Ben Ch 6

THERE was sunshine as well as shadow on this pioneer journey. It was springtime with birds and flowers and green grass coming up to cheer the way. Rains at times made the roads difficult; but the clouds would break and let the sunbeams through. With every train, too, there were some who were always singing or whistling to drive away the blues. There were pioneer fiddlers, too, who drove dull cares away with their lively tunes.

One of these was Hen Brown. Hardly a night would pass without his merry music. After supper and the evening chores were done, out would come Hen's old fiddle, and the next thing was "Turkey in the Straw," or some other tune that made folk want to dance, as at times they did, on the greensward in front of the fiddler's tent. Joe and Ben and the other young people flocked to share in the fun, and stayed there enjoying Hen Brown's music and his jokes as long as their parents would let them do so.

Right in the midst of a lively tune, he would suddenly turn to the eager boys and girls with some such jolly remark as this, "Say, youngsters, do you know how the water gets in the watermelon?" Then after a pause and a shaking of heads, "You don't? Why that's easy; they plant the seeds in the spring." Or he might ask: "Do you know what gets wetter while it dries?" and go on with his tune while they puzzled, then say, "Why, don't you ever use a towel?" Flinging good music and fun made Hen a popular fellow with the pioneers, young and old.

June had almost gone before the train of covered wagons had crossed Iowa to the Missouri River Valley. Along the newly made trail, this band of pioneers passed Garden Grove and Mount Pisgah, two villages that had sprung up as way stations. At these places large fields had been plowed and planted to corn. Blacksmith shops had been set up to mend broken wagons. A good many log cabins had been built.

All this was in the spirit of helpfulness. Most of those who had plowed and planted did not remain to harvest their crops. Their cabins too, were left for other travelers who would be passing that way. Some of the pioneers would even plant a few hills of corn every time they camped for the night.

"Why are you doing that?" someone asked one of them.

"Oh, just to give boys and girls that follow this old trail later some good roastin' ears to eat, or maybe some corn to pop over the campfire. It's fun to do things that might make someone happy, even if you don't know who will get the joy."

At Kanesville, a town springing up among the hills just cast of the Missouri River, Ben was given two delightful surprises. First of all, his dog, Bones, came bounding up to their wagon and barking his joy as he found his young master. Towser could hardly understand the welcome Ben gave to this stranger; perhaps he was a bit jealous over it; but the two dogs soon became good friends.

A second surprise came just after Bones had appeared. Uncle Starling rode up to the train on a horse. He had big news for the families. War was on with Mexico. An officer of the United States army had come to President Young with a request that the Mormon people raise five hundred soldiers to help win the war.

It was a difficult call for a scattered, homeless people to meet; but the leaders patriotically decided to try to do it. With Captain Allen, they went back among the camps to enlist volunteers. Despite the hardships and dangers that lay ahead, the people rose to their country's call. It was not long before the Mormon Battalion, as it was called, was marching down to Fort Leavenworth to get uniforms and guns and other equipment for the long, hard march to California, then part of Mexico.

Ben's Uncle Sam White was one of the young men who volunteered. Uncle Starling, at the request of the leaders, had stayed behind as one of the scouts to help the oncoming families get settled there in western Iowa. It would not be until the next spring that President Young would lead a vanguard on to seek out a permanent homeland in the farther West.

Where should Ben's father and mother with the two grandmothers and the uncles and aunts make their homes while they remained in the Missouri Valley? Uncle Starling promptly advised that they settle on Pigeon Creek, about fifteen miles to the north of Kanesville. "Good water is there, and trees to build cabins, with a spread of rich bottom land near the rolling bills where corn, and other crops can be raised."

This helpful advice was taken. Next day found many of those who had come in the caravan together from Nauvoo seeking out their home sites on pleasant Pigeon Creek.

Men, women and children were soon at work. Food came first, so plats were plowed for quick growing vegetables, and some acres for the planting of corn.

"It might not ripen," said Uncle Lorenzo, "but it will give us some roasting ears and also good fodder for the cows and oxen."

"Yes, and we can dry some," spoke up Aunt Melinda. "We must lay in all the extra food we can to take us through the winter."

"Seems to me that there's goin' to be a lot of wild plums and huckleberries 'mong these hills," added Grandmother White. "If we're right smart, we'll get all we can of them to help out., That'll be good work for the younguns."

"I do wish Uriel might have lived to see this country," said Ben's other Grandmother sadly. "It is 'bout as pretty as the old Mohawk Valley he loved so much." She was busy with her knitting needles as she spoke.

Cabin homes soon began to rise around the Pigeon Creek dell. One building, larger than the others, was to serve as a meeting house and a school. It was not many weeks before there was a village of about thirty families. When the meeting house was partly finished with its pole and dirt roof, Apostle Hyde drove up from Kanesville to preside over the first service held in it. He praised the folk for their progress, and appointed leaders to guide them in their further work and their worship.

Ben and Joe and other boys were set at their usual work of herding the cows and oxen. With Bones and Towser to help, it wasn't such a hard job to keep the animals from straying away during the day. At night they were driven into corrals for safety.

Little trouble was expected from Indians. Most of the tribes were then living across the Missouri River. Just a few Pottowatamies still lingered on the Iowa side, and these were "tame Indians." They did not bother much except to come around begging at times. Some French trappers were among them with Indian wives.

Bruere, one of these trappers, came to Pigeon Creek village one day with his Indian wife and their three children, Roxy, Marie and Pierre. Seeing Ben's Uncle Lorenzo working on his cabin, Bruere rode up on his Indian pony to have a talk. It was rather a strange request this French trapper had to make.

"You white folk have school. I want my papooses brought up like yours. Will you and your wife take these three and let them live with you this winter and go to school with your boys and girls?"

"But we have hardly room in our cabin," Uncle Lorenzo began, "and too little food." By this time Aunt Melinda was at the door.

"I'll bring you much venison, maybe buffalo meat, and buffalo robes," Bruere went on. "My wife, she make moccasins, leggins, shirts, for your children. We treat you right. Papooses good. You take them, yes?"

Uncle Lorenzo turned to his wife. "It will crowd our cabin," said Aunt Melinda, "but we can put our boys and this little fellow up in the attic, and make a cosy corner below for the girls, I guess. As for food, if their father will keep his promise, we'll be better fed." So the French trapper's request was granted.

When Ben ran over to see his cousins that night, he had a big surprise. Three dark-faced, bright-eyed little strangers were with them. It wasn't many days, however, until Roxy, Marie and little Pierre were just happy children of the Pigeon Creek village. Pierre became a popular youngster because of his skill at catching fish, at hunting squirrels and rabbits. His keen ears and bright eyes were always hearing and seeing things that other boys missed. Ben grew to be very fond of him, as did also Bones and Towser.

One night late that winter the boy was over at the home of his cousins. Things were not so cheerful as usual. His uncle and aunt had a worried look in their faces. Their food supply was getting very low. Snow had fallen so deep that none of the men dared venture out to try to get deer or other game. Wolves kept up their howling in the nearby woods through the long nights.

"Bruere is pretty slow keeping his promise," said the troubled father quietly to his wife.

"Well, I've not lost hope that he will get through this snow," Aunt Melinda responded; "that Indian mother won't let her children go hungry if she can help it.”

Little Pierre, who bad been teasing the cat, suddenly jumped to his feet and ran to the door.

"What is it?" asked Uncle Lorenzo.

"Somebody come; maybe Injuns."

Ben and the other boys and the father, gun in hand, joined the Indian boy to listen intently. Soon they heard footsteps, crunching through the frozen snow. A little later there came a rap at the door.

"Who's there?" demanded Uncle Lorenzo.

"Bruere," came a husky voice.

The door was flung open. In the light of the fire that streamed through it were two dusky forms, that of old Bruere and an Indian companion. Behind them was a sledge they had drawn up to the cabin. It was heavily laden with venison and buffalo meat, and with the promised moccasins, leggings and shirts. Besides there were some warm buffalo robes to help keep out the biting cold. There was a feast that night, shared with other families. It was the beginning of brighter days for the pioneers.

Ben Ch 5

WINTER brought more snow than usual that year. Folks were glad to snuggle closer to their fireplaces during the cold evenings, and talk over plans for the move that had been openly arranged for the coming springtime. Everybody was making preparations to leave then for another home; but just where it was to be, no one knew.

One night, shortly after Christmas time, Uncle Sam White and Uncle Starling came to Ben's home with rather startling news. They both had been chosen to go with a selected vanguard, which, under the leadership of President Young, would seek out a new homeland in the far West. Naturally, there was excitement among the family over that announcement. Days that followed were busier than ever with getting everything ready for these young pioneers to make that journey into the wilds.

"Oh, I wish you would take me with you," said Ben.

"Not now," replied Uncle Starling; "you will have to stay and help your father and mother follow our trail. It won't be many months before you will be doing that. Old Buck and Brindle will pull your wagon along."

February Fourth of 1846 was another day of excitement for all Nauvoo. Early on the morning of that day, a bitterly cold one, a long train of covered wagons, drawn by good horses, mules, and oxen, made its way down to the Mississippi. The great river was completely frozen over with ice thick enough to hold up teams and wagons.

Good-byes had been said at the various homes. Not many folk dared to risk getting toes and noses frost-bitten. Some of them did watch from their windows and waved good luck to the train as it wound its way slowly over the river and finally disappeared among the hills of Iowa on the western shore.

Suddenly Ben asked, "Where's Bones?" No one knew. His father searched the barn and the shop, but no dog was to be found.

"He's gone with Uncle Starling! I just know he has!" exclaimed the boy, beginning to cry.

"I'm afraid he has," said his father; "but never mind; we'll get him back again. Anyway, your uncle might need Bones worse than we do, out in that Indian country."

There was some comfort in that thought; yet Ben was pretty lonely for his dog. He did not get over the loss, either, until one of the neighbors, Brother Coltrin, gave him a puppy. Towser, as Ben promptly named his new pal, was soon to grow into a stout watch dog, and to follow his young master on a long journey.

"Make ready, everyone, to follow the pioneer vanguard into the West," came a call from the leaders left in Nauvoo to guide the Saints.

That meant harder work than ever for all. Every family must get ready its own outfit and supplies of food, bedding, and clothing, seeds for planting, tools for building, books to read, furniture that might be carried, and other necessities for settling in some unknown land. For the mothers and fathers all this meant long hours of toil every day. For boys and girls of Ben's age, it was work, too, but there was something of exciting adventure in it.

"Maybe we'll see lots of buffalo," said Joe one day as he and Ben were helping to parch corn.

"I'm going to get Father to teach me how to shoot his rifle," replied Ben, "so I can help get game on the trip?”

The boys stirred the crackling corn in the big iron kettles with more vigor as they thought of that outdoor sport. Chatting about things to come helped them to forget being tired with the work they were doing. It wasn't easy to parch bushel after bushel of the yellow grain; but their fathers said the families must have enough to last till next harvest and corn would keep better when it was parched. That was a kind of pioneer "cornflakes" or "grape-nuts" to be eaten with the milk that the bossy cows would give night and morning as they traveled.

Of course there were other kinds of food--all that could be gathered. Bags of cornmeal for "Johnny cakes"; hams and bacon and lard, dried fruits and a few sacks of nuts-were a. few of the good things Ben remembered. Nor did he forget the two jugs of molasses his mother had stowed away for the trip.

"We are going to need all the wagons can carry and more, before we can get crops in whatever land we settle," said Ben's father.

He was right. The pioneers and their boys and girls did see some hungry days--a good many of them during the next few years ahead.

It was about the middle of May, just after Ben had passed his ninth birthday, when the signal came for the family to cross the Mississippi for the West. Four stout covered wagons, each drawn by three yoke of oxen, finally left the homes that the boy's parents and grandparents and one of his uncles had built. The old wagon shop also had to be left behind, quiet and lonely. No one would buy these places that had taken so much work to build. Some of the heavier furniture and the benches had also to be abandoned.

"There's one comfort," said Grandmother White. "We are leaving the mobs behind, too."

Down by the great river some hundreds of wagons were waiting to be taken across to the Iowa shore on the ferryboat. All day it kept crossing and recrossing the stream.

When it came time for Ben's father and the others of his family to drive up the gangplank to the boat, little Paul, frightened as he looked upon the wide, moving water, cried, "Oh, mother, let's surround it."

Drawing him close in her arms beside baby Hannah, she quieted his fears, and he fell asleep. When he awoke, they were on their first campground among the rolling hills of Iowa.

Rosy dawn was just lighting up the wide Mississippi when Ben opened his eyes that May morning in the pioneer camp. A crackling wood fire in front of their tent had brought him out of a sound sleep. It was to be a lively day for him.

"Well, you're up with the chickens," Grandmother White greeted him, "just in time to fetch the water and to help me make you some 'Johnny cake.' Here, take this pail, and use this dipper so you won't rile the spring. I'll be mixin' the 'salt 'risin' with the cornmeal while you're gone."

It was only a few rods from their camp to where a crystal stream bubbled forth from a stony glen to go dancing down to the big river. Ben soon was back with the clear water. That won grandmother's praise.

"Better come with Uncle Lorenzo and me, Ben, to help get the cows milked," said his father. "We might need you."

Off the three went, pails in hand, to a meadowy stretch along the river, where night herders had kept the cows within bounds. Others were there for the same purpose. It wasn't so easy to separate the animals, and get them to keep quiet while the milking went on.

Excitement in crossing the river and being pastured in a strange place made some of the cows a bit unruly. A few of them had to be roped and held. After a good deal of chasing, Ben understood why his help was needed. The chase gave him a hearty appetite; too, for the good Johnny cakes and bacon that were ready when they got back with the milk.

Breakfast over; there was another task for the boy. He and Joe Phelps with some other lads were given the work of herding the milk cows during the day. There was some fun to be found with this duty. As the cows grazed among the woods, the boys had sport with squirrels and cottontail rabbits. Ben's new dog, Towser, was always alert to scare these little animals, and run them to their holes in the trees or underground. He didn't quite succeed in catching any of them, however, so the boys didn't get any squirrel or rabbit pie.

One thing that did come from this running through the woods was a discovery that meant food for all the camp. Everywhere the lads ran they found quail. Flocks of these plump little "Bob Whites" would go scurrying before them, or fly into near-by bushes and trees. When the cows were taken over by the night-herders that evening, the lads ran to their various tents to tell excitedly about what they had found.

"Why, Father," exclaimed Ben, "there are thousands of them, and they are so tame I could almost pick them UP.”

Other boys had the same story to tell. As a result the men busied themselves that night making traps to snare some of the game birds. Ben's father had caught quail as a boy in Ohio, so he knew just how to do it.

"They make mighty good eating," he said. "We'd better get what we can of them. It will help out the 'Johnny cake and bacon."'

Next day, while they waited there on the western shore of the Mississippi for further preparations to be made for the journey west, the men and boys took time out to catch quail. Ben and Joe were getting rare sport, up tilting box-like traps made for them. First they would sprinkle some grain to lead the quail to the traps, then hide away behind bushes or a tree and await results. When any of the unsuspecting birds would come pecking the grain on the way to the trap, the boys could hardly hold still. But they managed to do so, until with the quail right under the box, they would jerk the string and down would go the box over the game. That afternoon they came back to camp with about a dozen birds each enough to give a feast of quail to all their folk in the camp.

"Seems like Providence to me," said Grandmother White, "this getting of good food out in the wilderness." Many of the pioneers felt just the same way over these little birds, which came in great flocks during the exodus of the Saints from Nauvoo.

One who found the quail especially "good eating" was Ben's Grandfather. All the bard winter he had been "feeling poorly," as his wife said. Six years before, he had come to Nauvoo hale and hearty; and with hard work he and Ben's Grandmother had built a comfortable home, and developed a fine farm.

"Uriel just worried himself sick," she told Grandmother White, "and the shock of bein' driven from the home we have struggled all these years to make-well, it has put him in bed. But he seems better today. The quail with toast I gave him this morning is the first food he seems to have liked in months. It started him to telling Ben about catching 'Bob Whites' in the old Mohawk River country. Maybe he's taken a turn for the better."

"Let's hope and pray so," said Grandmother White. The hopes of these pioneer mothers were not to be realized. When the covered wagon train left the Mississippi River camp, as it did a few days later, Ben's 'Grandfather was still in bed ill. Jolting over the rutty road, up and down the rolling hills of Iowa, made him worse. It was rough going for even hardy men and women. For the aged and ill, the journey was often unbearable.

One morning, while the caravan was breaking camp, word was passed to the family and friends that Father Uriel could go no farther. His sons and daughters gathered around the wagon. Everything that could be done for the aged pioneer was done, but nothing they could do seemed to help. Finally, just before noon, after telling them to be true to the faith, and take care of their mother, he fell into his last sleep.

That day the caravan remained in camp. Ben's father and his Uncle Lorenzo found a dry, fallen log, and from it sawed boards to make a coffin. This was lined with cloth by the mothers. A simple, yet impressive funeral service was conducted by one of the leaders, and the grandfather was laid to rest in a grove near a large walnut tree. Next morning the caravan, with two Saddened, but courageous grandmothers, moved on westward.

Ben Ch 4

MAYTIME of eighteen forty-five brought another birthday to Ben. This time he was eight years old. Grandmother White had a big jar of cookies as a present for the lad; and his other grandmother gave him two pairs of woolen stockings she had knitted.

"You must put these away for Jack Frost days," she said' "I'm sure your toes will be happy to snuggle into them then."

For another surprise his mother made him 'a cake, sweetened with molasses, and filled with good nuts she had saved. His father gave him a pair of beaded moccasins he had bought from a Fox Indian. It was just what he wanted to chase around with his pals when they played "Injuns." Besides the moccasins kept his feet cosy when he and Joe would take the oxen down the train to the Mississippi.

Uncle Starling added another gift--a real Indian bow, with a quiver full of feathered arrows. The sharp points of these had been removed. For further safety, the Uncle made Ben promise he would not shoot at any person or animal around the place.

"This is only for practice," he said. "I'll train you and Joe how to 'use a target. Then later you might get a squirrel or rabbit or prairie chicken for us."

A target was set up in a vacant lot. Ben and his pals got some real fun at times trying to hit the "bulls-eye." Once in a while they did make a center shot. Then out would come an "Injun yell." There wasn't much time to practice, however. The youngsters were kept too busy helping round their homes. Ben's mother needed him more than ever at that time; for a baby sister had just come.

The boy was happy as a lark over this event. Paul seemed not quite so joyful. He couldn't understand why his mother couldn't give him more attention. His big brother, however, by helping mother take care of little Hannah, as the baby was named, soon brought Paul to loving her, too. Very soon he was doing his share of baby-tending, so his brother could be free for other work.

"Raise more food," was a call that came from the leaders that year. "Make every acre produce all it can. Plant gardens. Grow corn and wheat and potatoes. Let all help to bring through a good harvest."

Just what was back of this stirring call the boys of Nauvoo could hardly know. They did sense that something unusual was in the air; everybody--men, women and children--was working as never before. Added to the home chores, the running of errands, helping his father at times in the shop, another kind of work came to Ben. He was often taken to the farm just outside of the city to help his Uncle Starling plow and plant and cultivate.

This work in the open fields brought new joy to the healthy boy. It was a bit tiring at times, of course; but he found fun in helping to yoke up Buck and Brindle, and in driving them with "haws" and "gees" along the road that led to the farm. It was interesting, also, to watch the stout oxen pulling the plow and turning the dark soil as 'round and 'round they went. Bones, always with his young master, found fun, too, barking at the oxen, and occasionally chasing a cottontail rabbit they would scare out of the grass or bushes along the near-by creek.

Later, when the corn was up, Uncle Starling would give Ben another kind of fun. He would let the boy ride old Brindle as they cultivated the corn to kill the weeds and keep the rich soil stirred around the growing plants. To keep Buck and Brindle from nipping off the mm as they plodded up and down the rows, Uncle Starling had made some little wicker baskets to hang over their nozzles.

A rich harvest came from the good work. In summer time there were roasting cars to eat. Besides, hidden among the corn were some big juicy watermelons and muskmelons Uncle Starling had planted to give a surprise to Ben and his boy pals. Then in autumn the tall cornstalks, bending down with the heavy ears, yielded a bounteous crop to make cornmeal for the family and feed for the oxen and hogs.

October brought some fun with the fall work. Ben and Joe, herding the cows and oxen in nearby Casper's Hollow, had discovered some trees and hazel bushes loaded with nuts. Squirrels were busy laying in a store of them for snowy days.,

"Why don't we get up a nutting party?" suggested Joe.

"Let's do it," added his pal.

It took no coaxing to get their parents' consent. This pastime would mean more food and fun for the whole family. Two days later most of the youngsters of the neighborhood, with a few of their parents to direct and guard them, were making the woods ring with their merry voices.

By noon, baskets and bags were over half filled with walnuts, hickory nuts and hazel nuts. Time, of course, was taken out for a picnic lunch. Before sundown everybody, tired by happy, trudged back to town carrying their loads of goodies for the winter evenings.

"Well, well!" exclaimed their father as beaming Ben and Paul reached home. "Have you boys been robbing the squirrels?"

"No, siree!" returned Ben. "There's nuts enough left in the woods for all the squirrels in the world.' We just took our share."

"Good boys," said Grandmother White. "I'll make you some nut cookies--a whole jar of them."

Joyous clapping of hands greeted this promise.

"Come, get washed now, for a good supper," said their mother. "I know you are hungry as young bears."

"It's a blessing we have more than enough to eat this season," said Ben's father. "From the way people are being mobbed and driven into this town, we'll all have to share our food with hungry folk before the winter goes by.

Ben was soon brought closer to the tragic events then happening in and around Nauvoo. Once, while he and Joe were trailing their oxen down to the river, they chanced to meet two other boys, Fred and Will, who were also taking their cattle to water. These boys with their parents and others in the Morley Settlement had just had their homes burned to the ground.

"One morning," said Fred, "just after we had gone with father into the woods for timber, a band of men with blackened faces came to the village. They ordered our mother and Aunt Alvira, who lived close by, to get out of their log cabins with their children. Then, after clearing the rooms of chairs and tables and beds and other things that were in them, these mobbers piled straw into the cabins and set them on fire.

"Why did they do that?" asked Joe. "We don't know," said Will; "they were just bad men. None of our folks had ever hurt them."

"Guess it was because you are Mormons," added Ben. "My father says that we will have to find a home somewhere that mobbers don't live. He says they are a heap worse than Injuns."

Another event that made a deep impression on Ben that autumn was the death of Grandfather White. After some weeks of illness, this fine American pioneer had passed away. He was laid to rest in the growing cemetery out in Casper's Hollow. The boy never forgot that day with its tears and flowers. And he ever remembered Apostle Hyde, a friend of the family, who spoke at the funeral and afterwards came to the home to comfort them in their sorrow.

"Henry died because he worried so much over the death of Joseph and Hyrum and over other tragic things that have been happening," said Grandmother. "He couldn't understand how such lawlessness and cruelty could be in this land of freedom."

"None of us can understand all of it, Mother White," said Apostle Hyde, "but we do know that the Lord will help us to see things more clearly in his own good time. Just keep your faith and go on in the helpful way you ever have done and all will come out right."

Grandmother White did go on. She lived for many years, always helping and cheering others. For a time she stayed in Ben's own home helping her daughter, Eliza, with her little ones and preparing for the journey, then only a few months away. Ben used to marvel as he watched her knitting socks and mittens for the children and others. How those needles would fly in her skillful fingers.

But the boy was not always at home that winter. He was sent to school with Joe and other boys and girls. It was not in such a building as boys and girls now have in our cities for their schools. This Nauvoo school was carried on in an upstairs room of a private home. There were only a few rough benches for seats, no blackboard. All the books the boys and girls had were a few spellers and some readers.

What they learned mainly after mastering their ABC's was a little spelling, some reading and "ciphering" --or arithmetic. A few of the larger boys and girls helped the schoolmaster train smaller boys like Ben and Joe with their first lessons.

If any lad was naughty-and once in a while someone forgot-there was a "hickory stick" hanging on the wall that might be used. Mostly, however, the school was a happy place filled with willing boys and girls who wanted to learn, and whose parents were glad to pay for their schooling.

This pay, however, was seldom in cash; for there was little money to be had in those days. Teachers, like other folk, had to take corn or wheat or potatoes or even loads of wood for their work. But they were happy to get such pay for helping the young pioneers get some "school book learning" along with their other training.

Ben Ch 3

BEN missed his little wagon, of course; and he had his moments of sorrow over it. What natural boy would not? But he did not find much time during the busy days that had come to Nauvoo to grieve about the loss; for he and every other healthy lad in that town had to help all they could through the testing years of 1844 and 1845. Yet, in spite of little duties placed on young shoulders, these Nauvoo boys managed to find their fun, and to get close to some exciting events that were making history during these troublous times.

One event that impressed him deeply happened shortly after he had come to live in Nauvoo-the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum Smith. Though only just seven, Ben never forgot the day the bodies of these great men were brought to the city. Still too young to realize what it all meant, he had followed with other boys the draped carriage down to the Mansion House, and gazed with childlike curiosity on the gathering crowd of grief-stricken people. Later he listened to the men in the wagon shop telling how a mob had killed the Prophet and his brother, Hyrum. While he did not understand the inner meaning of what they said about this wicked deed, he did carry in his heart ever afterwards a hatred of mobs and the mob spirit.

Grandfather and Grandmother White, with whom Ben stayed for several days after this tragedy, helped him to know more of Joseph Smith as a boy. They were neighbors of the Smith family in old Vermont.

"Yes, I knew Joseph and Hyrum just like my own boys," Grandfather said. "They lived up the road a piece from us, not far from Sharon. And they were mighty fine boys, too; always helped their father and mother and other folks."

"That's right, Henry," added Grandmother White; "many's the time Joseph would do errands for me when his mother sent him to the village. He was cheery about it, too. I can hear his merry whistle now as I think about the boy."

"He was a plucky young fellow," remarked Grandfather; "you remember that time, Rebecca, when he almost lost his leg from blood poison."

"Course I do," said Grandmother; "his mother has told me about it many times."

"Tell me about it," spoke up little Ben. "Well, once after Joseph had a fever," Grandmother began, "it seemed to settle in one of his legs. This swelled so terribly that they called for a doctor; but in spite of all he did, the leg grew worse. Other doctors were called. They finally said that the leg must be cut off or the boy would die.

"Mother Smith just wouldn't think of this. She begged the doctors to cut in deeper to get out the poisonous matter. She had faith if they did, her son would get well.

"Finally they agreed to try, if only Joseph would stand the pain. They wanted the suffering boy to drink some brandy or wine, but he would not. He said that if his father would hold him in his arms, he could stand it."

"Yes, and the brave boy did stand it," added Grandfather; "and he lived to become our Prophet. Why those cruel men ever killed him, I can't understand."

"They killed him because he told the truth," Grandmother replied. "Some wicked folk don't seem to like to hear truth. Didn't they kill our Savior for telling them the truth and trying to help them? They have killed other good men, too."

"But what shall we do now for someone to lead us?" asked Grandfather.

"The Lord will provide a leader," Grandmother said, "He always finds a way."

Little Ben listened eagerly to their earnest words. He was later to understand more of their meaning.

A leader was raised up to rally and guide the people. It was Brigham Young, President of the Twelve Apostles. He seemed to know just what to do. People must go ahead with their work. The great temple begun by the Prophet must be completed. Farms must be tilled to raise plenty of food. Shops where wagons and other needed things were made must be kept humming. Everybody must work. Ben soon became one of his father's real helpers. He couldn't do the heavy tasks connected with wagon-making, of course; but there were errands to run, and other little duties he could perform to save the time of the men who were shaping the wheels and bolsters and tongues and other parts of the big wagons. He was learning a good deal about the trade, too, while his bright eyes were watching; and often he found some exciting fun when he was out on an errand.

One day his father had sent the boy down to Lower Nauvoo to take a certain tool to a blacksmith whose shop was near the Joseph Smith store. When the tool was delivered, the boy turned to go back to his father's shop. But something kept him from hurrying home. Other boys were running up one of the streets as if they had sighted a circus parade; and Ben raced after them. No$ it wasn't a circus parade, yet it was something just as interesting.

A band of Sauk and Fox Indians had crossed the Mississippi River to hold a pow-wow with the Indian agent in Nauvoo. There they were in all their fine feathers and fringed buckskin, with beads and other ornaments to add color to their shirts and leggings and moccasins. And they were marching in stately single file to the appointed place of meeting. On reaching the spot, the red men circled around on the green, and quietly sat down.

Officials took their places with the Indians. Then with dignity, the head chieftain took a pipe of peace--presented it solemnly to the east, the west, the north and the south--and afterwards passed it round the circle. This was an introduction to the talks that followed. Each of the chieftains and also the white officials spoke. Finally, the pow-wow ended with the Indians evidently much pleased, for there was shaking of hands and many "how-hows" and other expressions of good will. Then the white men gave their red visitors a feast.

It all seemed to be a "homecoming" for the Indians. This Sank and Fox tribe, indeed, had once lived in and around the pleasant country on which Nauvoo was built.

Watching the steamboats, with their big wheels churning their way up and down the great stream was another sight that gave, delight to Ben and his pals. Then too, Joe Phelps, a neighbor boy, and Ben, were always ready for a run to the Indian mounds that rose above the high bluffs to the north of town. Sometimes, if their parents gave consent, they would go to the wharf and watch the negroes loading and unloading the boats, and listen to their songs.

Often they would see great rafts of logs floating downstream, with tents or cabins on them for the lumber hands who were taking the timber on to St. Louis or some other river town. Some of these rafts would anchor at Nauvoo; for it was in this way the folk there got the timber to build their houses, and also the temple that was steadily rising on the brow of the hill.

Nauvoo might have remained a pleasant place in which to live had there not been some folk around the city and within it to cause trouble. These people, filled with some evil spirit, would not let the followers of Joseph Smith live on in the city they had built. Just why, no one seems even to this day to know.

"This is a free country," said Grandfather White. "My own father and uncles were in the army that Ethan Allen raised to help win our liberty. Why can't the officers of the law protect us in our right to worship as we like?"

"Well, the sheriff is doing all he can, so they tell me," spoke up Grandmother; "don't you get yourself too excited, Henry. It will all come out right somehow."

Ben, who had been listening to their talk, found out a day or two later that his Grandmother had spoken the truth about the officer she named. It happened that be and Joe Phelps were standing by a store two blocks away from the wagon shop when down Mullholland Street came two horsemen on the dead run. Right in front of the store they drew up their horses sharply, sending the dust and dirt flying as the hoofs of the animals dug into the' road.

It was Sheriff Backenstos and Porter Rockwell, who had been called into service by the sheriff to help drive back the mob. One of the leaders had refused to obey orders of the sheriff, and had been killed. A tragic duty had been performed by the courageous sheriff; it meant further trouble, however, for the people he was trying to protect.

Other true Americans tried to keep down the mobs, but things grew worse. Finally the leaders saw that to live in peace, the Latter-day Saints must find a new home- land farther West.

There was harder work ahead. Every home became a center of industry, with quilting, knitting and weaving and making of clothes. Every shop was as busy as could be, with most of the effort being turned to the making of covered wagons, ox yokes, chains, harnesses, saddles, and other equipment.

Something else must be had for this journey in the covered wagon. That was oxen. These patient, slow moving animals were safer than horses or mules. They would draw heavy loads, and not be so hard to keep well fed on the grasses to be found along the way. As it became more certain that the saints must find new homes, they began to trade for oxen, or purchase them.

Ben's father had only the two fine horses that had brought them from Ohio to Nauvoo. These, like the dog, Bones, were almost part of the family. But it was decided with a good deal of heartache that they must be sold to get money enough to buy several yoke of oxen. In looking around for a buyer, Ben's father found one. Apostle John Taylor, who needed a horse, bought old Mack. There were tears in the eyes of Ben and his mother as this faithful animal was led away.

A few days later the brown mate to Mack was also sold. For a time the barn and corral seemed deserted. Then several oxen were driven into it, and Ben had a new experience watching the men yoke up and train these animals. He had a new chore, too. With Joe Phelps, whose father had also bought some oxen, he had to become herd boy, and to trail the cattle twice a day down an old Indian trail to the Mississippi to let them take a drink.

One day Apostle Taylor came driving old Mack, 'hitched to his buggy, up to the wagon shop. Calling Ben's father out, he said quietly, "Brother Shad, I just drove over to say that you didn't tell me all you know about this horse."

"Well, Brother Taylor," replied the father, "I always found him to be a good 'horse."

"That's what he is. He is a better horse than you said he was. Here's ten dollars more for him. I feel that I owe it to you." With that the fine leader drove away, leaving an abiding affection for him in the hearts of all the family.

It is small wonder that when the time came, as it 'did the next spring, that this pioneer wagon-maker and all his dear ones were ready to follow such honest and faithful leadership into the wilds of the unsettled West.

Ben Ch 2

GRANDFATHER and Grandmother White also had stories to tell the eager boy when he visited their home. And they had cookies, too, to help make him happy. It is no wonder that the lively little boy, with his dog, Bones, was always running over to their home when his mother would let him do so.

Another place that claimed his interest was the big wagon shop across the road from his home. It was such a busy spot, with the song of saws, planes, hammers and other tools making music all day long.

"Don't get too close to these workmen," his father would keep warning the interested boy; "and leave the sharp tools alone."

"But I want to make me a wagon, Daddy. Why can't I do it?"

This pleading usually resulted in Ben's getting some boards, with a few tools, and a place out of the way where he could hammer to his heart's content.

Then came a joyous day. His father promised to make him a little wagon--exactly like the big ones--for his birthday. It would have to be done after regular work hours, perhaps in the evening, when all was quiet at the shop. And Ben must promise not to bother the workers or tease his father while it was being made.

He was quick to promise. Away he went in high glee to tell his mother.

"Just think, a really true wagon like the big ones- all my own," he exclaimed. "I can take baby brother for rides, Mother, and I can bring things for you from the store. Won't that be fine?"

The mother agreed it would. In her heart she was about as happy as her little son.

It was nearly a month before the Maytime birthday would come. Ben could hardly wait. When his father really did begin to create the wagon, it helped. Day after days as he could find time, the master workman put his skill into the creation. As it began to develop, he grew in interest in what he was making to gladden the heart of his boy. A day before the birthday the little wagon was finished-with a coat of paint to make it a thing of beauty.

On the morning Ben was seven years old, he woke to find his dream come true. There in the living room was his wagon. Tears were in the mother's and the father's eyes as the happy son gave them both a loving squeeze. Then out he, went to run up and down the street and show his little friends the rare gift.

True to his promise, Ben did take his baby brother for many a ride. He also ran errands for his mother, most willingly, whenever she asked him to go. Ben and his dog, Bones, became a familiar sight around the streets of Nauvoo.

The boy, with his father's help, soon rigged up a little harness, and trained the clever little animal to pull the wagon and the young master, but only around the streets near home. Knowing that Bones was fond of chasing cats, the father was afraid there might be a mad chase after one some day, with a broken wagon and an injured boy as the result.

One of the favorite errands Ben liked to do for his mother was to go down Mullholland Street through the business part of town, and on past the lot where the great temple was being built, to Parley P. Pratt's store. Shops along the way were full of interest. It was a stirring sight also to see the workmen shaping and placing the stones to make the stately building rise. Besides, at the Pratt store, there were some good things to buy. Ben always remembered the sweet molasses shipped up the Mississippi from New Orleans. It wasn't quite so good as maple syrup, but it did make buckwheat cakes taste almost as good. Frequently he would bring a jug of this molasses home to mother.

Her caution to him was, "Now, don't let the grass grow under your feet; and don't try to hitch Bones on your wagon. He would likely run away and spill the molasses over everything."

The thought of losing the sweets was enough to bring obedience about the dog. Ben did not always heed the advice to burry home, however, and one day this brought real sorrow into his young life.

He paused near the temple lot to watch a workman carving a stone. The chip, chip, chip of the chisel, driven deftly into the hard substance, was so interesting a process that Ben forgot how time was passing. Nor did he notice that two of the other workmen had also paused to look intently at his little wagon.

What brought the boy back to himself was hearing one of these men say, "That wagon would be a mighty handy thing to haul our tools about the yard."

Then to the startled lad he said, "Sonny, how would you like to let us have your wagon to help build the temple?"

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't do that," replied Ben.

"Isn't your father the boss of the big wagon shop?" the man questioned.

"Yes."

"Well, we'll talk to him about it." Frightened at the thought of losing his precious wagon, Ben sped for home with Bones at his heels. There, bursting into tears, he exclaimed, "Mother, you won't let them take it away, will you?"

"What are you talking about, boy?" his mother asked. "Some men at the temple asked me for my wagon to haul their tools; and when I said I couldn't give it to them, they said, 'we'll see your father.' "

"Perhaps they were just joking, Ben. Come, you're late for dinner. Now eat something and you'll feel better."

But the boy could hardly eat anything. Finally his father came in and before his son could tell what happened, the two men appeared at the door.'

In the kitchen with his mother, Ben heard one of them say, "It would be a great help, brother, to keep some of our best tools together and to take them from place to place."

"Well, let me talk it over with the boy," replied the father. "He is mighty proud of the little thing; but perhaps he will give his consent if he sees things as we do."

That night Ben and his father and mother had a good heart-to-heart talk.

"You see, son, everybody is giving something to help build the temple," said his father. "I know just how you feel about it and I am not going to force you to part with your wagon. My heart is in it, and your mother's, too. But just think about it. Ask your Heavenly Father to- night when you say your prayers to help you decide what to do. It is the house of the Lord that is being built. Perhaps even a little boy like you can help."

Ben's mother had only this to say, "I know you will do what is right."

As she took him to his bed, she kissed his tear-stained face, patted his rumpled head, and walked away to let him say his prayer alone.

Next morning a little boy, drawing his wagon and followed by his faithful dog, made his way down Mullholland Street and over to the temple lot. Walking up to the man who seemed to, be foreman, he said simply, "I've brought you my wagon to help the men build the temple."

Looking into Ben's frank face, the kindly man replied with feeling, "God 'bless you, boy. I know what this means to you. No one has made a greater sacrifice to help build the Nauvoo Temple. Your gift will help. God bless you." He gripped the boy's shoulder gently.

Ben bravely held back his tears, as he walked home with Bones by his side.

Ben Ch 1

BLOSSOMING Maytime had come again to old Ohio. Birds were singing, bees humming, squirrels frisking among the hickory and other trees that shaded a certain frontier village of that "Buckeye State." Merry voices of children, just dismissed from school, echoed the welcome everyone had for spring.

Not all of these happy youngsters hurried home. Several of the boys paused at a wagon shop on their way to watch a skilled workman there making a wheel. It was real fun to see him put the hub in the vise, shape and set the spoke and felloes. Then, if they had not bothered him too much, the kind-hearted wagon-maker would let the boys have the best sport of all-rolling the new wheel off to the blacksmith and watching him set the iron tire.

On this day, however, something else happened. A little girl came running to the shop and said excitedly, "Oh, Mr. Woodbury, guess what? Aunt Liza has a baby boy!"

"Well, well, Nancy," returned the wagon-maker; "that is good news."

"Yes, and there's something else you'd like to hear," said the little girl. "Uncle Shad says they are going to name him for you, 'cause you taught him how to make wagons."

"That is a pleasant surprise, Nancy; thank you for coming over to tell me." Then, turning to the eager boys, he added, "This wheel just can't be finished today. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'll let you roll two of them tomorrow. I must go over and have a glimpse at my little namesake, Benjamin. That sounds like a big name for a tiny baby, but I guess he can carry it."

With this he straightened up his work bench a bit, and while the boys scampered off to their homes, he and Nancy walked to the cottage where a baby boy had come to bring joy and sunshine to a young father and mother.

Little Ben had a healthy, happy childhood in his Ohio home. Of course he could remember almost nothing about it; for when he was about five years old he was taken by his parents to another home by the Mississippi River. Nor did he learn, until he was older, why they had given up their home where he was born in 1837, and made the long journey to a new one.

It had all come about, as his parents told their questioning son, because some Mormon missionaries had come into the Ohio village, and converted a number of the people there to the gospel. Ben's father and mother, his four grandparents, with some of his uncles and aunts and their neighbors, had been baptized into the new church. Others had made fun of them, and had caused trouble for them because they had accepted what they believed was the truth; so they decided to gather with other folks of their faith in the city of Nauvoo, in western Illinois.

Little Ben did recall how his mother cried when she left some of the friends who had come with her from Vermont. He remembered, too, the big covered wagon his father, with the good help of Mr. Woodbury, had made. He was all excitement when they hitched "Mack," their black horse, and his brown mate to one of these "homes on wheels," then drove away with their relatives and friends along the road that led towards the west. Nor did he ever forget Bones, their dog, who barked for joy because he was being taken along with his little master.

Another thing that Ben kept in vivid memory was the bump, bump, bump, of the wagon when they had to travel over corduroy roads. You see, in those long ago days, there were no such pavements as those over which we glide today in rubber-tired automobiles. The wagon roads of that time were mainly along Indian trails. Sometimes where the ground was a bit too miry, the men would lay small logs or poles across the road, and over these the wagons would go bumpety, bump until they got to smoother ground. Ben could understand better after this bumpy ride why they needed stout, well-ironed wheels.

Ohio with its great groves of hickory, walnut, maple and other choice trees, was gradually left behind. Then came the more open country of Indiana, and finally the green prairies of Illinois, stretching as far as the eye could see.

"My, what a sweep of good corn land!" exclaimed one of the men. "No trees to, chop down and bum up just to get a few acres on which to raise a crop."

Yes, Sam," responded Ben's father; "but I'm wondering what we're going to do for good timber to build homes and make wagons."

"And where's the maple trees to give us syrup and sugar? This boy must have his sweets," added his mother, as she gave the lad a loving squeeze.

"Quit your frettin'," said Grandmother White. "We'll get along somehow; we always have."

Three weeks had passed-days of travel, nights of camping out under the stars-and then the journey ended. As they neared the "Father of Waters," the prairies of Illinois broke into rolling, wooded hills. Among these the little caravan wended its way until finally came glimpses of the Mississippi and then Nauvoo, the Beautiful, was before them.

There was the river, curving like a great silvery horseshoe round the lower part of the town. Across it were the green hills of Iowa. In the middle of it an island covered with woods. The city itself, patterned with streets running east and west, north and south, had already in 1842, when Ben first saw it, spread over much of the bottom land, and was extending eastward over the upland.

Of course this lad of five was interested in something besides a growing city. Just then he wanted a good dinner and a place to sleep. How his parents and grandparents solved the vexing problem of getting settled, he hardly knew; but they were not long in finding or building homes in Upper Nauvoo.

His father bought a roomy house on a large lot-just the place for a lively boy to romp about. Across the road was a large wagon-shop, of which this skilled workman was soon made foreman. Not many months had passed before another baby boy came to give added cheer to this new home. Ben was, of course, delighted with Paul, as his little brother was named.

His grandfather and grandmother, on the father's side, lived only a few blocks away. While Paul was a tiny baby, Ben often stayed with them, sleeping in the attic room. There, grandfather often told him a bedtime story to charm him off to dreamland.

"Just remember," he would usually begin, "that your great grandfather was an American soldier who helped win our war for freedom. He was born in Connecticut; and he was in the same regiment with Nathan Hale.

"Well, after the war was over, he moved from Connecticut into New York. That is where I was born. There were still plenty of Indians about when I was a boy, but they were not wild ones. Often they would come to our home to trade moccasins, buckskin shirts and other articles, they had made, for flour or sugar or whatever we had to swap with them. Once father got an Indian suit for me, all beaded and fringed, and an Indian bow and arrows. Wasn't I proud when I put it on? I looked like an Indian papoose for sure. Wish I had kept it for you, Ben, but somehow it got lost when I moved away from New York to Ohio."

"But why didn't you stay there where the Indians were?" asked the boy.

"I guess it was your grandmother's fault," he went on. "You see I found her the prettiest girl you ever saw, except your own mother up there in the Mohawk Valley; we decided to get married and have a home of our own. So we came on to Ohio, first by boat on the old Erie Canal, then by another boat over Lake Erie. Then we found a home on the shore of this great lake. It was in this home that your father was born. He used to be just your size, Ben, and he was always teasing me to tell him a story. But now you must go to sleep, and I promise to tell you more stories some other night."

Sometimes when her evening's work was done, Ben's grandmother would do the story telling. His eager ears never tired of hearing true tales of when she was a little girl, or when his father and grandfather were little boys. One of the favorites was about a blackberry pie. He always got a good laugh with that story.

“Well, one day," she would begin, "I told my four children that if they would go into the nearby woods and pick blackberries, I would make each of them a pie out of the berries they brought home. Of course, they were happy over the promise; so off they scampered with their little pails.

" 'Now be brisk, and get home by noon,' I warned them.

" 'We will, mother,' they shouted back, and soon they had disappeared among the trees.

"Shad, your father, would rather chase frisking squirrels than pick berries from thorny bushes. So he just wasted his time at play in spite of the warnings of little Chloe, his sister. The other children kept at their picking. About eleven o'clock, I guess, Shad's little stomach must have reminded him of dinner and the blackberry pie I had promised. Suddenly he went to work; but he soon, saw he couldn't fill his pail before noon. Then be decided to play a naughty trick. By the blackberry bushes were some pennyroyal leaves. And what do you think your father did?

"Well, he slyly filled his pail nearly full of these sweet- smelling leaves. Then he worked fast and soon he had the leaves covered with blackberries. His brothers and sisters could not imagine how he had filled his pail so quickly.

"When they all came home, I praised Shad for being such a good worker. And I made them each a pie out of the berries they had brought. Shad's was the biggest pie of all. When he cut into it, though, he got a surprise. It was full of blackberries mixed with pennyroyal leaves."

"That was a good joke on my Daddy," said little Ben. "Yes, and it taught him a good lesson," said his grandmother.

"Now, tell me another story," Ben coaxed. "Tomorrow night, laddie; you must say your prayer now, then shut your bright eyes and go to sleep."

Ok now one about Sarah in B3

Childhood Memories

I had a very happy childhood. We moved twice when I was a kid and I hated it. I’m glad we did because I love where I live now, but I remember going back to visit our old house and friends and feeling so sad. In the second place we lived we had a big backyard and orchards all around us, and it was especially big for being a kid when everything looks bigger than it really is. This house was really cool in another way and that was the fact that my cousins lived there before we did. So it really wasn’t new to us except for the living experience. We made a lot of changes to this house but especially to the big backyard.

This backyard of ours had really tall weeds that covered it. It was nothing but those tall wheat-like weeds and trees. It was always so much fun. Our cousins would come over all of the time and we made up so many games to play and we could spend hours out there. We made trails in the weeds. There was a main road that ran from the front to the back and then there were these side roads that went off from that. They were never straight. They always went curving around or zigzagging somewhere. They were tall enough and we were short enough that we could play hide and seek and cops and robbers. Even though we were shorter than the weeds, we always ducked when we were running somewhere. It was like there was less of a chance to get caught that way. One time, my brother and I decided to team up-as we often did-and we made a hiding place in the weeds. It had the perfect location and it was the perfect size. It was like a nest that was only big enough for two people and it was so well hidden that sometimes I had a hard time finding it.

Neither the weeds nor the nest lasted long. Once they dried out we had to chop them down and burn them. But we soon found other games to play which meant my brother and I found more opportunities to team up and dominate.

What ever happend to Paul

Paul Albert Hutton was the handsomest man in the world, until he died. He died on November 26, 1998. It was sad that I had to go so soon. I was so young and able to do many things. He said it was the US History paper that put him under six feet of soil. I can tell that everyone is going to miss me. It is real sad that I had to go so soon. Later reports say that he died because he ate too much pie, and choked on a peach pit.

Pauls English assignment

Well when you leave your files on my hard drive, I guess I can claim them. So here is one that we can all share.

Pauls early years

My Birth and Family Circumstances at that Particular Moment in my Life

I was born on December 6, of the year 1981. I was born in a hospital in the city of Payson. It was cold that early morning. My parents were so happy to see me they let me pee on the doctor. I few days later I moved to my new home in Springville. I was trained to wear those great comfortable cloth diapers. My parents had been living there for about a year before I moved in.

Ralph Poulsen was just called to be the bishop. He was the principle at Mapleton school. My dad had just bought his first package of bees. He was excited for that to come. He was called to be the ward clerk. My dad had begun to read Before and After Mt. Pisgah. This was a book written by my great grandfather, Clare Christensen.

That winter it snowed. It always snowed a lot down there, in Springville. It was because of the lake affect. In the last of December the weather was mild. The nights were cold, but there had been little snow or rain. My brother had just turned two years of age that August. He had yet to begun to lose his banana head.

In January of 1982, my dad had come home, and my older brother said to him, “daddy, daddy, I did it.” Mom had to tell what John just did. He wet in the toilet by himself. That was a great accomplishment for my older brother. On the 13th of January, a flight leaving Washington D.C. bound for Florida, crashed into the 14th Street Bridge. There was a lot of ice in the Potomac River. The plane sunk into the river. My great-grandmother Hanson was on that plane. My parents went to the east to see the funeral, I was tended by my Aunt Cindy. My father spoke at his grandmothers funeral. So did my father’s brother, my Uncle Duane.

My dad was working at Hjorth Brothers, a welding company. He wage was $ 6.75. One Saturday he was working at the Pacific States Cast Iron Pipe Company. He was working all alone. He thought he heard somebody yell. He was on the balcony looking down by the truck. He was laying on his stomach. My dad had thought he was looking at the truck. He actually had fallen from the roof. My dad ran down and saw blood by his head. Dad went to the guard house and called an ambulance.

John’s was two and a half. These were two of his favorite words. “Happy Do” and “Itsucky-MOM.” Fred Flintstone would say, Yabba Dabba Do. My mother would change John’s diaper and would say, “It is yucky, John.” He would reply back, “Itsucky-MOM.”

Pauls earlies memories

My Wonderful Earliest Memories

In Springville, there was a forest behind the apartment building. When I was about five years of age they tore it down to make a duplex. My friend moved into the abandoned house up the road. His name was Jake. His brothers’ and sisters’ names were Jeremy, Josh, Bambi, and Maggot. I cannot remember her real name. She liked being called Maggot. There was a plowed field across the street where we played baseball. We did not know if it was safe to play there because we were yelled at once. In the same field there was the old man’s barn. We went into barn once and we were scared and we ran out.

There was another experience that Jake and I had, when we were Kindergartners. There was a field down the street from Jake’s house. We had built a fort and we found some matches. We decided to burn some cardboard. That was a huge mistake. We tried to put it out with dirt. It spread to rapidly. We both ran to our homes. I told my mother and she called the fire department. That night I received a punishment.

On part of my early childhood, I was afraid to go outside. There was some neighbor kids who would chase me. They didn’t like what I said so they would chase me up the tree. They moved shortly after. They had the chicken pox many times they said. I said, “You could have it only once.”

We lived at the bottom of the hill. To go to the library, we made a trip up that great hill. I visited the great hill recently, it is not as big as I thought it was. Our school was the best. Hardy’s had just been built on Main Street. If you were good you could go to Hardy’s with the principle and miss school to eat lunch. I had the chance to do that once. It was great. I remember walking to Westside Elementary, everyday. The snow was mid-thigh height in the winter because of the lake affect from Utah Lake. Whenever we got a ride from our mother we were late. We weren’t late too often.

The streets were very wide. In the summer, John and I picked up many balls of tar from the road. It was easy to pick the tar up. It was great when the cousin Peterson’s came over. We made homemade ice cream when they came over. All of the supplies where in the shed in the far back. That is where our shop was. That is also where John fell off the top shelf and broke his arm. The lumber yard behind the sheds, and across the fence. We were not permitted to go over there. If we did go over there we didn’t stay long.

In Pleasant Grove I remember no one could find our house. The best part of that house was the great big back yard. Those small trees were very fun to hang on. I wish they hadn’t be torn down so soon. There was a gap in the fence where kids would go to the canal. My dad had greased up the poles and barbed wired the poles closed. There was enough room for me to squeeze through.

In the winter time, we followed the deer tracks around the back yard. In the spring we found there had been a little deer foot stuck in the fence. We looked down and there it was, the animal carcase. That was really sad. One other thing I remember about the backyard was that the yard kept on getting larger, and getting smaller at the same time. The grass portion was growing larger due to my dad. He planted seed there, it was great to play football on. The garden area was getting smaller. Now the portions of the ground are both enormously large.

The home in Orem is the best. We don’t live at the bottom or the top of the hill. We live behind Allen’s Supermarket.

Pauls family

Paul Hutton’s Great Family

My parents are wonderful. My mom can never take a good joke from me. She doesn’t understand when I am kidding her. On the other hand, my dad can take all that good stuff from me. He sometimes can take my jokes.

My parents are smart and hard working. They can help me on my homework but sometimes it takes to long to do it when I ask them questions. My dad will talk an hour for each problem, but he still would not answer my questions. He is still very knowledgeable. My mom can answer the question and get it over with. If it is a question about English subjects, I would ask my mother. If it was anything else like math, I would try to ask my brother but he wouldn’t be any help. I would then go to my dad for current events and subjects around there. He likes to watch the news, and go on the Internet and look up what’s going on in the world today.

` My older brother is now on his mission to South Dakota, Rapid City. He is in Gillette Wyoming at the time being. I am really close to John. He is my best friend. Even though we had the best of times, and of course the worst of times we made it to this point without killing each other. I understand sometimes when he doesn’t want me hanging around, but I still want to be with him. We had a great experience together this last summer when we went to Summer Lacrosse. He wanted for me to go with him. I felt great that he wanted me to come along. He wanted me to come one time after I hurt my foot. I was a gimp, but he didn’t care. He wanted someone to come with him and he chose me.

My sister, Sarah, and I have a good relationship also. I give her rides to school everyday, rides to practice, rides home from practice and rides to her friends house. That is not all, I help her with her homework. She would have a question and I would try to answer her math problem. It is great that we can be around each other and not kill each other like sometimes that we have.

She also does things for me. She helps with the chores. She helps cook dinner and we enjoy doing things together. I think that is great that I want her to be around, and sometimes she likes to have me around.

My other sister, Rebecca, is best know as Becca. She is the funniest kid. She tries to make us laugh with some very lame jokes she makes up. The jokes do not work. She also likes to bug me. She thinks she never gets to watch Television. I take the remote away and she freaks out. She just doesn’t know what is good for her, when I do this to her.

The great things about Rebecca is that she cares about everyone in the family. She misses John, and he has been gone only for a month.

My other relatives are Nana, Grandpa and Grandma, and the Petersons. I love it when Nanna comes from California to visit. We catch up on old times and there is always something to talk about with her. We could talk for hours on end. Grandpa’s and Grandma’s house is just another one of my family’s home. It is just an extension of our house but one mile away. There are some differences though. It is always clean. They don’t have us kids to mess it all up every day. There is love beaming from that home at all times. And the Petersons’ are very close to us.

One family tradition is that we have Family Home Evening almost every Monday. Sometimes we are too busy to have it so we go through everyone’s schedule for the week. Every month, on the first Monday, we have family home evening with the extended family with Grandpa, Grandma, and the Bryan Nelson family.

Another tradition we have is to get together on the major holidays. Thanksgiving is coming up and my Grandma from California is coming to visit us. It is great when she can visit. I wish she could visit year around. This year we are going to Grandpa’s and Grandma’s house for Turkey Dinner. Every one is going to be there.

On the Fourth of July, we travel to South Jordan to my Uncle’s house. We play games, have food, and do the firework thing. Then I have more food. It is great. A few years we bought some fireworks from Wyoming. They scared the neighbors and the people watching the fireworks. My cousins from California went into the house they were so scared. In California they can’t set off any fireworks. This was their first time, and probably their last time they want to do that again.

Another traditions that our family has is to put up the Christmas tree around my birthday. We used to go out to look for Christmas trees but we bought a fake tree a few years ago. My brother and I got sick of decorating it so we don’t any more. We leave Sarah, Mom, and Rebecca to do it.

We have never had a pet but my dad had some pets growing up. He found a turtle on his mission. We would visit Papa and Nana every so often and look for the turtle in the back yard. One year it did not show up. It made us kids sad.

Where did Paul live

Where did you live?

The first location I lived at was 361 West, 100 South, #2. It was the apartment in Springville Utah. The other name for this city was Art City. We lived 500 feet away from the train tracks. These tracks were used at a constant rate. You knew when the trains were on strike because they would not come by. I lived there for 8 short years of my life.

I have a book all about Springville. It began on the wagon train ride from Council Bluffs, Iowa. The families who were in the company were for the most part of New England stock who had joined the Latter-day Saints Church. They wanted to get away from the persecution. They settle Springville on the 18^th of September1850. They built a small fort for the winter. They out grew that fort shortly and began to grow into the big town it is now. This book had described wars, famous people, and the growth of Springville.

Then I moved into a house in Pleasant Grove. The address was 847 South, 1260 East. It is my Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house now. It is a very difficult address to find, people say. It was at a dead end road when I lived there but the orchard was knocked down to build houses next to the house. The property was very large. It is close to a half of an acre. It extended from the road to the Murdock Canal. We lived at the top of our road. The driveway is very steep, and was easy to shovel the snow off.

There are two canyons that led to Pleasant Grove. They are Battle Creek Canyon and Grove Creek Canyon. Kiwanis Park is at the top of the road leading to Battle Creek Canyon. That was the beginning point to climb to the G on the mountain.

I once heard Pleasant Grove was called Battle Creek because there was a fight with the Indians in that area. The outcome was good, that is how the town gets it name.

I then moved to Orem City after living in Pleasant Grove for two years. I have lived in the house at 509 west 1930 north for six years, this last Halloween. This City was named after a dude named Orem. I don’t know any other history of the town except that.

My neighborhood is the Ribbonwood Neighborhood. We are right behind Allen’s Supermarket, that is how you find this place. State street messes with people’s minds when it comes to east and west. My neighbors are very nice to me. If I break there windows with a lacrosse ball they don’t care. If I throw apples in the road no one knows it is me, but they probably suspect it is me.