Memories of my father, James Palmer Calkins, and mother Alice Allsop
By Mary Ellen Calkins Allen
My father, James Palmer Calkins, was born at Payson, Utah, 7 August 1862; first son
and second child of Horatio Palmer and Mary Elizabeth Manwill Calkins.
His young years were spent in Payson. Times were hard, especially for his parents.
Indians were numerous and dangerous. His father was what they called a “minute man”
and spent much of his time helping fight them. The Indian Chief was called Black Hawk
and was a cruel, dangerous man.
Father’s schooling was brief by the measuring stick of today. He never had the chance
to go beyond the fifth grade, but his fifth grade reader was harder to read than my
eighth grade one. He liked to read and always enjoyed his evenings in that way. After
supper and all the chores were done, while we girls did the supper dishes, he liked to sit
at one end of the kitchen table with his chair tilted back on its back legs and read aloud;
the newspaper, farm papers, the Book of Mormon, sometimes interesting stories. If we
chatted among ourselves while we worked and became noisy, he would tell us quietly to
tend to our work and be quiet.
He was about 12 years old when his father moved his family to Mound Valley, or Gentile
Valley, Idaho, as it was called most of the time. It is a lovely, peaceful valley along the
Bear River. Low rolling hills with chokecherries along the fence rows, interspersed with
hawthorns and lovely wild roses. Every little ways, a creek of clear mountain water ran
down from the hills above and joined the Bear River; Spring Creek, Twin Creeks, etc.
Grandfather’s sister, Caroline, and their large family moved from Payson also. They
lived nearby and from stories told at home, I am sure they enjoyed each other’s
company.
Many close friends were made while living here; the Williams family, the Perrys, the
Schvaneveldts and McGreagors. Also, not very many miles away was Thatcher with the
Harris’, Pond’s, Hale’s and Toone’s.
Grandfather Calkins later moved to Gray’s lake where the grazing would accommodate
larger herds of cattle and sheep.
About his and mother’s courtship, I know nothing. He told me once when he first
proposed to Mother, she turned him down. Now, it seems to me he met her brothers,
John and Charles Allsop, and through them, he later met mother.
My mother, Alice Allsop, was born at Richmond, Cache Co., Utah, on 1 March 1867; the
third daughter and seventh child of John Allsop and Mary Ellen Wood.
Richmond is located near the northern boundary of Utah about ten or twelve miles south
of the Idaho State line and nestled against the beautiful rolling hills at the foot of the
Wasatch Mountain Range.
Her parents joined the L.D.S Church over in old England and came to Utah with a
company of Mormon Emigrants in 1854. Her father was a carpenter and cabinet builder
by trade. He died when Mother was a little girl nine years old. Her mother never
remarried.
About her childhood days, we know very little now. The bits of information I put here are
gleaned from my memory of little things she told me off and on while I was a child
myself. Grandmother was a fussy housekeeper and taught her girls that cleanliness is
next to godliness, and while Mother wasn’t fussy about her home, she was spotlessly
clean. What I mean by this, she couldn’t tolerate dirt or messy ways of doing things, but
didn’t take the joy out of life by insisting every little thing be put in place as soon as it
was used. What we did, we did well.
She often talked of a Mrs. Paul she worked for when she was a young lady. She must
have liked this Mrs. Paul very well from some of the things she told us. While here, she
bought herself a sewing machine called and Eldredge. She still used this after I was
married.
Father and Mother were married at Grandma Allsop’s home in Richmond, Utah on 10
December 1888; Brother W. K. Burnham performing the ceremony.
Father’s people lived at Gray’s Lake near Caribou Mountain. It was in Bingham County.
The post office was at Herman, north of the lake. Our homestead was in Bannock Co.,
now Caribou Co., just south of Grace at a little place called Niter.
At Herman, in Gray’s Lake, my oldest brother, James Elmo, was born on 11 December
1889, just one day after their first wedding anniversary. On 1 March 1891, a little
premature brother, Albert, was born and died a few hours later. Then, I came along on
17 March 1892, their first girl. From the locations, they had moved around. Albert was
born and buried in Mound Valley and I was born at Trout Creek, or Lago, as it is now
called.
I am quite sure that life was hard and the folks never had much to do with. I remember
hearing them say that Father had worked at times for fifty cents a day. With a growing
family, that wouldn’t have gone very far. My memory is that they always raised a garden
and I can recall going with Mother in the wagon to take fresh produce to Grace to both
her brother’s families and her sisters also. We had the water from the little spring in
“The Hollow” to run on the garden and water in Grace was hard to get. I can remember
going with the cousins in Grace to the River after water to use around their homes. It
was a little over a mile to the Bear River from Grace. At that time, there wasn’t a bridge
there. It is hard to believe these days as we fly along in cars. I recall going to Uncle Tom
Allsop’s in Thatcher with Father in the wagon and we forded the river. Water came high
enough on the wagon box to lift it up. A little more and it would have floated off from the
running gears. The horses were starting to swim as we reached shallow enough water
they could get their footing again. Father looked at me and grinned as it became
apparent that all was okay; I guess he was getting nervous himself.
Father raised wheat and took it to the grist mill, (wheat ground into flour). They’d speak
of it as taking a grist to be ground.
Mother was a wonderful cook and everything always tasted so good. I can’t remember
them being short of things to cook. I suppose there must have been such times, but I
can’t recall ever being hungry. I mean, “hungry with nothing to eat kind of hungry”. True,
we ate bread and milk with honey or fruit for our suppers instead of hot meals. To this
day, I prefer a light supper. In the seasons of gardens, we always had fresh vegetables;
lettuce, radishes, cabbage, etc. to make salads, etc. Apples stored away for winter, also
potatoes, squash, onions and such foods as could be stored away. Father would dig
pits to put carrots and potatoes away from the frost, etc.
They raised their own meat, pork (cured the hams and bacon, even smoked the hams)
[We] had our own chickens and eggs. Mother always made their own butter. We didn’t
buy those things at the store. No ready mixes in those days. Mother made her own
wash soap most of the time. Washed on a board or later, an old machine that had to be
turned by hand, (it was wonderful when we got that).
I remember when the art of canning fruits and vegetables were a problem and jellies or
jams, “preserves” they were called, was the main method used to take care of the fruit,
then. As they learned how to can in glass jars without breaking them, Mother would do a
lot. I remember some of the first attempts to can peas and beans, and some of the
recipes in the farm magazines telling how it could be done with safety and success.
Mother was a good nurse; she just seemed to have the knack of doing the right things
when we were ill. So far to Doctors, and money so scarce the mothers had to learn the
right way, or else. No serums or inoculations around us in those days. Some handy
grandmother would come to assist with the deliveries of the babies and help to lay away
the dead when they were called away. I can remember my parents going to “sit up” with
some ill neighbor. No undertakers, either. When death visited some home, some
neighbor would go to sit up through the night to watch and see that all was taken care
of. If ice could be had, they kept it packed around the bodies and had cold, wet cloths
around on the body. This was necessary because there were no mortuaries or funeral
homes. Even Drs. were many miles away and would be brought many miles by
someone riding on horseback or buckboards, (sort of light wagon), maybe in a rush
case they would borrow extra horses to relieve an over-jaded team or saddle pony.
On 15 December 1894, Alice was born at Trout Creek, and on 22 November 1896, a
little sister, Mildred was born at Thatcher, a little town near the Bear River, close to
where Uncle Tom Allsop lived.
In the spring of 1898 the folks made the necessary arrangements to go to Logan, Utah
to the temple. I can recall Mother being busy sewing white dresses for we three girls
and a white shirt with knee pants for Elmo. We rode in the covered wagon with a springseat on t and I suppose there was a place in the bottom of the wagon-bed for tired
children to take naps, as that was the usual procedure. I remember it rained on us the
first day and we stopped in Mound Valley at the home of Joe Schvaneveldt’s. Father
figured we should go back and wait for the weather to clear. After discussing it,
however, they decided it may be a long time before they would get started again. So, on
we went. Roads were poor and not even graveled. Mud rolled up on the wheels until the
horses had to struggle to drag it along. Father cut a little paddle and would stop every
little while to dig the heavy blobs of clay mud from the wheels. Grandma Allsop still lived
at Richmond. She went on with us to Logan. We stopped with Father’s cousin who was
staying in Logan going to school. The next morning, Father and Mother went to the
Temple. Grandma dressed us children later and took us over to be sealed to them. I
recall, she dressed Alice and Mildred in their white dresses, but put a colored dress on
me. I asked if I could wear mine also, but she said, “Ah, my no, Mary, you are too big a
girl to be on the street in a white dress.” I was just a month or so past six years old. I
don’t seem to remember anything about our return trip back home again.
On 1 January 1899, a little brother, Charles Wood, was born. Grandmother Calkins was
with Mother and stayed until she was up and around again. This little brother died 11
May 1899, just a little over four months old. Alice and Mildred both had whooping
cough at this time. Alice coughed especially hard and invariably would hold her breath,
sometimes we despaired of her catching it again, and this would frighten Mother terribly.
The following winter, Grandma Calkins suffered a stroke which left her partially
paralyzed. Father took Mother and us four children to Gray’s Lake to help care for her.
How long we were there, I can’t rightly remember, but in March 1900, Grandma suffered
another stroke and passed away in a few days. Mother was expecting a new baby that
spring. She did the necessary part of preparing the frail little body for burial and Father,
Grandfather, and some of the Uncles left for Grace with the remains of our sweet little
Grandmother. Mother waked me (I was eight years old) to see her once more before
they took here away. Grandfather’s sister lived at Grace and they took her there,
stopping at Soda Springs to buy the burial clothes and casket on the way. Their final
preparations for burial were completed at Grace.
The men folks, or their friends, in those days would help each other dig the graves and
sometimes would also make the caskets, etc. What flowers, if any, were home grown
and in the summer or fall they had many, while in the winter months, they would consist
mostly of treasured blooms from someone’s house plants. She was laid to rest in the
little cemetery where her youngest son, Albert, was buried in January 1898.
After Grandma’s passing, Grandfather felt so alone and he persuaded Father to stay
there. So, Father took up a desert claim and we lived near by. Three years later,
Grandfather passed away in an Ogden hospital with cancer of the stomach. The folks
stayed on a few years more, but Mother worried about us children being so far from
church activities, so they returned to our homestead in Gentile Valley.
In the spring after Grandmother passed away, Mother had a new little son born to her.
They named him Palmer. Then, a few weeks before Grandfather passed away, another
son, Seth Reuben, was born. He was just a month old when the folks were called to go
to Grandfather’s funeral. Grandfather was buried in the Lago Cemetery by little
Grandma and Uncle Albert. Soon after we moved back to Niter, another little premature
brother came to us, but only stayed a few hours and went back again; making thee
Mother had lost. Sister Gibbs, our only neighbor, helped Mother with the baby. Not
many months after this, Sister Gibbs became very ill and Mother about ruined her own
health trying to keep both places going at once. Sister Gibbs passed away in June after
a long drawn out siege.
The next year, father built us a home with three rooms up on the east end of the home
on the highway. What a lot of hard work to get the timber from the mountains and build
it up. We hauled drinking water form the spring where we had lived before. A ditch east
in the field now supplied water for culinary purposes and for awhile we also hauled
water from the ditch to pour on the trees he planted around the house and corrals.
Planted grass and the flowers and trees flourished, but we still hauled the drinking
water. This would have been about the year 1906, because in April of 1907 our sweet
little sister, Loretta, was born. How we loved her, a little sister after so many little
brothers.
In the wintertime following, Mother’s brother, Charles, came to see us on a visit. When
he returned to his home in West Jordan, Utah, he invited me to go home with him for
awhile. The folks consented and in the latter part of January 1908, Father drove the
team on the sleigh and took me to Uncle Tom’s in Richmond where I joined Uncle
Charles and we rode the train to Salt Lake City and took the interurban streetcar to
Midvale (East of West Jordan) and some of the family came for us there. It was my first
ride on a train.
Uncle Reuben and family lived next door to Uncle Charles an Uncle Joseph not far
away. I was there two months, but Mother Father were having their troubles at home.
Whooping cough broke out in the little community and our little people hadn’t had it;
Palmer, Seth, and baby Loretta. Palmer was nearly eight years old, but hadn’t been
very strong and it was hard on him. Mother said the other two were doing fairly well.
Then, Elmo was exposed to measles at school and was really quite ill with them, and of
course, exposed them all. Mother wouldn’t send for me because I’d never had them,
either. So, now, with Elmo, Alice, and Mildred and the three little people all down with
measles at once. Elmo Contracted pneumonia and so did Palmer and Loretta. Grandma
Allsop was with them also and wasn’t well. How our dear parents weathered that siege,
I’ll never know. Little sister passed away on the Monday morning of 23 March 1908, and
Mother wrote a letter telling me and they buried her Tuesday. Palmer also died on
Wednesday, 25 March 1908. They sent me a message to come home. Uncle Charles
accompanied me home. Johnny Gibbs, a neighbor, met us in Preston. Roads were
terribly muddy and made travel slow and tiresome. He had driven down in a little oneseated buggy. I didn’t know until I got home that baby was buried. I can’t write about it
even now without tears blinding my eyes. They held the funeral for palmer that
afternoon. No mortuaries or any place to take care of such things; our home small and
so much sickness.
For fear of me getting measles, Mother had washed and dried enough bedding to make
me a single bed in the kitchen and tried to keep the others from getting too close. It was
useless, because Seth wouldn’t leave me a minute, but I never took them anyway, so it
was okay then.
While talking with Mother about the children’s illness, she told me she was holding baby
Loretta in her arms, (on Monday morning about 7 a.m.) when Palmer acted like he was
going into a spasm of coughing. As they were so severe, she knew he’d need help, so
she went to babies bed and put her in it and turned to him, only a few steps away, but
was surprised to see the look upon his face; one of wondering awe. He looked at her
and smiled and said, “Oh, mama, see the beautiful lady by the baby.” She said she
knew at once she’d find little Loretta gone when she got to her. She was sure he was
close enough to the veil to see whoever came to lead the dear little spirit away. She
said he also seemed to be in a semi-coma condition from then on until he too was
called away on Wednesday morning.
Poor Mother was tried very sorely that year. During the haying season, Father and Elmo
were helping a neighbor with their hay and while cutting the last of one piece, Father
met with a severe accident of mysterious origin. Elmo found him by his machine
unconscious, one eye almost out of his head, jaw broken and bleeding from one ear.
He didn’t regain consciousness for almost three weeks. Relatives, friends, and
neighbors helped watch over him day and night. Grandma was also bad at the time and
someone had to sit with her also. It never was learned what had caused the accident.
That fall, on the advice of Dr. Kackley that Mother take Father on a trip, they drove a
team and wagon to West Jordan, Utah. When they got there, Mother’s three brothers
talked them into coming down to spend the winter. So, they left Alice and Mildred there
at West Jordan and brought Seth back with them, put their affairs in order and drove
back again. It was then getting near winter time. Elmo and I remained home finishing up
a few things Father didn’t have time to take care of and we rode to Preston with a
neighbor and took a train from there to Salt Lake City where Father met us.
The folks rented a house in Sandy and we children attended school there. Elmo went to
work at the smelter in Midvale where Uncle Reuben was working. Uncle Reuben had
moved to Sandy from West Jordan and lived a quarter of a mile from us.
We were there until in March when the folks in Grace wrote for Mother to return home
and care for Grandma Allsop again. Mother, with Alice, Mildred, Seth, and Elmo, again
made the trip back home, leaving me at Uncle Rube’s to finish my school year. After
school was out, I came home on the train. Elmo was going with Stenna Mann and they
met me at Alexander in the buggy. Father was with Uncle Charles working on a job in
Utah. I stayed at home all summer and helped with chores, taking care of Grandma,
who was bedfast, etc. Elmo was working with some of the neighbors.
Grandma was very heavy and while she never complained, it was hard for her to be
lifted and moved. Mother was expecting a new baby soon, so in September, Uncle John
found a kind lady living at “Beaver Dam”, a little place near Turner, a few miles from
Grace, that would care for her, and they moved her there.
On 19 October 1909, Iris LaDell was born. Mother had an old neighbor lady help with
the delivery. I was also present and, I can imagine, not much good either although I was
17 years old. We were thrilled to have another little sister. Father arrived home a few
days later.
Grandma passed away two and a half years later on 18 April 1911. They took her to
Richmond, Utah, where services were held and she was laid to rest by her dear
husband, John Allsop, in the Richmond Cemetery.
Life for everyone was much harder in those days than now. Winter time, the men folks
spent many cold nasty days in the canyons with tams and bob-sleighs getting out wood
for both the winter and the year ahead. Father hauled out dry pine logs and green
quaking asps. The pine logs he would saw up in stove length for the kitchen range. I
often held one end of the long cross-cut saw and helped saw the large blocks of wood
off. If they were straight grained, it wasn’t so hard to split them up into the right sized
pieces to make the old stove cook Mother’s lovely meals. He would always cut a good
supply of the very best in extra small sizes to use for “kindling”. That means pieces to
build the fire up in the morning. He loved to sit and read by the kitchen table at night and
his last act before going to bed at night was to go with his sharp pocket knife and cut
nice long curly shavings from the kindlin’ wood, which, if the weather was damp, would
have been drying out in the oven. Whoever was responsible for getting the wood in at
night knew there was to be a certain amount and if the oven wasn’t in use that was
where the kindling belonged. If it were, then they were to be very neatly stacked against
the side of the range on the floor and put in the oven later. This way, you could be sure
of the fire starting quickly in the morning.
Many times, when the men were working in the canyon, we have been very worried
when darkness would come on, maybe a storm, also, and sometimes the bitter cold
wind would be piling the drifts up high. Mother would watch the road and be so worried
until we’d hear the jingle of the sleigh bells or if he hadn’t taken the bells, it was a good
sound to hear the creaking of the runners on the snow or the chains dangling on the
ends of the tugs. I’ve seen him come in the house with frost frozen on his eye brows
and when he wore a moustache, icicles hang from the ends of it. Sometimes, his
trousers would be frozen so stiff he couldn’t sit down or bend until he had thawed out a
little. We at home would try to have all evening chores taken care of and help get the
team cared for and all in out of the cold as quickly as was humanly possible.
As I set here now, by my heater and think of those days, and make comparisons with
now, I can hardly make myself believe I’m not dreaming. Just a turn of the tap and I
have hot or cold water, move the thermostat and have warmth if I want it. Press a
button, and there is light. No smelly kerosene and smoky glass chimneys to make a
light. I’d like to make you young people understand how it was, but it isn’t easy to do.
Haul the water in barrels on what we called a “go devil”; just a couple of small logs for
runners with boards nailed across the top. It carried two barrels and sometimes one.
We’d fill them from the spring with buckets; turn a tub over the top so the water wouldn’t
slop out. We’d lead the old horse and walk home with the water. We were lucky, as we
only had maybe a couple of miles in all to go, maybe one and a half. Then, carry it in the
house and put the buckets on the bench by the stove. On the back of the stove was a
reservoir that held a couple of buckets full. If a fire had been going long enough, we’d
have hot water; if not, then we made a fire. I have told you about the wood, but it would
take at least 10 or 12 trips to the woodpile to get enough in for the night if it was
wintertime; and remember, this had to be cut first, ashes to be taken out, and the mess
to clean up. Don’t you children of today have a hard time when you have a few dishes to
wash. There were no electric lights when I was Grandma’s little girl. We had no
television or radios, no picture shows.
On Saturday evenings in the old tin tub would come in and all took turns having their
baths. The boiler would come in use to supply enough hot water to let all have enough.
Shoes were polished ready for Sunday school. If there wasn’t any shoe polish, we had a
little secret on how to make some. The back lids of the kitchen range would be turned
over. We would scrape a little pile of the soot together, (it had to be wood soot, as if we
were burning coal, that wouldn’t work), add a teaspoon full of sugar and water enough
to make paste, put it on our shoes and then polish with a soft rag. Results: very nice
shine and easy to do.
We children were happy and we always attended Sunday’s schools and primary I don’t
think we missed going very many times. Sacrament meetings were held after Sunday
School; people didn’t have the cars and it was too far to drive teams or buggies or
wagons twice. We always had family prayers at our home. All the family would be up,
dressed and ready for breakfast. We’d kneel by and around the breakfast table and
have prayer before week ate, usually the same at night around mother’s bed. We
children never went to bed without saying our prayers.
We always had good times on July 4th and twenty fourth, Independence Day and
Pioneer day. A good program in the church house and the games and races in the
outdoors afterwards. When I was small, everyone around would sometimes take large
picnic lunches and go to the canyons where someone on the committees would have a
bowery built with seats, etc. Then the program would be held and large barrels of
lemonade and huge freezers of ice cream for all. Christmas time, the community had a
tree with a program and Santa.
When Easter time came, the Easter egg hunts were the big event. I remember as a
child how mother allowed us to collect and hide eggs we found in the nests for a couple
of weeks before the big day. How tickled we’d be to find the cache of the others and
take them, especially if it were Elmo’s. He being the oldest and strongest, we were at a
disadvantage in trying to compete with him anyway. I can still see the way Mother
helped us to decorate the eggs. When we older ones were little, there was no dye so
she showed us how to wind colored wool yarn on; they came out with pretty stripes if we
were lucky. Onion peelings cooked with the eggs made a pretty shade of brown.
Shortening rubbed on in the shape of a letter or whatever would keep the colors from
setting. Thus, they would come out with our names written on them.
We also had a large tree of very red apples. I like to paste strips on a large green apple.
When it was beautiful red, I pulled off the strips and there would be my initials on the
apple in a pale green.
The hills on both sides of the “hollow” made a lovely place to sleigh ride on as also did
the one where the school house sat out in Gray’s Lake. A full chapter could be written
about that if this were my story and not my parents.
The spring after Grandma Allsop passed away, Wedding Bells started to chime. Well,
anyway, we started getting married. I was first. On the 7 June 1911, Lorenzo P. Allen
and I were wed. We drove to Richmond, Utah, where Loren’s folks lived and took the
train to Salt Lake City. We took Mother with us, and visited with Uncle Charles and
Uncle Joe’s families, both of which were then living in Salt Lake. Aunt Rose, Uncle
Charles’ wife, wasn’t home. She was in Midvale helping care for Cousin Mabel’s little
new twin babies, a boy and a girl.
I wasn’t a very pretty bride. During January, February, and March, I had had a bout with
typhoid fever; I was skinny as a picked crow. My hair had fallen out something awful
and even had a bald spot at the crown. Loren asked his mother, “Well, Ma, what do you
think of her?” She answered truthfully, “Well, she’s not very good looking” (He told me
later).
We were married in the beautiful Salt Lake Temple. I’d always planned that was where
it had to be done. I think I’d have stayed single if I couldn’t have been married there. As
it was June Conference time, the place was packed. We went in at 8 a.m. Only one
session, it was 5 p.m. when we got out, but many were as late as 8 p.m.
Next was Elmo. He and Alice Stenna Mann were married on 8 November 1911.
On 18 June 1912, our first baby was born; plump little Lois. How we did lover her. Then,
Geneal was born on the 6 November 1912 to Elmo and Stenna. My Mother’s two cute
little granddaughters. Again, the stork visited us. This time a boy, Louis Calkins Allen,
born on the 25 May 1913. Two babies in less than a year. You’d have thought Alice
would have been afraid, but three days after Louis was born, on the 28 of May 1913,
Alice married Chester S. Christensen in Preston, Idaho, his home town.
Next to go was Mildred. She married Albert F. Ray at Preston on 31 August 1916. She
had met him while on a visit to Mother’s half sister, Aunt Josie, in Blackfoot, Idaho.
The grandchildren all loved to go to Grandma’s, she baked such lovely cookies and
always had time to cut them in pretty shapes to please the kids. And the honey taffy she
would pull until it looked and tasted so wonderful, and colored in all the pastel shades.
She had lots of patience with the children and when she made cookies, they were
allowed to cluster along one side of the table where they could watch as she rolled
dough, sprinkled sugar and cinnamon and cut the pretty shapes. On occasions, some
little hands previously scrubbed clean were allowed to place the circles of dough in the
pans or take a peek to see if the ones in the oven were browning nicely, use a fork to
print little dents on the fresh cut ones. This was as big a treat for them as eating them
afterwards.
Mother had a keen sense of humor and in spite of all the sorrow that she had gone
through, she didn’t become bitter. She never faltered in her love for the Gospel and her
faith in our Heavenly Father. She loved her grandchildren and they all liked to go there, I
know mine did. She’d treasure up their little acts and sayings. On one occasion, Elmo
and Stenna had left Geneal and Winona with her for awhile. They were teasing to do
something, Mother had said, “no.” They continued to coax and Winona said, “Oh, come
on, Geneal, Grandma’s not like Mama, when she says no, she means no.”
Mother took Lois home with her one time when Marion was so sick with Pneumonia.
She and Iris were out playing by the pond not too far away from the house. Bill Turner
came along with some cattle he’d been buying. One wild steer crashed through the
fence and took straight towards the children. Iris could take herself out of harms way but
Mother flew to get Lois and help Iris to hurry. She said they would never have made it,
but the geese raised a fuss; came running and squawking and hissing. The wild steer
turned and charged after the geese and all was well. Iris made this comment about the
pond: “I always loved that pond. The ditch that carried the canal water down past the
house that we used for washing, emptied into that pond. Father dug it. It was out in the
barnyard. There was a fence around the house, lawn and garden that separated the
barnyard from the dooryard. The house in the background on the picture is Gibb’s
home, so you are looking west. We had just planted those trees when Mildred took the
picture. How the geese loved that pond.
About the year 1919 Father and Mother decided to let Mildred and her husband, Albert
Ray, work the farm. They moved to Preston and rented a little place not too far from
Alice and her family.
In the summer, Father was making preparations to work at the Whitney sugar factory
when the campaign started. He had a hernia for years and it was necessary to have this
repaired before he went to work. The Dr. came to the house and talked with the folks
about the operation. They set a date and he rigged up an operating table at the house,
using the sowing machine and the kitchen table. He used a local anesthetic and with
Mother’s help, repaired the hernia. Father raised his head once in awhile to watch the
Dr. work. Mother cared for him until he was well again.
In the fall of 1921, Father worked at the sugar factory at Lewiston, Utah, not far from
Preston. One day, as he was busy at the station where the sugar beets went through
the washing process (it was a large vat like place with could water running through and
the beets were constantly moved about and stirred with large paddles that turned
around and around, something like a water-wheel) the beets became clogged and he
was trying together them loose with a pole used for that purpose and he slipped and fell
into the vat. Being unable to get out without help, he was turned over and over three
times with the beets before the machinery could be stopped. One more turn and he
would have been carried into the “worm” where the beets began to be cut up. He was
pounded black and blue all over, had six broken ribs and the hernia that had been
repaired was torn open again. He was taken home to Mother in that condition and she
cared for him herself. The company paid no compensations or anything. The only good
that came from it was a rail on the vat to prevent any further such accidents.
Mother’s health commenced to leave her. She got Bright’s disease and her blood
pressure became high. From Christmas time in 1924 until May 1925, she was very bad
with Asthma and bronchitis. She’d cough until she was exhausted and fight for her
breath with the asthma. Her kidneys failed her and she became dropsical; feet and legs
were all swollen up. To make it worse, she took a slight stroke and only was with us for
two more weeks. She passed away in Grace, 19 May 1925. She was buried in the Lago
Cemetery where the little brothers and sisters are sleeping and also Grandpa and
Grandma Calkins and Uncle Albert.
Twelve years had passed away since Mildred and Al were married, bringing joys and
sorrows to us all, chief among them being Mother’s severe illness and her death. Iris
finished her high school. In her Senior year, the Seminary program was started in
Grace. As she wanted to take Seminary, it was necessary for her to take all three
subjects along with her regular courses, which she did and graduated. We decided she
should take Nurses training and helped her get started. She attended two months, then
she and Elmer W. Raat drove over to Bountiful, Utah, and were married on 6 October
1928.
Two years later on Christmas Eve of 1930, Seth married Blanche J. Holmes at Soda
Springs, Idaho.
Father struggled on for twenty-one years without Mother. I know he missed her badly.
I’m sure he loved her very much. As we girls grew up, he would come to wake us (if
she’d had a bad night or a headache) and tell us to attend to the morning chores and
keep quiet because she wasn’t feeling well. She wanted us to keep in school and would
rather do the work herself than keep us out to help, but Father wanted us to help when
she wasn’t well. I never remember them having trouble. He was affectionate with us and
with Mother. A loving goodbye kiss and the admonition to “be good and help Mother” if
he ever left for a few days. Same with Mother. I think we all went to bed with goodnight
kisses.
Father had a good singing voice and he and Mother sang a lot. He would sit in the old
rocking chair with a kid on each knee and he would sing many songs we loved. Mother
joined in as she helped prepare supper.
A few years after Mother passed away, Father married his cousin Albert Manwill’s
widow, Lucy. I wasn’t around them much at the time as I was busy with my own family.
She only lived a couple of years.
Father had been hard of hearing for a long time. His accident while haying had made it
worse. When we were young, we used to joke about being able to get in without
disturbing him if he was sleeping on his “good ear.” Finally, he became so bad it was
impossible to make him understand us. Poor old dear, he would sit looking so left out
while we visited or talked among ourselves. His eyes were good, and while he used
glasses some, he seemed to read a lot without them.
After we moved to Rupert, Idaho, and Seth and Elmo lived in Burley, just nine miles
away, he stayed in Preston with Alice. Then, after awhile, he lived in a little trailer house
near Seth for a few years.
During the last part of April 1935, Elmo met with an accident while working in the sugar
factory. He passed away on the 18 June. Poor Father was so broken up. I can hear him
say yet, “Why couldn’t it have been me? I’m no good to anyone.”
The Second World War began in 1941 and Alice and Chess moved into one of the
apartments in Ogden belonging to Iris and Elmer so they could work in Ogden. The two
girls, Iris and Alice, fixed up a small apartment next door to the one Alice used for
Father to live in. The Girls saw to it that he had proper meals and clean clothing. He
always was particular about his appearance and he shaved each morning, etc.
He would read by the hour. He liked Zane Grey stories and as we said, “ate them up.”
He passed away there in Ogden with cerebral hemorrhage (wasn’t sick very long) on
the 19 December 1946. We took his body to Grace to George Allsop’s home. George’s
wife, Eliza, said, “Uncle Parm always came to my place when he was alive and I want
him to come now.” We were very grateful to them, as none of us lived in Grace at that
time. Funeral services were held in the Grace Bannock Stake Tabernacle. Speakers
were Alf Toone, Michael Mickelson, Don Clegg, and Father’s cousin, Mana S. Snow,
asked to say a few words also; all close friends of our folks. All spoke of their love for
him. He was buried in the Lago Cemetery by Mother with his Father and Mother, his
younger brother, Albert, and our brothers, Charles, Palmer, and Vernon, and little sister,
Loretta, all close by.
It is a quiet spot; Trout Creek just below the little slope and the rolling hills to the east.
I’ve always loved the little place and like to walk among the graves and pay silent
tributes to the memories of a lot of dear friends I can remember that used to visit with
my parents years ago when I was a child. My prayer always is that they may rest in
peace and I thank my Father in Heaven for sending me to live in their home where love
abounded and even if worldly goods were scarce, we were taught to live clean lives, be
honest in all our dealings and not be afraid to work. They didn’t send us to church, they
took us. Taught us to always be early wherever we went. Yes, I thank my Father in
Heaven for my goodly parents
Mary Ellen Calkins Allen