Lucille Frandsen (Stevens) Front Row second from the right side
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Monday, June 24, 2019
Princess ~~ Elizabeth Jacobson Story ~~ Saga of the Sanpitch, 1998
PRINCESS
Elizabeth J. Story Senior Third Place
Historical Essay
I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Utah, along with my four sisters. Our parents were Fame and Clarence Jacobson. My father was a farmer and a barn carpenter. He worked on the land in the summer and did carpentry work in the winter. My sisters and I helped with the farming work each summer when there was no school-work to do.
Along with cows and horses, my father owned other animals as well. I remember best his horse "Princess," the black mare he rode that was his pride and joy. He also used her as a work horse. She was a black beauty with a white star blaze on her forehead. She was spirited and gallant and somewhat treacherous. She would kick anything or anyone who came upon her suddenly. My sisters and I were never allowed to ride her. We had to ride the gentle horses.
The original owner said she was too spirited for him, but my father loved this young mare from the moment he saw her. He loved to ride her because everyone who saw her admired them. He was so very good to her. As children, we were warned never to get near her when alone. It was the thrill of my young life one day when I was lifted onto Princess in the saddle next to my father, and I smiled when my mother took a photo of us. It was a priceless moment in time for me.
At one point in my father's life when he was young, he worked for his brother-in-law, N.S. Larson, in his livery stable. His job was taking care of the horses and also driving the wagons and buggies.
My father understood and loved horses. He always treated them with kindness. As the story goes, my father's Hamiltonian breed horse started with a male colt that was given to a young stable worker in Manti. It was told that Brigham Young and his men came to visit Manti in the early days, and his buggy was pulled by a handsome pair of these Hamiltonian buggy horses. One of the mares had a half-grown colt which followed along. They said that the colt was lame when they reached Manti.
The horses were taken to the stable for the night to be cared for, and Brigham Young told the young man to care for the young colt. After resting for the night, the party came to get the team in the morning. The colt was still ailing, so Brigham Young said he must go on, but told the young man he could have the colt if he would care for him. That was of the Hamiltonian breed, a very fine male horse he would grow to be. The colt grew to be a fine black stallion, and he was used as a stud horse for his good bloodline. The offspring were all half work horses and half the Hamiltonian breed. The mare that my father loved was one of his later offspring, and she was sold to the friend of my father's in Mt. Pleasant who owned her before my father saw her and bought her. It was a love affair from the beginning for my father and this horse he named Princess.
As I was growing up in the 1920's, my sisters and I helped our father on the farm. I remember when we went to the meadow to get our horses to start the day hauling and cutting hay, father would see his horses and whistle to get their attention. As soon as Princess saw my father, she would raise her head, stop grazing, and come to us across the meadow. She would always answer father's call and come to him any time. He would talk softly to her as he put his hand on her head and rubbed down her neck. It was such an enjoyable time for me to see this absolute devotion of a man and his horse when they were near each other. This was a joy for me to see and to feel. Everyone was aware of how very proud my father was of this spirited black beauty. She was admired by everyone.
She was a beautiful horse. He teamed her up with a gentle sorrel mare named Molly, and this was his work team for trips to the coal mine each summer. They pulled the wagons and machines on the farm land. Later he bought two large bay Percheron breed work horses he named Chub and Dora to use as his team, and he retired Princess to be the extra horse and to be his riding horse. Years passed and my sisters and I married and had families, and we came back home each summer for a visit.
At one point, my father said he was selling the farm land and the animals, but he would keep the north pasture for Princess. He said he would never sell her, that they would never use his horse for horsehide coats or send her to the glue factory. Never, never. He took her to the north field pasture where each day he would drive his car out to see how she was. He would take water for her if the creek was dry.
One day he went out to the pasture and looked to the willows where she stood most of the time and she was down. He rushed to her side and found she was dead. She had died during the night. He stood by her and said, "Sometimes I thought you would be the death of me and that I would go first." It was morning and he went back to the car for his shovel and began to dig a grave and to bury her.
He had to hurry before the men who scanned the fields each day would see her. They were paid to pick up dead animals. They would also sell them to the hide company, so he had to work fast to get it done. He started digging right alongside her backbone so when the grave was opened he could take her legs and turn her into the grave and then cover her up with plenty of dirt so the coyotes couldn't dig her up. He began to dig, dig, and dig more and rest a bit for a drink of water.
My mother told us that when he didn't come home for lunch, she did not worry, but when dinnertime and then sundown came and he didn't return, she began to worry. Could it be that Princess has died and he is giving her a good burial? She thought to herself that he must be digging her a grave and it will be a big job to dig a hole big enough to bury a horse and that the sun had baked the earth and she was sure it would be very difficult to dig.
She knew that it was his right to bury his horse on his land, but he would have to be sure it was deep enough to contain the odor which would bring the coyotes to gather and cause trouble.
It was past sunset when my father returned home. He was hungry, tired, and sad. He told my mother he had buried the Princess and mother understood why. We all understood why. This spirited, beautiful Princess had been his pride and his joy and had gladdened many years of his life.
Elizabeth J. Story Senior Third Place
Historical Essay
I grew up in Mt. Pleasant, Utah, along with my four sisters. Our parents were Fame and Clarence Jacobson. My father was a farmer and a barn carpenter. He worked on the land in the summer and did carpentry work in the winter. My sisters and I helped with the farming work each summer when there was no school-work to do.
Along with cows and horses, my father owned other animals as well. I remember best his horse "Princess," the black mare he rode that was his pride and joy. He also used her as a work horse. She was a black beauty with a white star blaze on her forehead. She was spirited and gallant and somewhat treacherous. She would kick anything or anyone who came upon her suddenly. My sisters and I were never allowed to ride her. We had to ride the gentle horses.
The original owner said she was too spirited for him, but my father loved this young mare from the moment he saw her. He loved to ride her because everyone who saw her admired them. He was so very good to her. As children, we were warned never to get near her when alone. It was the thrill of my young life one day when I was lifted onto Princess in the saddle next to my father, and I smiled when my mother took a photo of us. It was a priceless moment in time for me.
At one point in my father's life when he was young, he worked for his brother-in-law, N.S. Larson, in his livery stable. His job was taking care of the horses and also driving the wagons and buggies.
My father understood and loved horses. He always treated them with kindness. As the story goes, my father's Hamiltonian breed horse started with a male colt that was given to a young stable worker in Manti. It was told that Brigham Young and his men came to visit Manti in the early days, and his buggy was pulled by a handsome pair of these Hamiltonian buggy horses. One of the mares had a half-grown colt which followed along. They said that the colt was lame when they reached Manti.
The horses were taken to the stable for the night to be cared for, and Brigham Young told the young man to care for the young colt. After resting for the night, the party came to get the team in the morning. The colt was still ailing, so Brigham Young said he must go on, but told the young man he could have the colt if he would care for him. That was of the Hamiltonian breed, a very fine male horse he would grow to be. The colt grew to be a fine black stallion, and he was used as a stud horse for his good bloodline. The offspring were all half work horses and half the Hamiltonian breed. The mare that my father loved was one of his later offspring, and she was sold to the friend of my father's in Mt. Pleasant who owned her before my father saw her and bought her. It was a love affair from the beginning for my father and this horse he named Princess.
As I was growing up in the 1920's, my sisters and I helped our father on the farm. I remember when we went to the meadow to get our horses to start the day hauling and cutting hay, father would see his horses and whistle to get their attention. As soon as Princess saw my father, she would raise her head, stop grazing, and come to us across the meadow. She would always answer father's call and come to him any time. He would talk softly to her as he put his hand on her head and rubbed down her neck. It was such an enjoyable time for me to see this absolute devotion of a man and his horse when they were near each other. This was a joy for me to see and to feel. Everyone was aware of how very proud my father was of this spirited black beauty. She was admired by everyone.
She was a beautiful horse. He teamed her up with a gentle sorrel mare named Molly, and this was his work team for trips to the coal mine each summer. They pulled the wagons and machines on the farm land. Later he bought two large bay Percheron breed work horses he named Chub and Dora to use as his team, and he retired Princess to be the extra horse and to be his riding horse. Years passed and my sisters and I married and had families, and we came back home each summer for a visit.
At one point, my father said he was selling the farm land and the animals, but he would keep the north pasture for Princess. He said he would never sell her, that they would never use his horse for horsehide coats or send her to the glue factory. Never, never. He took her to the north field pasture where each day he would drive his car out to see how she was. He would take water for her if the creek was dry.
One day he went out to the pasture and looked to the willows where she stood most of the time and she was down. He rushed to her side and found she was dead. She had died during the night. He stood by her and said, "Sometimes I thought you would be the death of me and that I would go first." It was morning and he went back to the car for his shovel and began to dig a grave and to bury her.
He had to hurry before the men who scanned the fields each day would see her. They were paid to pick up dead animals. They would also sell them to the hide company, so he had to work fast to get it done. He started digging right alongside her backbone so when the grave was opened he could take her legs and turn her into the grave and then cover her up with plenty of dirt so the coyotes couldn't dig her up. He began to dig, dig, and dig more and rest a bit for a drink of water.
My mother told us that when he didn't come home for lunch, she did not worry, but when dinnertime and then sundown came and he didn't return, she began to worry. Could it be that Princess has died and he is giving her a good burial? She thought to herself that he must be digging her a grave and it will be a big job to dig a hole big enough to bury a horse and that the sun had baked the earth and she was sure it would be very difficult to dig.
She knew that it was his right to bury his horse on his land, but he would have to be sure it was deep enough to contain the odor which would bring the coyotes to gather and cause trouble.
It was past sunset when my father returned home. He was hungry, tired, and sad. He told my mother he had buried the Princess and mother understood why. We all understood why. This spirited, beautiful Princess had been his pride and his joy and had gladdened many years of his life.
Sunday, June 23, 2019
ROCHESTER ROCK ART PANEL
A fun little day trip with the family is to the Rochester Panel over by Ferron in Emery County. We have taken our grandchildren there, usually before the Castle Dale Pageant to make it a fun day. There is a little hike down to the area where the panel is, but it is just enough to be called a hike but not too strenuous.
The following comes from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rochester_Rock_Art_Panel
The Rochester Rock Art Panel consists of a large number of petroglyphs of various ages. Some are prehistoric rock art, probably of Fremont culture origin. Others are probably modern, depicting horses, for example. And some are perhaps of very recent origin, most likely the work of white explorers, settlers, and/or tourists. There is a great deal of graffiti near the main panel that is obviously of fairly recent origin. The majority of the panel is covered with a dark desert varnish which contrasts nicely with the light sandstone that is exposed when the petroglyphs are pecked into the surface. There are several sections of very light stone in the center of the panel where it appears some of original stone was removed, probably by collectors who were after the figures inscribed there.
The panel is located 3 miles east of Emery, Utah but is accessed via a graded road coming from a turnoff to the north, near the town of Moore. To get to the panel drive to the turnoff between mile markers 16 and 17 on highway 10 between the towns of Emery and Ferron. Take the paved road heading east to Moore for about half a mile. Turn south onto a well-graded road and drive for about 4 miles, passing a radio tower on the way. From the parking lot an obvious hiking trail of about a half mile leads along the side of a small canyon to the panel.
In archaeology, rock art is human-made markings placed on natural stone; it is largely synonymous with parietal art. A global phenomenon, rock art is found in many culturally diverse regions of the world. It has been produced in many contexts throughout human history, although the majority of rock art that has been ethnographically recorded has been produced as a part of ritual. Such artworks are often divided into three forms: petroglyphs, which are carved into the rock surface, pictographs, which are painted onto the surface, and earth figures, formed on the ground. The oldest known rock art dates from the Upper Palaeolithic period, having been found in Europe, Australia, Asia and Africa. Archaeologists studying these artworks believe that they likely had magico-religious significance.
The archaeological sub-discipline of rock art studies first developed in the late-19th century among Francophone scholars studying the Upper Palaeolithic rock art found in the cave systems of Western Europe. Rock art continues to be of importance to indigenous peoples in various parts of the world, who view them as both sacred items and significant components of their cultural patrimony.[1] Such archaeological sites are also significant sources of cultural tourism, and have been utilised in popular culture for their aesthetic qualities.[2]
Overview of Rochester Panel
Saturday, June 22, 2019
Friday, June 21, 2019
Thursday, June 20, 2019
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
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