REMEMBERED YET ~~~ SAGA OF THE SANPITCH ~~~ VOLUME 27

 REMEMBERED YET

Lousie B. Johansen

Senior Division First Place Poem

An old Snow College yearbook can

Reveal so very much.

About one understanding student

With whom I keep in touch

He was the student body president

in 1933 and 34.

‘Was their representative man

who won honors galore.

He received letter in football

for being an effective end.

Music awards in the orchestra,

singing and band.

He sang as a soloist

and in quartet.

Some students may be forgotten,

But Gerald Ericksen is remembered yet.

Personal Acquaintance,

Snow College Year Book---1933-34

SAGA OF SANPETE COUNTY SETTLERS

Remelda Gibson Tooele, Utah First Place Poetry Professional Division

 Despite the disadvantages of ups and downs and ills, the dauntless pioneers built towns In Sanpete County‘s hills (they also built the mills). 

The farmers followed ox and plow to till the sage-brushed land. The women sewed the cloth they spun And scrubbed their clothes by hand (the washboard shed the sand). 

They churned the butter that was used upon the home-baked bread. They cooked the meals on black stoves that were constantly wood-fed (the coals were flaming-red) 

The water for the weekly bath was boiler-heated hot. The tub was small for a grown-up, But, large for tiny-tot (they learned to share a lot). 

Accompanying a mother‘s role In grievous, lengthened labor, The birth of babes was accompanied By midwife or neighbor. (the pain cut like a saber). 

Long-gone courageous pioneers, Immortalized by men, Through fearlessness and bravery Are a boon now as then (and future where and when). 

They walked the plains and pulled handcarts Or trekked a wagon‘s wake. They blazed, endured, and conquered For Sanpete County‘s sake! (their chain will never break!)

ANOTHER ONE FOR RIPLEY by Halbert S. Greaves ~~~Saga of the Sanpitch ~Volume 13

Photo added by Kathy

 

HOLD STILL !!! ~~~~ Courtesy of Ruth Scow ~~~ Saga of the Sanpitch 1983

One of the common questions we get from visitors to the Relic Home is: 

Why do they not smile?

Three answers we most commonly give:

"Their teeth were bad"

"Hard times"

"They were told to Hold Still"

 

 

The First Silver Christmas Tree (Saga of the Sanpitch)

 

THE FIRST SILVER CHRISTMAS TREE

Reva T. Jensen

Santa Maria, California

Senior Division

Honorable Mention #1 Short Story

Sunday evening stories were always a happy time when we sat around the pot-belly stove, watching the wood crackle and the flames fly up the chimney while Grandma, her bright eyes dancing with memories, told of the times of long ago.

When Grandma told a story she gave it secret sounds of beauty. Her long years of vital living added credence and authenticity to every word.

 The story I liked best was one about the first Silver Christmas tree.

In the eighteen hundreds, Christmas trees were all green no one had invented the spray can of white snow or silver-tinted paint to ornament Christmas decorations. So, Grandma's first silver tree was one to remember.

In the late fall, Grandpa always made his last trip up the rugged,winding, rocky road into Manti Canyon to cut firewood to prepare for the

long winter months ahead.

 

On this last trip, he always brought a beautiful pine tree with lush green branches that served as a Christmas tree for the family. Strings of popcorn and cranberries were handsome decorations, all made by the children of that home.

Nine children helped prepare the tree, while Grandma played the organ

and Grandpa sang "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas." 

Years come and go, and child

ren grow up and each in time leaves the home nest and seeks to find their own niche in life. The time came when not one was left in the big stone house

some had married and moved far away; some attending college too far away and too busy to get home for Christmas.

Still, Grandpa was making his trips to the canyon for the winter wood.

As he was about to leave early that brisk October morning, Grandma called,

"Papa, don't bother to bring a tree this year, not one of the children will

be home for Christmas; they are all too busy and some too far away."

Grandpa nodded his grey head in silence, picked up his lunch sack and was

gone.

Winds whipped the air and one could feel winter approaching. By midmorning

snow covered the valley and by late evening Grandpa had not returned

from the canyon.

Grandma milked the cows, fed the chickens and the lambs, gathered the

eggs, filled the woodbox, and kept the fire going in the old Stewart range.

The clock on the mantle above the sink struck eight, then nine, then ten.

A dozen times Grandma walked to the corral gate, listening for the heavy

sound of the horse's hoofs. Finally, at midnight there came a distant crunching of wheels on the icy snow. The neigh of old Nig was music to her ears.

They were home, and on top of all the logs, reaching far into the sky, was the most beautiful Christmas tree she had ever seen.

The next day Grandpa made a box for the trunk and together they moved it into the parlor. "Put this tree in the bay window, Papa, where Ethelinda

always wanted it." Then Grandma closed the parlor door.

October passed. A cold November slipped by, and in December a blanket

of snow almost buried the valley. Grandma and Grandpa kept close to the old Stewart range; the parlor door had never been opened since the day the tree with its green branches brushed the bay window.

But the parlor was not entirely empty. Who do you suppose found it delightful with no heat, no brooms, no dust mops, no heavy shoes treading on

the braided rug? 

Well, the spiders: the big ones, the lean ones, the little ones, mama spiders, papa spiders and all their children, their cousins, and their aunts, descending like an army on the great green Christmas tree.

Up and down they climbed, over and under each Tittle branch, leaving a silver web wherever spider legs traveled.

Christmas Eve the tree was covered with strands and strands of tiny

silver threads. The last trace of green was gone. It was truly a Christmas

tree of silver; yes, a Silver Christmas Tree!

A December moon with its cold, icy glare, picked up shining sparkles

from the frozen snow, reflecting a glow upon the silver tree standing in the

bay window. It was a magnificent picture.

The carolers stopped and stared and stared and sang louder and longer.

The neighbors passed and one by one sent the word around until the whole town came to see a silver tree in the Jensen Bay window. Ohing and ahing; "What has made it thus?"

 

The townfolks never knew, but the cold winter moon spreading its rays,

and the army of spiders in their silent ways--they knew.

~~~~~~

Source: Information taken from memories of family evenings at the home

of Julius and Annie Jensen. Based on a true incident.

(Reva T. Jensen, born August 30, 1900.)

 

History of Funk's Lake ~~~ Palisade State Park ~~~ Saga of the Sanpitch vol. 2

 HISTORY OF FUNK'S LAKE

"Palisade State Park"

Arlisha F. Larsen

Sterling, Utah

Third Honorable Mention

Essay

It was in 1873 when my grandfather Daniel Buckley Funk

purchased the lake east of Sterling City from the tribe of

Indians that lived there.

My grandfather lived in Manti at the time and walked to

the lake site each day. He took one quart of buttermilk for

his dinner and he would share this with the Indians. He

became very friendly with them and they called him the White

God.

At this time, the Indians were in possession of the land

where the lake is now. He asked the Indians if they would

like to sell the ground, and how much they would take. They

told him they didn't know what the value of it was, and he,

in return, told them he would give them $75.00 in cash. 1In

those days, $75.00 was a lot of money. He also told them

after they sold the land they would have to move, and this

they agreed to.

In those days tools were very scarce, and the lake took

shape with picks and shovels and one horse and scraper, and

with the help of his boys. Soon the time had come to £ill

the lake with water. This had to be done by forcing the

water out of six-mile creek up hill. The Indians knowing

what had to be done watched in amazement as the water flowed

to the lake.

Trees were planted around the lake cabins, bathing

facilities, a dance pavilion and a steam boat were all built.

This made a beautiful resort where the people could enjoy

themselves. Stands were set up and as high as thirty

gallons of home-made ice cream were sold daily.

Large crowds gathered for the pleasure of boating.

One day several young people from neighboring towns wanted

to take a boat out on the lake without my grandfather with

them. After convincing him they could sail the boat them-

selves, nine of them went. Ile warned them to be sure and

 not all crowd to one side of the boat as the wind was causing

a rough lake. After they were out for some time, the winds

increased causing large waves. ‘The young people got excited

and scared, crowded to one side causing the boat to tip over.

Eight of them drowned. Only one could swim. He was John

Hardin Whitlock from Ephraim. My grandfather Funk made large

wire hooks to snag their bodies. All eight were recovered.

This lake has been known as Funk's Lake for years.

Recently it has been made a State Park, now known as Palisade

State Boating Park.

 

Grandma and the Indian ~ Written by Mrs. John S. McAllister (Nellie)~~ Saga of the Sanpitch Vol. 2, 19470

 This is one of those tales handed down by word of mouth from generation to generation and treasured by a family as much for personal connection as anything else. It is based on an incident in my great-grandmother’s life and no doubt has gathered a little color and was altered to suit each storyteller’s imaginative interpretations. 

Grandma was a perky little soul and at eighty possessed plenty of that spirit that no amount of hardship had been able to subdue. It snapped from her eyes and her quick movements as she flitted about giving evidence that during the early years of her life she wouldn’t be the person whose path you’d want to cross. Fortunately, she possessed a fund of good judgment and right-down practical ability along with, what in those days, was a pretty good education for a mere girl. 

About 1850 her family joined the L.D.S. Church. Early missionaries became acquainted with her father and while he was not easily impressed with new ideas and fancies, an open mind, prayer, study, and the zeal of those bringing the message had their effect and another family consisting of parents and four children were ready to begin the long journey to the land of the mountains. Being a man of fairly substantial means, the journey west was accomplished with a minimum of trials. Undoubtedly their difficulties were much the same as most of the pioneers encountered—hardships, and discomfort, but there were no actual tragic experiences that some had. Grandma was at that time a young girl, attractive, not at all self-conscious, and probably somewhat pampered because she was the only girl in the family.

 Two older brothers and one younger had always more or less done her bidding.   The company with whom they traveled soon came to know something about this family, for Grandma had a knack with children, and stops of any length would find her the center of a group of youngsters and almost without being aware of what she was doing she would be telling stories and supervising activities that were of a constructive nature. This inherent ability to teach became more pronounced as they traveled along and by the time they were established in Utah, her reputation was established also. There is not much of romance in this narrative. Grandma married shortly after arriving in Salt Lake City, and before long left with Grandfather to settle in Sanpete Valley. 

Living in a small cabin in the village of North Bend (Fairview) was not all fun, but, because it was the life of the entire group and because simple pleasures, joys, and sorrows were shared by all, there was a bond of love and happiness that united and gave strength to all. Between routine duties, which were anything but light, rearing a family, and coping with the Indians, who at that time were more of a nuisance than a danger, she still managed to gather around her the entire group of children in the small settlement and so their schooling began and kept right along with the household tasks.

 Gathered in a large group in a small cabin, arithmetic, spelling, and reading became part of their daily life. Grandmother was not always an easy task mistress and often used “discipline” to obtain desired results. It did not take her long to sense that she had a real responsibility to those children. Because she was not afraid of responsibility and assumed it when necessary, others soon began to rely on her to solve other problems that arose, and added to her teaching, out of sheer necessity she became fairly skilled in the art of nursing.

 A few years after arriving at their new home, the shooting of an Indian by a white man in the southern part of the county caused a great deal of agitation, and before long, spurred on by their chief, the Indians became bolder and really became a worry to the white settlers. In spite of the fact that the Indians who had a settlement a few miles to the north, had been a problem due to petty stealing and because they would walk into a house when they felt like it, Grandma had been on good terms with them and on many occasions had helped them by binding up injuries or attempting to instruct them in what to do in some cases of illness.

 About the time that fresh difficulties arose, Grandma had won the confidence of one particular Indian because a rather bad infection had responded to her care. One afternoon he came to her door with a small Indian baby who seemed to be very ill. After working with the baby for the remainder of the afternoon, she tried to make the Father understand that there was little chance for the baby to recover. The Indian father stood stoically outside the cabin door and said nothing. Realizing that if the baby died there would not only be a sad loss, but there might also be a general reaction among the Indians and much of the good she had done in the past would be lost because of this reaction, she continued to do what she could, but late that evening the baby died.

 With nothing but a scowl and a grunt, the father took the tiny body and left. Grandma didn’t know how she stood in his estimation. The Indians became bolder and frequently very insolent as time went on and there were more and more skirmishes. Horses disappeared, food and grain were stolen and after one such occasion, there was real alarm due to rumors that the community was to be attacked by the Indians who had been reinforced by another tribe. Homes were barricaded, groups remained together for safety, and men were posted as guards while others worked on the farms. Grandma had never seen or heard from the Indian since the day the baby died, but one night, several weeks later, she heard a stealthy knock at her door. Grandfather was attending an emergency council meeting regarding the Indians.

 Although she was frightened when she heard the knock, she became completely alarmed when in response to her call, “Who’s there?” an Indian voice answered. She  got the gun and it was some time before she mustered up enough courage to ask what he wanted. Finally, she recognized the voice as that of the Indian baby’s father and he made her understand that he wanted to come in. Not knowing just what his intentions were, she questioned him further and decided that he was friendly. At least she thought it was just as well to act in that manner. He was able to convey to her that she was not to be alarmed if she heard noises during the night that he would be there to watch her home and that she and her family would be safe. She was not permitted to leave the house or send word to anyone. When Grandpa returned, he did not see or hear anything unusual. The next day it was learned there had been a band of Indians enter the town. Just what they had planned to do was not determined. There were several head of horses and cattle missing, but no one was injured and no shots were fired. My grandparent’s home was not bothered and none of their belongings were taken. Finally, the uprisings quieted down and as time went on peace was restored. There is nothing spectacular about this story and it is probably just a sample of what many of the pioneers went through. But today, those of us who live in the beauty of Sanpete Valley might give a second thought to our forefathers whose steadfast courage, loyalty, and love for mankind might well be emulated in our own lives to make a better world.

A TALE OF TWO CEMETERIES June B. Jensen ~~~Saga of the Sanpitch 1986

Second Place Personal Recollection

 A wiener roast at the Bench farm in the foothills east of Fairview was a special party of the Season. If we couldn't afford to buy wieners or marshmallows, no matter what; we could always roast potatoes or ears of corn. We noted the good crop of pinenuts on nearby pinyon trees. That would call for another trip to the hills the next weekend. That particular night was Halloween; and after we enjoyed the roasted food, the group decided to trek across town to visit the two cemeteries. It was a long dark walk, past the last houses of the Brady, Cox, and Sanderson families. We stepped carefully over the bridge across the Sanpitch River or "Crick," being sure to turn the right bend in the road past a hay field. 

A turn to the left would take us to the west hills' dry farms. The old or "lower" cemetery always seemed darker and colder. Maybe that was because of the 74 older graves with weather-beaten, lichen-covered, leaning headstones. In some places, the ground was sunken around the headstones, and in other places, there were gopher holes Foot markers for the graves are still used there. Veterans of the Blackhawk War lie at rest. 

There are also immigrants from other lands and third-, fourth-, and fifth-generation ancestors. In the old cemetery, the Anderson marker with a huge round ball on top, shining in the moonlight, was a temptation, so we dared one another to climb it. 

No visit to the lower cemetery was complete without our looking for the burial spot of Matt Helean's hand. 

A story is told that when his hand was severed in an accident, he just threw the hand away. He suffered such pain and agony in the stump, that he recovered the hand, gave it a decent burial with a marker, and his arm stopped hurting. 

The most famous site is the common grave of John Given, his wife Eliza, and four children; John, Jr., Mary, Anna, and Martha. That family had built a cabin with a willow shanty in Thistle Valley. Marauding Indians drove their cattle away and massacred the parents and youngsters. 

They ripped open feather ticks and covered the bodies with feathers. Several decades ago, some graves were lost in the northeast section of the old graveyard due to flooding by the Sanpitch River. That was one reason for the existence of the other cemetery where the final resting places there are high and dry. 

The "upper" or new cemetery is high on the west hills overlooking the valley. The sound of lonesome wind rolling tumbleweeds over the ground greeted us. 

There seemed to be more stars shining on that cold Halloween night. Buried in that burial place are numerous close relatives and soldiers from both World Wars. The seven tiny graves in a row on one family plot always brought a lump to my throat. How could folks stand to bury seven babies? We were young and carefree those many years ago and didn't realize the memories in the making, our priceless heritage, and the privilege it was to grow up in a quiet little town boasting two cemeteries. 

The Givins Family: On the grave marker and a plaque placed by Utah Veterans of the Blackhawk War, the name is spelled GIVINS. On a State Historical marker placed by DUP in Thistle Valley, the name is spelled GIVEN.

THE PROCTER & GAMBLE OF YESTER-YEAR ~~~Leo C. Larsen Mt. Pleasant, Utah ~~~Saga of the Sanpitch 1981, Senior Citizen Division, First Place Personal Recollection

 

As the correct amount of the "New & Improved" laundry detergent, manufactured by Procter & Gamble, was measured into the automatic washer, I asked myself, "I wonder how and when this giant corporation first began operation?" This opened the floodgate, and childhood memories of long ago came rushing to the present. I recalled the first commercial laundry soap I had seen. It was a sample box that Procter & Gamble had placed in the new electric washing machine that had been delivered to our home a quarter of a century ago. 

Then my mind flashed back to still earlier years when as a self-sustaining family, Mama made our own laundry soap. Soap-making at our house was usually a late spring, once-a-year operation. As a lad, it was my assignment to assist my brother in preparing for this important day. Early in the morning we took the blackened wash tub, hanging on a nail on the side of the granary, and set it on a steel tripod which Papa had fashioned out of a discarded steel wagon tire. This was merely a round iron rim a little smaller than the bottom of the tub. It had three legs about a foot in length which permitted a fire to be built under the tub to heat the contents.

 After this was all in place, a supply of fuel was needed. This we took from our year's supply of kindling that was neatly stacked in the woodshed. We placed it near at hand to be used when all else was in readiness. Mama then assembled the ingredients needed. This included all the unused lard, kitchen grease, and other animal fat that had accumulated during the winter. She carefully weighed it and then measured out the correct amount of water and other ingredients. Then she warned us, kids, to stand back. Apprehensively we watched as she opened the correct number of cans of Rex Lye and carefully poured them into the tub, constantly and gently stirring as she cautiously mixed her special recipe for homemade soap. Then the fuel was placed under the blackened tub and the fire was lighted. The contents of the tub must not fluctuate in temperature. It must not boil too vigorously, nor it must not be allowed to cool. Constant stirring and frequent skimming was necessary to assure that the end product was smooth, clear, and without foreign matter. It was a long, cautious process. 

After hours of careful attention, the solution had become the correct consistency, which was thick and "gooey," and Mama said with a sigh, "It's done! We'll let the fire die out, cover the tub, and let it stand overnight." The next morning the tub was removed from the tripod and turned upside down on a four-foot square board, and the solidified, but soft, contents were removed. This was cut into squares and set on a board in the sun to cure and dry. As a reward for helping Mama, she let us each autograph a bar of soap by scratching our names in one of the squares. To us, it was as great an honor to have our names "engraved" in a bar of Mama's homemade soap as to have had it chiseled in a slab of marble. When the soap was dry, it was boxed and stored ready for use on the weekly Saturday wash day. 

It was my assignment as a lad on that morning to grate a bar or two of this soap into a powder. To do this I used a gadget Papa had made which was a discarded rolling pin with a piece of galvanized tin nailed around it that had been punched full of holes with a large nail. This was placed on a frame with a hopper over it and a crank 40 attached to turn the cylinder. The soap was placed in the hopper; and as the soap came in contact with the sharp edges of the tin, and as the cylinder turned, the soap was grated into a powder similar to today's "New & Improved" detergent and was easily dissolved in hot water. 

These and many other recollections rushed through my mind as I stood watching this "New & Improved" detergent do its duty. I wondered if, in truth, it was any better, or even as good, as Mama's homemade soap of long ago. I wondered again, perchance did a "Johnny Procter's" mother and a "Billy Gamble's" mother pool their resources and expertise in soap-making and form a company to make soap for other people which later became known as Procter & Gamble? If Mama had done this, I wondered what the name of Mama's company would have been. But even so, I would emphatically say today that Mama was the "Procter & Gamble" of OUR FAMILY of yesteryear. 

Source: Personal recollection of the author.

Flour Sack Underwear ~~~

Taken from Saga of the Sanpitch 1998

In days gone by, before the disposable throwaway generation, we

saved everything and used it. The flour used to come in cloth flour sacks. We

saved them and used them to make all kinds of things. The flour companies

cooperated and made them in pleasing patterns so wearing apparel could be

made from them.

FLOUR SACK UNDERWEAR

‘When I was a kid without a care

My mamma made my underwear.

A Iot of us and the Ranch's poor pay

Who could afford lingerie?

Monograms, lace, and fancy stitches

Were not to be found on my flour sack britches

Just pantywaists that stood the test,

Gold Medal Flour across my chest.

But the pants were best of all

‘With a scene I still recall.

Two bright-colored turkeys,

The symbol for hard red wheat,

Right across my seat.

Stronger than a grizzly bear

‘That flour sack underwear.

"Use it up-—wear it out

Make it do or do without."

"Waste not, want not."

And 1 soon learned that

"A penny saved was a penny earned."

So-—I made flour sack dishtowels, curtains and

bedspreads wide

All of them are tougher than a Hippo's hide.

But the thing that was best beyond compare,

‘Was that homemade-flour sack underwear!

Contributed by Susy Nilsson

Written by her Mother 

~~~ History and Importance of the "Saga Of The Sanpitch"

 

THE STORY OF THE SAGA OF SANPITCH 

Ruth D. Scow Senior First Place Short Story The theme for his twenty-fifth volume of The Saga of the Sanpitch. "Silver Sunsets," seems aptly chosen. During these 24 years, this little annual magazine has accomplished much in telling many personal histories that have been written by Sanpete residents and former residents. Its winning entries have recorded over 2600 pages of our history that would never have been written—poems, essays, anecdotes and stories (all documented)~had it not been for the Saga. 

Also, it has recorded over 800 winning entries and reproduced over 550 precious, one-of-a-kind pictures of Sanpete County's past. In 1969, when Richard and Nadine Nibley formed the Sanpete Development Corporation to preserve the old Ephraim Coop building, it seemed logical that if citizens of Sanpete County generally were remembering their pioneer heritage, the possibilities of restoring the old pioneer building might be greater. So at the conclusion of a visit to the home of Ross and Linnie Findlay by Stake President Vernon L. Kunz and his counselor, R. Clair Anderson, Linnie asked if it might be a good idea to have a writing contest about the early settlement of these valleys. As he walked out and closed the door, President Anderson replied, "Fine, you be chairman." 

It was a challenge, and Linnie enlisted the help of Eleanor Madsen. President Kunz was often called on for guidance as Linnie and Eleanor visited each Stake Presidency and High Council in the county. Some suggested that the writing of this type of history should be left to the Daughters of the Pioneers, but the majority thought that contributions by the men might also add a good dimension. 

Ross Findlay printed the first issues of The Saga at Snow College, with full support and encouragement of the late President, Floyd Holm. Sanpete South Stake loaned the first money for prizes and to pay the typist, and everything else was volunteered. Dr. H.B. McQuarrie provided the first cover picture.  

When the contest was announced, there were just two or three weeks before the deadline for submitting entries for that first volume. Still, eleven entries were submitted, and judges were selected from former residents of Sanpete County. Nine entries were chosen for publication. 

With the sale of that first volume at cents per copy, the money was repaid to the Stake, and a small scholarship was presented to Snow College. There was a little money left for another year, thus the Saga of the Sanpitch was born. 

This volume is also a rare listing of 126 nicknames that were used to identify the people of Ephraim. Linnie and her husband Ross, with help from others, were the stabilizing leaders of the next four volumes (1969-1973). She said: When my husband and I came to Sanpete, we discovered here a quality that seemed to be unique in this area . . . a local pride mixed with a goodly concern for all people. A humility that can accomplish many things that would lie dormant in other places. It is a quality we have been trying to define because Utah and the west are full of pioneers, their descendants, and many stories, but there is something that makes anyone who has ever lived here proud of his heritage. 

Called by the Stake Presidency, Ruth C. Scow became the chairman of the next three volumes (1974- 1977). 

Volume 6 (1974) showed pictures taken from glass-plate negatives photographed by George Edward Anderson. Rell Francis, Springville photographer, and collector, donated copies made from these negatives. These copies showed the construction of the Manti Temple (1877-1888). Thirty-one winning entries were included in this volume. 

Volume 7 (1975) contained photos of all the early schoolhouses in Sanpete, with a great variety of winning entries (including a report card, handwritten, dated February 27, 1857). That year there were so many entries that in order to get the winning ones published the print of the Saga was reduced.

 The theme for Volume 8 (1976) was "Sanpete Celebrations." This year the format was enlarged to accommodate a Senior Division. Most every Sanpete town was represented. Included was a beautiful "Certificate of Marriage," which hung on a wall of a house in Chester. The lady of the house agreed to lend it. She lifted it off the wall; Max Call of Manti, took its picture, and it was returned it to its owner that night. Lillian H. Fox became the chairman of the Saga committee for the next five volumes, 9 to 13,(1977 to 1981). 

The pages of the Saga have always been held together by staples; thus several of these volumes had reduced-size print, but the stories they told of sacrifice, humility, dedication, caring, and sharing with neighbors, and their love of God were greatly shown. Among the photos reproduced were Sanpete's old church buildings. 

Volume 13 contains the story of Isaac Morley (Father Morley) who led the first settlers to this Sanpete Valley. This entry was written by his great-granddaughter Wilma M. Despain. Another entry, "Fairview Fort," was by Betty Ramsey. There were other exciting, worthwhile, and well-written entries. The volumes of the Saga now began to gain national recognition as an example of volunteer work that records a history of an area year after year. All entries cannot be published; however, a copy of all unused entries is filed and hopefully someday will appear in print. The knowledge they contain is priceless. 

The cover of Volume 14 (1982) has a line drawing of Sterling's first schoolhouse. The artist chairman was Pamela Jensen, Sterling Utah. She says, "This year's entries have been staggering, more than could be hoped for or expected . . . even the pictures were popping out of nowhere, much to my delight . . . I have   always enjoyed a good picture section." She then thanked all who had entered the writing contest and had taken the time to find pictures. 

Pamela continued as chairman for 1983, Volume 15. "It isn't often a person gets the opportunity to say thank you in print, but I can and do thank the Saga committee for hours of tireless work, the printers for keeping expenses down, the stores who give us donated space, and especially the writers who search through old documents, histories, and remember to put those stories down on paper in such a way as to make us live, see and feel the past." 

Volume 16, (1984) was copyrighted by Eleanor P. Madsen. Pamela had gone with her husband and family to live in Nevada. Eleanor wrote that now they were at a loss as to whether the Saga was to continue. Then they remembered the old saying, "Three heads are better than one," so the three previous chairmen, Eleanor, Lillian, and Ruth decided that the Saga must continue. By dividing 1983 responsibilities they felt they could do it. And again they did. 1983 was Sanpete's disastrous water year. Albert Antrei wrote an essay, "The Neverlasting Hills," published but not entered in the contest. 

In 1985 the Manti Temple was rededicated. Besides the winning entries of that year, the Saga also had a section telling the history of the Manti Temple plus many Temple pictures. Inside the cover was a picture of C.C.A. Christensen's famous painting that hangs in the Temple. This painting, done in the latter 1850s was of the Indian campground in the forefront and the bare gray hill that juts down into the valley in the background. 

Eleanor and her co-chairmen again divided their responsibilities. "We feel that the Saga is continuing to grow in popularity. We hope others will develop the love we have for this book so that it may continue to serve its purpose!" 

Volume 18 (1986) had for its cover a collection of varied dance programs and entertainments from Sanpete County. It included some 115 pages. Mardene Thayne was the designer. This year it was noted that "each additional volume of the Saga brings new writers and new readers." 

Historical groups and libraries, as well as individuals, look forward to each new addition. Even the elementary and middle schools in South and North Sanpete are using the Saga in their Utah history classes. Eleanor P. Madsen continued as chairman, with Ruth Scow and Lillian Fox as committee members. Linnie was the treasurer with Diana Major Spencer as editor; Rae Ann R. Tibbs was responsible for the typing. This was a happy book of dancing, entertainment, open-air dance halls, and orchestras, all of which brought to the reader memories of the past. This was the year the Saga related to the theme of "Dancing in Sanpete County." The winning entries were published in their various categories in the usual way. A section giving some additional information and pictures on dancing in our County concludes the volume of 138 pages, thus preserving the fast-disappearing stories of this Sanpete Valley. 

Volume 19 (1987) had the theme, "Memories of Snow College" in recognition of Snow's 100th anniversary. "Snow is very dear to the hearts of all who have received learning through its doors. It is basic to the economy of Sanpete County. Its cultural influence is felt near and far. The faculty and staff who have served there through the years, as well as those who now serve, have added great dimensions to the lives of its students." This volume contains 39 entries plus 19 Snow College pictures, including photos of the presidents of Snow. 

In 1988, Volume 20, the chairman found that more help was needed so three chairmen were selected: Lillian H. Fox, Eleanor P. Madsen, and Ruth C Scow. Linnie Findlay continued as treasurer and Diana Major Spencer was the editor. The script committee was Norma S. Barton and Martha Rae Olsen. The judges were from Ephraim. As usual, the entries were written about various Sanpete topics and came from Preston, Idaho;   Tacoma, Washington; Mesa Arizona; Mt. View and Santa Maria, California; and from Salt Lake City, Orem Monroe, West Valley, Sandy, and Richfield, Utah, plus entries from almost all of Sanpete's towns.

 "Campfire Tales" was the theme chosen for Volume 21 (1989). Larry Nielson did the cover, which depicted two Indians in their canoe. He also contributed a line drawing of a runaway on the mountain. Written entries were very interesting and challenging, making for worthwhile reading. That year winning entries numbered 42, with 31 photos, and 137 pages. All this was a great addition to Sanpete history and to the Saga volumes which had gone before. 

Volume 22 (1990) had as its theme "Prelude to Sanpete." Eleanor was again chairman with the same committee members. It told of the folks of many different cultures and countries, and also from the eastern United States, and their efforts to conquer the untamed wilderness. The cover painting was by Sandra Johnson, "First Winter in Manti."

 Volume 23, (1991), with the theme, "Cultural Arts" paid tribute to all the folks who have made our lives better, who have touched our lives with their words, their music, their paintings, their teaching, and their skills. The cover of this volume is a graphic reminder of our Cultural arts and blessings here in Sanpete. There were 41 winning entries and 51 pictures. 

Volume 24 (1992) had as its theme "From Peas to Parachutes and Hats to Harnesses." This volume was about ancestors who found much happiness in their work and learned that their lives were satisfying to them because they were creating industries and building businesses for future generations. They were learning, growing, building, and watching their dreams come true. The cover depicts the diversity of businesses that existed in the early days of Sanpete. The artist is Ned J. Ericksen, Moroni. 

This year, 1993, Volume 25 has the theme "Silver Sunsets," in commemoration of a quarter century of historical writing about Sanpete County. Many of its authors have died, but they have left their remembrances, their thinking, and their style of writing for all of us who love this county and its people. With the publication of this little annual magazine, history has been preserved in stories, anecdotes, historical essays, and rememberings, for those who come after. The pictures are also a kaleidoscope of Sanpete people, their thinking, doing, enjoyment—in fact their lives. 

The Saga of the Sanpitch has come full circle with a quarter century of publications. Linnie Findlay is again the chairman of Volume 25 of the Saga of the Sanpitch. Her work with the Saga spans 23 years. Appreciation is due to all the many contributors who have entered this contest over the years. They have done a great service to future generations. 

Having a complete set of these volumes makes for a collector's item. Long live the Saga of the Sanpitch!

THEY LOVED THE BIKUBEN ~~~ James Jacobs ~~~ Saga of the Sanpitch

 

SCOUTING ON THE SKYLINE ~~~ James L. Jacobs ~~~ Photos Included

 James L. Jacobs

1052 Darling Street

Ogden, Utah 84403

Senior Citizen Division

Second Place Historical Essay

Boy Scout camping trips were never better than those we Scouts

of Mt. Pleasant enjoyed in the mountains east of town in 1920 and

1922, The five-day trips each August were filled with high adven-

- ture and great scouting activities. Hiking, swimming, fishing,

nature study, games and sports, and practicing Scout lore in a

choice mountain setting were thrilling amd stimulsting.

The first trip included thirty-two Scouts of Troop 1 - the

North Ward boys - and a mumber of men officiating. Soren M.

Nielsen was scoutmaster and Ray Riley was his assistant. Daniel

Rasmussen of the stake presidency, Bishop H. C. Jacobs, and several

other men assisted with the trip.

Teans and wagons to haul us and our gear to canp were furnished

at no cost by Joseph Seely, Daniel Rasmussen and Amasa Scovil.

We rode in the wagons on our bedrolls and tents by way of North

Creek to our camp. We walked up all the steep hills to spare the

horses.

Canp was set up on Hog Flat - a rich mountain meadow surrounded

by a forest of spruce, fir and aspen trees. Tents were pitched

on the fringe of the forest. "Pine bough beds" were made of evergreen

tranches piled deep, with the tender tips up to meke spr'ngy

and fragrant mattresses. Clear spring water, abundant firewood,

colorful wildflowers, fresh mountain air and scenery, lush fordge

for horses, and stately trees made an ideal setting for the camp.

Cleveland Reservoir furnished excellent swimming, a five-mimite

walk away. Log seats were placed around a fireplace circle where

campfire programs were held. The camp was named “Camp Heber J.

- Grant® to honor the Church President.

A bugle call at six each morning summoned everyone to a flagraising

ceremony to start the day's activities. These were carefully

planned to promote scouting principles and provide enjoyment

to all who participated.

On Tuesday a hike was made to the top of Seely Mountain..

re we repeated the scout oath, law, and motto while we viewed

the beauties of the mountains. On Wednesday we visited the Larsen

coal mine and had scouting lessons on the mine dump. Everyone went

fishing on Thursday and caught speckled trout in the mountain streanms.

On Friday we returned home by way of Gooseberry ana Fairview Canyon.

o

Each day we studied hard to learn more about scouting and

qualify for advancement in the scouting program. Twenty-five of

the boys passed tests to make them tenderfoot scouts, and several

achieved second class rank.

Both Troop 1 and Troop 2 from the South Ward participated in

the 1922 trip. Many brought their fathers along, so there were 65

boys and men in the party. J. Seymour Jensen served as camp director,

Harold Oliverson was scoutmaster of Troop 1 With Evan Madsen

as assistant; Calvin Christensen was scoutmaster of Troop 2 with

Marvin Anderson as assistant. Frank Bohne was chief cook, Harry

Ericksen was butcher, and R. W. Weech was photographer, Additional

teams and wagons were furnished by Bruce Seely, Byron Hampshire and 9

Clair Jacobsen.

Some of the boys in the party, identified from a photograph

were; Nelson Aldrich, Ray Aldrich, Waldo Barton, Willie Barton,

Elvin Bills, Ray Bohne, Allie Christensen, Barl Christensen, Theodore

Christensen, Robert Ericksen, Boyd Hafen, Lynn Jensen, Ray

Jorgénsen, James Jacobs, Ralph Jacobsen, Kemnis Johansen, Floyd

Larson, Evan McArthur, Chesley Norman, Arley Munk, Nathan Nielson,

Edgar Olsen, Owen Olsen, Paul Rasmussen, Paul Reynolds, Theodore

Reynolds, William Reynolds, John Rosenberg, Carlton Seely, Ray

Seely, Theron Seely, Clayton Sorenson, Miles Sorenmson, Gordon Staker,

Charles Wall, Wendell Wall, Aristol White and Perry Wright.

We were organized into patrols of eight Scouts each. The

patrols competed with each other in learning scout lore, in passing

advancement tests, in games and sports, and in giving stunts at

the evening campfire programs. The patrols were named for animals

or birds. I was a member of the Beaver patrol, amd we worked like

the beavers we were to be the best patrol in camp.

To qualify for tenderfoot rank the Scouts had to know the

scout law; oath, sign, salute, motto, care and history of the U.S.

flag, and tle nine required knots. When one of the boys learned

to tie the difficult carrick band knot, he danced around the camp

chanting repeatedly, "I can tie the carrick band."

We also learned safety rules, first aid to the injured, signalling

by Morse code, semaphore and wigwag, how to use knife and

axe properly, to cook on a campfire, to read maps and to use a

compass. «

Forest Ranger Merrill Nielson, who was statloned at nearby

Lake Ranger Station, and Deputy Forest Supervisor Serrin Van Boskirk

took us on a nature hike and taught us to identify many native

plants. I still remember the beautiful columbine, bluebell, paintbrush,

elderberry, wild geraniun, niggerhead, and the names of the

trees in the forest. These men also showed us how to fight and

prevent forest fires, and to keep from getting lost in the woods.

Food never tasted so good. Cook Frank Bohne and his helpers

were experts at preparing camp meals. They served mutton we got

from a nearby sheep herd, beans, potatoes, and all the trimmings,

including gallons of dixie molasses we spread on bread for dessert.

We ate each meal like it was to be our last one.

Swinming in Cleveland reservoir was a special delight and we

21l swan every day in our birthday sults. Swimming races were held,

and some of the boys passed tests for advancement, including quali-

. fying for swimming merit badges.

There was one crisis. Senior Patrol Leader Theodore Christensen

supervised the boys while they were swimming. One of the swim-

- mers came running up to Theodore with tears streaming down his cheeks

and cried, “We can't find Paul anywhere. He must have drowned."

There was a frantic, fruitless search for the missing boy, then the

boys were ordered to dress and return to camp. There in his tent,

on his pine bough bed, Paul was found peacefully sleeping.

Foot-races were held daily on the smooth slope of the reservoir

just above the water level, which made an ideal racetrack. A

baseball game was played with the boys against their fathers, and

the boys won by a small margin. We leaped and rolled and tunbled

in a large sawdust pile which had been left by an old sawmill.

After supper each night everyone gathered around the campfire

for a program. There were stories and recitations, appropriate

talks by the leaders, and peppy stunts acted out by the patrols.

But the part T enjoyed most was the lusty singing of songs. We

sang patriotic songs, church hynns, and many of the lively songs

fron the Boy Scout Songbook. We always bellowed forth our favorite

ditty, which ran something like this:

 

A SIGHT TO BEHOLD ~~~ Elizabeth Jacobsen

 Elizabeth Jacobsen Story 

1513 Madison Avenue Cheyenne, Wyoming 82001

 Non-Professional Division Honorable Mention Anecdote

 In the early days before the turn of the century and up until 1903, the sheep owners and cattle owners of Sanpete could graze their flocks of sheep or their herds of cattle on the Wasatch Plateau east of Sanpete County absolutely free. Then in the winter, they would move the herds down from the mountain pastures to the East Desert -- or to the West Desert. 

The West Desert was Jericho where most of the Mt. Pleasant livestock were taken. The sheep were herded by young men from Mt. Pleasant, some of whose families owned the livestock.  

It was a pleasant job for a young man to spend his summer on the mountain and to have his own horse and sheep camp wagon, with a white canvas cover for his shelter and, inside, a stove and table and bed. Each herder had his sheep dogs to help him control the herd.

 In the morning there was much work to be done and also in the evening to get the herds bedded down for night time, but in the afternoon there was time for the herder to spend as he pleased while the sheep were resting in the shade of the trees. 

Some boys rode their horses, some rested and some spent hours foolishly carving names on the lovely white-barked Aspen trees with their pocket knives; but there was one boy from Mt. Pleasant who did not waste his time or talent. Each afternoon he got out his paints, brushes, and turpentine and painted lovely things -- birds, trees, horses, small animals, and his dogs and sheep and the lovely mountains and streams.  

Then at the end of the summer when it was time to bring the herds west to Mt. Pleasant and over to the West Desert, they all came with their sheep—camp wagons down to the valley. Some wagons and herders were not needed on the Desert. Many of the camps were left in Mt. Pleasant until needed again in the springtime of the next year. 

The young herder I most admire was the one who had painted lovely things on the entire space of his new white canvas wagon top. Both outside and, would you believe it, inside as well. It was truly a "Sight to Behold." 

This painted wagon was pulled into the Madsen ranch barnyard, and needless to say, the artist was very proud of his work., Every- one came from far and near to see it - it was very colorful and T, for one, wish I could have seen it. It should have been saved along with many other lovely things from the past that we have lost.

A Tale of Terror ~~~ Vic Frandsen

A Must Read

 A TALE OF TERROR 

Vic Frandsen Springville, Utah 

Non-Professional Senior Citizen Division Honorable Mention Poem  ~~~~

As I came down Manti canyon With a wagon load of wood I beheld in the road ahead A situation not good.

 

A big old diamond-back rattlesnake Was lying coiled up in the road He looked as if he were big enough To swallow me and the load. 

His noise was almost deafening; His tail swished a million an hour Popping off all the fence posts I never saw such tail-power. 

The frightened horses bolted With the rattler blocking the road I could not control the horses; I was losing half of the load. 

The snake struck at a horse But missed the horse as he swung. His fangs sank four inches deep into the wagon tongue.

 I quickly unhitched the horses While the rattler was still stuck there. His fangs dinning deeper and deeper Until they came through the air. 

From each of the fangs green venom Was spraying the air in a stream Filling the air with vile odors Worse than those in a nightmare dream.

 Thrashing while his fangs were stuck He was popping the wagon around Spilling parts of the load of wood Over an acre of ground. 

The snake was about as thick as my head And three times longer than me. I went to work with my double-bit axe And cut his head off at stroke three. 

I counted the rattlers on that snake  And there were a hundred and two, But several more developing And I watched them as they grew. 

Then I beheld the wagon tongue, Fast swelling and turning gray; To save the wagon I chopped off the tongue To keep spreading poison away. 

Then I surveyed the damage sustained; The wagon now had no tongue, The swishing tail have broken a spoke And the reach was badly sprung. 

I cut an oak tree and hewed a tongue; From a limb I fashioned a spoke, I hitched the horses, reloaded the wood; I was tired enough to croak. 

Now that was a true experience Its memory will never grow stale. Though it happened eighty years ago, I remember its every detail.

Chief Sanpitch and a Poem by Eleanor Peterson Madsen a Mt. Pleasant Native: SANPITCH RIVER

 

 

Father Morley Tells How Sanpete County Was Established ~~~ taken from "Saga of the Sanpitch 1979 " On To Manti by Leah B. Lyman

 “I have much to tell,” said Father Morley, and they all settled down to listen.

“I will make it brief and to the point,” he said. 

“On June 14, 1849, there rode into Salt Lake City a delegation of Ute Indians led by Chief Walker. At their request they were conducted to the office of President Young. With many grunts and motions the Mormon leader was made to understand that the Indians wanted some Mormons to come to Sanpitch Valley to teach the Indians how to build homes and till the soil. In August and exploration party of four men, with Chief Walker as guide, set forth. They found a beautiful valley through ran a creek of good water. They found the soil good and the surrounding mountains gave promise of plenty of timber both for fuel and for building. Within a few day they returned reporting that everything was favorable for the building of a community.”

 For a moment the speaker hesitated. So far he had only told of things in general, but when he spoke again it was in a reminiscent mood, for he was recounting experiences in which he had played a major part.

 “A company of some fifty families,” he continued, “was organized as soon as possible, with Seth Taft, Charles Shumway, and myself as commanders. We three were set apart to govern in Church Affairs, keep law and order, and advise in the things pertaining to the building of a new town. It was late in the fall when we left Salt Lake. We had to clear roads and build bridges as we went. We reached the chosen valley November 22, 1849, too late to make much preparation for the winter that was upon us. We camped near the creek in our wagon boxes and in a few days it began to snow. Soon it was more than three feet deep and still coming down. We were forced to seek the shelter of the south side of the hill that projected out into the valley. Some of the saints made dugouts in the hillside, while others used tents and wagon boxes for shelter.” 

The recounting of these events was painful, his voice choked and tears flowed down his cheeks.

 “I hope I never see another winter such as that,” he went on. “The men and boys shoveled snow daily, piling it into win rows to provide shelter for our horses and cattle, and also to uncover the dry grass for our starving animals. We even sharpened the horns of our cattle to make it possible for them to break through the crusted snow and find feed for themselves and also to help them to protect themselves from wild animals. “We lost many of our horses and cattle that winter, but it was not a total loss. We gave them to the starving Indians camping nearby and they greedily devoured them to ward off starvation. Even they had never seen snow so deep. It was as if the almighty God was testing our faith in every possible way. 

“Spring of 1850 arrived. With the warm weather came a new terror. Myriads of rattlesnakes came from crevices in the hill. Hissing their way into the homes of the saints, they wriggled and writhed about in their boxes, beds, cupboards, or anywhere they could get. With the aid of pine knot torches, we killed nearly five hundred of the reptiles in one night and soon had the country rid of this latest menace. The remarkable thing was that not a soul was bitten. In spite of everything we had endured we all came through the winter in good health.” 

There was a sigh of relief but no one made a comment. When the narrative was resumed it was in a lighter vein as if the crisis was past.

 “In August of that year President Young visited us and christened our town Manti, in honor of one of the notable cities told of in the book of Mormon. He also named the county, changing the name of Sanpitch to Sanpete. To make sure that we did not neglect the education of our children, he furnished part of the money for the erection of a school house. Jesse W. Fox was our first teacher. Our only method of making flour was with a huge coffee grinder which was passed from home to home. So President Young helped me to make possible the erection of a small grist mill in the canyon east of town.

“On the 9th day of September 1850, by an Act of Congress, Utah Territory was organized and Brigham Young was appointed Governor. Charles Shumway and myself represented Sanpete County in the

First Legislative Assembly in Salt Lake City. On the 5th of February 1851, an Act was passed incorporating the three towns now existing outside of Salt Lake City. Brownsville on the Weber River was incorporated under the name of Ogden. The town here in Utah Valley known as Fort Utah was incorporated under the name of Provo. Third was our own town of Manti. We were proud when we returned home. Soon the city of Manti was laid off, ten miles square, and divided into city lots. The settlers soon chose their lots and moved from the hillside to start homemaking in earnest.”

 Father Morley looked about as if trying to read their thoughts. “Well, that is about all there is to tell, only that there are plenty of city lots left. 

ANDREW PETER’S PROMISE ~~~ A sketch of the life of John Henry Owen Wilcox by Eleanor Peterson Madsen

 A sketch of the life of John Henry Owen Wilcox

ANDREW PETER’S PROMISE

Eleanor P. Madsen

 

 

  ANDREW PETER’S PROMISE 

The day was hot and sultry. Andrew Peter had been up since before daylight coaxing the small stream of water through the sparse alfalfa patch. “Golly, I’m tired! I must be getting’ old,” he said aloud, more to himself than to his nephew who was cutting some weeds out of a ditch nearby. The older man sat down on a clump of grass on the ditch bank to rest a few minutes before resuming his task. The younger man, whose name was also Peter, leaned on the shovel handle as he said, “Old? Why, you’ll outlast me twenty years. I’ll tell you what. If you go first, no matter where I am I’ll be to your funeral. If I go first, you gotta promise me you’ll come to mine no matter where it is.” “It’s a deal,” exclaimed Andrew Peter as he stretched out his arm to shake hands on the bargain. Many years passed. Peter left Sanpete County and moved across the mountain to Ferron, Emery County, where he lived for some time. One day in August 1914, Andrew Peter, who was then 82 years old, was out in his field north of Ephraim harvesting peas. Word was brought to him that his nephew Peter, had died and the funeral would be on Wednesday, just two days away. It was a busy time of year for farmers and that black cloud in the west looked like rain. Andrew Peter had given his word to be to the funeral of his namesake so the farming would have to wait. It rained most of the night but Andrew Peter had no intention of breaking his word. He arose early and said to his wife, “Martha, tell Ali and Minnie they can ride with us and Nels and Lilly can take Suzy with them. We’ll be better off taking the two cars of it’s going to rain. It was 9 a.m. before the Olsens with their two Model T”s were on their way. There was still a fine mist of rain in the air as they left Ephraim and drove south. All went well until the group reached Sumper’s Ranch in Salina Canyon. To their dismay the road leading through the railroad tunnel had been washed out by the heavy rain. “We better go back, Dad, “Ali suggested. “We’ll never get through this.” “We’re not going back!” exclaimed Andrew Peter. “I promised Pete I’d go to this funeral and that’s what we’re going to do.” The boys knew it was no use to try to persuade their father to turn around. They started making their way cautiously over the steep bank. Martha sat motionless hardly daring to breathe as one wheel slipped into a deep gulley made by the flood water. She wanted to get out and walk but knew that was impossible. Just as she thought they were on more sure ground again, the car sank into the sticky mud and stopped.

Andrew Peter climbed out of the car and looked around to see what could be done. As he kicked around in the mud with his toe, he shouted, “Look, here’s a piece of rail! Maybe we can pry the wheels loose with it.” Ali scoffed, “Why you can’t even lift one end of that rail let alone pry the wheels up with it.” “Well, I’m going to try. We’ve got to do something,” answered Andrew Peter. After several tries he found that he couldn’t lift the rail. On closer examination the elderly man found a piece that had broken off which he could use. With this to aid him and the boys and the other car helping to push they were out of the mud hole and on their way again. A second tunnel proved to be less hazardous. There was enough road not covered with mud and water that the cars could get through. Martha kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. Her fingers ached from clasping them together so tight. As they rounded each precarious curve, Martha wondered if the floor board under her feet would last to their destination. The Model T’s made it across the top of the mountain and down Red Creek. Here the boys were ready to turn back again. The complete road had been washed out and floods had piled mud and debris as much as eight feet high. Martha moaned, “What on earth can we do now?” “Now, Martha, don’t get excited.” Andrew Peter tried to reassure her. “We’ll go down in the creek bed.” At once he started driving his car in that direction. Ali said, “Dad, you can’t do that. We’ll never make it through. We can still go back.” Andrew Peter was determined. Martha and the boys knew it was no use to say any more. Martha shut her eyes, held her breath and prayed silently. She was numb all over. As the car lurched forward into a deep gully she wanted to scream but even her jaws were too rigid to move. She was sure they were going to roll down the hill. Somehow the car stayed upright and at last they were on level ground. The mud holes were almost a welcome relief to her. It was getting dark as they drove on to the road again. Martha could barely see the outline of the solid rock wall that towered 100 feet above them. The headlights were so mud-splattered that it was difficult to see where the road was. Martha’s prayers helped and the little party traveled for some time without incident. As they reached the division of the road that led to Emery and to the Pony Mines (the road that now leads to I-70) once more the first car mired in the swampy mud. Ali, peering through the blackness said, “I think the road is full of water.” Andrew Peter replies, “I’ll soon find out. I think it’s just mud.” He got out of the car and found himself wading in water up to his ankles. With the aid of the second car and more pushing and pulling, the men were able to get the cars moving slowly again through mud and water. It was 3 a.m. when the weary travelers reached the town of Emery and made their way to the home of Minnie’s brother, Lou Peterson. After waking the Petersons, they were treated to bowls of bread and milk and sank into bed and exhausted sleep. It was late in the forenoon before the Olsen’s were able to get on their way toward Ferron. Their problems were not over as they encountered roads that had been washed out. The mud and water caused some mechanical problems with their cars. Martha was afraid they would never reach Ferron in time for the funeral. Andrew Peter and the boys were so covered with mud they didn’t look very presentable to be going into a church, she thought. Martha rubbed some of the mud from the bottom of her own black skirt and pushed a stray lock of her gray hair from her face.

It was very quiet as the group stopped their cars by the small adobe church in Ferron. The hearse with its two white horses and several other cars and buggies were standing by the fence where the mud had been scraped away for the mourners to park. As she climbed out of the car, Martha lifted her eyes to a ray of light pushing its way through the clouds. Andrew Peter led the way as they entered the church. They could see the Bishop standing at the pulpit and the rest of the congregation standing. The funeral was over. As the Bishop saw the door open and the Olsen’s enter, he announced to the audience, “Here are the Kesko’s from Sanpete.” There was handshaking, embracing and words of welcome for Andrew Peter, Martha and the others. The body of Peter in the wooden casket was forgotten for a moment. Ali, Nels, and their families never forgot that when Andrew Peter made a promise, he kept it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleanor Kjar Madsen Ephraim, Utah 

Eleanor Dianna Peterson Kjar Madsen, 95, of Ephriam, Utah died July 26, 2008, at the Gunnison Valley Hospital. She was born April 19, 1913 in Mt. Pleasant, Utah the daughter of Mouritz and Mathilda Lund Peterson. She married Ronald Melroy Kjar September 1, 1934 in the Salt Lake Temple. He died August 12, 1946. She married Leslie L. Madsen July 31, 1964 in the Manti temple. He died August 6, 1984. Eleanor graduated from North Sanpete High School and from Snow College. She taught elementary school in Manti and was Deputy Recorder in the Sanpete County Courthouse for 25 years. She served in all auxiliary organizations of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-Saints in ward and stake capacities. She and her husband, Leslie, served an LDS Church mission in Sacramento, California in 1976-1977. She served in the Family History Mission in Salt Lake City in 1992-1993. She served as an Ordinance Worker in the Manti Temple for 12 years. She was an avid genealogist and served in the Family History Libraries in Manti and Ephraim. She had just completed the genealogy for four family lines as far back as records are available. She was a vice president for the Ladies Guild for the Mormon Miracle Pageant. She was President of the Sanpete PTA, and did tutoring at the Ephraim Elementary School up to age 93. Next to her love for her family was her love of writing. She served as Editor and committee member of the "Saga of the Sanpitch" during all the 30 years of its publication. She was Co-editor of the "Golden Quarter," a 25 year history of Ephraim; and, with her brother Albert C. Peterson, a history of the "Fredrick and Ane M. Peterson family." She also authored other family histories and a volume of poetry. She served as President of the Utah Federation of the Sanpete Poetry Chapter for several years. She wrote local items of news for the Messenger-Enterprise for 42 years. Her 34 grandchildren and 81 great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild were the recipients of many of her crocheted afghans and quilts. She was also steadfast in her affection for the Madsen family of three children, six grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren. She is survived by two sons: R. Bruce (Judy) Kjar, Woods Cross; R. Michael (Janet) Kjar, Salt Lake; one daughter: Janet (R Dee) Hughes, Clinton; two daughters-in-law: Marcia Kjar, Gunnison; Marianne Kjar, Provo; two sisters: Dorothy Blackham, Judith Sperry; one brother: David L. Peterson She was preceded in death by her parents; her two husbands; two sons, David Kjar and Richard Kjar; two brothers, Lyman Peterson and Albert C. Peterson; a sister, Lucile Blackham; three grandchildren; one great-grandchild.