AFN: 1KC7-8N)
     Mother: Charlotte TURLEY #M15 (AFN:1BGL-KK)

Effie May Bills

     Born: 16 Apr 1879 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah
     Died: 5 Jan 1957 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah
     Buried: 9 Jan 1957 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah
     Married 16 Nov 1897 Fairview, Sanpete, Utah, to Jacob Isaac BUSHMAN #M7b (AFN:1Z9K-9T). They had eight children.

     Father: Franklin Richard BILLS (AFN:1PRG-CN)
     Mother: Nancy Ann DAVIDSON (AFN:446X-ZV)

*To locate person on Internet by AFN (Ancestral File Number): Go to http:/www./ and click Custom Search. Click Ancestral File. Scroll down to AFN. Type in the Ancestral File Number. Click Search.

Children of Jacob Isaac Bushman and Effie May Bills

1. (M) Jacob Denzil BUSHMAN (AFN:20RR-JC) (6 Nov 1898-28 Mar 1975) md Emily BILLINGS (AFN:20RR-KJ) 24 Nov 1924.

2.  (M) Ernest Franklin BUSHMAN (AFN:6GB6-01) (5 Mar 1901-17 Jun 1978) md Frances Elida RASMUSSEN (AFN:493V-96)

3.  (F) Nancy Charlotte BUSHMAN (AFN:6GB6-16)  (b. 1903) md (1) Leland Larkin HANSEN (AFN:DLFV-V2); md (2) Angus L. STEWART (AFN:DLFV-W7); (3) Evan "J" RUESCH (AFN:DLFV-XD)

4. (F) Rissie May BUSHMAN (AFN:6GB6-2C) (27 Jul 1906-9 Mar 1907)

5. (F) Thelma BUSHMAN (AFN:6GB6-3J) (8 Apr 1908-18 Jan 1928)

Not recorded in Ancestral File:

6. (M) Lamar BUSHMAN (b. 20 Aug 1910) md Esther CHRISTENSEN 11 Jul 1934.

7. (F) Fern BUSHMAN (b. 27 Apr 1913) md Albert KAY 5 Oct 1932.

8. (M) Theodore Morton BUSHMAN (b. 26 Oct 1918) md Helen ARROWSMITH 13 Nov 1936.

Biographies of Jacob Isaac Bushmam and Effie May Bills

By Elden LaVern Stewart (grandson)

Written by Elden L. Stewart; retyped and submitted by Ella Mae [Turley] Judd.

Jacob Isaac Bushman

Grandfather Jacob Isaac Bushman met Effie May Bills at Springville, Utah where the Bills had homesteaded in Mapleton Canyon. Not much is remembered by the children about their courtship days, just that they were married 16 November 1897 and later sealed in the Manti Temple 18 December 1901. They had eight children: Jacob Denzil,  Ernest Franklin, Nancy Charlotte, Rissie May, Thelma , Lamar, Fern and Theodore Martin.

After Great Grandfather Bushman [Jacob Bushman] was too old to take care of the farm, Grandfather farmed the acreage for quite a few years. He was able to grub out an additional hundred and fifty acre dry farm homestead at hilltop, some five miles to the north of the old farm. The original farm was located about two miles north of Fairview, situated on a small knoll of limestone shale. Today it is known as the "Old Barker Farm" that Rufus Orrin and Ella Barker ran. (Aunt Ella is Grandfather's sister.)

Grandfather had a team of mules that only seemed to pay attention to him. He knew just how to handle them and after a few trails of plowing, cutting wheat or whatever, they knew just what to do. Near the Rio Grande Railroad were several rails left after the railroad was completed. With a friend, Grandfather was able to make a drag to rail out the sage brush and cedar trees to clear the land. It was about eight foot wide and eight or nine feet long, bolted together with a plank bolted across the front to stand on. It took a team of mules and a team of horses to pull the drag. When the drag was full, Grandfather would step off the plank and the drag would pull over the pile of debris to be fired up later. The first year he got fifty or sixty acres in and the next year an additional hundred acres, even with his leg giving him trouble all the time. The harvest filled three granaries one behind the house and two others at various parts of the farm. Abe Clements' farm was located to the west of the Bushman farm, Edward Housekeeper to the southwest, Eff Madden to the southeast and other neighbors close by. When harvest time came the neighbors pitched in to help each other. There was always a tenth of the harvest paid in tithe to the Bishop's Storehouse.

Those old mules that grandfather had was something else. There was one named Jack that hadn't taken a liking to anyone especially if one tried to ride him. He kicked like a darned mule and set up such a fuss and ruckus every time someone attempted, that the dog started to bark. Uncle Ern had his mind made up that he was going to ride the mule come "hell or high water." Each time Ern tried, he found himself on the ground on his back. One day a cowboy came to the ranch. He said he had had a lot of experience breaking such critters and wanted to give it a try. Grandfather gave his consent and the cowboy mounted Old Jack to which he just stood there for a while, then all hell broke loose as the mule headed off for the railroad tracks, first this way and then that, then up and down, but Jack couldn't shake the cowboy off. Poor Old Jack was so tired when he came back that he was glad to make peace with anyone who decided to ride him. After that Ern was able to ride him, but whenever a horse was available Ern preferred the horse to Old Jack.

One day Grandfather sent Denzil to town for some hay as the stock yard was a bit low. Denzil hitched up the mule team and headed to town for a load. Upon the return trip, he fell asleep on the hay wagon and the mules sensing the situation took advantage of it. They kicked up quite a stir and headed down the road at a good gait, straddling a telephone pole. Denzil was awakened by the sudden stop. He barked, pleaded and cursed at those mules, but they refused to back up. Denzil climbed off the wagon and headed for the homestead, meeting Grandfather on the way. He explained the situation to Grandfather and the two went back to the wagon, finding the mules still tangled around the telephone pole. While taking the reins he whispered a command to back up and those mules obeyed. As I said, Grandfather had a way with animals and especially those mules, he just had that touch of the reins that they recognized.

Grandfather had a machine called a header. It took two teams to pull because of its enormous size. It cut a twelve foot swatch where the grain was conveyed on a canvas belt, with wooden slats attached about every foot, up a chute to the loader that went into a waiting wagon along side the header. The wagon had a wooden body about sixteen feet long and eight feet wide. Its sides were tapered having one side a little taller than the other. When the load was full usually another wagon was ready to pull in place to likewise be filled and taken to the threshing machine. Grandfather had to be a good teamster to control those two teams in coordination. The header didn't have a seat in front to sit on, but a little peg-like contraption to straddle that had a wheel attached to it. It was this contraption that acted much like a steering wheel on a car and could only be turned by the body movement from side to side. Most of the job was standing with levers to be pulled back and forth. His legs must have cramped him much at the end of the day, but there was always Grandmother's Watkins liniment to swab him down.

Threshing season brought the big green John Deere down the lane the Brady Boys had finally caught up with Grandfather's appointment. The engine seemed to have plenty of pulling power for threshing, but Grandfather often had to hook his team of mules to the front of it to get the machine over one steep hill just before the ranch. It took a week to complete the threshings. At first there was the steam engine but when John Deere came out with a two-cylinder engine, the Brady boys purchased one. The wheel was as tall as a man with cast iron cleats diagonally across them to aid in pulling power. The engine and thresher can be seen today at the Fairview Museum. The most fascinating part of the threshing was the big belt that was about 30 feet long and made a cross at the center. When the thresher loaded down and gave the John Deere an extra lug the belt bounced up and down and almost pulled off, but the Brady boys pulled back the throttle and the belt was back to normal. Sometimes the smoke stack belched out hot smoke rings and caused a fire or the engine let out a loud back-firing bang. Stories were told about rigs and stacks burning up on such occasions.

Aunt Fern said she was once playing with matches and started a fire. Luckily the closest spring had not dried up as they had to go for water to put the fire out. Needless to say, she got a good spanking.

Water was scarce, with only three springs to draw from. Some of the springs dried up later in the summer and others became rather brackish. Uncle Lamar said there was only one good spring and it was to the north at the Roll Terry farm, from which water could be carried in five-gallon milk cans for home and stock use when the others gave out.

To the front of the corral was a big wood watering trough that Grandfather had hewn out of an old cottonwood tree. The tap served as water for the animals and thirsty passerbys. You could only take about four swallows at a time because the water was so cold.

In the summer time, Grandfather brought all the animals to the dry farm. Pigs were turned loose to eat acorns or whatever showed up, including snakes that didn't have a chance with them. There was a coop of chickens that also scratched out a living in the sage and often made friends with the sage hens that were plentiful. The cows were herded by my mother, Nancy Stewart, way down by the railroad tracks where there was lush green grass from the spring runoff. Here mother made friends with Nancy Squaw who when she found out their names were the same, gave mother a little glazed pottery dish.

After threshing, Grandfather took the pigs over to the straw fields to glean out any grain that had been missed by the threshers. The pigs grew big and fat and were ready for fall butchering in prime condition. In the late fall, the family moved back to Fairview with live stock and all. The Bushmans depended on the farm's earnings to get them through the winter and if the price of grain fell short, there would be a tough winter to get through. With Grandfather's ingenuity, they always made it through, however.

As a young boy I remember tromping hay on the farm with Uncle Ted loading the hay. He sometimes let me drive the team home which was a real treat. In the winter, Grandfather hitched up the bob sled with all the bells on the horses' harnesses and we would take a ride up to the Fairview mill a block away to get the wheat ground into flour, whole wheat mush and grindings for the livestock.

To the north of the ranch was the Spencer farm at Indianola. The Spencers had invested in pigs, but one year the bottom fell out of the price of the pig market, so they were turned loose as it was too expensive to feed them. Along with other ranchers, Grandfather got free meat that he cured and smoked himself to help him through the winter. It didn't take long before there were no more wild pigs.

I remember when I was about the age of six, Grandfather hooked up the team to the wagon and headed up to the east mountains at Bolger Flats. It was about an eight-mile trip up a steep mountain grade so we started early to enjoy the event. Straw was spread out in the wagon box, followed by some blankets and Grandmother's goodies. A hasty early breakfast had previously been prepared and eaten and we were ready to go. The sun was just about to peek over the easterly crest of the mountain as Grandfather pulled out of Fairview with a slap of the reins and a "gid-ee-up Jack." The dirt road was narrow and steep with little room for passing except at a few extended areas along the way and the toll gate at the mouth of the canyon required a dollar for use of the road. At about ten thirty we arrived at Bolger Flats. A traveling carnival was set up there and this was my first experience at seeing such contraptions. There was a merry-go-round, ferris wheel and such all driven by cogs and with horses going round and round.

Down at the lake by the spring where Grandmother sent me with a gallon of cold homemade root beer for cooling, there seemed to be a lot of commotion with people gathering all around. Someone said that a drunken sheepherder had rode his horse out into the lake, fell off and drowned. There were a lot of men out on homemade rafts pulling ropes back and forth with bent pitchforks searching for the body. Grandfather said they were dragging the lake. I don't recall riding any of the contraptions at the carnival, it seemed the drowning had soured the day. Grandmother spread out her blanket under some pine trees and we ate our picnic about noon, then Grandfather said it was time to leave with evening chores and livestock to feed. He said the journey home would be long, slow and dusty with everyone leaving in their wagons at the same time.

Each year after the crops were in Grandfather took the horses up to Mud Springs and turned them loose to forage. Mud Springs was a couple of miles to the west of the farm. When it came time to use the horses again, Grandfather took several halters and rope to bring them home. They were used to their freedom, as they had been running free for some time and had other ideas about being caught and put to work. Grandfather thought it would be easy to catch them, however, and after spotting Old Dan, one of the more tame horses, he approached Dan rather slowly. With a halter in one hand, he placed his other hand on Old Dan's rear and cautiously patted him, talking to him all the time. Old Dan didn't like this slyfootedness and gave loose with a kick, sending Grandfather flying. Old Dan wasn't about to lose his freedom and this was the only way he knew to show it. The pain was most unbearable as Grandfather tried to get to his feet. When he found it impossible, he crawled back to the farm on his hands and knees. Grandmother made a poultice to draw out the black and blue swelling. When the Denver Mud, Watkins carbolic salve, arnica salve, etc., failed Doc Winters was called in. The leg had to be lanced and from then on didn't heal, making Grandfather a cripple the rest of his life. He had it lanced 33 time without medication before he died. He just said, "Go to it, go to it, Doc," then he put a stick in his mouth and bit down while Doc Winters cut away. The puss drained and Grandfather was all right for a few more months.

At one time he took to supervising the construction of a railroad bridge next to the family home rather I should say he was talking to the Spanish hands working on the site. Grandfather was quite fluent in speaking Spanish since he had been raised in Mexican territory in his early years. Brigham Young had sent his father to Mexico to colonize the area, and as a boy he became well acquainted with the Spanish culture. While he was talking to the workers, a railroad spike was struck, it bounced and hit him on the side of the head. He was carried home and Grandmother had all she could do to keep him down.

He cured his own meat in a huge vinegar cask. The brine consisted of a jug of vinegar, several spoonsful of saltpeter and about ten pounds of salt. This was probably the best recipe for cured meat to be found. The sides and quarters were left in the brine for a week and then taken out to be hung on spikes in the smoke house. Here fruit wood, usually apple, was used to give the meat a rich suntan of smoke for about another week. A sliver of meat was always cut off a hind quarter as a taste sample for its quality. If smoked enough, it was taken out and hung in the cellar and if not it remained a few more days to complete the process. Bacon was sometimes given an additional batch of salt because of its fat content. Many times these sides had to have the salt boiled out before it was edible. Some of the lean meat was added to the fat and made into sausage. The innards of the pig's intestines were washed clean and stuffed with the mixture of meat, sage, salt and other spices, then smoked and hung in storage for future meals.

Grandfather took pride in his little smokehouse. It was here that he also earned a little extra money to get him through the winter. The charge was usually fifty cents to a dollar depending upon the amount of meat for smoking. It was a small smoke shack, about the size of an outhouse, except fragrant fumes of smoked hams radiated and filled the surrounding air. The cracks were stuffed with rags to prevent any leakage and it could hold about two to three cured pigs at a time with rocks and hangars strewn across the sides and along the walls. Two or three feedings of fruit wood lasted for twenty-four hours.

When alfalfa became the newest frontier crop for animals, seed was much in demand. Grandfather took to raising the crop for seed on his lowland with excellent results. This made his farm more productive than ever.

The Housekeepers to the southeast were having a little trouble with the elk eating the hay after the seed had been harvested. When the fall came and feed became a little more scarce it was an easy handout for the critters. They just ate along with the other livestock. Ed got fed up with feeding his hard work off to those lazy critters and talked to Grandfather about the problem. Uncle Lamar had a 30-40 Krag army rifle with armor piercing shells. It was decided the gun would be tied to a railing at the feeding lot with some bailing wire. It had quite a kick to it so it had to be secured tightly. A string was tied to the trigger at one end and a post about six feet away to the other. The gun was loaded and cocked. If any of those elk stuck its head into the feeding area to get a morsel it would be a sad ending for him. The next morning, Ed was at Grandfather's door bright and early. "Want some elk meat, Jake?" he said. "Got two of the critters and followed the third for over a mile before I gave up. I reckon he will make some starved coyote happy for its next meal." Grandfather hitched up the bob sleigh and he and Ed headed for the feeding lots. Sure enough there lay two dead elk and the 30-40 Krag hanging jerked from its holdings. Now it was time to clean up the mess. Grandfather was a good butcher and immediately started to take care of that good meat. "Tell you what I will do, Ed," Jake said. "I'll smoke and cure some of that meat to make good jerky and I'll share it with you when it's done. Effie might want to bottle some of it, too." "Sounds good to me," replied Ed. The bargain was set and Jake was off to town with the elk covered with a piece of canvas. Ed waved and shouted to Jake, as the wagon mounted the hill, "If I got to feed them, we might as well eat them." Grandfather smiled as he looked over his shoulder and gave the team a slap with the reins. "Gid-ee-up you lazy critters, we got meat to get home before it spoils."

Uncle Ted was a little curious about all the commotion and what secret was under the canvas. Grandfather didn't want to make much of the situation fearing that word might get out to Archie Anderson, the game warden. Ted was a young boy and had a hard time keeping a secret. After some careful listening he decided this would be a good story to tell at show and tell in school, as it was hard for him to ever come up with a good story. No one believed his story in class and to make matters worse they called him a fibber. When Grandfather found out about Ted's story, he got a good licking. Years later Uncle Ted still remembered the licking. Needless to say, Grandfather was on pins and needles for several weeks until the meat was all disposed of one way or another.

A year later Grandfather was at the barber shop waiting his turn to get a haircut. It was a common practice for the men to tell tales and yarns. A wager was made that whoever could spin the biggest yarn got a new red-handled old-timer's pocket knife purchased at the local Fairview Merc. Well now that all of the meat was mostly eaten up Grandfather thought it a good time to spill the beans. Nobody would believe him anyway and he was in need of a good pocket knife as his old one was getting mighty thin from sharpening. After everyone had taken their turn, Grandfather just smiled. "Well fellars," he said, "I got one that will top them all," and he proceeded to relate the elk story. Ed Housekeeper walked in just in time to hear the last of the tale. He gave Jake a wink and sat down. Grandfather stammered for a minute as he got his composure and went on. Everyone's eyes were as big as marbles at the end of the tale. Grandfather got the new pocket knife and a free haircut to boot. As Grandfather and Ed went out the door together, Ed commented to Grandfather, "Looks like you got yourself a new pocket knife, Jake." Grandfather chuckled in a whispering voice to Ed, "Shut up you damn fool, some crazy fool might just be smart enough to believe the story and we would both be in hot water. With that Grandfather headed home to share his good tidings with Effie. She used the knife, after Grandfather's death, to cut her thick toe nails. After her death, my brother, Max got the knife.

Grandfather had an old wired-up shotgun. Its stock had taken the shock of many a volley. There were plenty of sage hens on the farm and Grandfather always made sure there was chicken for dinner. Harry Rasmussen and the dentist, Doc Phillips, had fancy shotguns and one day they came out to the homestead to get him out hunting chickens. "Well," he said, "you with your fancy shootin' pieces, I'll bet this old gun can get more birds today than both of you." Grandfather was used to betting as he had won the pocket knife and this wager was no different. The bet was made and Grandfather was more confident than ever. Just below Eph Madsen's place was a spring and wet lands. This was always a good spot for sage hens to hang out. Grandfather took the crew there and right off, up flew two birds. Grandfather took a careful aim with that old rusty gun, pulled the trigger and before you could say Jack Robinson, down came two birds in one shot. "How'd you do that, Jake?" inquired Doc Phillips. "Well," said Grandfather, "I just pulled the trigger real slow and got them both." Before the day was over Grandfather had won another bet.

A few days later Archie Anderson, the game warden, paid Grandfather a visit. He was concerned about the Gandie bunch down at Whitaker's Switch poaching his sage hens now and again. He didn't have time to keep watch on them and thought Grandfather, being honest and all, could do the job. He made Grandfather an assistant game warden. Grandfather thought under his breath, "If only Archie knew what was cooking for dinner." The warden was offered a piece of chicken that was frying crisp in Grandmother's skillet but he turned it down saying he had to be on his way with other things to do that day. He gave Grandfather a wave and made his way down the road.

The old granary set just a little to the north next to the coal house. The bins were always full from last year's harvest and Grandfather's old rusty wired shotgun sat between the rafters. In later years, we played cowboys and Indians with it many times. To the west of the granary was the pig pen with a roofing of logs, willow, straw and clay to keep the moisture out. In the fall, there was usually two big stacks of grain set next to the pig pen.

Uncle Ted had a German Shepherd dog named Jack. Often Ted made a trip to town for supplies, followed by Jack at the rear. On the return trip Jack always got his share of hens. Even though Uncle Ted had a .22 repeater rifle (he'd bought from Angus Stewart) he saved it to use for rabbits; no need wasting shells on chickens, with Jack along.

During the winter months, Grandfather sold odds and ends, hardware and household items a double folding clothes hanger was the hottest item. Another of his money making projects was selling carp and sucker fish that he ordered from Utah Lake. The fish came in on the D&RG railroad. Grandfather hooked up the bob sleigh and delivered fish around the town. People just didn't have the money to buy store meat even if hamburger was only ten cents a pound. Fish was plenty cheap as the cost of a big carp was only twenty-five cents.

Grandfather was famous for his horseradish relish. In the spring when the root was ready to harvest, he dug them, Grandmother scrubbed them clean and the roots were ground in the grinder outside as the aroma cleaned out your sinuses it was so strong. It was a punishment no doubt, but after a few breathers the grinding continued. The mixture was one-half cup of vinegar to a cup of water, a teaspoonful of salt and sometimes a pinch of sugar. A pint bottle sold for fifty cents to a dollar, depending on the demand. Orders were taken around the town and delivered on the weekend. Boyd Bushman and I took over the sales years later, but we found it more work than we were getting out of the project so it was abandoned. Besides we had most of Grandfather's horseradish dug up and we were too lazy to put the crowns back in the ground to develop new roots.

Once a year the family was fitted up with new shoes, either from the catalog or the country store. They had to last for a whole year for school, church going, farm work and all special occasions. Stove-top black was used to put a shine on them for church and mutton tallow provided the water-proofing. A shoemaker last was well utilized in case the soles or heels wore out. Grandfather cut out a piece of harness leather or part of an old rubber tire to resole the shoe. Everyone dressed alike in bib overalls and Lil' Abner shoes, so nobody looked any better than anyone else except of course, some of the store people or school teachers and these were few, so it didn't matter much.

Grandfather ran the Tim Fowles' farm up by Milburn for a period of time. His sister had married Tim and so the farm was in the family. It was on the south end of Milburn seated next to the Sanpitch River. The land was good, but there was only a one-roomed house on the property to live in. Water was hauled from a spring at the old North Bend Creamery for drinking water. A small cistern was built by the irrigation ditch for other needs. Mother herded the cows again and as there was no kids in the neighborhood she had to be creative to find fun things to play with.

As I said previously, Grandfather was a meat and potato man, so Uncle Ern always brought ten sacks of potatoes each fall to store in their cellar.

In his later years, Grandfather spent a lot of time out on the front porch sitting on the lawn chair Grandmother bought him from Ward's company. As the years passed by his leg got worse and worse which required him to be home more. He kept a few pigs for meat, a coop full of chickens to sell eggs and a few cows to sell milk and butter. Grandfather said he needed something to do, it kept his cogs a-turning and lubricated. He never wanted to give up entirely, but after awhile Uncle Lamar and later Uncle Ern, had to take over the farm, entirely.

He had one bad habit that Aunt Ida, his sister, used to gibe him about. "Jake," she said, "that tobacco smoke will be the doings of your death someday, give it up before it is too late." Grandfather never did stop even with all his sister's persistence. Grandmother just loved him and endured it, calling it "that filthy odor" when he was not around.

The boys took turns staying up with Grandfather in his last days. One night right after Denzil had left when it was Lamar's turn, Grandfather started coughing again. The sons usually carried him outside to catch his breath, but this time before Lamar could get to him, he took a turn for the worse, bent over and it was all over. He had served his mortal state and was called home, years later to come back to take his Effie with him for all time and eternity.

Grandmother used to tell me stories about the horse and buggy days when they packed the corpse in ice as some of the relatives had to travel a long way to get to the funeral. Grandfather wasn't packed in ice, however. At his funeral he wore his nice temple clothes.

I feel my grandparents very close to me as I write this history and feel that they are proud of what I have written.

Elden L. Stewart

When I was about to close I thought about one last event that would be most fitting to add here. It was a Bushman reunion up Maple Canyon. I don't recall if Grandfather was with the party as I was a little young. At any rate, I feel it noteworthy for some of the generation coming up to remember what a great event it was. Maple Canyon is just west of Moroni about five or six miles. It is the remains of some ancient sea where gravel was dumped and as the sea dried up the gravel was compressed together like cement. Winter runoffs had washed out the bottoms of these ancient monoliths and created deep gorges and canyons. A park had been created at the top of one of these monoliths. From the bottoms you could look up and see the wonders that nature had created with the so-called lion's head spires at the top of one of them. There were all kinds of trails to hike and canyons to explore, this I remember. Those attending were the Gulls, Burt and Afton Christensen and family, Ted, Lamar, Ernest, Nancy, Denzil and all their born families. Burt and Afton had a big ton green 1938 Ford truck that acted as a school bus to transport the bigger portion of the group; Uncle Lamar had a 1938 Chevy; Uncle Ernest had a 1940 Ford pickup truck and Uncle Ted had a two-seater Model A Ford sedan. Our family rode with Ted. Uncle Ted's girl helped make a cake that she insisted be a maple nut cake as we were going up Maple Canyon. It was my first experience up to the park as I looked with awe at the tall piercing walls of the canyon as if melting against the floating skies. There were swings and teeter totters for the children to play on, horse shoe games for the older men. There was plenty to do as the women folks prepared the luncheon. Trails led everywhere to which Reed Bushman was always the leader. I tuckered out real quick and saved my energy for the trek up to the lion's head. At the rest rooms was a large handle outside that flushed the toilets. I think every boy there took turns flushing the thing, till Uncle Ted got wind of it and threatened to spank the next boy that flushed the thing.

The flushing stopped as Glen Gull announced a hike was in order up to the lion's head. That was the one I was most interested in and started to tag along. Mother cautioned me not to go, but I would have it no other way and slipped away blending into the crowd. The trail was about a mile up winding back and forth as you got higher up. There was only room enough for one person on the trail. If someone was coming down you had to wait till you found a spot for two. I didn't want to look down as I was afraid of heights. When I finally got to the top I just sat there, my legs not wanting to move. I wished then that I had listened to Mother and not come along. There were come brave ones there, however, like Glen Gull, a regular show off. At the edge of the ledge was an iron bar. I remember Glen swinging on the bar like a trapeze artist at the circus. "That's not for me," I thought as shivers went up and down my spine each time he vaulted the bar, and I started down the trail. It took me twice a as long to go down as to come up. Every time I looked over the edge I got the willies and my knees got a little wobbly. I was glad to get out of there just as the picnic was finishing off the watermelon and cake. I had worked up a good appetite and was ready for some nourishment.

Reed and Uncle Lamar had planned up a hike up Box Canyon. This canyon was a series of dripping falls and so-called steps one above the other that wound around and came out at the campsite from the north. These two men knew the trail well and were the leaders. Reed was a real card, always keeping us on the edge with his antics. He would catch a lizard and place it inside his shirt. The women folks weren't too fond of lizards, so when they weren't looking, out came the lizard and peals of screaming could be heard from them. Everyone loved Reed, a born fun man, I thought as he never seemed to tire out on new adventures. When we got back to the camp grounds we finished off the rest of Grandmother's root beer and any leftovers. The green truck of Bert and Afton was loaded up and all the pickups and headed home. There was singing all the way down the canyon as the hills echoed peals of our singing and laughter. Years later we now hold our reunions with root beer that Blair brings, but not quite the spunk as that of Grandmother's homemade.

Effie May Bills

I remember Grandmother Bushman best for her homemade cookies, root beer and sweet advice. “Don’t step in a cow pie,” she would say, “as you might get some splashed on you too.” And again she would say, “Make something of yourself and don’t be a nobody, be a somebody.” Well that was just good old Grandmother Bushman speaking when I was a little tyke, but the words kind of stuck with me and here I am writing about a “somebody grandmother.” Her cookies were something out of this world, rich mellow cookie dough plumb full of raisins. They seemed to melt in your mouth like ice cream. And that wasn’t the half of it, there was the tangy homemade root beer that she kept in her cool cellar, like an old ice chest, for the young ones to sample on when they came over on the weekend visits with the family. We all gathered around Grandfather and Grandmother on the porch while the younger ones played games on the big lawn under the cottonwood trees. “It took a long time to make,” said Grandmother, “but it was all worth it.”

In the fall it was apple picking time. Just east of Fairview, Grandfather’s neighbor, Colmand Pritchet, had an apple orchard. The families climbed into the wagons and headed out for the hills. As usual Grandmother had a box of her goodies, namely, raisin-filled cookies, a gallon jug of root beer and tuna fish sandwiches. The root beer was placed in a nearby stream to cool, to quench your thirst after the apple picking. Games were played by the children and a blanket placed under an apple tree to serve as a table cloth for the picnic. We all ate and drank until our tummies could take no more. Grandmother taught us a song about old Dan Tucker and we laughed till our sides ached. It was a fun time, but the next day was not quite so exciting. We each took our turn at turning the apple peeler, while the women were busy washing bottles, measuring sugar and stirring apples into sauce over a hot stove. Some of the apples were dried to later make sweet soup pudding and apple pies in the winter. After the day was over I didn’t care if I ever saw an apple again. I soon repented of this feeling after Grandmother made a fresh batch of homemade ice cream. It was the custom after such an event to sample the applesauce with some of Grandmother’s homemade ice cream.

In those days this type of get-together was about the only social or recreation to be had and it didn’t take much of an excuse to get a good party going. Grandfather would hook up the team and head for Amundson’s ice house for a block of ice (insulated in sawdust). The old ice cream freezer was pulled out and Grandmother’s own recipe for ice cream was about to begin. Fresh cow’s cream was added to sugar and vanilla, then cooked to a custard pudding thickness and poured into the ice cream container, then the lid and dasher was sealed down. Crushed ice and rock salt were added to make a quick slush and we each took our turn at turning the handle to make the batch hard. The aroma of vanilla filled the air and the Bushman home smelled like some rare French perfume. It was more than a feller could stand just waiting to sample the batch. After about an hour of cranking, Grandmother sampled the brew and said, “It’s enough,” or in other words, “It is ready!” Grandmother had also spent the day making a fresh batch of her famous raisin-filled cookies. A fresh jug of root beer was placed in Colmand’s well to cool off and the party was well on its way. There were big portions for adults and small ones for the children, a cookie for the topping and root beer.

Rubbie Pritchet had informed Grandmother that her husband Colmand was a little bit irregular with his stomach and hadn’t visited the little out-house for quite some time. Word soon got around to the women folks about the disaster and they all had a plan to help poor Colmand out. Well, Rubbie was the first to scoop Colmand a dish of ice cream and to stir in a chocolate covered laxative. Colmand didn’t pay much attention, thinking he was being served chocolate ice cream. At the second and third serving, the other women did the same. Colmand couldn’t help but comment how delicious his chocolate ice cream was, as chocolate ice cream was his favorite dish. He noticed the others being served white ice cream, but thought he was being given special consideration. The next day Grandmother inquired how Colmand was feeling. “Seems like Colmand was quite regular now,” was Rubbie’s reply. “He has taken up residence in the little back yard house.” This was a regular story around the Bushman home after that and Grandmother always got a chuckle from telling the story.

I remember best Grandmother’s delicious meals with baking powder biscuits and butter and potatoes fried in that big cast iron skillet that hung behind the stove. Yes, and there was Grandfather’s self-cured ham that was smoked just to his liking. About twice a week Grandmother would make bread that filled the kitchen with an aroma the French would like to have purchased and bottled for perfume. Grandfather loved to spread some of her homemade raspberry or elderberry jam on his bread with a thick slice of fresh churned butter -- biscuits would be made later from the buttermilk. Grandmother was a good cook and could make a good meal out of anything or leftovers. The little garden spot to the south of the house furnished all the vitals she needed for a quick meal which often included fresh creamed peas and new potatoes or Grandfather’s famous corn. All the neighbors got seed from his corn. It was a prize-blend that tasted like sweet honeycomb melted with rich homemade butter and a touch of salt. Grandmother always had a big kettle of corn on the back of the stove in case Grandfather wanted a snack. Her dried herbs such as sage and others added a spice taste that made the sausage taste out of this world.

Grandmother loved her flowers and had about every variety that was in town. If a new variety came into being, Grandmother had to get a start of it or when Mother’s Day came she received it as a present. On a typical day, Grandmother could be found down on her knees pulling out the crab grass and weeds in her flowers or pruning out the dead wood. When early spring came, all of her grandchildren had to have a bouquet of her pussy willows to take to school. Also when any neighbor was sick or there was a death, Grandmother was right there with a big bouquet of flowers.

To the north in the back of the house, Grandmother had a patch of prized raspberries that she irrigated once a week from the Fairview Irrigation Company. In the cool of the morning or late afternoon, she could be found picking raspberries to make jam for the winter. These were stored in her basement cellar where lined shelves of bottled goods could be found. The cousins loved to sneak her sugared crab apples and eat them out in back where Grandmother couldn’t see us, but she was wiser than we thought and knew what was going on all the time. Another storage place was the carrot pit back by the coal house. Grandfather had made a pit and placed carrots in it, then covered them with some sand and a few railroad ties to protect them from the elements. They sure tasted good as we rubbed them on our pants and crunched away like starved rabbits.

Great Grandfather Bills had a cane that he used while crossing the plains. Grandmother loaned the cane to her friend, Indian Jack, who lived at the poor house. He walked to and from Fairview every day using this cane. Uncle Lamar said he was 106 years old and still walking with the cane before he died. Bert and Afton Christensen, relatives of the family, were working at the poor farm when Indian Jack died. They brought the cane for Grandfather to use. Uncle Lamar’s daughter, Nelda, has the cane now.

In the winter we cousins loved to get together in the front room as Grandmother told us stories about the pictures in the big woven reed basket. Another favorite spot was the upstairs retreat. Grandmother was a bit worried that we might fall through the ceiling, as the upstairs was never finished. One day Reed and other grandchildren sneaked some of Grandmother’s potatoes, her cast iron skillet and hot plate upstairs. We had fried potatoes and all the time Grandmother kept complaining that someone was frying potatoes in the neighborhood, but couldn’t pin point where as her sinuses weren’t working just right. The next day she found the source and also her lost skillet upstairs as we didn’t clean up the mess. She also complained that her light bill would be going up. After that she kept closer watch on the grandchildren.

In Grandmother’s cellar was a bushel of delicious apples that she had saved up money from her egg money to purchase from the fall peddler. She didn’t have any apple trees and apples were a good commodity for hungry grandchildren when the cookies ran out. The only time she ever complained was when she found a bite taken out of an apple and the rest tossed away. “Apples are too expensive to waste,” she would say, “no more of this wasting.”

The old chicken coop served as a resource for Grandmother’s money. The granary was full of Grandfather’s harvest and raising chickens to get eggs was a good way of utilizing this produce. The chickens knew Grandmother, but they didn’t know the grandchildren. She always cautioned us to let her go in first, lest we disturb the hens and they fly around causing bloody eggs. At coop cleaning time she turned them out in the pasture while we cousins cleaned away. I remember itching for days after and sneezing continuously from the dust. Grandmother sprayed with Black Leaf Forty in her small hand pump, but it never seemed to do the job and get all the lice. The old two-seater outhouse right next to the chicken coop was a real monument. It stood there for quite awhile after the indoor plumbing was installed. The smell was just something even with the yearly splash of lime in the thing. It had to be passed to get to the chicken coop and one had to hold your nose until the coop door was opened.

After Grandfather’s death, the farm was sold and there was enough money to put in a new bathroom in the old wash room. I helped dig out the septic tank which was rather easy as we struck an old cellar that had been covered up. My father, Angus Stewart, put in the forms and drain pipes and cemented in the tank. Grandmother was as happy as a mother hen with new chicks. She let me be the first one to take a bath. She didn’t want a kitchen sink as she said she had become used to the old bucket and besides she needed the clean waste water to put in her two tea kettles on her new Majestic stove that she purchased from Dixon Taylor Russells at Provo. The old stove was taken to the ranch to cook on when Reed went out to plow and harvest the grain. Years later Uncle Ted visited the homestead only to find most of the stove missing, with only the hot water boiler and stove lids left which he took home as a keepsake.

When the threshing was through each day during the threshing season, Grandmother had a big dinner prepared for the threshers. In the little hut about 12' x 18', she cooked over the old Majestic stove all day to prepare for their dinner. Milk and water were stored in a dugout just north of the hut to keep it cool and it was probably here that the harvesters ate their diner in the shade of the hut on a makeshift table. This was old stuff to her as she did it many times on the dry farm.

When fall came, Uncle Ted loaded up the two horses with a creamery can tied to each of the horse’s sides and headed out for Bear Flat to pick berries. Uncle Archie’s herds fed off the area in the spring time and again later in the fall. There was a corral where the sheep were docked and stamped with lamp black for identification. It was a good spot for wild choke cherries and elderberries. There were two types of elderberries, red and purple. The red ones were much more tart and smaller, growing on short stalks about four feet tall. The purple ones were much bigger, hanging like grape clusters on taller stalks. The flats were named after the bears that loved to eat these berries when they were good and ripe in the fall. Uncle Archie told me that several bears had been killed by his herders in the area because they also loved sheep meat. When the cans were full, Ted returned home and Grandmother spent several days making jellies and jams. These were one of Grandfather’s favorite sweets and he loved to spread them thickly on Grandmother’s buttermilk hotcakes or baking powder biscuits. The bigger berries were just right for elderberry pies. I tried to persuade Uncle Ted to take me along on the venture, but all he would say was, “You’re too young and would only get lost or get in the way.” After much persistence, he told me stories about the bears and from then on I wanted no part of the venture.

During the winter months when it was too cold outside to dry clothes, Grandmother unfolded her clothes dryer in the front room and the house would be damp and smell of homemade soap. It wasn’t that soap was too expensive, but there was little money to purchase such luxuries. Drippings from any meats, fat from the butchering, pig rinds, or any type of fatty material was saved in a big drum. Each spring the big tub came off the wall and was placed over four big rocks under which a hot fire was kindled. All the fat was weighed out using a hand held spring scale and then dumped into the tub. An exact amount of lye per pound of fat was added to break down the fatty material. Water was added as needed and the mixture was brought to a boil. Constant stirring was required to keep an even flow of the mixture so as not to be burned. After several hours of laborious stirring it was enough or as Grandmother would say, “Just right.” The tub was then taken off the fire and allowed to cool and dry for several days. The mixture in the tub would often shrink to about half its size. The tub was then turned over on some old boards for further drying on the bottom side. A large cutting knife was used to cut the soap into desired sizes, which were then stored in the back room for future use.

Clothes were scrubbed well on an old scrubbing board using the soap, after which they were rinsed with an indigo blue in cold water, rung out on a hand ringer and hung up to dry. Sometimes the clothes made the skin a little itchy, but with hard work on a farm callouses soon formed and stopped the torment. Saturday night baths also consisted of using the soap. There was one tub of water for the whole family, until the water was too grey for further use. The oven door was opened on the stove to help us dry off on cold winter nights. If a person got too close, his back parts sometimes got a burn. The skin was usually a little reddish after such a bath, but Grandmother said this was a sure sign the skin was clean.

Water was a scarce item as the city didn’t have running water until the government-sponsored WPA works came into being. There was usually a well dug to serve a certain area and all the water must come from these wells or the irrigation ditch. The WPA was initiated about 1935 during the depression days. It was a system developed by President Roosevelt to help get money flowing again as people were losing their homes and property from lack of money. A worker would receive about two dollars a day doing public work and recreation projects. Grandmother rented out her bedroom to such a worker to get a little extra money to live on. Uncle Lamar and my father built a chimney for the cook stove to make the room rentable. Years later when Uncle Lamar married Aunt Ester they lived in this room while Uncle Lamar ran the farm. Water was piped in from springs in the mountains and stored in cisterns. Grandmother soon got her first taste of tap water from her own kitchen. A bucket was placed under the tap and any excess water was placed in the water tank at the end of the Majestic stove for future use.

As I mentioned above, Grandmother was a good cook and loved to please Grandfather. He didn’t have to say thanks, but she could always tell by the expression on his face after a meal if he was satisfied and that was all she needed. One morning she was up early as usual making baking powder biscuits, fried potatoes and bacon. She had the stove all fired up until you could hear the meat sizzling and crackling. The bacon wasn’t really thin but it had fried down to a window-like transparency. Grandfather always saved the meat to the last and ate it with his favorite horseradish. He said the taste stuck with him and lasted much longer that way. As he forked up a piece of bacon he looked at it puzzled-like and said with a sheepish grin, “What’s this, Effie? If I wanted to read a newspaper I could read it right through this piece, now how about frying me up a piece that I can taste and sink my teeth into?” That was all it took. Grandmother had been sweating over that hot stove all morning to prepare his meal.. This was more than she could take in recognition and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Jake,” she said, “if you are not satisfied with my fixins’ you can fry your own meals from now on.” Grandfather got the message and let well enough alone. He only commented, “Got animals to feed that’s hungry too. Thanks for the breakfast, Effie,” and out the back door he went. This was his way of making peace. I never heard a bad word said during their marriage. Grandmother was always by Grandfather’s side in everything.

Grandmother was always baking something, and that old cooking stove had a bellie like an alligator for using wood and coal. Lamar never let the wood pile get low. In the fall my father and Uncle Lamar hooked up Grandfather’s team to go after wood. Oak burned just as hot as coal and was free for the taking. Uncle Archie had a big patch of oak up on the last hill where the trees were at least six inches in diameter, which he gave permission to harvest for winter’s use. It was agreed that Grandmother got one load, my father one load and Uncle Marion (dad’s brother) one load. In return Uncle Marion sawed the wood with his Model T Ford that he had converted into a saw jigger, as he called it. Father cut the wood and Uncle Lamar delivered it to town. One load of coal from the local mines was all Grandfather could afford and this often took two or three days traveling to Carbon County to pick it up.

Grandmother was a good nurse and was often called as a midwife or to assist neighbors with other medical and sickness problems. She usually had a poultice to take out the infection or some herb to cure an ailment. She had all she could do, however, just to keep her family healthy, especially the time when Grandfather was hit on the side of the head with a railroad spike, but her nursing qualities soon had him back to his chores. Many a time she took care of the scratches, bruises and slivers of her grandchildren.

On one occasion she asked my father if he would take her back to the old homestead at “hilltop.” Sunday came and we all climbed in the back of the Model T Ford and headed out to the farm. Grandmother was all excited as she pointed out the homesteads of her neighbors that were now vacant shacks and sagebrush growing on the farm land. Each turn, bend and hill had a new story. When the one-roomed shack came into sight a big smile came on her face. Dad soon pulled up in front of the shack and Grandmother was full of stories to tell. The only flowers blooming up here now were cactuses and she wanted one to take home. After some searching, we found a big round one. We found an old piece of iron to act as a tool to dig it up. We cleared some dirt and I attempted to pull up the cactus, but it didn’t budge, so some more dirt was cleared and I gave it a second try. This time it came up sooner than I anticipated and backward I went sitting square on its neighbor. Grandmother took quick to her doctoring [and] as I bent over an old chair in the shack, she attempted to remove what spines she could. She used some old axle grease, left by Grandfather, to medicate and soften the spines not removed. The rest of the trip was not quite so comfortable, but Grandmother had her cactus that she wanted placed on her grave when she passed away. The next day she pulled out the rest of the spines with her tweezers and a coat of arnica salve. It felt a lot better after several days of her nursing. At her death Max and I dug up the cactus in her flower garden and placed it on her grave. It was still there until the city planted lawn and it was cast aside to grow again in the sagebrush.

During the depression there was a lot of bums or so called tramps that hitched a ride on the box cars of the railroad going from town to town, looking for work or a handout. They camped just a few blocks to the north of the Bushman home in some old haw trees by the lumber yard. It seemed that Grandmother’s place was a good hit for those people. It didn’t make much difference who came, she never let them go away hungry. There was always plenty of wood that needed chopping and small chores around the place to do. She was a friend to everyone. I remember one such character stopped in town and set up a furniture shop for a spell. Grandmother had bought a couch during the World War I that had no springs in it as all the steel was being used for defense. Grandmother had him put in some springs that he found in the junk yard and she was happy as a lark with his work and her new soft springy overstuffed set.

During World War II, Uncle Ted was called into the army and served overseas where he was later in a jeep accident and he was sent to the hospital. Aunt Helen stayed with Grandmother to help keep them both company. I never did see any disagreement between the two during Helen’s stay.

Mother went to work at Manti making parachutes during the war, so I lived with Grandmother for some time. She acted as both a father and mother to me during this time, helping me with all my school lessons especially math that she was so good at (it was my bad subject). She took me to all the church affairs, especially my priesthood banquets and outings. Father wasn’t active in the church and wanted no part of it. Grandmother got a job with the school lunch program as she was a good cook. It was ten cents for a meal which usually consisted of a bowl of soup and a margarine sandwich. The margarine was white and not colored. Some kids said it was lard and it often tasted like it, so most of the sandwiches went to waste. I liked Grandmother’s bread however and never tossed mine in the garbage can. It was nice to have a grandmother cook for me at lunch time. I felt it was a little special.

I remember the problem of the lane that went between Colmand Pritchet’s property and Grandmother’s place. As the story went, Grandfather and Colmand both decided to take part of their property and mutually share the use of the lane to get to the corral area and feeding lot. The project worked well mutually for many years until Colmand’s first wife left him and he married Rubbie. After Grandfather died and wasn’t around to take Rubbie’s guff, Grandmother had the task. Grandmother had a piece of property next to the chicken coop that needed feeding off so she gave dad consent to have our feeder calf graze there. Well when I let down the entrance gate to the lane and started to drive the calf down, Rubbie came running with a stick and struck at the calf to chase it back. She made such a commotion that Grandmother looked out of the window to see what was going on. She saw Rubbie swinging the stick and Grandmother mistook it for a swing at her grandchild. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back and out she came. Words flew like sparks from a crackling fire, but it wasn’t any use, Rubbie wouldn’t budge an inch. She claimed that the city survey gave her the right-of-way, but anyone looking down the fence could see that the lane was evenly divided because [of] the way the fence joined at the rear. That day we took the calf through the small gate around Grandmother’s flowers and into the pasture. I can still hear Grandmother say, “Stir up cow pie and you probably will get some of it on you.” She was a peacemaker and would let good enough be. She said the next owners would have to iron out the problem, as she wanted no more of it between good neighbors. It was years before Rubbie came over to Grandmother’s, and at Grandmother’s death I think Rubbie felt a little sheepish because she had not been a good neighbor all those years and had not made life a little more pleasant for Grandmother. The next owner of her property had the same problem and finally had to give in and move the stakes over to give more property to make another lane to the back yard. Thus to this day there are two lanes side by side, both used separately. Rubbie is dead now and I often wonder if there is a lane dividing friendship over there. I am sure Grandmother shares her lane with her neighbors in heaven.

Grandmother had an old song book. You could tell that it was well used by the turned up edges where she had wet them with her finger as she turned the pages. I still have the old book as a keepsake. Many a time I paid a visit to Grandmother’s to find her singing from that old song book or listening to her small radio – her favorite program being the Amos ‘n Andy Show. She also loved to play solitaire cards. The deck was well worn and lay on her round oak table just as she had left them before her death.

She wanted to get a Patriarchal Blessing after Grandfather died, which she had put off getting, so the following Sunday she made arrangements to get one and was so happy with it. I don’t remember the whole blessing, but I do remember that she was blessed as a peacemaker. Another part was that when she was ready to leave this world, the Lord would take her. Mother was taking care of her at her home and each of the family members were taking turns staying with her. One weekend Uncle Denzil gave her a blessing but when I came home she wanted me to give her one also. During the blessing I was prompted to say that the Lord loved her and when she came to the point that she could endure no more, the Lord would take her home. The next week she died. My mother recorded that she had been trying to get Grandmother to eat a bite to gain her strength, but she could hardly raise up enough to swallow her food. Mother had just left Grandmother’s bedside to wash the dishes when she heard a slight commotion in the bedroom. She stepped to the doorway just as she saw Grandmother lift up her head and hands as if to be speaking and greeting some unseen person, then she heard a crisp small voice speak out saying, “Effie, Effie you are all mine.” With this Grandmother closed her eyes and passed away. She was again with her beloved partner Jake Bushman for all eternity. She had had enough, that part of her Patriarchal Blessing was fulfilled.

Grandmother had a big black book on the history of Sanpete County. There was a section about the settlement of Indianola by the Spencers and others. Old Jim Indian and Great Grandfather Bills met together to help form a peace treaty between the whites and the Indians. Grandfather Bills had helped settle Indianola and was friends with the Indians. When war started between the whites and Indians, Great Grandfather Bills was warned by them to get out. Another family was not on such good terms with them and they were massacred with only enough parts found to fill a shoe box. Grandmother wrote that incident on the back page of her book. The book became lost and the history was never found at her death. She might have loaned the book to some neighbor, but as yet it has not been found.

Grandmother talked so much about the Bills’ farm up Hobble Creek Canyon that Uncle Ted told Grandmother he would take her up there some time. One year late in June or early July, Grandmother and Aunt Helen prepared a lunch of the usual things, namely sandwiches, homemade raisin-filled cookies and root beer. Uncle Ted had a two-seater Model A Ford sedan at the time when the war was over and cars were hard to get, as were good tires for the car. At any rate the outing was prepared and we started out early before the sun came up after Grandmother insisted on having a prayer to protect us. On the way up we passed some cherry orchards to which Grandmother wanted a few as the peddlers hadn’t come around yet this year. Uncle Ted climbed the fence with a small empty lard bucket and got the bucket half filled when “Farmer Brown” made his appearance. Back over the fence Uncle Ted climbed and up the road we sped in high gear. We all had a good laugh as we munched and shared the cherries. About half way up the canyon the old Ford started to heat up so Ted stopped by a small stream to cool her off. As Grandmother looked around, she thought she recognized the stream that as a young girl she and Aunt Ann had crossed to get to school. Sometimes they rode the horse bareback and had to ford the stream during spring runoff. At these times their clothes were covered with horse hair and the wet horse made them smell. Some of the kids made fun of them, but outside at the hitching stand was many a horse tied, so some of their classmates must have smelled just as bad.

Just then a farmer came by and Grandmother inquired about the old home. The farmer had not lived there too long and was not quite sure if the log home was still there, but he knew of the property and the new owners. Grandmother was satisfied so we decided to have our picnic by the stream. The root beer was placed in the stream to cool while we kids went wading to cool off. I wish I could remember some of the other stories Grandmother told that day as she related many events about her early days up Hobble Creek. Grandmother had one of Grandfather’s red bandana handkerchiefs that she dipped in the stream and wiped across her forehead. The trip had been tiresome, but one she had really wanted to take. On the way home she was even more wound up as she pointed out where the school house used to be and told us all about her school life. By the time we got to hill top the stories changed to those about the old farm. About the time we passed the old Barker farm one of the back tires went sailing across the field and the Model A came to an abrupt halt. Uncle Ted hadn’t sufficiently tightened the lug bolts at the last tire replacement. Grandmother’s prayer for safety had again saved the day.

At the age of about 25 I had just bought a new Ford sedan. My friend, Robert Sanders, and I wanted to give it a try and drive down to the Southern Utah Canyons. I asked Grandmother if she wanted to come along. It didn’t take a second asking and she said she would prepare the lunch. I told her that I had an ice chest and we could get some ice to keep the orangeade. Early Saturday morning she had a cardboard box full of her favorite goodies. She was so thrilled all the way as she had never been there before. She kept us busy with stories all the way – now forgotten. After we had toured the park she said, “Let’s pull over and eat some lunch. I am hungry.” We just sat there on an old log by the road and ate to our heart’s content the lunch of a quart can of pork and beans, some orangeade punch, tuna fish sandwiches and her favorite cookies. She was pleased with all the sights, but was ready to go to her home which she loved. In all her life, she hadn’t been very far from her home where she had lived with her husband and raised her family. It was just a little heaven on earth to her. When she got home I could see that she was all tuckered out, but she never ceased expressing thanks for the trip. It was a pleasure taking her and I hope she is pleased with this history I have written about her.

Elden L. Stewart

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