"I almost swore"

I just joined the blog and was reading over the memories that have been posted. I had to laugh about the story and comments about Grandma and the "s" word. It reminded me of a story about Grandma. It was at the anniversary celebration for Grandpa and Grandma's 40th wedding anniversary. The party was over and we were finishing cleaning up. I don't really remember who was still there, but there were only a few of us still at the house with Grandpa and Grandma. We were in the living room and Grandma saw something either high on the wall or on the ceiling. She looked at it and said, "What the hell is that?" and then stopped and said, "I almost swore there!" Then we all just started laughing with her. Grandma had such a good sense of humor.

Elder Perry's talk from conference about the sheep stuck on a ledge reminded me of a couple of sheep stories that Dad used to tell. He basically grew up at the sheep herd. As a teenager his dad started a sheep herd and after he was married he made some of his living herding sheep for other people.
Before the days of the Bureau of Land Managment the west was pretty much an open range. All the water sources were claimed by someone but outside of that the land use was mostly by gentleman's agreement. The Homestead Act made ownership of some land possible but there were still vast areas of wilderness open to common usage. One such area was what was referred to as the "lower valleys". As you go south on interstate 15 from St. George you cross the state line into Arizona and start down into what becomes the Virgin River gorge. Springtime came early in those areas along the virgin river like Cedar Pockets and the surrounding valleys. Because of the early season, it was a great place for the sheep to have their lambs (they lamb in the Jan. - Feb. time frame) and there was fresh green feed. By the first of the year the cheat grass, bottle stoppers, and fillerie were growing and new hope came to the sheep man.
Now to the talk by Elder Perry. Early one spring in the lower valleys the sheep were feeding along the ledges in the gorge and a big ewe did just like the one in Elder Perry's story, she ended up on a small overlook and couldn't get turned around to go back up and there was no way down. It was time to move on with the herd and here was this sheep where she was inaccessable and unable to help herself. Dad had 2 options. He could go off and leave her or shoot her from across the canyon and let her carcass fall and salvage the meat. He couldn't just leave her there and let her go to waste so he decided on the second option. He aimed at her head but just as he pulled the trigger she jerked back and the bullet grazed across her nose and hit the rock right next to her face. The shattering rock suprised her and she backed off the ledge, fell several feet then rolled on down the hill. At the bottom she shook herself off and rejoined the herd. Hardly the spiritual ending that Elder Perry concluded with but a real life illustration of what Dad was like.

Another sheep story.
It was early in the year and Dad was 17 or 18 years old. He and his dad were trailing the sheep to the lower valleys for lambing season. The ewes were heavy with lamb and had a hard time getting up out of the washes that the trail passed through so Dad was helping these ewes up out of the steep places. He came up out of a wash half carrying half dragging a heavy ewe and as he stopped to rest he could hear some one yelling. He listened for a moment and didn't recognize the voice so he climbed up a little higher for a better look in the direction of the noise. Down the canyon a way at the head of the herd was his dad holding the bridle of a mule that Ern (must have been short for Ernest) Larson was ridding. He was goading the mule with a rifle and trying to get it to run over him. Dad ran down to see what the commotion was and as he approached he realized that Ern was claiming the lower valleys for the Larson sheep and "those damn Joneses had no business being there." and "He'd whip every last one of them if he had to". Ern was in his late 20's and a large man with a big mouth and a tough guy reputation that made most people afraid of him so he generally got his way. Dad heard the challenge and told him to put up his gun and get off his mule. Ern was too proud to resist. As soon as he hit the ground Dad was in his face with both fists. Dad had very quick hands and Ern was way too slow. He never landed a punch. Dad pummelled him around the head until he said he had had enough. They helped him onto his mule and sent him up the trail towards town. Turns out he stayed out of town for a couple of weeks while he healed up so he wouldn't have to explain what had happened.
Because he could, and didn't learn a better way, Dad tried to solve most of his problems with his fists. He had a way around people that made him very likable but any disagreement brought out his short, hot, temper. I wish I could have inherited some of his stellar traits instead of his hot head.

The old Farmall and one scary memory!

This tractor that Ray found was the first farmall that Dad had in Mesa. He bought another one a couple of years newer just before we moved to St. George. This one had a steel cast stearing wheel is how I remember it. The newer one had a composite hand grip on the wheel. Dad was discing the field between the house and the barn in Mesa on 9th street. Ray and I went out to watch and dad stopped to move some rocks or something so we raced out to where he was. The disc, one we latter had at the farm it had a rack in the center for adding weight. We thought it would be fun to ride on that rack. Ray was the only one that would fit so I had to ride on the tractor standing on the drawbar. Dad got on the tractor and away we went. The field was a lot rougher than I thought and the disc was doing some major bucking. I remember seeing Ray fall off the weight rack and yelling at the top of my lungs to get dad to stop. It seemed like it took forever for him to stop but we didn't go more than a couple of feet. Dad grabbed Ray out of the dirt and did a quick check to see what was missing and ran him to the house. I remember standing there wondering what to do. I knew it was bad because Dad just left the tractor sitting there running. I think Mom took Ray to the doctor or hospital and after what seemed like a long time Dad came back to the tractor. He made me walk and he drove the tractor and parked it. When I saw Ray next he got home and looked preaty sad. The disc had made a cut under his eye and he had stitches. I am not so sure to this day that he fell on top of the disc not under it but that was how I remember it.

When we attended Lena's funeral, I wanted to stop off by "the farm" as there is an exit not far from the Atkinville wash. I had seen this tractor alongside the old road to the farm and recognized it. When we moved to Littlefield we left this old Farmall 12 behind. Someone had tried to take it and managed to get it as far as the old Price bench and had abandoned it there. I had seen it there when the road was still dirt and thought, "I really ought to go get that old tractor". Imagine my surprise when it was still there and has been used as a landscape piece by the church that apparently owns this parking lot. Dad brought this tractor from Mesa. I only remember using it a couple of times. Dad said it was too much of a gas hog.
This tractor reminded me of a tractor story that Dad told.
In the days before hydraulics were used to raise and lower implements they were fitted with a cam and lobe affair that was attached to the axle. A rope was pulled from the tractor seat that would dog in the lobe and turn the cam to raise the plow (or whatever implement was being used). Dad was plowing and had attached the rope to his waist so it would be in easy reach. He had probably done the same thing lots of times before. However, this day the pin that held the plow to the drawbar bounced out. With the plow in the ground it stopped immediately jerking him out of the tractor seat and onto the ground seriously injuring his back. The tractor continued on down the field for a short distance when it started to turn around. It came back toward him and he was afraid it was going to run over him. He managed to stand up, move to the side and reach over the tire as the tractor went past and knock it out of gear. I don't remember exactly how he got from the field to the hospital but for the rest of his life he had a large discolored area in the small of his back 10 to 12 inches wide and about 4 inches high that looked like an old bruise.

Beans & Hot Rolls

Back when I was little, and maybe even on to the years when she lived in Littlefield, Mom had a schedule. Not the daytimer kind of schedule that a lot of us keep today, but a certain day of the week was set aside for specific chores. Maybe it was because that was the way she grew up (as Grandma Lofgreen talked to me about having scheduled chore days), but I know that Mom loved order in things. She liked knowing there was a plan to follow, and she was very obedient about following it. (Hmmm...this could be likened to her spirituality as well.) There was wash day, ironing & mending day, cleaning day, Primary day & Relief Society day (way before the block meetings), shopping & errand day, etc. My favorite day was wash day! That warm, moist, Tide suds & Clorox scented air that wafted off the back porch where the wringer washer was doing it's thump-swish, thump-swish. Watching her hook the clothes on a water-logged, bleached-white, sturdy stick and lift them to the wringer, catching them on the opposite side with her other work-loved hand. I enjoyed seeing the clothes on the line - where she had so neatly hung them - dancing gently in the breeze against a bright blue sky. But, mostly I loved knowing what was coming for supper that night! Early that morning before sorting the laundry, Mom (sometimes with help from one of us kids) would sort pinto beans...putting them on the counter and picking out the tiny rocks before rinsing the beans and putting them in a big pot on the stove to cook all day so they would be nice and tender for supper. But that wasn't all - there were those wonderful, yeasty, melt-in-your-mouth hot rolls with homemade butter to go on them! I can almost smell them baking, and my mouth is watering just thinking about them! Warm, simple, tasty and filling! And, because Mom had a plan and followed it, she didn't have to worry about interrupting her busy day to stop and fix supper for a hungry family!

Here is a bit of trivia I learned about the farm at Atkinville. (61/2 miles south of the end of main street of St. George.) During the time that Wilford Woodruff was president of the church, there was severe persecution of church leaders because of plural marriage. President Woodruff was a close friend of the Atkins and stayed there often enough that they added a small room onto their house for him to stay in. The mail for the church was even forwarded to that place for about 6 months and the "Willford room" was the unofficial headquarters of the church.
When we moved to the farm, the old rock walls of several buildings were still standing and Dad put a roof on one and turned it into the milk shed. Next to it was a building that served as an open air shop and hooked to the side of it and used for a pig pen was a small square addition. - I believe we raised pigs in the "Willford room".

Visiting Mom & Beth at the Hospital - and - The Sheep Butt

Ray said...
Here goes- I think I found the right place to leave some graffitti.I have 2 memories that rival for the first in relation to Mom and I'm not sure of the sequence. I'm sure Lyle can add some details on this first one. I remember going to the hospital when Beth was born. They didn't allow fathers to attend the delivery let alone tolerate siblings in the hospital ward so Dad took us to the window of Mom's room and held me up so I could see. I really didn't see Beth but I remember being glad to see my Mom. Glad didn't last long because we had to leave before someone came to tell us we couldn't do what we were doing and it was forever before Mom could come home. (They used to stay in the hospital for a week after delivery.) It seems like we took the horses to the hospital - Lyle?? I could have several stories running together.My next memory is going out with Mom to take some peelings to the sheep. We were living in Mesa (the "new" house on eighth street. Was it green?) I remember the barn being to the west of the house across a small field or garden spot. Anyway, we went out to the barn and Mom went in the pen to dump the peelings in the trough and as she bent over the buck butted her in the rear and toppled her into the trough. She was so mad! She swore me to secrecy about her encounter and only now do I dare divulge these details! That's probably where I got the "S" word she used to say printed on my brain. Is that the first word that comes to anyone else mind when something makes you mad?
April 18, 2009 8:40 AM