The Sealing of Joseph Wiley Paine Nielson and Martha Deloa Hansen
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
Sealing session held in Logan, Cache, Utah at the Logan Temple at about 10 AM, July 15, 1989
Clay Nielson, present president of the Nielson Family Organization called on Enos W. Nielson to open the session with prayer. Enos expressed gratitude for the Gospel and the priesthood that helps us understand the saving principles of the Gospel and gives us authority to perform the saving ordinances. He expressed the satisfaction and fulfillment of coming together this day to be sealed as a family and prayed for the Spirit of the Lord to attend the proceedings and bless Brother Ballam.
Brother O.L. Ballam was the temple officiator at this sealing session. He was sweet and humble in his remarks and careful and exact in directing the proceedings and reading the names. He congratulated the assembled group, and expressed belief that those departed loved ones, interested in what was taking place, could be present. He advised the group to make a record of the events of the day, recording their feelings as well as the facts.
In an endowment session immediately previous to this sealing session, Una Deloa Nielson Ossola received her endowments and John Charles Ossola received his endowment with Stanley Joseph Nielson as proxy. Stanley Nielson had acted as proxy the day before, July 14, 1989, in the baptism of John Charles Ossola.
Brother Ballam then performed the sealing ordinances.
Loren N. Oviatt acted as proxy for Joseph Wiley Payne Nielson and Erma Anderson Nielson acted as proxy for Martha Deloa Hansen, in the sealing of husband and wife.
They then took position at either end of the altar, and the eight children, all living, took position on either side of the altar, the eldest on the right hand of the father, the second on the left hand, then alternating according to age to the youngest, on the left hand of the mother. These children, Enos W. Nielson, Lorraine Wheeler, Donald Jay Nielson, Una Deloa Nielson Ossola, Teddy H. Nielson, Desie Nielson Oviatt, Stanley Joseph Nielson, and Clay Allen Nielson, were then sealed to their parents.
Following this ceremony, a sealing in marriage was performed for John Charles Ossola, husband, Teddy H. Nielson acting as proxy, and Una Deloa Nielson, as wife.
Those in attendance were---Enos Nielson, Wanda Nielson, Beth Sorenson, Elaine Coleman, Ann Gibbon, Lorraine Wheeler, Donald Jay Nielson, Irene Nielson, Kathleen Nielson, Una Deloa Ossola, Teddy H. Nielson, Irma Nielson, Susan Law, Allan Law, Becky Clawson, Gordon Clawson, Desie Oviatt, Lauren Oviatt, Kent Oviatt, Christine Oviatt, Jerry Oviatt, Charlene Oviatt, Stanley Nielson, Dorlynn Nielson, Clay Nielson, Elaine Nielson, Douglas Nielson, Susan Nielson, Scott Nielson, Carolee Nielson, Robert Nielson, Kathleen M. Nielson, Mitchell Nielson, Jennifer Nielson, Paul Nielson, and Jachie Nielson
Thanks to Wanda all of this information was available, some of us didn't know which ones of our own families were there.
life sketch of Martha Deloa Hansen
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
Life Sketch of Martha Deloa Hansen Nielson
I was born at Emery, Emery County, Utah on March 8, 1891. My parents were Peter Hansen Jr. (Son of Peter Hansen and Beata Borjisson) and Martha Jane Stevens (daughter of Amos Stevens and Elmira Percilla Behunin.)
I married Joseph Wiley Nielson on December 23, 1911. We have eight children: Enos Wiley, Lorraine Fontella, Donald Jay, Una Deloa, Teddy H., Desie Jane, Stanley Joseph, and Clay Allen.
I lived in Emery until I was (25) twenty five years old. We moved to San Juan CO, arriving in Monticello on April 11, 1915. There was a company consisting of my father's family and my father- in-laws family that travelled together, pioneer style. There were several wagons with stock and chicks in the company. Enos was three years old and Lorraine was eight months old at the time.
We lived for a year at Carlyle, a ranch about five miles north of Montecello. My husband farmed for Henry Dalton & I cooked for the farm-hands. We lived in the house that still stands on the ranch.
The next spring we homesteaded 320 acres about 20 miles east of Montecello. Jay Una, Ted, Desie & Stanley were born in our home on this ranch or at Lockerby as the surrounding settlement came to be called. There were few families there when we come , but within a few years more families moved in and a post-office and school house were built, about 3/4 of a mile east of our house.
We spent one winter in Kennilworth, Utah one at Sego, Utah and one at Delta, Colo. for the purpose of employment, returning in the spring to farm our land.
Clay was born in Moab in 1933. Shortly after that, we spent most of our winters in Moab and the children attended school there. We bought a C.C.C. house from the government for $125.00 and moved it to a lot in Moab. This we remolded and made our permanent home, while living here worked in the hospital (which was on the same block) for thirteen years. I also did custom washing and ironing and took boarders. I did washing and ironing for the personnel of several movies Sets, filming productions in Moab.
After I was divorced in 1952, all of my children being married, I moved to an apartment in Salt Lake Temple for three years. Part of this time, by request of Temple President, Elroy Christiansen, I aided with the proxy work in the washing and anointing rooms.
After Clay, Ted & Enos had moved to Smithfeild, I moved to Smithfeild too, and went to the Logan temple for three years. One winter I lived with and cared for Mrs. Emily Richards, an elderly lady who lived across the street from the Logan Temple. While living there, I did endowment work in the Logan, Temple and also in Smithfeild in an apartment in Clay's house, 111 1/2 South 3rd east, until my health no longer permitted. I had to go to the doctor. I had an enlarged heart. That stopped my temple work.
In the summer of 1966, I moved to Huntington Utah, and lived there a while. I enjoyed living around Desie & Loran & family. Then I moved back to Smithfeild in the summer of 1967. I rented a house, 155 North 1st East, just two doors south of Smithfeild 4th ward chapel & Stake House.
I started school on Emery in a building that served as church, school and dance hall. Our desks were wooden slabs standing on legs. My first teacher was Casper Christensen. A new building was built for school when I was transferred from the 6th to the 8th grade, missing the seventh. I graduated from the 7th grade the next year. I went to the academy in Castle Dale for about three months. Then I went back home & started working, so my education didn't get very far, but I was always happy. For about a year & a half I worked for John Lewis, cooking for his cow-hands. I worked as household help for many people: Til Lewis, Olson Hotel, Anna Williams and others. I also worked for about a year in a confectionery.
I was baptized at eight years of age in the canal in Emery on 21 Aug 1899. I attended primary, Sunday school, and MIA and was a regular attender at Sacrament meeting. I often sang solos, also in groups. My cousin Beata Keel, and I often sang together. She would play the guitar. I also sang in the ward choir and with the singing Mothers in Moab.
I was in community theatrics from my ninth year on. My first stage experience was in a play in which I took the part of a boy. My
White hair dyed black with soot. My father took the part of my father in the play. It was called The Old Virginia Hermit. Alice Foote Johnnson & I was in about every play produced in Emery for a few years, Issac Allred, my husbands uncle, was in most of the plays, too. We take the plays, to Castle Dale, Orangevale and Ferron, riding in the big white top buggy. Lew Jorgensen generally drove the horses. We'd wrap up in quilts to protect ourselves from the snow and wind, we'd produce about 3, three-act plays every winter. Antoine Jensen & I took the comedian parts. I was always making people laugh whether I was in a play or not. They giggled at everything I said. All I really had to do was walk through a door. I was invited to every party anybody had.
After we moved to Lockerby I was set apart by Oscar McConkie to be secretary and chorister of the Sunday School.
In Moab, I was president of the Daughters Pioneers for two years. I was a counselor in Relief Society for 35 years. I filled a two year stake mission while living in Moab.
I received my endowments in the Salt Lake temple on 23 Nov. 1948. I did washing and anointing proxy work for three years and endowments for about 3,000 women. I have also done baptisms and ceilings for the dead.
As a child, I had every communicable disease, including small pox. I have had a goiter and a gall bladder operation. All my babies were brought into the world by my mother-in-law. She was aided by a physician for the first two, but after we moved to Lockerby, she worked as mid-wife without the aid of a doctor.
I had all eight the hard way No hospital, only the presence of the doctor or midwife.
I can remember events since I was about 2 years old. Dad built a log house one mile from town Will was the baby. Mother saw a bob cat after her chickens. She shut the door & put the table against it to keep me in while she went to find the cat. But I got outside. When dad came home, he went and shot the cat and tanned the hide. Mother made me a coat, and made collar and cuffs of the fur.
I remember when we moved to town. Dad built a brick house. He made the adobes & burned them to brick. The house is still standing in Emery. Ed Anderson lives in it. When we moved in Dad herded sheep. He had brought me a lamb. It sucked my fingers and followed
Me everywhere I went. I got up one morning and went to Sunday school in my night gown, and the lamb a hold of my fingers.
When I was older, I can remember my first day at school. I learned to spell cat. I ran all the way home spelling "c a t, c a t, c a t." Then dad bought me 2 white rabbits with pink eyes. Leonard Broderock wanted to buy them, but I cried & wouldn't sell them. One night when I came home, they were both lying on the step dead.
After we moved to town, every time I'd get a bump, I'd hold my breath or faint.
I remember when I had to stand on a chair or have the dish pan on a chair to wash dishes.
Grandma had not completed her life-history when she passed away. She had written the above memories of her early childhood in her last few weeks and would have written more. We regret that we don't have an expression of her testimony of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ for hers was a beautiful testimony. She seemed to have a gift for believing. The spirit world was very real to her. She went constantly to her Father in Heaven in prayer and received comfort and strength for her trails. Her life bears record to us of her testimony. She was fearless in championing what she felt to be right. She was by nature optimistic & cheerful. She was loving and helpful, kind & forgiving. Grandma had not felt well for several years before her death, but not being bedfast herself. She kept her house & her person clean and neat. It was always a pleasure to go into her home or have the honor of her presence in our homes. She read widely, watched television and kept a living interest in people, science & current events & in the activities of her posterity. It was of special satisfaction to her when any of her children or grandchildren entered into the everlasting covenant of marriage in the temple of the Lord. She crocheted an edging on a pair of pillow cases for the Relief Society, completing them just a few weeks before her death. She made a trip with Ted & Erma to Lorraine's home in Kuna, Idaho in June.
Remembering Joseph and Deloa Nielson part one.
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
REMEMBRANCES OF JOSEPH AND DELOA NIELSON BY THEIR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN NIELSON REUNION - JULY 22-24, 1988 HUNTINGTON CANYON, UTAH (Part one)
CLAY NIELSON:... neck-breaking speed, and he was trying every way he could to keep that old Model T on the road. (I was telling you about moving back and forth from Moab to Monticello. ) One year we lived in a house by Summervilles, and that's all I can tell you. It was about a block
from the school in Salt Shaker's [sp?] home next to Summerville's.
I'll tell you something funny about that. I guess there were two bedrooms. Stanley and I slept on one bed, and I don't remember where Desie was, but Ted — I'm not sure that Ted was living with us all the time, but he came home one night — he slept in the other bed, and about daylight--boy, I had to go to the bathroom bad — and there was a screen door in the bedroom. So I slipped over to the screen door to go to the bathroom, and the door opened next to Ted, opened back against his bed. I was about halfway through (you know how you can't stop), when Ted pushed that door shut and hollered, "Criminy, the whole town will see you!" There I was, pushed against that screen door with the other door pushed shut against me! He probably doesn't remember it because he probably wasn't even awake.
While we lived in that house, I remember Dad raised carrots. I think he always raised a patch of carrots, every year — carrots to feed to the cows and to feed to the kids, and everything — carrots. And I remember how we ate carrots that winter when we lived in that house, and how many we ate.
JAY NIELSON: I remember a little later on. Dad was probably the poorest driver that ever was. We had that old Model T Ford, and it had the jumbo transmission in it. That thing would slip out of gear, and Dad would get so excited that he'd start jerking on that thing, and he stomp on everything he could, but when it was out of gear you were wild loose--there were no brakes. And down those old hills we'd go rattling, and there was nothing you could do. By the time we'd get to the bottom of the hill, why he'd have the thing jerked into two gears or clear out of the thing, or something, and we'd have to stop and take the top off the transmission and get the gears lined up and put it back together, and then we'd go tootling on down the road.
But he had an awful time with that old Model T Ford truck — it was the first outfit that I ever drove. We were coming back from Monticello, and Dad said, "Well, it's about time you learned how to drive. You slide over here and drive this thing." So I slid over there and drove it, and you know, it wasn't half as hard to drive as he made believe it was, and I'd never driven anything before — but I could still drive it better than he could! And then he bought that Model A Ford, and he wrecked that every time he'd turn around, and finally, he was going to Thompson, I think--out to Una's — No! He was coming up to Smithfield. And there used to be a railroad crossing that you had to go across out there on the desert. The train was coming, and Dad was trying to figure out what he was supposed to do to stop, and he couldn't figure out how to stop that thing. He almost ran into the side of the train before he could get the cockeyed thing stopped, and he turned around it took it back home and said, "That's the last time I'll ever drive." And I think it was. He sold the old Ford, and I don't think he ever drove again after that.
CLAY: When Dad and I used to go back and forth to Monticello from
Lockerby, about two or three times a week, Dad always drove on the left hand side of the road — except if he saw a car coming way down there--he'd get over. And I remember so often Dad would be going down the left side of the road, gawking around, looking at everything, and here these cars would zoom by him on the other side. Scared me to death! Dad, he'd just go driving on. Once in a while he'd get over on the right side of the road, but he was one poor driver.
JAY: Dad and Buster Eagleburger were both pretty famous for getting a
little too much beer. Once, when he'd got a little bit too much, he was going down the street there in Monticello, and he met Buster Eagleburger coming in from another intersection, and that was about the end of the old Model A Ford. He piled it up pretty bad in that wreck. He seemed to always get out of it without getting hurt, but he had an awful time driving.
LORRAINE WHEELER: One night we had gone to a dance. We had that old Rio — remember that? We always had to shut off the gas or it leaked all out, so Dad got out and struck a match, and BOOM! Up went the whole top of the old Rio. It was right against the side of the old granery there, and it blew that lid clear off. All of us were there. Mom was bawling.
Well, Dad had to go to all the dances because he was the bouncer that threw out anybody that drank more than he did. That's right! Then, when all the old people would go home, then they'd bring the gallon of whiskey in there and set it in the middle of the floor of the school building, and then you could just take a glass — we had some gay old times!
JAY: Let me tell you how Dad got that old Rio car. We had a pretty
good team of horses, and of course our living was derived from farming. We had this one team of horses, old Jack and Molly. Dad decided he'd go to work out at horse camp at the sawmill one winter, and he loaded his wagon up, with those two old horses, and went to horse camp to work that winter. And he came back the next spring driving that old Rio Speed Wagon. He had traded our team of horses, our wagon, our harnesses, everything that we could possibly farm with, for that old Rio Speed Wagon. And he drove it three or four times — he drove it home, and then he drove it to a couple of dances, and finally burned it up. It didn't last him very long. So we had then to dig up another team of horses.
I'd got a bunch of wild horses in the well corral up in the old well. I went to the house and got Dad, and he came up and caught that old sorrell, the one we called Old Sorrell — he was a wild horse that was caught off the range out there; there were about 50 head of wild horses in that crew. Enos was guite a cowboy, and he and Joe Wheeler and all their buddies had been cowboying that bunch of wild horses for months, and they couldn't catch them. But they were up on that old Hassen field up there, where the cows were, and I had to go get the cows. So the cows started down the road, and the horses started down the road behind the cows, and I walked along behind the horses. This was a herd of wild horses! They walked right down, into the well fence — they were all thirsty that time — and I went and. shut the gate and went to the house and told Dad I had that bunch of wild horses penned up there in the well corral. So we got a rope and came up there and caught this big old sorrell horse, he was a stallion at that time, and tied him to the fence and turned the rest of them loose. So we broke him. And then Noey Huffman had an old horse, he was a good horse, old Dick, but Noey wasn't too good with horses, so he couldn't handle this old boy and he wanted Dad to take him. He was about six years old, and he'd never been broken, so Dad took him and broke him, and that way we had another team of horses. I don't know where he got hold of the harnesses; probably borrowed them from Grandpa or somebody. Anyway, we got those two horses, and then he finally gave Noey $50 for old Dick, and that's where we got another team of horses.
CLAY: When I was growing up, I just loved chickens, and I wanted to be
a cowboy. I remember once lassoing the hind leg of a heifer in the corral. You know, when you try all your life to catch something, and then when you do catch something it just scares you to death — you don't know what to do with it — but I remember I used to love to raise chickens. When they'd get out, I'd chase them and catch them and put them back in the pen — I'd run those chickens down.
And I have to tell you, that just about all the time, Desie and Stanley and I slept together, or Stanley and I always slept together until we were I don't know how old — until we got married. Anyway, I was chasing these chickens, and I was just worn out and I had to use the bathroom so bad, so I just ran in the chicken coop and just let her go--WHOOSHT! — except I was really in bed asleep, and Stanley was in bed with me.
DESIE OVIATT: I can remember this old yellow pick-up kind of a looking car that Dad and Mother had. I think they got it from Joe and Lorraine--that was when I was pretty good sized, and we were living in Grandma's house. I kept trying to get Dad to let me drive this car so I could learn how to drive. And he'd keep saying, "You've got to be a little bit older, you've got to be a little bit older. " Well, I was probably 13 — I was old enough! Anyway, these two guys had car trouble down past the well — what was that, Montezuma Creek? — and they had walked out and they needed some help. Dad had taken the back seat out of it, but there was a place where they could sit behind the front seat. So I said, "Now let me drive, Dad, if we're just going down to the well. " So he said, "OK, " and he turned around to ask the two guys — they were kind of hunched behind the front seat where the back seat would be — "Have you guys got life insurance?" Just about that time I plowed right into a tree. I thought, "Oh, I'll never get to drive again!" I was crying and bawling and scared, and Dad said, "Oh, that's all right, I've wrecked lots of times. "
CLAY: Bob Shumway and I were walking up the road one day going up home to McConkie's place. We had probably been down to Lorraine's or someplace, and I kicked this sack, and in it was one of these little paddles that had a ball on it that you hit and it springs back to you, and I played with that baby all the way home. I must have been four or five — I don't know. But anyway, up until that time I had slept with my mother every night, and if I didn't sleep with her, I remember her moving my bed over so I could hold her hand when I went to bed at night. Usually I bawled until I got to sleep with her. But this one night, Dad was bound and determined that I was not going to sleep with Mother. For some reason Dad really got mad at me. So I ran in and jumped in bed with Desie — anyway, here came Dad after me, and I knew he was after me, and as soon as I hit that bed I went right to foot of it, underneath those covers; I wasn't dumb! Of course, it was dark, and he came in with that little paddle that I'd found that had that ball, and he turned Desie over and he worked her over good. He never did get me, but the next day that paddle was gone, and I never saw it again.
DESIE: I kept yelling, "Dad, you're beating me!" "I know I'm beating
you — you need it. " And old Clay's just clear down at the bottom under the covers. That's the only beating Clay ever got in his life — the one Dad gave me!
JAY: We lived down there on that McConkie place, and Dad was working
up the river. And every morning when he'd go up the river, he had a throw line or two that he'd throw out in the river and fish. And then when he'd come home at night, he'd get the fish off these throw lines and bring them in. About nine out of ten of the fish that he'd caught would be a bony tail, and he was always moaning about those bony tails. I came home one night — I always out prowling around at that time, courting a little bit and I wasn't getting home too early.
So I came home there one night, and Ted was sitting up in bed — he was a great one to talk in his sleep — and I guess I must have disturbed him just a little bit, because he was sitting up in bed, and he had the sheet up like this and was humming the Star Spangled Banner and just swinging that sheet around. So I walked through the other room, and Dad was talking in his sleep, saying, "Oh, another bony tail!" I was about to die laughing! We had quite a circus going on there, and they didn't even know about it! But Dad would catch those fish and bring home a mess of them -- usually suckers or carp or something — and then they salted them and one thing and another, and you couldn't eat them, there were so darned full of bones. They lived in that old blue mud until they tasted just like it.
You know we lived down there on the creek, and there were a lot of skunks up and down Pat [?] Creek. All Ted did the first two or three years we lived down there — Ted and Oliver Huffman — was trap skunks. We had an old single guage shotgun, one barrel, one shot. And Ted carried that old shotgun in one arm until it was about an inch and a half longer than the other arm, and he and old Oliver Huffman tramped up and down that thing and trapped those doggone skunks. I remember one time they took the scent out of one of them and took it down and scattered it all over the high school. They let school out, they skunked the place up so bad. Ted hasn't ever changed — he's still chasing skunks!
DESIE: I can remember when we lived out in the old McConkie place.
Bonnie would hold her breath all the time, and we'd have to run out and dunk her in the ditch to get her breath back. Anyhow, there were two doors in, but there weren't any steps up to the front door. We'd always have to go through the kitchen door. I remember old John Jackson came over with Dad one time, and Mother had taken a piece of screen wire and just nailed the screen on this one door to keep the flies out, because we always went through the kitchen. When John Jackson came over home with Dad (he always brought these old bums home), he decided to leave, and he was going to go out this door, and he attacked that screen door and WHONK! it was down about four feet! Dad said, "Why, that poor old feller probably hurt hisself. "
DESIE: Everybody's probably sleepy. It's a quarter to 11. This wasn't
supposed to happen until tomorrow night (Saturday), but I'm glad it did tonight. Clay will be gone tomorrow, but Enos should be here, so all of you grandkids — or anyone else that can remember about Mother and Dad--
tomorrow night it will be your turn to talk about them.
[Continued Saturday night]
NADINE RICKS: I forgot to think about this. But it was fun last night just to listen to some of the aunts and uncles recall things about Grandma and Grandpa, and it made me think of some of the things that I remembered, too. Especially about the aunts and uncles.
I remember one time when I was about five years old, Grandpa and the brothers were out sawing lumber up there where Uncle Enos' house was out at Lockerby, and they needed some parts or something from down at Grandpa's house, so Grandpa jumped in Dad's old pickup — that old Studebaker — and started down the road. He just started out real slow, so I jumped on the running board and was going to go for a ride. Just about the time he was ready to speed up, I opened the door and jumped in — about scared the tar out of him — and he was quite upset with me for doing such a stupid thing. But he didn't yell at me, and he wasn't onery or anything. He just said, "If you promise not to ever do anything like that again, I'll give you a present. " So he took me down to the house and gave me a dresser set that had the mirror and comb and a bunch of stuff that he had probably picked up at a carnival, I imagine. I still have that dresser set. It was really pretty, and a nice one. I have often thought — since I got older and
did it? So Nadine and I found this drawer, or trunk, or something, that he had, and he had a whole bunch of packs of Doublemint, and Juicy Fruit, and we each got a whole pack and went off and chewed it up, and boy he was mad at us! I remembered all the rest of my life how mad he was! Most of the time he just made us cry from tickling us and the card games he used to play with us. It was always 52-card-pickup or something, or Chinese pickup, or something different each time, so we never knew quite what it would be, except it was all the same game. He just threw all the cards all over the room and we had to pick them up.
Remembering Joseph and Deloa Nielson part two
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
My older uncles, I don't remember too much doing things with them, but Clay was more our age, and he was always there to heckle us when we came to Moab. I guess that's all I've got to say. Anybody else ready?
KATHLEEN NIELSON: Well, since I'm so much younger than everyone else who has spoken, I can't really remember that much. I don't know what it was about Grandma and her chocolate cakes, but chocolate cake always reminds me of Grandma's house. I can remember as a very little child going from Monticello to Grandma's house in Moab, and whenever she would make a chocolate cake she'd always leave about a half inch of batter in the bottom of the bowl so that when you licked the bowl it was something to be excited about. When Mom made chocolate cake there was hardly any batter left over because it all went in the cake, but Grandma understood these important things — you needed a lot of batter left over when you licked the bowl.
I remember those deer tapestries that always hung on Grandma's walls. Her house always seemed so warm and cheerful and wonderful, and all I can do is echo what everyone else has said, because it was always so very warm and loving. I remember Grandma being such a cuddly, wonderful person— she was exactly the right kind of grandmother that everyone should have. I don't know about about all these modern grandmas we have here — it's just not the same. Everyone should have a grandmother just like Grandma Nielson.
I don't remember that much about Grandpa Nielson, except that every once in a while he'd let us sit on his lap and he'd tell us stories. He always seemed to have a hat on when I saw him, and I loved his white hair and his bushy black eyebrows. Dad has eyebrows like Grandpa's, and sometimes when I look at him I see Grandpa's bushy eyebrows.
Also I remember Grandma's beautiful handiwork, especially her crocheted bedspreads. My great disappointment was that I wasn't old enough before Grandma died to get one of her beautiful bedspreads. I'll probably always regret that. It seemed like she was such a quiet, loving woman who always served. She had service at the very center of her being, and I recall her as being so giving and always doing for someone else. I don't ever remember her doing a selfish thing that I was personally aware of, and I'm certainly grateful — even though I was just getting out of high school when Grandma died — for the opportunity to know her, and Grandpa too. I'm sure Grandpa was a character, and I just wish there had been more opportunities for me to get to know him better.
Those are my comments. Who's next? I don't think we've heard from Uncle Enos yet, have we?
ENOS NIELSON: What am I supposed to say? I was the first one that was born to Grandma and Grandpa Nielson's family. I was the first Nielson grandson to Grandma and Grandpa Nielson. Now, you see, they had daughters that were older than Dad that had married and had children when I was born, but I was the first Nielson grandson. And I was kind of spoiled, and I've never got over it.
I was born in Emery, right over here. Lorraine was born in Emery, and we left there when I was about two or three years old and she was just a year or so younger than me. We went in covered wagons, and they drove the cows and horses and pigs and whatever animals they took with them.
They had a little crate on the back of the wagon that had a half a dozen chickens in each one of them. I don't know how many wagons there were — a half a dozen, I guess, because there was Grandma and Grandpa Hansen and Grandma and Grandpa Nielson and their families. We went from Emery down through by Moab and into Monticello. I can't remember anything that happened until we got to Monticello. I may have been between three and four years old, and I can remember that when Grandpa Hansen and the men had already been out on East Mesa there, around Lockerby and Horses Head (they didn't have names then — they were just open cattle range for these Texas cattlemen), and Grandpa Hansen was taking his wagon from Monticello out there.
We went out and crossed that Verdure Creek just after you leave Monticello a while there, and it was a job to get down across that little canyon because there's a rim about ten feet high on both sides of the creek, and they had to make the road down around there and back out on the other side.
There were no roads. All there was in that whole country from Eastland to Cortez was trails where these cattle companies would drive their cows in there from Texas in the spring, and they would range them in that mesa in that country — it was just like a big meadow. Very few sage brush when we went out there, just all meadow, and they would even cut that meadow grass and stack it for hay. And they'd round up the cattle in the fall and drive them to Dolores and Durango. The narrow guage railroad came into Durango, and they'd load them on the train there and ship them east.
We were amongst the first settlers that homesteaded there. I can remember riding out there that day in Grandpa Hansen's wagon, and I just get one or two glimpses of things that happened on the way out there. He had in his wagon a seat on each side where the bows went out past the wagon box — there was a little seat you could sit on. He was just going down through the sage brush, no road, no tracks, no nothing — we were just bouncing along over the sage brush and rocks, and that's all the road there was for twenty miles out there where they homesteaded. Once you got out there, you were there to stay.
Grandpa Nielson bought from two old bachelors some ground they had filed on, and they hadn't proved up on it, and he bought their relinquishment. In other words, he bought the filing. And they had a little cabin built there, just about the size of this platform up here is wide, and about twice that long. Just big enough for a stove and a bed. Grandpa Nielson was living in that cabin when we moved out there, and Mother and Lorraine and I stayed in that cabin with him all summer, I guess, while they were building a house for us to live in.
When we moved into that house, it was built out of those old pinon tree logs, and they weren't too straight — they set them as close as they could, and then they chinked the logs with sticks and daubed mud over the sticks and fixed the cracks that way. I think Mother did most of the daubing because she knew it was going to be winter, and she was interested in keeping her two little kids warm. But they got lumber from someplace, enough to put a floor in that cabin. The floor space was about twelve by twenty feet in size. The boards were just rough lumber boards, and when they put them down they were close together. But when they dried out, there was a crack about a half an inch wide between each board. That house was up off the ground about two feet, and all winter long you can imagine how nice and warm it was in there with those cracks in the floor and no ceiling in it. It had ceiling joists like these here — the roof was up there, and there was nothing on the ceiling. It was a steep roof, as high as this one. And we had one stove to keep it warm. I don't remember of Lorraine or myself ever complaining about it. It was they best thing they'd ever had!
Anyway, we lived there I don't know how many years. I guess Jay was born when we lived there. He remembers eating the daubing out of the cracks. Well, we had to eat something! I don't know how many of the kids were born in that little old log cabin.
[Background discussion: Una was sure she was born there, and Desie thinks everybody but Clay was born while they lived in the log cabin. Clay was born in Moab but they were living in the frame house by then.]
ENOS: But the frame house wasn't much better. It was just one-inch boards on the outside, and that was the thickness of the wall. Mother had papered the inside of it so you couldn't see through the cracks, only where somebody had poked a stick through them or something. She had factory ... it was a little finer than cheesecloth. It was about like sheeting, and they put this on the ceiling. So that wasn't much better.
We'd brought in an old granery and put it up close to the house, and made two bedrooms in there. Jay and I and Ted, I believe — we all slept in the same bed — and when we woke up in the morning, we'd have to break the frost off the quilts where your breath came out — you'd just leave a hole there big enough to get air through, and the frost would freeze around that opening that you left in the covers until they were just stiff in the morning. You'd have to break it loose to get the covers back. We didn't worry about summertime! I remember tiptoeing out through there. There was linoleum on the kitchen floor, and you had to go out that bedroom and through the kitchen and around into the living room to get to the heating stove. And then out front and down to the bathroom was about as far as from here to those trees over there. But every step you made on the linoleum, frost was on there after you took your foot out. If you left water sitting on the stove in a teakettle when you went to bed at night, twenty minutes after the fire had gone out you'd hear that water start popping and freezing in that teakettle. It would freeze solid and pop up in there.
When Clay got big enough, it was his job to make the kindling. He would chop and whittle and get a lot of little thin, fine sticks that would really start burning fast, and pile them right by the heating stove. And whoever had to get up and build a fire, all they had to do was run in there and grab them and stick them in the stove and strike a match and run and get back in bed while the stove got going.
There was a partition between the kitchen and the living room, and for some reason that partition had to be moved twice a year. That was Grandma Nielson's idea, but I think every one of us kids had a chance to help move that partition. There was some reason why she had to move it to make the kitchen bigger or make the living room bigger in the summer time, and back to make it smaller — whichever it was, I could never figure out what difference it made — but that partition had to be moved!
We had a big old, what they called a No. 3 tub, one of those round bathtubs. No. 3 was the biggest they made, and that's where we took our weekly bath, was in that old tub. There were eight of us kids, and we all had to bathe in that tub. The little ones got in there first, while the water was clean. Clay always got to bathe in clean water. But come to the older ones, well that water got kinda thick.
[Tape ended mid-story and takes up again as follows:]
[Background discussion: UNA [Talking about broken windows]: There was no way to get a new one. ENOS: Nope, no new windows. LORRAINE: That was the only time Dad ever whipped me. The window was slightly patched, but he broke the whole thing.]
ENOS:Well, Lorraine threw the bar of soap at me and I ducked, and it
went through the window.
JAY:You were lucky she threw the soap at you! She threw the hammer at me and if I hadn't ducked she would have killed me!
ENOS: The funny thing was, Jay was teasing Lorraine one day, and we had a little old one-horse sawmill, and I'd some some of that pinon lumber and built a porch out on the front of the house about six feet wide, clear along the front of the house. Jay got Lorraine right up walking in air, and the smoke was coming out of the top of her head like that, he decided it was time to get out of there! So he made a run across that step and jumped down off the step, and Lorraine went past the kindling blocks that Clay made these little sharp sticks with and grabbed one of them and threw it at Jay, and it stuck out right in the top of his head! Just went right through the hide, and that stick was just a dangling out there!
You know, you have to take these things into consideration when you judge us older people, because we're lucky to be here alive! But there's one consolation — when that outhouse was out there so far from the house and the snow was a foot and a half deep, you didn't have time to get your shoes and stockings on, and you ran out there barefooted to the bathroom, you didn't dilly-dally around out there. You got back fast!
There's another thing I ought to mention here. We were called "those damned Mormons" — there were a certain number of families there that were Mormons, and the rest of them were the Gentiles. The interesting thing to me was that as far as I have been able to find out, most of those people that used to call us "those damned Mormons" have now become members of the Church. And that's something that I never dreamed would ever happen. Pretty near the whole Taylor family have become members of the Church. I think I've talked long enough. (Unintelligible background discussion.)
ENOS: Wanda would never have married me if she had known what I just now said!
WANDA NIELSON: I was born in 1915 — that was the year that Enos moved to Lockerby, and it was still a lot the same when I moved out there in 1945. We had a path instead of a bath, and we had a No. 2 Tub, but I remember we did have a gas stove by now, and Barbara was in the tub. All of a sudden Elaine and Ann started to scream, and I thought, "She can't drown that fast!" So I ran back in there, and Beth had caught fire. She had been stirring something at the stove, and the tail of her shirt had got in the flame. She was very calmly unbuttoning it, and she threw it on the floor and stomped it out — I was real proud of her!
Remembering Joseph and Deloa Nielson part three
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
Jay's boy Jimmy and Beth liked to play together. One day they were out where Enos was, and they were singing — it was near Christmas time— and this is what they sang:
"... Jolly old St. Nicholas, ...
Down the chimney broad and black,
With your crap you'll creep."
Jimmy and Beth used to like to run away and go down to Grandma's which was about a block and a half, I guess, from where our houses were, down by the windmill, and Beth had been told not to do that because of the trucks that went down there so fast, and I had warned her not to do it and had spanked her for doing it. One day I looked out the window, and there they were, halfway down there, and she was running all the way down there with her hands on her behind! She knew what was coming, and she had that in mind as she ran along.
I was talking to Grandma once about her life, and she told me that when she was a girl in Emery that she liked to sing and she liked to take part in plays, and she said, "I don't think there was ever a party that I wasn't invited to. Lots of times when I got there, somebody would say, 'Well, Loie's here now — we can start!'"
Enos wrote to me once from the Aelutian Islands [off the coast of Alaska], and he had asked me to marry him, and I didn't know his family very well. I didn't know him that well, except I knew his friends and knew how much they thought of him. But he made this comment: "You'll like my mother. Everybody likes my mother." And that's true.
The one thing she would say to the children was, "Oh, you are so loved!" Barbara had a doll that she got for Christmas one year — one of those big dolls that stood up like a child, almost as big as she was. It would stand in the corner, and Grandma would come in and say, "Darn that doll! I say hello to it every time I come in!"
She was a very sweet person, like everyone has said, and I remember Aunt Peggy saying how much she appreciated Loie and the kindness she showed here when she was first married to Uncle Floyd.
They were good pioneers, and they did a lot for their family. Grandma was always very faithful — it didn't matter who had something to say against the Church, she stood up for it. I remember her with a great deal of love. We invited Grandpa down for Christmas one year, when he lived in Boise, and my friend's husband passed away that same season, about two days before Christmas, so I wasn't there to give him a very hospitable time, but Barbara did the best she could, and the rest of them.
Thank you all.
ELAINE NIELSON:I'll never forget the first time I met Mother. I had decided on a minute's notice to come to Moab with Clay when we were still going together, and all the way out to Moab — it took us 12 or 13 hours to get there — I remembered how scared I was. I realized then, "I can't turn back; I'm on my way to Moab, and she doesn't know I'm coming." It was 2:00 in the morning when we got there, and she was waiting up for us — for Clay — and I remember how she put her arms around me and made me feel so welcome, and I have always loved her for that.
I want to mention a couple of things about her that haven't been mentioned. After she sold her home in Moab, and I think that was very difficult for her and a big adjustment to give up her home and rent from then on and not have her home, but how she went to Salt Lake to work in the Temple and how important that was to her. And then, when she moved to Logan, she was going to take care of Mrs. Richards, and that wasn't an easy job, but she wanted to do that so she could be close to the Temple because that was so important to her, to go to the Temple as often as she could. She was so faithful that way.
I remember her being so generous although she had so little. She would give her last $5.00 away, and we'd say, "You can't do that." She'd say, "Yes I can. If I'm here tomorrow I'll figure out something else, and if I'm not, it won't matter." That was the philosophy that carried her through. She did have a tremendous faith, and when I think of her, I think of her being a great lady. She always took such care of herself and always was so clean, and her home was always so clean and well-cared-for. I remember that as she would get ready for Church on Sunday, she would always look so nice and wore such pretty dresses, and she always smelled so nice. It was always special to be with her because she did take such good care of herself. I just think of her as a very special lady.
She came to help us take care of the children when I would be in the hospital with a new baby, and I remember how good she was to each one of the children and the special care she would take of them and how she would rock those babies and get them to sleep so easily. I would rock them and rock them, and they wouldn't go to sleep, and she could rock them for five minutes, and they would be sound asleep. She was so good! She was telling me once after I had come home from the hospital — she was taking care of the kids — and she always did such a good job. But one day Doug said to her, "Grandma, are you sure that's the way my mother would do that?" I'm sure it was hard for her, but she was always willing to help out. I do have very fond memories and a great deal of love for her.
TERRY YOUNG: I remember two very special things about Grandma. The first was her spirituality and her faith in Father in Heaven. And the second was that Grandma never said a bad thing about anybody. She always had something positive to say about every person that touched her life, and that impressed me so much, and I wanted so much to be that kind of person.
The thing I remember most about Grandpa was when he stayed at Aunt Lorraine's, and the hours and hours and hours of cribbage he played. I think that brought him so much joy and so much happiness, and that's the main thing I remember about Grandpa. I didn't have the opportunity to be around him very much when I was growing up, or Grandma either, but those were the things I remember the best. I also remember when Grandma was cleaning house for other people. Of course, I heard this though the grapevine, but one time she ate dog food and thought it was just delicious!
I loved Grandma and Grandpa so very much, and I wish that they could have lived longer so they could see what special people their children and grandchildren have grown into.
ERMA NIELSON: I remember the first time I went with Ted to his mother's house and met the family, and I had never seen so many people in one place! To me it was frightening because there was just my brother and me in our family. But I always envied them because they had so much fun when they got together. I remember Mother fixing a meal, and everything she did, she did with such ease. She never seemed to be flustered, and she could fix the nicest meal. She could pour the sugar and the flour and the milk into the bowl and stir it up and stick it in the oven, and it always came out a good white cake. That was something I never learned how to do was bake a white cake well, because I always compared it to hers.
I remember when she was doing washings for people. They would come down from Monticello, and she would have that big boiler of water on the stove, and I'll bet she got up at 4 in the morning. I think Clay and Elaine were there then, and I don't know how she ever kept going. It just seemed like she never was tired. Either that or she just didn't show it. But she was always a hard worker.
More than anything, I think, were the spiritual experiences that she had that she shared with everybody else. I think just listening to her bear her testimony to you, and tell of the things that actually happened to her, it helped your own testimony to grow. She was a very special person.
When Casey was little, I don't think we ever went in her house that she didn't have a little baggie of those tiny little marshmellows for him. Just little things like that touched a mellow spot in your heart.
Grandpa was always special, too, because he was always so good to the kids. I don't there are any of our kids who don't remember quite good times with him — even Tammy. She didn't get to know him that well because she was still quite little. But she remembered one time when he was there at the house, and she walked by him, and he reached out and pulled her up on his lap and told her what a sweet little wiggle worm she was, and she still remembers and talks about that.
I know that they had their hard times, but I know they still had a special spot in their hearts for each other, and I'm sure that's the way they are now. I'm sure that they're close. They're just very special people to me.
DORLYNN NIELSON:Stanley's mother was always a very special person to me. She treated me, right from the very start, like I was one of the family and that she wanted me to be there. She was very special to me. I remember the many hours that she washed and ironed for people. She'd get up at 3:00 in the morning and have washing done for everybody by the time the sun came up, and they she would iron all day. She was a very hard working, very special person to me. I loved her as much as I did my own mother, and I really appreciated her and the things that she did for me.
She always took my part when something went wrong. She would never stick up for Stanley — she always stuck up for me, which was very different from how it was done in my family. So I came to love and respect her very much and to always look forward to the times when she would come to my house and visit.
I remember when Mike was born, eight weeks premature, and we didn't think he was going to live. Mother was working in the kitchen in the hospital. We though he would be paralyzed if he did live, and we very worried about him. She came up to my room, and she said, "Michael's going to be all right." I said, "How do you know that?" In that hospital, as you went downstairs from the nursery, there was no other way that you could get out except past where Mother was. And she said, "Well, I was coming out of the kitchen, and I met this lady in white — this nurse — coming down the hallway, and she told me that Michael was better and that he was going to be all right. She talked to me for a while about it, and I turned around and she was gone. There was no way she could get past me, and she wasn't anywhere in the hospital, and I know that she was sent here to tell me that Michael was going to be all right." And he was. We were able to take him home in only two days' time, which was quite like a miracle to me. She had more faith and more trust, and just made you know that everything was going to be all right.
I remember one time, she called us about 9:00 at night and said, "Sonny, would you please come down and help me?" Sonny had said he would help her tile her kitchen floor, and she had waited long enough for him, so she had decided to do it herself. We got down there, and she had socks on her arms, and socks on her foot, and she was just covered with linoleum paste. She had decided to do this for herself. Where it didn't fit, she just took the scissors and cut it so it did. She was so tired, that she just went to bed with these socks on her arms and legs, and Stanley was down there the next morning to help her with this chore that she had decided to do.
I loved her very much, as much as I did my own mother. She was really special to me.
I didn't really know Dad that well. I wasn't around him very much after we were married, and I really don't remember any of the things about Dad other than when he lived in Idaho, he always showed me a lot of respect and a lot of love. And there's one thing that I really do regret in my life. When we lived in Idaho, he came to me, and he said, "Can I please come over to your house and live?" And I said, "Well, you sure can." There had been a death in my family, and I had to go to Moab, and I said, "Just as soon as I get back, why I'll come and get you and move you to our house, because you'll be welcome over there." When I got back from Moab, he was gone. I'll always regret not being able to have him there, because I think there would have been a lot of things that he would have been able to teach me and tell me, and I hope some day that he'll know these things and will understand that it wasn't because I didn't want him in my home, it was just that I wasn't able to be there.
BECKY CLAWSON:Grandma was a neat lady. She has — this is so hard--she has given me a talent that I will cherish the rest of my life. And I have had so many people compliment me — and love the compliments because to me it's a choice thing to be complimented on. When we lived in the house by the cemetery, I was in Primary, and we were learning how to crochet. Mom was always busy, as all mothers are, and I told her that we had to learn how to crochet. And she went and got me a pattern and some yarn, and she said, "You'll have to learn for yourself. Here's the pattern, and here's the yarn. Read it, and do it." And I remember Grandma looking out the window and she came up and put her arms around me, and she took me downstairs in that basement, and she worked hours and hours and hours with me, and she taught me how to crochet. This is a talent, and I am so proud that my grandma took time to teach me this.
I remember one time Mom left me home alone with the chicken pox, and she told me not to bother Grandma. Grandma was downstairs, and she was too
busy to be bothered. I remember sitting upstairs in the apartment, and Mom had told me not to watch TV. I was just to sit in my room and read. And I remember all these strange noises that you hear when you're alone and you're little, and I can remember tearing out the door and running down those steps to Grandma. Come to find out, it was her downstairs cleaning, all these noises I was hearing. But she was very content to let me stay there with her.
Barbara and I were really close growing up, and I think we spent a lot of time with Grandma, and she taught us both a lot of respect for people. We spent a lot of time with Grandma.
The only thing I remember about Grandpa is very, very vaguely, in the house that Mom and Dad are in now, the old home that was there --I remember him coming to visit, and him asking me if we wanted to go for a walk. And we walked up just a half a block, and we came back. But I remember him holding my hand, and that's the only thing I can really remember about Grandpa.
But I do want Grandma to know... I never thanked her for the talent she gave me, and I hope throughout the years every time I sit down and every time I've been complimented, I think about Grandma. And I want her to know now that I love her, and I love Grandpa, and I want her to know that I do love her and the things that she taught me, and I'm very proud to be a member of this family.
Remembering Joseph and Deloa Nielson part four
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
DESIE: I know one time when we lived out at Monticello and Dad was
staying with us, our kids were not very big, and they wanted BB guns, and we wouldn't let them have them. So Dad thought, "Oh, those kids are big enough to have BB guns. " So he bought Warren and Chet and Kent BB guns. Warren was only in the first grade. He came in the house one day, and he was so mad, and he said, "You know what those damn kids done?" They had shot every window out of Dad's car. And I said, "OK, you bought them the BB guns — it's your fault." So he went and got the car windows fixed, and he never said another word!
WARREN OVIATT: One thing I do remember is when Grandma lived in these
apartments in Huntington --I don't remember that much really, anything spectacular. I remember going down there and visiting with her and like that, but to be truthful with you, that's about all I do remember.
WANDA: I don't know if I can tell this or not, but I'll try. Mother
wanted to have her endowments, and she came up to Aunt Wanda's, and she made arrangements for my mother to go with her to the Salt Lake Temple. Mother was to meet her down at the Temple at a certain time on a certain day. Mother was all ready to go. She was going to go catch the bus and go downtown. She had her hat on, ready to go out, when a terrible pain hit her in the head. She was very, very ill, just suddenly. My father was home at that time, and she said, "John, I can't go. I'm sick!" And he said, "I think I know what's the matter. You take your hat off. " And he brought the consecrated oil and he administered to her. And that pain left as fast as it came. She went up to Third Avenue and caught the bus and got down there in time to meet Grandma and go through the Temple with her. Just think of all the work that she did after that, doing endowments for other people. And it's a testimony of the great work that the endowment work is.
ENOS: I don't know how many of you know it, but when I did Dad's
endowments for him, I don't remember when it was — it was while we were working at the Temple, or before, maybe 1975 or 1976 — but I did his endowments for him, and I never did have much confidence in doing that work for Dad, because I knew that he'd had ample opportunity to do it for himself. But in all the times I've ever gone to the Temple, I've never experienced as good a feeling as I did at that time. So, since then I've kind of consoled myself that it might not do any good, but it was worth it to me.
CLAY: I think we've all judged Dad because of situations we saw him in, when he was brought home from the poolhall drunk and when he was out with other people that he shouldn't have been out with, but since that time I've had opportunity to try to work with other men who have had that same problem in their lives, and I recognize that it's not an easy problem to overcome. I think Dad was sick with alcohol and it was a problem that he couldn't overcome, and I think maybe we've judged him unfairly because of the situations we saw him in and the feelings we had for Mother and the great pain that it was to her in her life. I'm sure she would forgive him, and I think we have to do that too.
*** END OF TAPE ***
[REMEMBRANCES OF JOSEPH AND DELOA NIELSON BY THEIR DESCENDANTS AT HUNTINGTON CANYON, UTAH — JULY 1988]
Autobiography of Lorraine Wheeler
Colaborador: Jayaskren Created: 1 year ago Updated: 1 year ago
(Written about 1980)
I was born in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and fourteen on September the 12th, in Emery, Emery County, Utah, to Joseph Wiley Payne and Martha Deloa Hansen Nielson. They named me Vontella Lorraine. Mom said once that it was Grandma Hansen’s idea to call me “Fontella” but Dad didn’t like it and put a “V” on the front instead, and then decided he didn’t like that either. So no one ever called me that. I’ve always been Lorraine.
In 1915 on the 15th day of April, we all left Emery to go to Eastern Utah to start a new settlement. The bishop at Emery sent them. Grandad and Grandma Nielson and all their family, which included Mom and Dad, Enos and myself; Uncle Bert Hector and Aunt Betty – Winford, Lola, Dean, and Berniece; Arthur Blackham, Aunt Lena and Dallon; Aunt Elva and Uncle Floyd – weren’t married; Grandpa and Grandma Hansen; Uncle Will and Aunt Ruth – they never had any children; Uncle Dude, Uncle Gib, Aunt Iona, Aunt Wanda, Bruce and Vivian. I was eight months old. We went in wagons. Uncle Dude, Uncle Floyd and Aunt Elva drove the cattle. It was a long trip and quite cold when we got to Monticello, and muddy. We all stayed in Monticello the first year. The married men farmed. Dad worked for the Carlisle Ranch, north of Monticello. The next spring, we went to Lockerby. The men had filed on land and built some log cabins. There were plenty of trees. Some stayed in tents. I remember Aunt Lena’s tent boarded up on the sides. Uncle Arthur didn’t like it out there, so after Dick was born, he wanted to go back to Emery. Aunt Lena wouldn’t go with him, so he left her and three boys; they stayed with Grandma. Aunt Elva’s husband went back also and left her and Dee to live with Grandma.
The men all worked and cleared the land of sage brush and trees and got some crops planted. Because there wasn’t any water to irrigate they had to plant what would grow without water except the snow and rain. We hauled drinking water from Long Draw, a big spring (the Lord must have put it there). It was seven or eight miles from our place. Everyone for miles around got water there, but it was always full – so cold and good. There were some wells dug or drilled but the water was only good for the livestock. When Mom tried to wash clothes in it, it would take half a can of lye to raise the hardness. We all made our own soap, too.
Jay was born June 5, 1917. Una was born February 18, 1919. Ted was born January 23, 1922. Desie was born December 5, 1928. Stanley was born December 5, 1928. Clay was born March 1, 1933. Mom was 43 on March 8th. All the kids but Enos and me were born at Lockerby with Grandma Nielson the only doctor. Clay was born in Moab, Utah, as Grandma was living there then. Grandpa had passed away and Grandma wanted Mom to be by the doctor as she had been ill all the time she carried Clay. Or course, Grandma told Dr. Allen what and how to do it.
In 1921, Dad decided to go to Sego and work in the coal mine. So we all went up there. But the miners went on strike and there was quite a bit of violence and some men got hurt, so we went back home.
Times were very hard and it didn’t snow so there weren’t any crops. Uncle Dude was in Kennelworth, Utah, in the coal mines, so Dad went up there and got a job and a house, and we all went up there. I went to school there. That was the first time I had ridden in a car; we went with the mail man. I remember it well. Did I ever get car sick! Uncle Dude had a big long Buick. He used to take us all for rides. We didn’t stay there very long, as they all went on strike. It was when the Sunny Side Mine blew up and killed a lot of men. We went back to Lockerby again. Dad would go away to work but left us home. Then he heard they were hiring men at Delta, Colorado in a big new sugar factory. So we hitched up the horses, one old bulky black mare a big sorrel, and got all in the covered wagon and went across the desert. We got to McPhee and Dad tried to get a job three weeks, but didn’t, so we went home for some reason. We stayed three weeks then loaded up again and headed to Delta. We finally got there in July and stayed with Grandpa Huffman’s sister.
When I was in the seventh grade, Joe’s mother and step-father moved to another settlement not too far from us. And we soon became acquainted as his sister Thelma and I were really good friends. He didn’t stay at home much, as they had a big family and he had lived with his Grandad Oliver, his mother’s folks, or some of the Wheelers in New Mexico. He had three married sisters he spent some time with, but after we met he kept coming home more so we were together a lot.
On September 13, 1931, the day after my 17th birthday, his sister Eva came from New Mexico to visit her mom and we decided we would go back with them and get married, which we did. On September 14, 1931, we were married in Kirtland, New Mexico by Bishop Christensen. Joe went to work picking sweet potatoes, then that winter he trapped and worked for Wiff Wheeler in the coal mine. He had all kinds of relatives there. There were Wheelers everywhere and his mother’s sister’s family were there; she was dead but the kids were around our age. We stayed there one winter, then we went back to Lockerby. The depression was still on and no work anyplace. We planted some stuff on an old place and lived. Mom and Dad were always close. Joe was a good hunter and trapper so we always had plenty to eat and Dad gave us a cow. His folks had moved near us then, too. But they were lean years.
Then they started the CCC and Enos and Joe were the first to sign up. I was pregnant by then so I stayed with Mom and Dad. In July, I went to Joe’s sister’s and stayed for two weeks. But Grandma was in Moab so I went and stayed with her. It was so hot in Moab and I was quite miserable. Then, on August 13, 1933, a sweet little girl was born. We named her Bonnie Joyce. After the CCC, Joe worked for the Forest. We had a little log house we lived in – still didn’t have much money. Then Jay came to stay with us so we bought an old board house and moved it onto some ground we had gotten. We tore it down, then put it back up. Still hunted our meat. On August 7, 1935, we were blessed with another blue-eyed curly-headed girl. Joe wasn’t too happy – no son! Norma was born in the hospital. We stayed on that place for quite some time. The war was on and things were bad. All my brothers had to go. Joe was froze to his job.
On November 7, 1937, at last a boy! Skinny little Kenneth Joe. How we loved him. He was a good baby. He was born in Mom’s house. I was ill for quite a while, so Joe got a lady to come wash for me. We didn’t have a washing machine, just the scrub board.
By now we had bought a cow ranch on the Mesa so Joe was still gone. I had a girl in school. In the summer, we would go up there. It was cool and nice.
Then on June 29, 1940 Judy was born. We were mining at Yellow Cat and had the ranch, too. She was born in Moab in Dean’s house. Dr. Allen came over and delivered her; I had moved to town and lived across from Grandma Huffman (Joe’s Mom), and Mom and Dad lived just down the street.
in 1943, another son was born. We name him Freddy. Joe’s dad’s name was Frederick. He was born in the hospital. Dr. Allen was still doctor. Joe had become active in the Church and was ordained an Elder. In November of 1944, we went to Salt Lake City and took Grandma Huffman. We were married in the temple and had the five kids sealed to us on November 15, 1944. Joe took his mother and stood proxy for his dad and had them sealed. It rained the whole week we were there.
In 1946, another son was born. We named him Dean Edward.
By then I had more kids in school, so I did a lot of washing and ironing. Joe was President of the Elders Quorum, so he was home a little bit more, I had a new coal stove and washer and more rooms built on the house. What a joy—rugs on the floor and the kids didn’t all have to sleep in two beds. But it was short. The drought came and we had to sell and headed or Wyoming. I wasn’t very happy. The first year it snowed 10 feet on the level, and cold! After Moab it was a real change. Bonnie got married and Norma also. We stayed there five years. Joe worked on the road and Palisades Dam and we milked cows. We had lots of ice cream – ha! – in the can. Didn’t have much of a house, but we all got by. One winter we went to Yuma, Arizona. Joe and I worked and the kids went to school. Bonnie and Darrell came down. Tenna was a baby. We left April 1st, Joe’s birthday, and went back to Wyoming. One other winter we went to Moab and stayed by Mom. We finally sold the ranch and went to Salt Lake City and run a store and locker plant. Norma & Neil and Judy & Mike came with us. Neil and Mike worked the mines west of town and Norma and Judy helped in the store. The next July we came to Idaho. We stayed with friends for three weeks. Finally found a place to buy. We lived on it three years and traded it for the one in Kuna we have now.
All the kids got married and started having grandkids. Norma & Neil came down from Wyoming right after Brenda was born. We milked cows for 20 years and had a ranch on Willow Creek by Payette. Then got one in New Plymouth. Finally got rid of all of them and came back to our little home and here I’m staying. Joe goes fishing and to sales about every day. His health isn’t too good. I’m okay – too ornery to get sick. We have a beautiful family, six children, 33 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren.
We had the Ten Mile Store just before Ken and Linda got married. It burned down with everything we owned – so we came back to where we are now and started milking cows. Joey was a baby when we got the house and barn fixed up. Ken and Linda did it. They have always helped us build and fix things. Stanley and Dorlynn stayed with us for a while when they came from Colorado. We had good times; got the other room and extra bathroom built on and everyone helped. Dean and Pauline and family lived in Portland then. Fred and Sharon helped build the house and barn, too.
In 1983, Joe and Lorraine sold their farm at Kuna and moved to a small home in Nampa, Idaho near their son Kenneth. They spent the last years of the marriage here. Joe’s health continued to deteriorate and he died October 26, 1986 at home in Nampa. Lorraine lived alone for several years, enjoying the company of friends, neighbors, family, and her ward. Kenneth and Linda provided most of her care during this time. She began to experience symptoms of dementia in the early ‘90s and eventually needed more care than the family could provide at home. She moved to a memory care facility at Nampa in 1996, and later to one at Emmett, Idaho. She was visited often by family members, and even when she couldn’t remember us, she would smile excitedly and say, “I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re one of mine!”
In August of 2000 Lorraine suffered a massive stroke. Her care facility kept her comfortable for several days and she passed away peacefully, early on the morning of August 19, 2000 with her family at her side. She was 85. At her funeral, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren gathered to sing her favorite hymn, “I am a Child of God.” Burial was in the Kohlerlawn Cemetery of Nampa, beside Joe. She was preceded in death by her parents, husband, sister Una Sittre, sons Kenneth and Dean Wheeler, and grandson Rusty Hinck.