Meeting Nordet

   I knew it was a mistake the minute I saw her, but it was too late for second thoughts.  She was a tiny thing, currently from France, but of Turkish origin, elegantly dressed in the French colors of red, white and blue.  Her name was Nordet.  The nearby children laughed merrily at her antics, but I didn’t trust her….not for even a minute.  At first she was on her best behavior, but soon she couldn’t keep up pretenses any longer.
   I sat down, waiting for her to make her move, my palms sweaty with anticipation and my stomach churning.  What was she going to do with us?  How did I let myself get talked into meeting her?
   It started many months earlier when Roger announced he had a bucket list item.  He wanted to drive to France.  I laughed.  “You can’t drive to France,” I told him. Then he showed me the map.  There, just off the southeast coast of Newfoundland, was a tiny island group, called Saint Pierre et Miquelon, still a part of France.
  I ignored him, hoping this idea would somehow pass, but it did not.  He was wrong, actually, he could not drive to France, but he could WALK and drive to get there, so plans were made and off we went.
   We drove across the US and crossed into Canada near Detroit, Michigan.  It was an adventure.  I didn’t give Nordet a thought.  
     After days of driving through Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia I didn’t give Nordet a thought.  It was at Sydney, Nova Scotia, that we boarded the Blue Puttees, a huge ferry, named for  the 1st Newfoundland regiment, called the Blue Putteeswhich were decimated during World War I at the Battle of the Somme. We watched for an hour or so, as they loaded semi-trailers onto the ferry and wondered if there would be any room left for cars, but eventually we were waved aboard.  We parked on deck three.  I think the trucks were mostly on other decks.  It turns out that the ferry has over 1 3/4 miles of parking.  A few trucks were also on deck three with us.

   We were instructed to take everything we needed with us as the vehicle decks were locked while underway.  Huge chains hung down from the walls, waiting to chain down the vehicles…an ominous sign if you think about it.
   Deck seven had a lovely dining room where nice dinners were served.  Deck eight had berths, popular with people doing a night crossing, as well as a seating area.  Our seats were on deck nine.  Comfort all the way for us, with reclining chairs with a view out of the large windows.  We left Nova Scotia at 11:45 AM and arrived at Channel Port aux Basques about 6:30 that evening.  It was a pleasant journey.
    While there are a goodly number of roads in Newfoundland, only one, the Trans Canada Highway, goes all the way from Port aux Basques to the provincial capitol, St. Johns, on the other side.  Generally, the road is shaped like the letter C, tipped over onto its open side.  You get off the ship at one end of the C and travel mostly around the C, getting off a bit before the other end.  We liked the Newfie landscapes.  The first part reminded us so much of the area around Glennallen, Alaska.  The northern part of the route resembled the Kenai Peninsula and the final side was very much like the Denali Highway.
   We soon discovered Newfie food.  French fries drenched with gravy, hash browns and potato chips were served at every meal.  At grocery stores it was not unusual to see people with cart loads of potato chips.*  Of course, there was also abundant seafood…chowders, fish cakes, lobsters, salmon and others.  Hearty breakfasts everywhere always included a choice of breakfast meats…ham, sausage, bacon or bologna.

   Our last stop was at the little fishing village of Fortune.  Our hotel was beautiful inside with hardwood floors and a bed so tall that they provided a stool to help me get into bed.  The hotel had only eight rooms and no on site manager, so once they showed us to our room, they left us to our own devices.  As it turned out, because it was the end of the season,  we were the only customers there that night.  We had the entire place to ourselves.  At 10 PM, figuring that no other guests would be coming that night, I went out and locked the exterior doors.  I might add that the exterior of the Fortune Hotel did not match the luxury features of the interior.  It looked like a double wide trailer had been hauled onto the lot and skirted.  In fact, we both felt a bit off center when walking around inside…as if maybe the hotel was not quite level.

   The next morning when we awoke, there was a stiff breeze, but the Fortune Harbor was well protected from the elements.  Since we didn’t have to catch our ferry to Saint Pierre et Miquelon until 4:30 that afternoon, we had a leisurely lunch at Doc’s Diner.

Roger had delicious lasagna and I had their homemade chili.  We still had time to spare, so we went for a ride along the coast where we saw a sign that said, “Al Capone was here.”  Apparently during prohibition times, this was a hot spot for transporting liquor to smuggle into the US.
    At last it was time to go to the ferry terminal.  Since we were going to France, we had to have our passports with us.  I felt calm and at peace as we waited for the ferry to dock from the other side.  Many of the folks waiting to board were native French speakers.  One couple, of Basque heritage had their Labrador dog with them.  A French family with three small children and two strollers was also waiting.  Life was good.
     And then I saw her.  Nordet.  She was not at all like the Blue Puttees.  She looked like half a small, very small, ship.  In the front was an area with passenger seats.  The back of the ship, meant to hold maybe 15 cars, had only low sides.  Sadly, no cars could board the ship.  When the French government ordered Nordet and fixed up their dock to accommodate her, they did not talk to the Canadian government about it, so the Canadian side did not match the loading area which made it impossible to load any vehicles onto the ferry.

    Then we cast off.  The harbor was relatively calm and all was well, but we chewed a couple of ginger-based sea sickness candies just in case it got rough.  There was a large flat screen TV bolted to the wall where the crew showed us a movie about where to find life jackets and how to safely evacuate the ship.   When we were out in the open sea, the ship began to rock and roll.  As long as we were going frontwards through the swells it was doable, but we couldn’t go on that way.  Things were getting ominous.  Soon we had to change direction to get to Saint Pierre.  Now Nordet was running parallel to the swells which tossed us wildly around.  The crew members were able to catch the TV as it fell off the wall.  The little coffee bar fell apart and bottles of water skittered across the floor.  It was hot in there.  So very hot.   I grabbed the safety instruction card and began to wildly fan myself.  I must have caught the eye of one of the crew members, who came over to stand in front of me.  “Ere, Madame” he said as he handed me a paper towel doused in ice water, as he indicated I should use it to cool my face.  “It will ‘elp.”  It did help…but not for long.  That fickle Nordet was busy fighting with the waves.  Sometimes it seemed like the middle of the ship was trying to go one direction and the ends the opposite way.  She came clear up out of the water sometimes and then landed with a thump, but that wasn’t as bad as when she rolled from side to side.  The little French kids who were laughing merrily earlier were silent.  Sounds of retching surrounded us….and I joined them.  That chili was not so tasty the second time around.
   One crew member tried to tell us that this was normal weather, but later we heard they had been advised not to take the ferry out that day at all.  At last we reached Saint Pierre after an hour and a half of misery and terror.  By the time we left Nordet behind we were a bedraggled lot as we walked through the wind and rain. 
    We were so happy to see the car for l’Auberge Saint Pierre waiting for us there.  The driver shepherded us into the hotel as he mentioned that the ferry had been late.  Not surprising given the ride we had just endured. 
Our bed was soft and inviting.  We were safe
at last…..until we remembered that in just two days, we’d have to return to Fortune.

 *Note on the potato chips.  As we later  told our friends in Halifax about the cartloads of chips being sold in Newfoundland grocery stores, they nodded knowingly.  “Storm chips”, they said.  The weather reports were saying that high winds were predicted as the tail of Hurricane Michael traveled up the coast of Nova Scotia and over to Newfoundland.  People were stocking up on foods that didn’t require cooking in case the power went out.  Hence  “storm chips”.

   As it happened, we were to leave Saint Pierre on the Sunday afternoon ferry.  I was not looking forward to it.  Saturday evening we got a text, telling us the ferry would sail early Sunday morning instead of Sunday afternoon to get it to the mainland and back before the wind became too strong again.  If it meant avoiding another ride like we had getting there, we were more than happy to be ready early!  Fortunately the ride back was much less adventurous.
  
   

How to Clean a Headstone

Since Memorial day will soon be here, I thought this would be some useful information.


Yesterday I had a chance to attend a community preservation workshop.  One of the classes demonstrated to us how to properly clean a headstone.  Since our family struggled with this some years back, I wanted to write down what I learned for future reference.

1.  Headstones should first be cleaned while dry with a soft brush (preferably soft natural bristles). 

2.  Then soak the stone with water and keep it wet while you work on it with the soft brush. You can use a wooden stick, such as a popsicle stick, to help clean out lichen and such. If more than that is needed you can use a product such as D/2 or Orvus.

3.  You should clean the stone when the temperature is above 40F. If it is a hot day, you should let the water warm up before you put it on the hot stone. No cold water on hot stone. 

4.  Things you should NOT do or use include: bleach, wire brushes, power tools, pressure washers. 

5.  They don't advise putting sealants on the stone. If you feel you must put something on, make sure it says it is breathable or permeable ...not water proof. 

6.  Stones should not need to be cleaned oftener than every 5 years. 

7.   You should not use Portland cement to repair cracks or as mortar. Marble and Limestone are particularly vulnerable to acids. So no acidic products should be used. (Lichen roots are acidic! Who knew?) You want to use only pH neutral things.

8.  Unrelated to cleaning, but still good to know:  Doing rubbings of headstones is damaging to them and should not be done.

Summer Jobs During World War II--Roma

The summer after finishing high school, Roma had a job working at Box Elder Pack, in the tomato section of the company. Her job was peeling tomatoes, for which she was paid 8¢ a pan. The pans were the size of a very large dishpan.

She said, "They had a big scalding machine outside the plant and the tomatoes would come through a small opening on a belt in pans and we would pull the pans of hot tomatoes off the belt and peel them and put the pans of peeled ones back on the belt to be taken off at their destination. I don't remember how many pans I could peel in an hour. I wasn't the fastest peeler nor was I the slowest, but I never got any pans brought back to redo."

"The tomatoes were easiest to peel while they were hot so there were advantages to getting to work a bit early to get a good place near where the tomatoes came into the building but not too close."

"I worked there another summer as well in the general cannery section where other vegetables were canned as well as frozen. This was one summer during college. The canneries were only open in the summers at harvest times. There I worked as timekeeper which necessitated keeping track of how many people were working and who was working in each position at various times during the day. I had my own office and was also in charge of first aid supplies. Anything other than very minor injuries I was to send to the local hospital."

"Because it was during World War II, there was a shortage of labor for the cannery, so some German POWs were bussed in each day from a camp in Tremonton to fill various positions. A gun-toting guard would come with them. There was a shortage of men to fill many of the jobs which were considered too hard for women to do. There were a lot of things for them to do such as a lot of heavy lifting etc. that had to be done in the cannery and working on various machines that kept things going. One of the POW's was sick one day and they sent an army ambulance from where they were building Bushnell Army Hospital to get him."

"The guard would spend a lot of time in and out of my office also keeping track of his charges and knowing where they were at all times. As I recall the number of POW's varied from day to day, usually somewhere between about 16 and 20--maybe 25. I think they were allowed to keep 10¢ an hour of what they earned and many were eager to come and work at the cannery to earn what they could. Only those that were considered harmless were allowed to come and work at the Cannery. Others were not allowed to leave the compound. Many would send their money home and others just used it for things they wanted and would ask the guard to buy things for them. One was an artist and was always worried about protecting his hands. One day the guard said that the artist wanted painting supplies and something to paint and wondered if I had a photograph he could use to paint a picture of me. He couldn't be paid in money and would do it just for something to do. The guard also suggested that a couple of packages of cigarettes for him would be appreciated however, so that is what transpired. I don't recall what medium he used to do the painting but it was paints of some kind not pencils. He did the painting from a photograph."

(When the broken glass on the front of the picture was replaced, we could see that the artist had signed his name as Rembrandt Suirs. It looks rather like watercolors were used. The matting and backing were cut from what looks like old production schedules from the cannery.)

"To keep track of the POW's I had to check through the cannery as well as Smith Frozen Foods and in the warehouse several times a day to know how many were working and where, for the company expense records. There were both men and women working there. Mostly the women worked on 'belts', like picking out any 'bad' peas or beans or whatever was being canned, as they went by and the men on heavy lifting jobs and machinery. The main person in charge of the whole operation was named Dan. He wasn't around the processing very much but another man named Frank was the foreman and knew everything that was going on and he was everywhere all the time. I now have no idea what their last names were--long since forgotten."

"The cannery was in two sections. The tomato operation was in a building, long since removed, that was across the street from the train station on the west side of the train tracks on West Forest Street and the main cannery was a block or two south of the train station. It is also long gone."

"One day there was an accident upstairs in the main cannery where the bean cutter machine was located. A young boy from somewhere in Wyoming was running the bean cutter. He was a minor I think just age 16 and shouldn't have been running it. His older friend was supposed to be doing it but somehow it was nearly lunch time and he went there to help out for a few minutes. A prod of some kind was supposed to be used to keep the beans going but he stuck his hand down in it to hurry the process along and get it emptied so they could go to lunch. In doing so, he lost his finger in the machine. He ended up in my office which prompted me to immediately call Frank who grabbed him and put him in his car quickly and got him to the hospital. Frank's assistant who I don't even remember, quickly shut down the machinery, After Frank returned I went with him to the bean cutter and Frank got rid of the whole batch of beans, finger and all."


"After my freshman year of college I worked the summer at Bushnell Hospital when they were building that and I got paid $25.00 a week which was almost unheard of at the time. It was as much as Dad was getting paid. I don't recall my exact title at the moment but I was at the beck and call of anyone that needed an errand done and opened mail, and got copies made of various things for various offices."

Bushnell General Army Hospital was a 1,500 bed military hospital built in 1942. It had 60 buildings and cost $9,000,000. The administration and medical staff were military personnel, and local residents were hired to work in such areas as the kitchen, bakery, and laundry as well as in maintenance and clerical positions. Patients were primarily sick and injured military personnel from Montana, Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona, in keeping with the government's policy of locating patients as close to home as medically feasible so that their families could more easily visit them. Brigham City residents provided room and board in their homes for out-of-town relatives of patients. The medical staff specialized in orthopedic and neuro-psychiatric cases and in tropical diseases. It was the first military hospital to use penicillin, and the facility provided training for medical doctors being sent to the European and Pacific combat areas. Approximately 13,000 patients were treated during the hospital's life of less than four years. Some POWs worked at the hospital as well. It closed in 1947.

Roma's nephew, Bert, was born at Bushnell Hospital in 1943....but that is another story.

The Cowper Birthday Book -- Ernest Freeman

The Cowper Birthday Book

   The birthday book was a gift to a young Ernest Freeman just a year or so before his family left their home in England forever.  Some kind person probably presented the book to him as a remembrance of his first home in Olney, Buckinghamshire, England, back in 1900 when he was just seven years old.

   The book was special to him for two reasons
.  The right hand pages had dates, three to a page, where friends and relatives could write their names on the date of their birth.  The left hand pages had verses from William Cowper (pronounced Cooper), a well-known poet who lived in Olney.
   As young boys often do, he inscribed his name and a message in youthful handwriting at the beginning of the book:

Ernest Freeman

Wellsville

Utah

Cash Co

     

         

Then he added this admonition:

Steal not

This Book for fear

Of shame for

In it stands

The owners name

For if you do

The Lord will

Say where

Is that book

You stole away

   The tragedies and joys of life are hinted at throughout the pages of the book.  In boyish writing is the name of Ernest’s younger brother, James Bert Wallinger Freeman, born 1897 with a note that Bert died March 28, 1919.  He died in an army camp in Wyoming of complications from the Spanish ‘flu.  Ernest, recently returned from the war in France, was sent by his family to bring his brother’s body home.
       

                                                     James Bert Wallinger Freeman


   In mid-January my grandmother’s handwriting appears with an entry telling of the birth of her oldest granddaughter.

Grandma was a dedicated genealogist, so she helped Grandpa write in the names of various ancestors and relatives, such as his aunt, Sarah Elizabeth Carter Davis Wood, his family’s only pioneer ancestor.
   On January 25th, the name Sarah Wyatt is inscribed.  We have often wondered just who she is as she is not a relative, but now with modern technology, we find that Sarah Wyatt was born January 25, 1829 in England and died in 1914 in Wellsville, Utah.  Her husband, John and grandson, Tom, are listed in May as well as John’s brother, William in July.   Ernest’s two older brothers, came to the US a year before the rest of the family.  One of his brothers worked for the Wyatt family, so this is likely why the Wyatt family is in the book.  In more modern times, the Wyatt farm became the American West Heritage Center where we volunteer.
   Though we now feel far removed from the Freeman family left behind in England, it is clear from the pages of the book that family ties were still maintained in earlier years.  Joyce Sybil Burrows, daughter of Ernest’s 2nd cousin, Harry, is mentioned in March.  She is one of the few of those left in England who made it to visit the American branch of the family.  When she visited our home when we were children, we thought it so entertaining to listen to her British accent.
   Also in March is the birthday of Jane Carter Freeman in 1857.  What a relief to see her called Jane, her middle name, instead of her first name, Euphemia!  If I search far enough back in my memory I can still envision her sitting on her front porch making french-cut green beans.  I was impressed that she could make three complete lengthwise cuts through each bean at age 98!
            

                                                     Euphemia Jane Carter Freeman

   August 4th was a busy day in our family as it is the birth date of my grandmother, Ruby Kotter Freeman, as well as my aunt, Marilyn Farr Freeman, and my father Verlin Clark Stephens, who married into the Freeman family when he married my mother.  I recall many triple birthday celebrations for these three.
   Ernest’s cousin, Rose Freeman Gibbons, was the only other English relative who came to visit in the US.  Her entry is in November.  I was just 12 or 13 when she came to see our family.  We were so excited to meet her.  My young sister, Eileen,  was about 4 years old at the time, so we told her a special cousin, named Rose, was coming to visit.   When Rose at last appeared, Eileen kept calling her ‘Flowers’.

 

English cousin, Rose Gibbons "Flowers" visits Indiana

Back:  Roma, Verlin, Rose, Ida, Ruby

Front  Eileen, Nancy, Karma, Mark, Rebecca

   The last entry on December 31st is a sad one.  It is for Ernest’s cousin, Fred Freeman, whose family remained in England.  Fred was born December 31st, 1892.  Under his entry it says “Killed in action in France - September 1914.

   Interspersed with all these memories of people long since gone are the words of the poet, William Cowper.   As I was reading the book one day, a particular verse struck me at a time when troubles seemed to overwhelm.  He wrote:

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

I loved  the visual image of a veritable cloudburst of blessings.  I didn’t recall ever hearing that verse before, but when I looked it up to see where it came from, the familiar first verse appeared - “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.”  I had sung the verse many times, but hadn’t noticed it before!
   Another poem I liked said,

Have you no words? Ah! think again,
Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow creature’s ear
With the sad tale of all your care.

Were half the breath thus vainly spent
To heaven in supplication sent,
Your cheerful song would oftener be,
“Hear what the Lord has done for me.

   William Cowper died nearly 100 years before Ernest was born, but he was still well remembered in the town of Olney as one of the most popular poets of the time. He also wrote many hymns.  He wasn’t born in Olney, but lived there for a time where he became friends with  John Newton, who wrote Amazing Grace. Newton and Cowper collaborated in a volume called Olney Hymns.

                

                                                         William Cowper

   He wrote a famous, semi-autobiographical poem called “The Task”  after recovering from  a bout of severe depression.

                  The Task
I was the stricken deer that left the herd
Long since, with many an arrow deep
    infixed
My panting side was charged when I
    withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There I was found by one who had himself
Been hurt by archers. In his side he bore
And in his hands and feet the cruel scars. 

With gentle force, soliciting the darts
He drew them forth, and healed and bade me live.

              
Birthdays in the book.  Any relationships are given in relation to Ernest Freeman, the original owner of the book, or his wife, Ruby Viola Kotter Freeman.
2 Jan.  Norma Kotter Hodson - Ruby’s
   sister
3 Jan. James Bert Wallinger Freeman-
   Ernest’s younger brother
7 Jan. Roland Gyllenskog- first cousin,
   once removed
10 Jan. Richard Green - great-
   grandfather
14 Jan.  Nancy Lynne Stephens -
   granddaughter
16 Jan. William Colse - unknown
19 Jan. Carolyn Morris - Ruby’s
   niece
19 Jan.  Ben Hodson - Ruby’s brother-
   in-law
22 Jan.  Sarah Elizabeth Carter Davis
   Wood - Ernest’s aunt
23 Jan.  Darwin Wayne Freeman -
   grandnephew
24 Jan. Charlotte Rosetta Stratton -
   first cousin, once removed
25 Jan.  Richard Andrew McLain-
   spouse of niece
25 Jan. Sarah Wyatt - Alf Freeman’s
   employer in Wellsville
28 Jan.  Charlotte Emma Goss Freeman
   - grandmother
28 Jan.  Mary Ann Wall-grandniece
30 Jan.  Mary Ann (Polly Carter) Ogden
   - Aunt

2 Feb.  Sister Baker - unknown
6 Feb.  Duane Stephens - grandson
7 Feb. Wynn George Freeman -
   nephew
11 Feb.  Linda Dattage - 1st cousin,
   twice removed
11 Feb.  Eileen Marie Stephens -
   granddaughter
13 Feb.  Florence Freeman -
   grandniece
15 Feb.  Lois Gyllenskog Hess Humphrey
   -  first cousin, once removed
16 Feb. Enoch Goss - great-grandfather
19 Feb.  Colleen McCrary - niece
21 Feb.  Robert Christensen -grandnephew
22 Feb. Gail June Kotter - niece
24 Feb. Eugene McCrary - nephew
25 Feb. Dean Bert Freeman - son
25 Feb. Clara Wall- unknown
26 Feb. Ida Freeman - sister
27 Feb. Ileen Rhodes Freeman -
    nephew’s wife
27 Feb.  J. D. Morris - nephew
28 Feb. Doris Kotter Nuttle (Nuttall) -niece
28 Feb. Doyle Lind Kotter - nephew

1 Mar. Elsie Freeman Knowles -niece
3 Mar. Annie Lucas Goss-wife of first
   cousin, once removed
4 Mar.  Samuel Freeman- great-
   grandfather
7 Mar. Dwight Carl Freeman, Jr.-
   grandnephew
14 Mar. Randy K. Peterson - grandnephew
14 Mar. Annie E. Freeman Peters-sister
15 Mar. Blaine McCrary- Nephew
15 Mar. DeLar Morris - nephew
17 Mar. Kalona Kellogg Freeman - sister-
   in-law
17 Mar.  Joyce Sybil Burrows- second
   cousin, once removed
18 Mar. Richard E. Kotter - nephew
21 Mar. Keith Freeman - nephew
23 Mar. Jane Carter Freeman-Ernest’s
   mother
26 Mar. Ethel Mayo - unknown
27 Mar. Fontella Taylor Kotter- sister-in-
   law
31 Mar. Wendell Carl Kotter - brother

6 Apr. Effie Tingey Freeman-  sister-in-law

6 Apr. Wilhelmina A. Erickson Kotter-
   Ruby’s mother
7 Apr. Ella J. Kotter - first cousin’s wife
7 Apr. Florence May J. Freeman - daughter
   -in-law
11 Apr. Kent Dee Brimhall- grandnephew
11 Apr. Gary Frank Kotter- nephew
14 Apr. Elizabeth Branson Green - great-
   grandmother
16 Apr. Linnea Freeman - grandniece
16 Apr. Rinnea Freeman - grandniece
17 Apr. Richard Freeman - grandfather
17 Apr. Frederick A. McCrary- brother-in-law
20 Apr. Olga Olson Freeman - sister-in-law
20 Apr. Garth K. Morris - nephew
22 Apr. Gertrude Kotter Morris - sister
25 Apr. death of poet William Cowper
26 Apr. Joseph Gyllenskog- first cousin
27 Apr. Richard Charles McLain- grandnephew
27 Apr. Rebecca Lynne Freeman - granddaughter
27 Apr. Julie Anne Freeman - granddaughter
28 Apr. Cleon M. Kotter - nephew
29 Apr. Ruth Kotter Peterson Poore - niece

1 May Eval(e) Peterson - unknown
2 May  Ronald Hodson - nephew
2 May  Benjamin Carter- great-grandfather
3 May  LaMar V. Kotter - nephew
4 May  Henrietta Kotter McCrary - sister
5 May  Scott Ernest Freeman - grandson
6 May  Bernard Kotter - nephew
7 May  George Knowles - nephew-in-law
9 May  Tom Wyatt - Alf Freeman’s employer
   in Wellsville
10 May Donna Andreasen Curtin - grandniece
10 May Hen(e)ry Carter - grandfather
22 May  May Freeman Wright -first cousin
22 May  John M. Wyatt-Alf Freeman’s
   employer in Wellsville
25 May  Richard Brent Freeman- grandnephew
26 May  Josephine Kington- Wyatt family
26 May  Myrtle Kington - Wyatt family
27 May  Virginia Flint Kotter - sister-in-law
31 May  Frank Freeman - first cousin

1 June  Linda Whatcott - grandniece
1 June  Ernest Freeman - b. 1893
2 June  Mary Loenza Wassom Freeman -
   niece-in-law
3 June  Craig Ernest Freeman - grandson
7 June  Verle Glen Kotter - nephew
7 June  Ada Erickson Laudie - first cousin
8 June  Elizabeth Ann Wallinger Freeman-
   great-grandmother
14 June  Beth Peters Brimhall- niece
14 June  Gerald Clive Hartmann - nephew-in-law
16 June  LueJean Christensen -grandniece
19 June  Dale Richard Brimhall - grandnephew
19 June  Jerry K. Peterson - grandnephew
24 June  Mark Jerold Stephens -grandson
26 June  Nellie Taylor - unknown
27 June  Marilyn Kotter - niece
29 June  George Freeman - father

1 July Nellie Wilhelmina Stoneman Freeman -
   niece-in-law
2 July  Kathy Kay Christensen - grandniece
3 July  Sterling K. Morris - nephew
4 July  Grace H. (Goss) Bonham - great aunt
9 July  Tiffany Freeman- great-granddaughter
10 July  DeAnn Christensen - grandniece
10 July  Edwin Erickson - first cousin
11 July  T(homas) Stratton - first cousin once
   removed
12 July  Maud Freeman - first cousin
17 July  Arthur Henry Stratton - first cousin,
   once removed
18 July  William Wyatt - Alf Freeman’s
  employer in Wellsville
18 July  Kent Val Freeman - grandson
20 July  Herman B Kotter - brother
21 July  Keith Kotter - nephew
23 July  Paul Wendell Kotter - nephew
23 July  Charlotte Stanley Marshall - great-
   grandmother
24 July  Mary Rose E. Stratton -  first cousin,
   once removed
24 July  Sharlene Andreasen Gillis-grandniece

1 Aug.  Patti Ann Freeman - granddaughter
4 Aug.  Ruby Viola Kotter Freeman - b. 1895
4 Aug.  Verlin Clark Stephens - son-in-law
4 Aug.  Marilyn Farr Freeman - daughter-in-law
5 Aug.  Wanda Freeman Whatcott - niece
5 Aug.   Larene Kotter Hook - niece
7 Aug.   Leola Whatcott Freeman- niece-in-law
9 Aug.   Dwight Carl Freeman - nephew
11 Aug. Ann Freeman - grandniece
12 Aug.  Brent  F. Christensen-grandnephew
13 Aug.  Irene Freeman Wall - niece
14 Aug.  Thomas Charles Freeman- uncle
15 Aug.  Ida Denton - first cousin, once removed
16 Aug.  Edna Hammer Kotter - sister-in-law
19 Aug.  David Herman Kotter - nephew
21 Aug.  Nora Kotter Biddulph - half-sister
21 Aug.  Elizabeth Green Carter- grandmother
21 Aug.  George Dwayne McLain - grandnephew
24 Aug.  Elmer H. Kotter - brother
25 Aug.  John Bonham - great uncle
27 Aug. Carol Call Freeman-granddaughter-in-
   law
30 Aug.  Glen Freeman - nephew
30 Aug.  Paul Fred Moynier, Jr. -grandnephew

1 Sep.  Florence Davis(Wood) Gyllenskog-first
   cousin
1 Sep.  Wilford Lee Freeman - nephew
2 Sep.  Robert Don Freeman - grandnephew
4 Sep.  Eliza Timpson - unknown
5 Sep.  LaRee Kotter - niece
6 Sep.  Matt John Gillis - great-grandnephew
6 Sep.  Annie Cook - unknown
7 Sep.  Ida Freeman Christensen - niece
7 Sep.  Colleen Ann McLain - grandniece
10 Sep. Earl Richard Freeman - nephew
10 Sep. Wilford Freeman - brother
17 Sep.  Karma Jean Stephens - granddaughter
18 Sep.  Harry Freeman - brother
19 Sep.  Kathleen Freeman - grandniece
20 Sep.  Fern Hinchcliff Kotter-sister-in-law
20 Sep.  Harry Ogden- first cousin
21 Sep.  Afton Peters - niece
22 Sep.  Frederick Stratton - first cousin, once
   removed
26 Sep.  David Bert Freeman - great-grandson
27 Sep.  Loa Freeman Hunsaker - niece
27 Sep.  Roma Freeman Stephens-daughter
28 Sep.  Dorothy Robinson-first cousin,
   once removed
29 Sep.  Fred Stanley Freeman- grandnephew
29 Sep.  Kent Hodson -nephew
30 Sep.  Carol Freeman -grandniece

1 Oct.  Dianne Freeman - grandniece
4 Oct.  Elizabeth Freeman Burrows - first
   cousin, once removed
4 Oct. Bert L. Christensen-nephew-in-law
6 Oct.  Ada Gyllenskog Johnson - first cousin,
   once removed
11 Oct.  Carolyn Jane Freeman- granddaughter
16 Oct. Sarah N. (Goss) Denton - great aunt
19 Oct.  John Robert Morris - brother-in-law
19 Oct.  Nancy Waite Freeman - granddaughter-
   in-law
20 Oct.  Gladys Gyllenskog - first cousin, once
   removed
24 Oct.  Paul Fred Moynier - nephew-in-law
25 Oct.  Joseph George Toombs Davis - uncle
26 Oct.  Elaine Freeman - niece
27 Oct.  Annie Knight Freeman - aunt
27 Oct.  Alan Brent Freeman - grandson
29 Oct.  Reed Henry Kotter - nephew
30 Oct.  Frank Bott Freeman - nephew

1 Nov.  Wayne Freeman - nephew
3 Nov.  Victor M. Kotter - brother
4 Nov.  Kay Ernest Freeman - son
4 Nov.  Rose Freeman - first cousin
12 Nov. Donald Harry Christensen -grandnephew
16 Nov. Richard David Peters - brother-in-law
18 Nov. Beth Gyllenskog Dattage - first cousin,
   once removed
20 Nov.  Henry Herman Ludvig Kotter- Ruby’s
   father
21 Nov.  Gordon Kotter - nephew
22 Nov.  Homer Leon Kotter - nephew
24 Nov.  Ada Goss Denton-first cousin,
   once removed
26 Nov.  Homer C. Kotter - brother
27 Nov.  Arthur Goss-first cousin, once removed
28 Nov.  Harry Burrows - second cousin
30 Nov.  Dennis Kay Freeman - grandson
6 Dec.  Vernice Kotter - niece
7 Dec.  Roslyn Carol Brimhall - grandniece
7 Dec.  Josephine Kington - Wyatt relative
8 Dec.  Doreen Gibson-first cousin, once removed
9 Dec.  Anne Esther Freeman- grandniece
10 Dec. Esther Bott Freeman - sister-in-law
12 Dec. Alma DeVoe Brimhall - nephew-in-law
12 Dec. Alf L. Freeman - brother
13 Dec. Charlotte Ann Marshall - unknown
20 Dec. Arthur Winter - brother-in-law
20 Dec.  Hazel Freeman McLain - niece
20 Dec.  Ruth Gyllenskog - first cousin, once
   removed
21 Dec.  Dean Bert Freeman, Jr. - grandson
22 Dec.  Rhoda Freeman Robbinson Smith-
   first cousin
23 Dec.  Rita Freeman- grandniece
23 Dec.  Richard Carter Freeman - grandnephew
23 Dec.  Janice Kotter - niece
25 Dec.  Thelma Tingey Kotter-sister-in-law
26 Dec.  John Wilford Wall - grandnephew
26 Dec.  Beth McCrary Walker - niece
27 Dec.  Mae Freeman Moynier - niece
30 Dec.  Mary Ann Carter Ogden - aunt
31 Dec.  Fred Freeman -  nephew
31 Dec.  Fred Freeman - first cousin

Dealing with Wyoming...Since 1856

   It was mid-afternoon when we pulled into Little America, Wyoming, for a quick bathroom break.  After all, they have the nicest restrooms around, with individual marble stalls.  A spot was open right next to the curb near the doors of the little gift shop and cafe.  Numerous children were thronging the playground, overseen by a huge statue of a bison.  Their parents were probably glad to let them stretch their legs and play before continuing their journey.
   We passed a man standing near the door of the gift shop as we headed directly to the back of the store to utilize those fine restrooms.  The entry to the store is a bit congested, with the cash register area to the right and a half wall, hung with numerous tourist trinkets to the left.  On the other side of the half wall were tables and chairs where folks could sit down to eat the food they purchased, but it is not visible from the entry because of the wall.  A number of people were standing there near the line to buy soft ice cream.
   The ladies room is lovely, with a small lounge area before the actual restrooms.  As I walked in, I smiled and said hello to an older lady sitting there with her cane.  The acoustics of the room were such that there was no such thing as a private conversation.  I heard a mother telling her child to wash her hands and another woman complaining that places like Little America should have emergency responders there at all times.  I thought it a strange comment since no one really lives there. When I went back through the lounge area, the lady with the cane was gone.  As we walked to the front of the store, I could see her sitting in the cafe area looking at the floor.  That is when I realized the people in the ice cream line were not really in line and the man by the door was watching intently for something.  I looked down at the floor and saw him..an older man with a beard, wearing shorts and sneakers.  His t-shirt was partially pulled up, exposing his belly.  A young woman in her twenties or maybe thirties was vigorously performing CPR on the man.  Suddenly the comment in the restroom made more sense.  Where DO you get emergency help in Little America, Wyoming. 
    After a few minutes we heard sirens in the distance.  As they pulled up in front of the building, the man waiting at the door waved them in to our location.  He mentioned it had been 18 minutes since they were called from the closest town of Green River.
    We didn’t stay to see how things came out but from what I saw, a positive outcome seemed unlikely.  We decided we’d help best by getting out of the way.
    Wyoming can take its toll on people and vehicles.  As a child, I never considered that as we drove through every other year when we went to visit our grandparents in Utah.  After the long drive through Nebraska, Wyoming was just another long, long time in the car.  I can think of only four positive highlights.  Whenever we got to Little America, we went in so everyone could get a 10¢ ice cream cone.  (Now they cost 75¢.)  It was before the interstate system, so at some point, out in the middle of nowhere, my  parents would pull over to the side of the road, open the doors and tells us to run and play out in the desert for 15 or 20 minutes before traveling on.  We enjoyed looking at sagebrush, which was foreign to us, as well as picking up bits of shiny mica.  We also watched for antelope and Burma Shave signs.  That was about it. Crossing the border into Utah was our biggest joy.
   I didn’t really pay much attention to Wyoming until some of our children moved to Colorado, which meant numerous trips through Wyoming to go visit in Colorado.  Suddenly the road became much more familiar.  Previously trips over that road had pretty much been in summer, but special occasions in Colorado meant driving it in other seasons, and some of those are not kind. 
    It should have been a warning…seeing the barricades along the side of the road with a sign saying to immediately exit the highway if the barricade was down.  Of course, we never saw them down in summer.  They just seemed like a some sort of useless road decoration.  I was pretty much in denial until that day when we checked the weather report to see the road conditions before leaving Colorado for Utah.  Conditions seemed doable, so off we went.  Shortly after leaving Cheyenne, the wind started to howl, causing near whiteout conditions from blowing snow.  We debated whether we should stop or not, but decided we were committed to continuing our journey.  We noticed that some large trucks had pulled off the road to wait out the gusts.  Maybe they knew something we didn’t know?  After Cheyenne there is really nowhere to stop until you get to Laramie, so we motored slowly and cautiously onward.  We were amazed that in spite of the road conditions, some trucks went speeding right past us.  Even a truck pulling a long horse trailer went whizzing past.  We decided to stop in Laramie to get gas before going on, but as we got to the exit to get gas, we discovered we had no choice but to exit there as the barricade was down.  They had pretty much shut the road right in front of us.  While getting gas, we chatted with the truckers at the truck stop who told us the road to the west was horrible, so we looked around and discovered a motel right there at that exit and went and checked in for the night.
   What is there to do in Laramie for most of a day while waiting for the road to open?  We went to the grocery store and got food for lunch and dinner.  Then we noticed an ad for a movie we had been wanting to see, so decided to do that.  On the way to the theater we toured the campus of the University of Wyoming and then went in to one of the most forlorn theaters I have ever seen.  I think we were the only customers, so we had our choice of seats.  We sat in the middle about two-thirds of the way back.  The row of seats about four rows down from us sagged badly in the middle.  I don’t know if the problem was the seats or the floor.
   When we returned to our motel we noticed the trucks lined up for about a mile along the road leading to the freeway exit with their engines running.  Clearly the truckers were planning a night in their trucks, ready to roll as soon as the barricade was lifted.
    By morning when we were ready to leave, the road was open again and the line of trucks had moved on.  Shortly after leaving Laramie, we saw some of the trucks and the horse trailer that had passed us the day before, blown off the road and on their sides.
    Another time the weather was okay, but shortly after leaving Cheyenne, the traffic was terribly backed up.  A check of the local radio station revealed that the pass leading to Laramie was closed by a horrible accident.  They had no idea how long the road would be closed.  A quick check of the map showed an alternate back road, so rather than sitting there for hours we decided to take the scenic route.  We were glad to have our lunch with us for the two hour journey to cover what usually takes about 45 minutes.
   If it isn’t one thing, it’s another in Wyoming.  Last October as we traveled through, the freeway was lined with emergency vehicles for about 50 miles.  Smoke was billowing across the road, causing reduced visibility.  We never saw the actual wildfire they were waiting to fight, but we were glad  to get past all the smoke.
   Of course there is more to Wyoming than traveling along I-80.  Sometimes we went to Yellowstone National Park and the Tetons.  As a child, Yellowstone seemed a magical place where mud bubbled, geysers spewed and bears mooched marshmallows from passing cars.  As an adult, it is still a place of wonder, but with a dark side.  Who would imagine that the whole area was really part of a vast,  ancient volcanic caldera that could threaten to blow up at any time?  It began to remind me of a scene from a Jonathan Edwards sermon called “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”. 
   A few years ago we decided to do a bit of hiking in Yellowstone, so we first watched Old Faithful erupt and then set off through the geyser basin toward another geyser area where our ride was to pick us up.  As we walked we saw a wolf eyeing us from the other side of a small geyser and hoped that he was more scared of us than we were of him.  We made it a point to stop at Morning Glory Pool, a beautiful childhood memory, only to find it a dingy brown rather than the beautiful blue I remembered.

                                                                      Old Faithful

   All along the way, signs reminded us to stay on the designated paths due to the dangers of the thin crust in the geyser basins.  We were almost to our pick up point when the narrow path was blocked by two massive bison.  They were enjoying their place there and seemed in no hurry to leave.  We couldn’t walk out around them because of the danger signs.  We couldn’t walk near them because they didn’t seem all that happy to see us.  Eventually we had to do our entire hike in reverse and call our ride to get us at our starting point.  We didn’t see a single bear.
   Many years ago, my grandparents, Grant and Myrtle Stephens, homesteaded in a lovely mountain valley with deep, rich soil near Alpine, Wyoming.  They were married in November of 1908 and settled into their homestead the next Spring   The homestead was on the banks of the Snake River and included  land on each side of the river. The nearest post office was about 14 miles away and the nearest store about 20 miles either way, at Freedom, Wyoming, or at Irwin, Idaho.
   Grant says, "Before summer was through we had moved into our new house which we thought pretty nice. We lined it with lumber and covered it with shingles. I got the logs out and took them to the mill and had them sawed for $9 a thousand for the lumber and $5 for the shingles. We put in about 20 acres of oats. On our place there was many springs and several acres of high quaking aspens and of course along the springs were willows and the ground along the bottom was a heavy dark soil covered with big thick brush and was very fertile."
   By 1910 enough people had moved nearby that the Alpine area got a post office. Grant got the contract for carrying the mail for the first 5 years. He got $20.22 per month for making the 16 mile trip twice a week. In summer he rode a horse and buggy and sleigh or skis in winter. Grants says, "I had a lot of tough times while carrying the mail. Nearly every winter I would have to carry it on skis for several months. I remember one time I started out on the 2nd of January with a team and bob-sleigh. The snow was over 4 feet deep and snowing and blowing until I could hardly see the team so they could hardly follow the road at all." He eventually had to leave behind his sleigh and start off with just the horses. "I tied one horse to the other one's tail and started them for home. I was holding to the last horse's tail. It took me all that day to get home."
    Eventually their homestead was swallowed up in the Palisades Reservoir, never to be seen again, except in a painting Grandpa made from memory many years later.

                                                                Palisades Reservoir

                                                       Stephens Homestead Painting

   It should be no surprise to anyone in the family that Wyoming could be so treacherous.  It was in 1856 that our family first encountered difficulties there.  James Mellor was just 37 years old when he traveled through Wyoming with his wife, Mary Ann, and their seven living children as part of the Martin Handcart Company.  Their food supply was short and Mary Ann was still recovering from the birth of stillborn, conjoined twins during their journey.  They had no money for a team and wagon, so they  had only two handcarts to bring food and supplies for the journey.  Due to Mary Ann’s poor health, James and a ten year old, daughter, also named Mary Ann, pulled one handcart together.  Sixteen year old Louisa and 14 year old Charlotte Elizabeth pulled the other.  The rest of the children were too small to help.  At one point along the way, the mother became so weak and discouraged that she could no longer struggle along.  She sat down by the side of the trail and begged her family to go on without her.  When they couldn’t convince her to keep trying, Louisa stayed behind with her while the rest of the family trudged off along the trail.  Not knowing what to do, Louisa knelt and begged Heavenly Father for help.  As she walked back to where her mother was sitting she found a pie in the middle of the road.  She took it to her mother and fed a bit of it to her.  After a time, her mother felt enough strength to arise and try again.
   Their handcart company had left late in the season and was still on the high plains of Wyoming when winter weather came early, making the handcarts even harder to pull.  Their food supplies were almost gone. At night they slept huddled together for warmth.  One morning, Louisa found herself unable to rise because her long braids had frozen to the ground.  In their hurry to be on their way, there was no time to thaw the ground to release her braids, so someone just cut them off.  I suppose they are still part of the Wyoming landscape somewhere.  A rescue party eventually got them to their destination, but it was noted that 37 year old James, who started the journey with dark hair, arrived at his destination with hair as white as snow.

                                                             Louisa Mellor Clark


Seems like our family has been dealing with Wyoming…since 1856.

When I Go to Church

    One of our greatest joys in traveling around is when we are able to visit a local church congregation on Sundays.  The various congregations have the same beliefs and yet each congregation seems to have its own memorable differences. 
   According to local folks, I apparently spent most of my life in what they call ‘the mission field”.  I don’t understand this term since I have definitely seen missionaries here as well.  Maybe they just mean ‘far from here.’
   In addition to my home congregation growing up, which I have already written about, we frequently attended other Indiana groups as well whenever my father had to travel to them to speak.  Things in the outlying towns were definitely smaller and a bit more primitive.  In Martinsville, Indiana, where there was no local church building the local members met on Sunday mornings in the annex of the Seventh Day Adventist Church, because, after all, they didn’t use it on Sundays anyway.
    In Kokomo, Indiana, we met in a 2nd floor room owned by the Red Man’s Lodge which had no air-conditioning.  In the hot, humid Indiana summers that could be a problem!  It was just an empty hall which could be rented with wooden folding chairs.  A piano was also in the room but was not used unless we came  Then someone would meet Mom at the door to ask if she would mind playing.  For this purpose Mom kept a scrap of paper in her purse with numbers of the three hymns she knew how to play and that is what we sang.  The first floor was a pool parlor, so everything said and done in our meetings was to the clicking sound of pool balls hitting one another.  One day it was very hot.  That was apparently a problem for those wooden folding chairs.  It was about 110F and humid in that room which was enough to make the varnish on the chairs a little tacky which was entertaining when everyone tried to stand at the end of the meeting, only to find a wooden chair somewhat glued to their backs.
    One little branch met in a similar 2nd floor room, but instead of a pool parlor downstairs, it was the town’s volunteer fire department.  It was always exciting when the fire siren when off during a meeting.  There was no continuing when that happened.  We just had to stop whatever we were doing until the siren stopped sounding.
   As children we sometimes didn’t have any idea where we might wake up on Sunday morning.  Dad often had to travel to other areas for speaking assignments.  His areas could cover anywhere in central Indiana, parts of western Ohio and sometimes a town or two in eastern Illinois.  Mom would pack up our Sunday clothes and some breakfast food the night before and make up a big bed area in the back of our station wagon.  Sometimes we had to leave as early as 2 AM to arrive on time wherever we were going that day, so they’d just carry us kids to the car in our pajamas and tuck us in.  (Seatbelts were unknown in cars then.)  When it got light, Mom would feed us breakfast while Dad drove.  On arriving at our destination, she’d get us dressed and ready for church.  After the morning meetings we were often invited to eat dinner with one of the local families before returning for another meeting in the afternoon.  By early evening we would be headed home again.  After sandwiches, it would soon be dark, so Mom would tuck us in to bed again.  In the middle of the night we’d arrive back home and be carried into the house and put into our beds.  I never thought of it then, but now as an adult I wonder about my parents on these trips. They had to be leaving home about 2 AM and sometimes returning home 24 hours later at 2 AM again. Staying up and alert for 24 hours had to be hard on them….not to mention the fact that after returning home at 2 AM, Dad had to get up to go to work at 5 AM.  What dedication!
   When I lived in Germany I was not near any military bases, so I always attended one of the local congregations.  The first was in Krefeld in the Rhineland.  The family I lived with went to a different church, but were happy to drop me off for church on their way.  The father would take the children off to church while the mother stayed home to prepare their Sunday meal.  They dropped me off in front of a multistory apartment building downtown.  Only a small metal plaque near the door identified it as a church.  To get to church, I had to ring the bell.  Then whoever had gotten to church first, would release the lock from the church on the third floor for each person who entered.  That meant one church calling was listening for that bell and letting people into the building for church.  The meetings were actually held in a 3rd floor walkup apartment.  The main meeting was held in the living room area.  Then the various groups separated out to meet in the kitchen or bedrooms.  Probably 20 or 30 people attended.
   When I lived in Kiel, there was an actual church building, which was nice.  Conference Sunday was the only time church was in English if we wanted.  Most of the congregation preferred the German translation.  We were only able to hear one session of conference via some sort of radio setup.  The missionaries would listen carefully to see who was speaking, then sort through a stack of slides to find the picture of the speaker, and then project that picture onto the wall.  A rather scary Sunday was the one when another American friend and I were invited to speak…..in German.  It took me some time to craft my speech.  Then I had my German roommate go through it to correct it for grammar.  As a side note, I listened once to a speaker try to explain the difference between faith and belief.  It is a fine difference in English, but quite excruciating in German, since in German, faith and belief are the same word:  Glaube(n).
    One Sunday a group of Americans were visiting Copenhagen, Denmark.  We were all decent German speakers and one fellow also spoke Norwegian, but no one spoke Danish.  There was also another visitor who only spoke English and another who could do Danish and Norwegian but no English or German.  We all ended up on the back row and eventually arranged ourselves according to translation needs.  The Danish/Norwegian speaker interpreted to the Norwegian/German speaker who then interpreted to the German/English speakers who then interpreted for the English speaker.  What an adventure that was!
   After I was married we moved to Alaska.  As long as we stayed in the more populated areas, things were fairly normal.  There were a few quirks though.  I remember the puzzlement on the faces of the Primary children as they sang the song

“Oh What Do You Do In the Summertime”

Oh, what do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green?
Do you fish in a stream, or lazily dream on the banks as the clouds go by?
Is that what you do? So do I!

Oh, what do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green?
Do you swim in a pool, to keep yourself cool, or swing in a tree up high?
Is that what you do? So do I!

Oh, what do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green?
Do you march in parades, or drink lemonades, or count all the stars in the sky?
Is that what you do? So do I!

Verse one worked fine.  Alaskan kids certainly do fish in the summer.  At verse two things started to fall apart.  Keeping cool was not a problem.  In our town there was no pool at the time, so the kids had to learn to swim in a lake.  The lake was so cold that a bonfire was kept burning on the shore for the kids to warm up a bit.  Then came verse three where it got to counting all the stars in the sky.  With the long hours of summer daylight, stars were just not seen in the summertime!
   One Sunday I was asked to speak in another congregation which was about three hours away, so we got up bright and early and headed out to Glennallen, Alaska.  It was a small congregation, so they were happy to have outsiders come to speak once a month.  The other person on the program was coming from the town of Valdez in the other direction.  He never arrived at all since the pass between Valdez and Glennallen was closed due to weather, so one of the locals asked me what our topic was to have been then quickly prepared some remarks on the same subject.  When it was time to sing, the pianist hadn’t arrived, so I ended up doing that as well.  Since they knew there would be visitors that one Sunday a month, the whole congregation would meet after services for a potluck before they sent the visitors on their way.
   One Sunday we were on a family camping trip so decided to attend the nearest little church congregation.  We had directions to the place and a time, so off we went.  We were pulling our trailer which made getting ready a bit easier.  Once we were ready, we all hopped into our vehicle and took off.  Our directions soon took us off the paved highway and down a dusty, unpaved side road to Petersville, Alaska, an hour or so away.  Eventually we arrived, only to find that someone had forgotten to shut the screen window in the trailer, which meant the trailer was now full of dust!   Our directions led us to a small log building that was perhaps some sort of roadhouse.  The area is a winter playground, but we were there in summer, so things were pretty slow.  When we knocked on the door, we were greeted by a couple who ran the business.  They agreed that church was indeed held there and seemed happy to have us.  It seems that there were really only two families that belonged to this little congregation, and the other family was sick that day, so with our family of seven, and the Fishbacks, there were 9 of us there that day.   Since the Bible says, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”  I guess we were okay. Once again we became the featured speakers.  The kids all liked the part where refreshments were served after meeting.
   The church building in Chugiak, Alaska, was interesting.  It had been built on to….several times.  I think it was originally an old railroad building, now repurposed as a church.  Whenever they added on, the level was not quite the same.  They never added on to the sides, but just made the building longer and longer, like a long, wide hallway with many levels.  It was very important to watch your feet to avoid tripping!
   In Willow, Alaska, they met for a time in the old community hall.  We visited there a few times to help with a children’s program.  The most noteworthy thing about that building was the restroom.  Remember, this was Alaska, complete with winter snow and freezing temperatures.  If you needed to go to the restroom during your time at church, you really wanted to think carefully how necessary that trip was, because to get there you had to go get your coat, boots, hat and mittens on before going outside to access the bathroom, which was not particularly well heated.  Later they built a beautiful log church there which apparently was the talk of some of the locals.  One man assured Roger that there was an Olympic size swimming pool in there…and he knew it because he helped build it!  Having been in the building a number of times, I am pretty sure he was trying to describe the baptismal font, which was nowhere near the size of a swimming pool of any kind.
   In our travels between Alaska and the Lower 48, we have visited churches in several Canadian towns as well….Whitehorse, Edmonton, Calgary and an interesting meeting in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  Saturday night we looked for where we might attend church in Winnipeg and found a couple of locations.  We set out in the morning to find one and noticed we were no longer on the outskirts of town.  We soon arrived at a lovely building and went in.  There were several notable events there.  The congregation had recently been divided into two congregations.  The one we were meeting in was abnormally diverse I think.  When I went to the women’s group, I found six languages represented there, so the women were busy translating back and forth so everyone would understand the message being given.  Since the leader seemed a bit frazzled in dealing with the music, I asked if she needed help.  She answered, ‘only if you can play the piano.’  Done.  I was the piano player for the group that day!  Our daughter also had an interesting experience, because it was Canada Day.  In the youth group she attended she got to learn the Canadian National Anthem that day.  One of our experiences there was not religious but certainly opened our eyes regarding the efficacy of the Canadian health care system.  One of the men came in excited to announce he would soon be having surgery.  When we asked about it, he said he’d started having severe heart problems about six months previously.  After medical testing it was confirmed that he needed bypass surgery.  A person needing bypass surgery in the US is pretty much set up for surgery within a week or less.  They are rarely allowed to leave hospital care until they have had the life-saving surgery.  This man, with the Canadian health care system, was told his surgery would be free, but they would schedule his surgery and let him know when they could do it.  Now, six months later, they had finally called back to let him know he was scheduled for surgery in just six more weeks!  I guess Canadian health care is free, but sometimes you get what you pay for!
   It is not uncommon when visiting another area, to find connections with local people.  At the time our daughter, Kristin, lived in Logan, Utah.  Our son, Blaine,  lived in Newburyport, Massachusetts.  We visited Kristin’s congregation a number of times and were acquainted with some of the members there.  One time when we were visiting our son in Massachusetts, we met some of our daughter’s friends from Logan, who happened to be visiting the same congregation we were also visiting in Massachusetts.
   It was dark on a Saturday night when we arrived in Marianna, Florida.  It is not a huge town and the church building was a bit off the beaten path, but we found it.  When we walked in we were asked how on earth we found them.  I told them we
looked them up on the internet.  One lady immediately said, “Well you must have googled for the friendliest people!”  The soft southern drawl was fun to listen to and let me tell you, that was a congregation that could sing!  They could easily put many larger congregations to shame!  Later, on learning where we lived, a sweet lady told us to be on the lookout for her grandson who was serving as a missionary in nearby Preston, Idaho.
   A week later we attended church in Sherman, Texas.  It was a missionary farewell for a young woman in the congregation, leaving to spend 18 months serving her Heavenly Father.  Where was she to be assigned?  Logan, Utah, of course.
   Like many congregations, the one we attended in West Virginia seemed almost as if there were assigned seats.  We knew right where to look for everyone on a Sunday morning.  This was a group that could compete with the one in Marianna, Florida, for being friendly. When we went back to visit 8 years after we left there, it was as though we’d never been away.
   Mostly we found that church is not a building.  Though we may have different cultural practices, in the end it is a group of people believing together and helping one another in their quest to live according to God’s plan. 
   

What Would Jane Think?

It was about 1865 when Euphemia  "Jane" Carter Freeman learned to make lace as a child in England.   When she was about 45 years old, she left England behind forever when the family emigrated to northern Utah.  Though the Freemans were city folks, in Utah they took up the farming life and lace making was left behind in England.  Now, that lace making legacy exists in the family again!

                                               Euphemia Jane Carter Freeman




Many years later, Jane's grandson, Kay Freeman, retired and took up the hobby of woodworking.  During a visit to a niece in Alaska, he noticed all the beautiful birch trees and coveted them.  Kay's niece (and Jane's great-granddaughter) lived in rural Alaska.  Kay choose a birch tree from their yard and they mailed him the tree trunk.  He used it for several special projects, but saved enough to make a beautiful picture frame for his niece.

                           Roma with her brother, Kay.  Roma is the mother of Kay's niece.


Years later, Jane's great-granddaughter found a teacher to show her how lace was made.  After some years of practice, she made a piece of sampler lace.  It took her a long time to make it, and there are many mistakes in it, but it was finally finished.  After all that time and effort, she wanted to make sure the precious piece of lace was kept safe, so she put it in the frame Kay made.

                                                  Finished and framed lace sampler

                              Pattern (called a pricking) and pins used to make the lace sampler


Now it is framed in the beautiful birch frame.  I wonder what Jane would think of it?

Writing Personal Histories

   As a teenager I loved to read stories of my ancestors who lived in Sweden, Germany, England, making shoes or bobbin lace, farming, and traveling by ship, wagon or handcart to get to their various destinations.  I wondered what motivated them to go where they did and make the life choices they made.
   I began to think it would be a good idea to write down a few of my life experiences for my posterity, so I began at the beginning.  As this was before the days of computers and easily inserting information, I soon realized that I had left out some things and had no good way to insert them into the narration, so I gave it up for a time.
   Some years later I was introduced to another method of writing a personal history that worked much better.  In a nutshell, I was told not to try to write the whole thing from start to finish, but rather just choose various stories and write them down.  The stories could be organized later. 
   In 1984, I heard of a class about writing personal history to be held at the Pioneer Home in Palmer, Alaska.  It was taught by Jessie DeVries. I think it was taught there to encourage some of the residents of the Pioneer Home to write down their stories, but none of them came.  Some I recall who attended were Elverda Lincoln, Diane Lucas, Louise Myers, Helena Myers and myself along with three or four others.  We only met for about six weeks, but ended with each of us submitting a story about how we came to be in Alaska.








                              Jessie, Helena, Louise, Nancy, Diane, Elverda

   One valuable lesson I learned in that first class was some good ways to come up with story ideas.  First we were asked to keep a small notebook or card with us so that whenever we thought of a good story, we could write down the idea.  That way we'd never have to spend much time coming up with something when it was time to write.  We would just consult our idea book or card, choose a topic and start writing.
   Second, we made a timeline of our lives and then added specific events to it.  On my time line there are both private and public events.  Some things on my timeline include the first man on the moon, Telstar, polio vaccine, a fatal explosion at the Coliseum where I took skating lessons,  Pres. Kennedy's assassination, births of siblings and children and getting glasses for the first time. I have written stories about all these topics.
   Third, we were encouraged to collect memorabilia related to our lives.  I used a large file box containing files labeled Early Childhood, Work, Hobbies, Children and others.  As I found pictures or other small items related to my life, I placed them into the correct file.  Whenever I was ready to write, I could just take an item out of the file to write about.  Using the various pictures and items as part of the story broke up the text and hopefully made it easier to read. 
   Fourth, we always shared our stories in class.  I was amazed how many memories came back to mind when hearing those stories.  Whenever an idea came while hearing a story, I would quickly jot down the topic in my idea book.
   There were some stories I'd heard about my life, but had no real memories of them.  For birth information, I interviewed my mother.  I had heard a story about a huge flood in Lawrence, Kansas,  the town we lived in when I was around two years old, so I wrote a letter to the newspaper in Lawrence to ask if they had any articles or pictures about such a flood.  A few weeks later, I received a large brown  envelope, not from the newspaper, but from the county museum. (The newspaper had given them my letter.)  It was crammed full of newspaper articles and pictures with plenty of details for me to write a decent story about it.

   A few years later a personal history class was taught by Kathy Hunter for a semester at the Mat-Su Community College. To her I am indebted for a list of rules she made for this type of writing since writing personal history sometimes requires some different guidelines than regular writing:


1.   Get it down.  Spelling and grammar are not as important.  You can always edit it later.
2.   Use “I” freely.
3.   Choose a title for your story that limits the topic and then stick to the topic.  Don’t ramble.
4.   Be confident.  Don’t be intimidated about writing.  It’s your story and you can do it the way you want.
5.   Be specific.  Use precise words.  Ex. not:  “It was a nice day.”  but rather “It was a bright June day.”
6.  Don’t skimp on paper.  If you are handwriting, double space and leave big margins so you have room for additions and corrections.
7.   Write to express, not to impress.  Be natural, be yourself, and tell the truth as you see it.
8.   Keep your notebook or idea book handy for writing down ideas to draw from when you are ready to write.
9.   Don’t preach.  Tell your story honestly as you’ve lived it.  Let the story tell whatever truth you want to convey.
10. Don’t waste time waiting for inspiration. The only way to write is to write.
11. Reading helps writing. Read autobiographies to see how others have written.
12. How to get unstuck? Pretend you are writing a letter to the person you love most, or the person who understands and loves you the best.
13. Keep it simple. Strive for clarity and simplicity.
14. Avoid overloading sentences. Use one thought per sentence, but vary sentence length and style.
15. Don’t change tenses.
16. Watch paragraphs. When you start a new idea, start a new paragraph.
17. Reread what you’ve written to see if you’ve left anything out.  Ask someone else to read it to see if they understand what you are trying to say.
18. Dare to be original.
19. Don’t forget who you are writing for and why.
20. Get people into your story. Describe, introduce, show how they influenced you.
21. Use complete sentences.
22. Content is ore important than grammar, but good grammar makes easier reading.
23. Link your life and times to history of that time…presidents, movie stars, styles, words.
24. Don’t overuse commas.
25. Get your feelings and values into what you write.
26. Don’t write a travelogue. Choose and focus on highlights.
27. Use active rather than passive voice.
28. Use exclamation points sparingly!!!!!
29. Plan on editing and rewriting.
30. Use a thesaurus.
31. Explain terms which may be unfamiliar to the reader.
32. Use picture words.  Describe.
33. Read what you have written out loud.
34. Spell out numbers 1-10 and use digits for numbers greater than ten.
35. Use numbers to talk about time.

   The members of the two classes had different expectations.  Some just wanted some writing experience.  Some wanted to share stories with their families and some wanted to actually publish books for profit.  Both classes used a similar format with a short discussion period with ideas for writing in the beginning and an opportunity to share the stories we’d written at the end.

   At that time, I was involved with the Family History Center in Wasilla, first as a volunteer worker and later as director of the center.  One activity sponsored by the FHC was a genealogy seminar every October.  The seminar consisted of an opening session and 4 one hour classes with lunch in the middle.  During each class period several different topics were offered for people to choose from.  Since personal history is very much a part of genealogy, or family history as we called it, we always offered at least one session on it.  Almost always, I was the presenter for that class.  During one of those classes, we discussed ways to stay motivated to keep writing.  As a result of that discussion, some of us decided to meet once or twice a month to share the stories we were writing.  We had a large table in the middle of the Family History Center, so we sat around that as we shared our stories.

We had some wonderful story tellers in that group.  Maybe some of them were a little too willing to share stories, so we soon implemented a couple of rules that worked well for us:
Anyone may attend class once just for the enjoyment, but after that each person had to bring a story written to share with the group.   Anyone who attempted to tell a story was told to stop.  They were instead asked to write down the story they wanted to tell and bring it to share with the class another time.

   We loved hearing the stories and learning about the lives of our class members.  We became quite a close group.  The initial group members were mostly from one particular church congregation, but later as that congregation split into two and then into three congregations, the group expanded.
   Some folks expressed an interest in being critiqued on what they wrote, but for the most part, people were satisfied with just having a deadline so they would get it done.  It eventually evolved from being strictly a writing group into a great time to get to know other folks in the group as well.

   One of my favorite stories of the group involved an older couple.  They had written their stories, but were intrigued with the way we were doing the stories with more details.  They wanted to change their stories from a short recitation of facts to something their children and grandchildren would love to read.  The man had a rather rambunctious youth, the type that involved knocking over outhouses with people inside, rolling boulders down a mountain and destroying a building with it, boxing, experiences in the Navy and eventually homesteading in Alaska.  His wife was a city girl who had some interesting experiences adjusting to rural Alaska.  They worked hard on their stories and eventually were able to get them bound into a book to gift their children for Christmas.  It all became worthwhile to them when a grandson, who was going through a difficult time, told his grandfather, “Grandpa, you were pretty bad when you were young, but you turned out to be a good man.  Maybe there is hope for me yet.”

   We had no idea what we were starting!  The group that started meeting around that big table in the Family History Center has moved several times since then.  Currently, in 2018, it is still meeting in a common room in one of the apartment buildings at the Wasilla Senior Center complex 34 years later.  Members have come and gone but people are still successfully writing about their lives.  Here are some members of the current group with some missing because it is winter in Alaska...and they are snowbirds...out having more experiences to write about.

Back, left to right:  Jeanene Bucaria, Kathy Greathouse, Elverda Lincoln, Judy Foley, Gretchen O'Barr, Betty Vehrs, Nancy France
Front, left to right:  Wendy Wesser, Mary Wargo, Winnie Wargo

There has even been a spin-off group from the Palmer, Alaska area.






 A favorite quote of mine says:

 

 

Most important to me, personally was that my in-laws wrote their life stories as a legacy for their children and grandchildren.  What a great gift!

My own life story is still a work in progress.  I currently have three 3-inch binders filled with stories and memorabilia.  The pages have had a lot of use over the years as our children have anxiously awaited the stories we wrote, grabbing them as they came out of the printer to be the first to read them, so I have placed each page in an archivally safe plastic sheet protector

When you set a goal to write a new story each week or each month, it seems like the task can't be done perhaps, but after a time, the stories turn into volumes!