Salt Lake City Memories

This weekend is one of my most favorite times of the year.  It is April Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, when the Prophet and all Twelve Apostles, as well as other leaders of the Church. will speak.  I look forward with great excitement to April Conference, and then again in six months to October Conference.  I love to hear the talks and the music, they are always inspiring and bring the spirit, but there is another part of me that looks forward to conference because of the happy memories it always brings to me.

About 45 years ago today I was in Salt Lake City, attending Conference in person.  Friday afternoon we all piled into our station wagon and drove through the night so we could get to Salt Lake City in time for Conference to begin on Saturday morning.  I remember driving up to the Hotel Utah in the middle of the night.  It was amazing!  I don't think I had ever staying in a hotel before, certainly not one like this!  It was so big, and ornate, and beautiful.  We drove right up to the front doors where we all had to get out and let someone else park the car for us.  I was awe struck as we entered the huge lobby with marble floor and pillars.  Our room was just as impressive.  It had an ornate, old fashioned window which looked out over the street far below.  It was so cool!

Saturday morning we went across the street to have breakfast in a little restaurant on the ground floor of a big business building.  It must have been the first time in my life that I ate breakfast at a restaurant, I was so excited.  Then we crossed the street to Temple Square, where we strolled through beautiful flower gardens and examined statues of pioneers and famous church leaders.  There were authentic cabins in one corner which we could walk around and study, seeing how the pioneers lived.  We marvelled at the Tabernacle and read how it was constructed, and toured the visitor center, but best of all was being able to walk around the beautiful Salt Lake Temple.  It was so big, so lovely, so amazing!  When Conference started we went inside the Tabernacle and sat on long, shining wood benches and listened to the Tabernacle Choir sing, and then to the Prophet talk.  How wonderful.  Afterwards we walked up and down the streets surrounding Temple Square.  In one little store I bought a post card with a tiny packet of salt from the Salt Lake stapled to the corner.  It was all so much fun!

The next morning was Easter Sunday.  We listened to the first session of conference on the radio in our room, then packed our bags so we could go home.  It was a dark, cloudy day, and suddenly mom exclaimed, "Look, it's snowing!"  I couldn't believe my eyes!  We all rushed to the window and looked outside to see big white flakes falling lazily from the sky.  It was so amazing!  For a little girl raised in the Arizona desert this was the most awesome part of the whole trip.

Dad hurried us down to the lobby and out to our car.  He was worried about driving in the snow, and for good reason.  By the time we were out of town and on the highway the storm had turned into a blizzard.  A few hours later, as we crawled past the city of Payson, Utah, dad  finally decided we couldn't go any farther.  It was just too dangerous.  So, best part of the trip, we stopped in Payson and found a little Motel where we could spend the night.  My brothers and sisters and I were so excited to get out and see the snow, it was lovely.  We were also excited to get to stay in a motel, although the two little rooms we shared were a far cry from our huge, ornate room at the Hotel Utah.  I was most excited because our delay meant I got to miss school on Monday. 

The final icing on the cake was watching a movie on TV that night, all of us bundled in quilts, sitting on the bed in one room.  It was Easter Sunday, and the movie that night was The Robe.  Mom had seen the movie many years before, and she was excited for us to watch it with her.  We probably never would have watched it if there had been an alternative, but since it was our only choice we watched, and we loved the movie!  I still love it today.

Bottle-Brush and Grapefruit Trees, Spring in Arizona

Have you ever seen a Bottle-brush tree?  They are quite amazing.  In spring they grow long switches, I suppose they are the flowers, that look like red baby-bottle brushes.  They are long, narrow, and covered with tons of red bristles.  These trees must have been very popular back in the mid 1950’s in Mesa, because I remember seeing them all around town.  We had one in our back yard.

I don’t suppose I would remember the trees except for the day ours fell over.  I must have been very young, maybe 3 or 4 years old.  When I try to remember exactly what happened it escapes me, but if I just let my mind relax hazy pictures rise before my closed eyes.  I’m in the bathroom, although I can’t actually see it, I just know that's where I am, and it is very windy outside.  Suddenly I hear a loud noise, but I'm not scared, just surprised.  The next memory I have I'm standing outside in the back yard, looking at a huge tree lying on the grass, and mom and dad are explaining to me that bottle brush trees don’t have deep roots, so sometimes they fall over if the wind is too strong.  Bizarre!

Another vague memory stored somewhere in the back of my head is of our big grapefruit tree.  It was huge.  I remember sitting at the breakfast table, eating grapefruit halfs in a bowl.  Sometimes mom let us sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar on our grapefruit.  We kids wanted to cover the grapefruit with sugar, but she always stopped us.   Mom used to make grapefruit punch in a tall glass picture, mixed with just enough sugar and water and ice to make it sweet and mellow.  Grapefruit punch was not as sour as lemonade, it was more like sweetened water or the jello water mom sometimes made for us.  It was like a drink of cool, fresh water, with just a little sweetness and flavor added.  I always liked grapefruit punch more than lemonade, which to me was too tart.

Anyway, the grapefruit tree in our back yard was huge.  When I was too little to remember I fell off a high chair that stood under the tree.  I suppose it was there to help mom pick grapefruit, not just for kids to play on, but when I was two I fell off the chair and broke my collar bone. That didn’t stop us from climbing in the tree, though, and I can still remember standing under it, looking up at my little brother Phillip, who was lost in the branches somewhere above, unable to find his way down.  Dad had to climb up to get him.

We went down to the Valley last weekend.  The citrus trees were in bloom, and such a heavenly smell assailed our noses it was almost like being in heaven.  As we drove down Greenfield road I was amazed to see long red fronds hanging from an ornamental tree growing along the side of the road.  It was a bottle-brush tree, just like I remembered.  Fifty years have come and gone since I was a little girl in Mesa, but thank goodness some things are still the same.

The Story of How Gale Got Lost

I was born and raised in Mesa, Arizona, a small town and a long time ago.  Things were different back then.  People didn't lock their doors, neighbors trusted each other, and everyone took care of everyone.  It was a good place to live.

I guess when I was little I was pretty fearless, but by the time I reached elementary school I had some deep seated paranoia, especially about getting lost.  I remember one afternoon when mom was a few minutes late to pick us up.  My older brother, Keith, was in second grade and I was in first.  Every afternoon our teacher would walk us from our room out to meet our parents.  Mom was always there, waiting to take us home.  On this particularly day, though, she wasn't there.  I stood on the corner, looking and looking for her.  Keith was off on the playground, happy to have a few more minutes to play, but I sat down on the curb and burst into tears.  I was so scared!  What if mom never came?  What would I do?  My teacher came and comforted me, eventually taking me back into the classroom to keep her company until mom came, which was right away.  Someone had called on the phone just as she was leaving, so she was 15 minutes late.  Not a big deal, except to a scared little girl like me.

Getting lost frightened me more than anything else, and as I grew up I wondered why.  Then one day mom told me about what happened when I was two and I figured it out.  So, here is story of how Gale got lost.

Once upon a time, in a little town called Mesa, there was a nice family.  There was a mama and a daddy and a little boy who was three and a half, and a little girl who was two.  They lived in a house on a quaint old-fashioned street, just two blocks north of Main Street. 

One day mama needed to go pick up a few groceries.  She put Keith in the back seat of the car with his little sister, Gale.  It was a hot summer day and Gale was just a toddler, so she was only wearing a diaper.  but mama didn't take time to put her into a dress, they were only going to be gone a minute. 

When they got downtown, mama parked the car in front of the store.  She leaned over the back seat and said,  "Keith, I'm only going to be a second.  Will you stay in the car with Gale and keep an eye on her?"

"Sure," Keith said.  Fe was a good big brother, and he didn't mind watching out for his little sister.  What's more, he was having fun playing with his cars in the back seat, and he didn't really want to go into the store with mama.

Mama picked up her purse, got out of the car, then leaned in the window one more time.  "Stay in the car," she admonished Keith, and he nodded absently as he zoomed his toy cars over the upholstery.

Keith played happily with his cars, but Gale couldn't find anything to keep her attention, so she pushed down the door handle and crawled out of the car. 

"Stay here," Keith shouted when he saw Gale toddling away from the car.  "Mama said to stay here!"  But Gale didn't pay any attention.  There were many more exciting things to do out on the sidewalk in front of the store than in the stuffy, hot old car. 

Poor Keith was in a quandary.  Mama told him to stay in the car, so he couldn't get out, but his little sister was wandering away.

Just then Mama came back.  She really had only been a few minutes, just like she said.  But there was Keith, sitting in the car crying, the door open, and Gale no where in sight. 

"Where's Gale?"  mama asked in horror. 

"She wouldn't stay in the car,"  Keith sobbed. 

Quickly mama scooped Keith up in one arm and took off down the street, looking for little Gale.  Soon she saw her, standing on the corner next to a nice man, sucking on a big lollipop.  Mama ran up to her, grabbed her with her other arm, and started to cry.  The man patted mom on the shoulder and said,  "So, this is your little girl. I thought someone would come looking for her pretty soon."

"Thank you, thank you,"  mama cried as she held Gale close.  "I was so scared!"

"You didn't need to worry," the man said, smiling.  "She's a good little girl, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep her here on the corner instead of letting her walk across the street, so I gave her a lollipop.  Here's one for you, too," he said as he handed a second sucker to Keith.

"Thank you, again" said mama as Keith grabbed the candy.  Mama carried both of her children back to the car.  She carefully put them in the back seat, aware that people were watching her and smiling.  Mama waved to them as she got in behind the wheel and carefully backed the car out onto the street, then slowly drove home.  As she drove mama took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.  She pulled into the driveway, parked the car,  then sat  for a few more minutes.  In the back seat Keith was playing again with his cars, while Gale watched.  Finally mama turned around and asked,  "Gale, why did you get out of the car, honey?"

"Get lollipop," Gale answered, happily sucking on her sweet treat.  "But you must never get out of the car by yourself," mama tried again.  Gale smiled and sucked louder.  "Get lollipop," she agreed.

It was then that mama realized little Gale didn't understand a thing about safety.  Over the next few days and weeks she talked and talked to the little girl, trying to make her understand the dangers of getting lost.  It worked, too.  I still get a queezy feeling when I get seperated from the people I love.

Two Year Old Reckless Driver and Orange Trees, What a Combination!

Isn't this a lovely time of year?  I just love spring, everything feels so fresh and new and clean.  We hooked up our water outside for the first time yesterday so I could water my trees and bushes and flowers.  Guess what I found?  Peach blossoms and daffodils and hyacinths, spinach growing in my garden, and columbines in my flower bed.  It was so exciting!  I love living in the mountains where so many lovely things can grow, but spring was a wonderful time of year to live in the desert, too, as long as there was plenty of water to irrigate with.

Some of my earliest memories are of springtime in Mesa, Arizona.  We lived in an old house on N. McDonald, a quaint old neighborhood in the center of Mesa.  Our home was surrounded by big old shady trees and lush green grass.  There is a picture in my mind of a big rock with numbers on it, it must have been a marker for our address, sitting in a patch of tall grass.  We hid Easter eggs behind it, I think. 

Every Sunday mom and dad would take my brothers and sister and I down to the LDS Temple on Main Street to walk around the grounds.  They were always planted with the most wonderful springtime flowers: snapdragons, whose mouths opened when you squeezed their sides so you could stick your finger inside; stalks, whose fragrance filled the air with the most indescribably sweet smell; little purple and yellow pansies and other spring flowers, filling the beds with pink and yellow and orange and white and green.  It was so lovely.  Above everything else, there were hundreds of orange trees planted throughout the grounds.  In the spring they would be covered in waxy white blossoms, giving off the most exquisite perfume imaginable!

In fact, Mesa was a town pretty much covered with citrus trees.  Most homes had at least one orange, lemon, or grapefruit tree planted in it's yard.  Ornamental orange trees lined many streets, and N. McDonald had a row of oranges planted right down the middle, with traffic going north or south on either side.  It made a lovely dividing line, but also an obstacle course if you needed to drive through the middle of the trees.  But then, who would ever do something like that?  My brother.

Keith was just a year and a half older than me.  He was my idol, and I tagged along behind him wherever he went.  When I was a baby and Keith was only two, mom put us both in the car one day so she could run an errand.  The car was parked along the side of our house, pointing out towards the street.  After putting us in mom remembered something she needed in the house, so she ran inside.  Somehow Keith fell, or crawled down, onto the gas pedal.  I suppose he must have already tugged on the gear shift and pushed in the button to start the car, because we jerked forward and shot down the driveway, across the lane, up over the cement curb, across the grassy divide between the orange trees, back down onto the other lane, up over the curb across the street, over that sidewalk and yard, and smashed into the white walls of the women's club building on the other side of the street across from our house.  A short trip, but how exciting!  I actually don't remember any of it, but mom kept a clipping from the newspaper describing the wild adventures of the two year old reckless driver.  Thank goodness no one was hurt!

The Snake

I really don't like snakes!  One of my earliest memories is driving through the desert with my family, perhaps we were going up to the cabin, I can't quite remember.  Whatever we were doing, I remember dad stopping the truck, getting out, grabbing a big rock and smashing a rattlesnake over the head.  Maybe we had stopped for a break, or a picnic, I don't know.  But I remember the awful, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Yuck! 

I was just plain scared of snakes, all kinds.  Once I had a dream that our house was on fire.  I ran out the back door onto the porch, only to find that the yard was full of rattlesnakes and I couldn't step off the porch because of them.  What a nightmare.  The house was burning behind and the snakes were rattling in front of me.  Awful!

My worst experience with snakes, though, was when I came face to face with an old king snake, not even poisonous, but it didn't matter to me.  I must have been about 10 years old. 

We were spending the Labor Day weekend up at the cabin.  Grandma and Grandpa Russell were there, and one of my older cousins, Brandt, had driven up for the day with a friend of his.  I remember the excitement when they showed up, driving a bright red sports car.  It was so cool! 

Dad had spent the morning working with grandpa and the boys, gathering fire wood to stack up for the winter.  By the middle of the morning they had a big pile under the shed behind grandpa's cabin, and they were busily sawing it into fireplace size pieces.  Somehow a chip of wood was thrown from the saw into dad's face, cutting a deep gash across his forehead and next to his eye.  It was a bad wound and he needed to get to the doctor's immediately. 

Brandt volunteered to drive our car so mom could sit by dad and hold pressure on the cut.  My little sisters rode home with them.  My two brothers got the privilege of riding in the sports car with Brandt's friend, but that left me to finish packing and ride home with grandma and grandpa.  That wasn't so bad, we were all worried about dad and I didn't really take time to think about it not being fair that I was left behind. 

Our cabin was on a hill, grandma and grandpa's cabin was below it.  There was a steep dirt trail we walked down along the side of the hill, only about 2 feet wide.  It was always covered with pine needles when we got to the cabin, so one of the first jobs we had was to push the needles over the edge of the trail so it wouldn't be too slippery.  One side of the trail was the hill, the other side dropped away to nothing, although their was one big ponderosa pine growing on that side about half way down, and another big pine at the foot of the trail.  Dad had nailed a heavy piece of wire to the pine at the bottom, then stretched it along the trail, nailing it to the tree halfway up, and then wrapping it around a tree at the top.  It formed a railing of sorts to keep kids from falling off the hill, and to give grandma something to hold onto as she climbed up.

I piled clothes and bedding into cardboard boxes, carried them down the hill, and put them in the back of grandpa's pickup.  Then went back up to the cabin to get more boxes to bring down.  I was carrying a big box down the hill, trying to watch were I was stepping because I didn't want to slip while holding the box, when I saw something orange and white sliding across the path.  It was a huge old king snake, slithering into the pine needles piled at the base of the ponderosa half way up the trail!  I turned and ran back up the hill as fast as I could go, jumping onto the back porch and slamming the screen door to keep me safe, my heart pounding so fast I could hardly breath.  Man, I was scared!  There was no way I was going to go back down that hill again, no matter what anyone said. 

Grandma called me, but I wouldn't even leave the back porch.  I shouted down the hill that there was a snake.  She tried to calm me down, but it didn't help.  Grandpa came up and assured me the snake was gone, but I still wouldn't get off the porch.  Eventually he and grandma finished loading  their stuff, drove up the road to our cabin, and finished packing our things out front.  I could not face going back down the hill at all, sure that the snake was still hiding in the pine needles on the side of the hill.

Dad was OK.  If the chip had hit him any lower he would have lost his eye, but he was blessed.  We came back up to the cabin a few weeks later to finish closing things down for the winter, and my brothers had a great time looking all over for the snake.  They never found him.  It took me a long time to get enough courage to walk down the trail again.  I stood at the top of the hill and studied every inch of the trail, making  sure the snake wasn't hiding anywhere, before I would go down, and then I would race as fast as I could past the ponderosa.  Even when we came up the next summer I watched carefully as I walked down the trail, although by that time I may have been hoping I would see the snake again just so I could show him off to my brothers.  But I never did.  Perhaps I scared him away, just as badly as he scared me.

ADD, a Good Thing?

Have you ever wondered why some people have to deal with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), while others don't?  It doesn't seem fair, does it? A very intuitive doctor once helped me to see ADD in a new light, and gave me a different perspective.

One day I was visiting with this doctor, and he told me that ADD was not a disability or a disease, he said it was just a different way of thinking.    This doctor explained that in today's world we have adjusted to our culture, promoting people whose brains work well in this environment into our teachers and leaders.  Others, whose brains work differently, have a hard time fitting in.  On the other hand, those same people, in an environment suited to the way their brains worked, would be the leaders and the teachers.

For example, back in the days when hunting was the only way to provide food, someone with ADD would excel.  Imagine sitting in a tree watching for animals.  I would stare at shady places, trying to see what was hidden in the shadows, or focus on wherever else I thought an animal might be going to come.  Someone with ADD, on the other hand,  would be attracted to every little movement, never focusing on one object for long, being able to shift and change and see all the things going on around them at the same time.  They would be the ones who caught the most food and provided well for their families. My family would starve.

My Surprise Birthday Party

In church today I will be talking with the young women about family relationships and how they can bless their parents and brothers and sisters lives.  It made me think back to when I was young, and what a blessing my little sisters were to me.

I was a shy child, and not particularly popular or outgoing as a teenager.  My birthday was in the middle of the summer when everyone was gone on family vacations.  During the rest of the year other kids had birthday parties on their birthdays, but since no one was around on my birthday I always ended up just celebrating with my family.  It didn't really bother me that much, I was more comfortable with them than with anyone else, but sometimes when my birthday was approaching it made me feel left out that I never had a party.

I must have complained aloud to my little sisters the summer I turned 18.  By that time I'd way outgrown birthday parties, but I remember feeling sorry for myself, and wishing someone would someday throw me a surprise party. 

My birthday fell in the middle of the week that year, and it was a hot, boring day.  I think I volunteer to run errands for mom, or perhaps she asked me to go, so I drove over to the grocery store to pick up a few things early in the afternoon.  I can still remember driving home, parking the car in the carport, getting the bags out, and walking to the back door.  As I opened the door I heard giggles and laughter, then suddenly half a dozen little voices shouting, "Surprise!  Surprise!"

My little sisters had invited their neighborhood friends to come over and give me a surprise birthday party!  I was so touched.  Perhaps it was a little bit lame, after all I was 18 and they were little kids, but it was so sweet of them, and we had such fun.  It made me feel good that someone understood how left out I felt, and that they wanted to make me happy.  I'll never forget their concern, or their love.

Thank you, Grandma Russell

I'm pretty late posting this blog today.  I've been down to the Valley and just got home.  As I drove down and back, past Four Peaks, the Superstition Mountains, and the dessert I grew up in, I thought again about all the history, memories, and wisdom I learned from my grandma Russell, whose stories I have been retelling the past few weeks.  She was a grand lady, and I owe her much more than I realized before now. 

Grandma died when I was 19 years old.  She had been sick with dementia for a long time before that.  Consequently, I have to go back into my early childhood to remember who she really was.  You know, the thing that stands out most  is how every time anyone asked grandma how she was doing, she always answered "Wonderful!  Isn't it a glorious day?"  I don't suppose she always felt wonderful, and I bet she had some really rotten days, but she lived and breathed enthusiasm and optimism.  I guess that's where  dad acquired his oft repeated saying, "Act enthusiastic and you'll be enthusiastic."  It's true.

My memories of grandma mostly revolve around summers spent with her and grandpa up at the cabin.  I can still see grandma sitting by the front window, stitching together braided rag rugs, sewing on her old treadle sewing machine, or working on genealogy or scrap books.  In the evenings grandma loved to play scrabble, she kept a dictionary on the table to check out unusual words grandpa claimed were real, while we ate her delicious strawberry rhubarb pie that was to die for.

After all the delightful memories of early Arizona grandma shared with us, she gave me my own delightful memories of Arizona that I will always cherish and adore.  Thank you grandma.  I love you!

Life on the Desert, Memories From the Early 1900's

Life on the Desert, by Ethel H. Stewart Russell

            I was just a young girl when my folks filed on a homestead on the desert about fifteen miles south east of our home.  A house was built and a wind mill for furnishing water put in and then we moved out to clear the land and fence it.  There was 160 acres, much of it covered with mesquite trees, so it was a real job to get the land ready to grow crops.  The soil was very rich and when the rains came at the right season good crops were grown.

            One day while the boys were plowing they moved a pile of rocks and brush and found it to be a den of rattlesnakes.  We often saw snakes and had to constantly be on guard.

            The boys liked to hunt quail and doves or rabbits, sometimes they had target practice and let my sister and I try our skill which was good for us as we too had need to use the gun.

            There were a number of our friends who had homesteads near us, so we didn’t feel frightened when our folks went into town for a few days leaving us to care for the chickens and seeing the troughs were full of water for the stock.

            Late one afternoon as we left our yard going to the neighbors house, we had had a summer shower, and as we passed the wind mill great large brown hairy tarantulas were coming out from under the water tank for a stroll in the cool rain washed air.  They ambled along on their long legs as unconcerned as could be.  We took the gun with us and as we crossed the field a side winder came crawling over the furrows toward us.  I shot him and my sister said, "now we will kill another one before we go to bed”, and we sure did.

            On the way home that evening we circled the neighbors field to see if the creek had overflowed and as we passed a mesquite thicket a brown animal came out from the trees and followed us.  It was about the size of our dog but it had a more pointed nose.  When we stopped it stopped, finally it put it’s nose up into the air and gave such a strange cry it frightened us.  Old Shep, our collie, took off thru the pasture with us trailing him.  We were acquainted with coyotes which often awoke us in the still small hours of the morning with their mournful cry’s, but this was different.  Later we found it to be a timber wolf which sometimes came into the valley from the hills not far from us.

            Since we were alone when we got ready for bed I went to the porch to get the gun where I had left it as we came home that evening, and there, crawling along the porch to the coal-oil can in the corner, was the largest rattle snake I had ever seen.  We didn’t want him to get away so we sat down a short distance away to wait for him to come out from behind the can.  Finally, at about 2:30 a.m. it cautiously ventured out and as I raised my gun to shoot he coiled and I blew his head off with the old rifle.  He was near the edge of the porch, so we put a big anvil on top of him.  The folks came home the next day and they laughed at us for putting the anvil on him which resulted in a grease spot that defied all efforts to get it out.

            The old snakes measured 5 feet and had nine rattles and 2 buttons. 

            Many were the experiences we had those years on the home stead.  One night some one forgot to close the chicken house door and the hens made such a disturbance papa went out with the lantern to see the trouble and found a bob cat crouched in one of the nests.

            The quietude and the beautiful sunsets on the desert reflecting it’s rays on the mountains around us made us feel so near our Father in Heaven and made us grateful for the privileges we enjoy in this great country of ours.

A Trip to See Roosevelt Dam Being Built, continued

(taken from the memoirs of Ethel Russell, continued from yesterday)

            A journey to the mountains had long been my most treasured ambition and now that we were on the way I could hardly take time to sleep.  Early in the morning when papa began the fire I piled out of bed to watch the process of cooking breakfast over the coals.  What fun it was to smell bacon sizzling and watch mama fry pancakes in the old dutch oven!  She had to be careful, though, not to let her skirt catch fire from the coals.

             How blue the mountains were!  As the sun rose higher their color changed; each mountain was a different shade and shape.  Superstition Mountain was by far the most spectacular, with it's high cliff face and rugged outline, but there was also Usury Mountain in front of the Superstitions, Red Mountain (and it really was red) and the McDowell mountains in the north west, and the Sierra Anches with Four Peaks on the North East.  The farther we went the more rugged the landscape became.  By and by we came to Fish Creek Hill which was just half way to Roosevelt.  The Hill was a mile long and very steep.  The road was not much wider than the wagons.  We children hugged the wall as we walked to the bottom.  The wheels all had to be blocked for the descent and it was a very dangerous time as they slid down.  At the bottom was a beautiful creek with big cottonwood trees and cool pools.  We were sure happy to get down to them.  They had built a waystation there for the benefit of travelers where supplies could be purchased.  It was an interesting location. 

            Eventually we reached the Dam sight.  The water from the river had been diverted into a ditch around the side of the mountain which generated electricity to operate the big cranes that placed the stones into the wall of the dam.  We stayed a while and watched the men work, then we went to a dairy farm owned by a brother of one of our party up the river a few miles.  It was a good place to rest from the journey, but there were so many interesting things to see we couldn't stay still for long.

            Near the dairy ranch were Indian Ruins, a cliff dwelling of our ancient Indians called “Tonto Ruins”.   The Tonto Ruins are up high on the mountainside south east of Roosevelt Dam.  One afternoon we all climbed into our wagon and went to see the ancient dwelling.  There were many rooms in the over hanging cliff of the mountain facing the canyon.  You would never guess there was such a place near until you came into the canyon.  We found many small corn cobs and much broken pottery in the basement room which we entered by climbing down a ladder.  At the back of the cliff was a large hole through which one from the inside could look out over the river area.  The building may have been a fortification.  It was all so interesting.

            The next day we moved further up the River to a beautiful camping spot called “Grape Vine Springs.”  There were many walnut trees here covered with grape vines, and the springs were full of water cress.  It was delightful spot.  We camped there two days.

            Soon it was time to go home, though, so we retraced our steps and reached our homes having had two weeks of the most interesting experiences of our lives.  We could more fully appreciate the travels of our pioneers and the beauties of our lovely country.  We had heard many Indian stories and seen some of their homes in the mountains.   Little Wicky-ups- they called them.  We also visited the spot where an Indian battle was fought in the early days.  It was a trip long to be remembered.

A Trip To See Roosevelt Dam Being Built - And Superstition Mountain

In the early 1900's a long drought caused much hardship for the farming communities of Mesa, Tempe, and Phoenix, Arizona.  Orchards and vineyards dried up and died.  Many people lost everything and ended up moving out of the Salt River Valley.  It was a sad, difficult time for everyone.  Eventually it was decided that a dam needed to be built on the upper Salt River so water could be stored to prevent catastrophes like this from happening in the future.  My great grandfather was part of the planning committee, and his daughter Ethel, my Grandma Russell, wrote about the dam in her memoirs. 

Soon after the dam was begun my papa said he would like to go see how the work was progressing, so he took us to see Roosevelt Dam being built. The Dam was about 50 miles east of Mesa, where Tonto Creek joins the Salt River.  It was a long trip to make, over rough dirt roads, but we were sure excited to go.  Five families, neighbors of ours, decided to join the party.  Our wagons were like the pioneers used.  We carried water on the wagon sides in barrels.  Mother’s bed was on top of the wagon box and my sister and I slept on a mattress in the bottom.  The grub box and other camp equipment was conveniently placed as it had to be removed when we prepared meals. 

It was fun to cook over the camp fire and we often made a bonfire to sit about after supper was over and listened to stories about the pioneers. 

We saw  big freight wagons hauling supplies to Roosevelt along the Apache Trail, which was just a dirt road.  There were 6 or 8 horses on each of these freight outfits.  The driver used a stick with a long leather strap on it to crack over the horses to make them pull the heavily loaded wagons.

           

We camped the first night at Goldfield, not far from our beautiful Superstition Mountain.  Did you ever hear how the mountain got it’s name?  The old-time Indians began calling it Superstition because of the mysterious things that happened there.  On the front of the mountain, about two thirds of the way up, a white streak shines brightly.  The old Indians claim this mark was made by flood waters.  They say that back at the beginning of time the ancient Indians were mean and selfish and would not listen to the Great Spirit when he told them to stop.  The Great Spirit finally sent a huge flood to destroy all of the bad people.  As the water got higher and higher the people climbed on top of the mountain, but they were still being selfish and mean, pushing and shoving to get the highest places to stand.  The Great Spirit got so angry with them that he turned them into rock.  When you look at the mountain from the sides, you can still see the rock Indians standing along the top of the cliffs.

It is said the Indians won’t go near the mountain because long years ago when the Spaniards claimed this land they had many very rich gold mines near by.   One day as they were carrying the gold to Mexico a band of Indians attacked them and many of them were killed.  The Spaniards hid the gold in one of the many caves in the mountains and fled.  It is said the Indians know where the mine is, also where the gold is hidden, but they don’t want the white man to dig in the mountain as many of the Indians lie buried there and they claim they hear the spirits of their dead people moaning on the mountain. 

Many people have lost their lives searching for this gold.  We saw is a little white tent up on the north side  of the mountain.  Papa said a Dutchman by the name of Walch lived there.  He came down to the “Co-Op” where papa works for supplies and he knew him well.  Papa said Mr. Walch seemed to have plenty of money.  It is said he and his partner quarreled over a mine and the partner disappeared.  No one ever knew what became of him.  It is supposed Walch walled his body up in the mine which is called “The Lost Dutchman Mine.”  When Walch died he sent a map to his nephew in the East telling of it’s location, but it has never been found and people continue to search the area.

           

(to be continued tomorrow)

Roosevelt Lake

Have you ever visited Arizona?   I am prejudiced, of course, but I think it is the most wonderful place on earth.  Not only will you find the hot, arid desert, it is also home to cool, high mountains, lush dense forests, deep mysterious canyons, exciting raging rivers, and clear, clean lakes.  Which brings me to my story for today,

How Roosevelt Lake Came to Be.

            When my grandmother, Ethel Stewart Russell,  was a little girl, a drought came to the Salt River Valley (or the Valley of the Sun as it later came to be known) where she lived.   By this time, in the early 1900's, Phoenix was a small but growing city, with the nearby farming communities of Tempe and Mesa all dependant on water brought from the river by canals and ditches to irrigate the desert.  

           Ethel's family lived on a beautiful farm west of Mesa.  In her memoirs she wrote that for a long time no rain fell to give water to their fruit trees.  One by one they died, and the vineyards too were dug up and used for fire wood.  Many people in the valley moved to other places.

           
           My papa was president of the Mesa Canal.  There were three canals which carried water to farms in Phoenix, Chandler, and Mesa.  The presidents of the three canals decided a dam must be built on the river so they could conserve the water that wasted during flood seasons.  So they asked my papa to help make a survey of the water shed.

           
            One morning early in the spring papa and his companions packed two mules with a tent, bedding, camp utensils and food, then mounting their horses they rode up into the mountains of the Salt River area.  They were gone several weeks because they had many miles to cover.

            One day they decided to try to reach a ranch house papa knew about to spend the night.  The people who lived there were his friends.  They rode through the rough, hard Superstition wilderness all day but didn’t reach the ranch house.  Finally they decided they would have to make camp and go on to the ranch the following day. When they got there the next morning they found the house burned down and the people lying dead in the yard.  The Apaches had been on a raid.  It was a horrible scene, but papa and his companions were thankful not to have been there the night before.

           
            When papa and his friends returned to Phoenix they gave their report of the survey to Mr. Lewis Hill, the government engineer.  He reviewed it and eventually it was decided a dam should be built on the Salt River.   At this time President Theodore Roosevelt was in favor of reclamation and soon a dam was begun.  It was to be called Roosevelt Dam in honor of our president.

(To Be Continued tomorrow.......)

Old Buck Skin

At the beginning of the month I was sharing some stories my grandmother told me about growing up in early Arizona.  Now that Saint Patrick's Day is past, I think I'll finish her stories.  You know, right now is the nicest season to be in Arizona.  It's not too hot yet, the wild flowers are blooming, and at least to me, the prettiest part of an Arizona desert spring is the wild grass that comes up anyplace that is shady.  It's the color of emeralds, and although it doesn't grow everywhere it sure makes the desert look lovely.  I remember walking to school or playing outstide in the afternoons, absorbing the green like a sponge, feeling as though my heart would burst with the loveliness of the long, cool, juicy blades of grass.  I suppose that is why, even to this day, green is the color that makes me happiest.

And now, for grandma's story.

Old Buck Skin

When I was little girl there was a Mexican named Ramon who worked for papa. He had a horse named Buckskin that we children loved to ride because he was so gentle and easy to handle. Ramon cautioned us to always put our feet through the leather strap above the stirrup for our legs were too short to reach the stirrups.

One day I was riding Buckskin around the block and as we came along the canal road I could hear bulls bellowing near-by. There were many high bushes of soap weed growing along the road next to the pastures. All of a sudden we came to a clearing and there were the bulls, one inside the fence and the other out side in the street. When he saw us he put his head down and pawed the dirt and bellowed so loud old Buckskin wheeled about quickly and ran in the opposite direction. He knew from long years experience as a cow horse not to bother an angry bull.

How happy I was that I had learned to obey what I was told to do for had I not had my feet securely in the saddle straps I surely would have fallen off when the horse wheeled about so quickly.

The Bee

I am teaching a lesson to a group of 14 and 15 year old girls today about growing up and maturing.  That's a hard thing to understand at that age, because while they want to be in control they aren't quite ready to take over completely.  There is a good story in the lesson that I  thought I would share with you.  It has made me stop and think.

Elder James E. Talmage tells the story of a bee that flew into his office on a warm summer day.  After buzzing through the room several times, the bee failed to find the partly opened window through which it had entered.

Elder Talmage understood some things that the bee could not.  He knew that if the bee remained trapped in the room it would die.  Hoping to free it, he stepped to the window and opened it wide.  He tried to guide the bee out the window, but it would not be guided.  He tried harder, but the bee became angry and even stung his hand. 

The bee persisted in its wild flight and never found the window to its freedom.  By the following day, it had died.

There are people in our lives that want to help and guide us in our search for freedom and self-reliance.  Are we listening to their council and finding the way to true freedom, or are we too busy doing the things we want to do?

The Bad Luck of O'Shaugnessy

You realize, of course, that this will probably be the last Irish story I tell for awhile.  This particular story is perhaps, a little sad, but I hope you find it enjoyable.  I did.

The Bad Luck of O'Shaugnessy

One day, soon after work began, the foreman at the plant where O'Shaugnessy worked came down onto the floor and tapped O'Shaugnessy on the arm. 

"Yea, boss," O'Shaugnessy said, looking up from his work.

"There's a phone call for you," the foreman said, a little frown between his eyebrows.  He wasn't happy about employees taking personal calls on the job.  "You can answer it in my office, but tell whoever it is not to call you any more."

O'Shaugnessy was more than a little surprised, no one had ever called him at work before, so he hurried into the office.  A few moments later he walked out again, his shoulders slumped and a mournful look on his face.  Worried, the foreman asked him what had happened.

"Tis me mother," O'Shaugnessy answered sadly.  "Me father just called to tell me she passed away this morning."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the foreman, regretting his earlier gruffness.  "Do you want to take the rest of the day off?" 

"No", replied O'Shaugnessy slowly.  "There's nothing I can do right now, and 'twould be better for me to keep busy I think.  I'll finish the day out."

About an hour later the foreman walked back out onto the floor to tell O'Shaugnessy that there was another call for him on the phone.  O'Shaugnessy looked at him worriedly, but the foreman didn't seem to be angry about the personal call this time, so O'Shaugnessy walked back into the office.  He slumped out of the door a few minutes later looking even more dejected than before.  The foreman placed an arm around his shoulder and asked, "Are you alright?"

O'Shaugnessy looked at him in bewilderment, shook his head, and said, "Begora, boss, I've just been given even worse news.  That was me brother on the phone, and his mother died today, too!"

Irish Livestock

You know, many American ancestors came from Ireland, and we owe a lot to them.  Much of our whit, humor and culture has roots back in Ireland.    I wonder about our common sense, though.

Once there was an Texan who went to Ireland for a visit. He thoroughly enjoyed himself roaming the countryside and exploring the hill farms east of Galway. Everything was so beautiful and green!  One day he stopped in at a pub for lunch.  An Irish farmer was sitting alone at a table, so the Texan, wanting to talk to a real native, asked if he could join him.  Soon they were happily comparing notes about their farms.

"How big is your spread?" asked the American.

"Well look you, it's about 20 acres,"  the Irish farmer boasted proudly.

"Only 20 acres?" the American said, "Why, back in Texas I can get up at sunrise, saddle my horse and ride all day.   When I return at supper time, I'll be lucky if I've covered half my farm."

"Begora," said the Irishman.   "Once I had horse like that, but I sent him off to the knackers yard."


Later, this same Irishman sold a donkey to his friend Michael.  They met at a pub some weeks later, and Michael said, "Hey, Finnegan, that donkey you sold me went and died."
Finnegan looked at his friend in suprise and said,  "Bejabbers, Michael, it never done that on me."

(thanks to guy-sports.com/humor/saints/saint_patrick for both of these stories)

Oh, Those Irish Hunters

There's a story told in old Ireland about a group of men who were on holiday.  They decided to go hunting, so they piled into their car and drove across country until they found a likely looking spot in County Waterford.  It was a lovely place, so Brannagh, the driver, went up to  the farmhouse to ask permission to hunt on the farmer's land.

The farmer was happy to give the hunters permission, but he asked Brannagh if he would please do him a favor first.  The farmer explained that his old donkey was over 20 years old and sick with cancer.  "I don't have the heart to kill her," the farmer said.  "Would you do me a favor and do it for me?"

"Sure," Brannagh agreed.  But as he walked back to the car he got an idea how he could trick his friends. 

When he got to his car the other hunters asked him if the farmer had agreed to let them hunt on his land. "He said no," Brannagh told his friends.  "But I'm going to teach him a lesson he won't forget!"  Then he pulled his gun out of the car, turned around, and shot the farmers donkey.  "To be sure, that will teach him!" Brannagh boasted.

A second later, to his horror, he heard a second shot ring out from the other side of the car, and one of his hunting buddies yelled, "And me, begorrah, I got the cow!"

(thanks to guy-sports.com/humor/saints/saint_patrick, where I read this story

And now, a little Irish blessing to leave you with this fine day:

May the light always find you on a dreary day.
When you need to be home, may you find your way.
May you always have courage to take a chance
And never find frogs in your underpants.


 

The Skull of Brian Boru

Brian Boru was a famous Irish warrior over a thousand years ago.  He did the impossible by uniting Ireland, and founded the O'Brien clan.  I thought knowing this little bit of history might make the following story more believable?

Once there was an American tourist who decided to visit Ireland.  While travelling in County Clare  he came across a little antique shop where he found the skull of Brian Boru.  Through careful negotiating he was able to buy it for only 200 Irish punts.

Included in the price was a certificate of the skull's authenticity, signed by Brian Boru himself.

The American returned to Ireland fifteen years later.  He had so enjoyed County Clare that he went back to see it again, and thought he would stop in at the little antique shop to see if he could find any more bargains.

"I've got the very thing for you," replied to shopkeeper when the tourist asked if he had anything special.   "It's the genuine skull of Brian Boru."

"Why, you cheat!"  exploded the American.  "You sold me that fifteen years ago!  Look, they're not even the same size," he added, pulling the original skull out of his bag to show the shop keeper.

"For sure, but you have it wrong," replied the antique dealer.  "This tis the skull of Brian Boru when he was but a lad.'"

I've Never Felt Better in Me Life!

Once upon a time, in a courtroom in Killarney, Ireland, (which is deep in Munster, Ireland) court was being held.  A lawyer was questioning a farmer who claimed to have been injured by the lawyer's client.

"Mr. O'Shea," the lawyer asked, "at the scene of the accident, did you not tell the Garda officer that you had never felt better in your life?"

"I did, sir," answered Mr. O'Shea.

The lawyer raised his eyebrows, gave the judge a quizzical look, then turning back to the farmer asked, "Well, then, Mr. O'Shea, how is it that you are now claiming you were seriously injured when my client's car hit your cart?"

Nonplussed, the farmer also looked at the judge and explained,  "Well, your honor, tis like this.   When the Garda came to check out the accident he first went over to me horse who had a broken leg.   When he saw the shape me horse was in he picked up his gun and shot him.  Then he went over to Darcy, me dog, who was badly hurt, and he shot him too.  Then the policeman came across the road, gun still in hand, and looked at me.  He said, 'How are you feeling?"  Me thought, under the circumstances, that it would be a wise choice of words to say, "I've never felt better in me life!'"

The Uglier Foot

Twas a long time ago in Ballyvourney when a man with very big ankles was nicknamed 'Tad of the Ankles'.  He was a tradesman who traveled from house to house, but a poor time he had of it and people would gather in to make sport and fun with him.

One night Tad was sewing away, sitting on a table.   To be comfortable he was sitting on one leg and had one stretched out in front of him. The woman of the house was sitting at the head of the table, between Tad and the fire. She noticed Tad’s big ankle.

"Upon my conscience, that’s an ugly foot," said she. One or two people laughed at this.

"Upon my conscience," said Tad, "there’s a still uglier foot than this in the house."

The woman of the house must have had badly shaped feet herself, for she thought that Tad was hinting at her.

"There isn’t an uglier foot than that in the whole world, " said she

"Would you lay a bet on that?" asked Tad.   "I would," said she.

"I’ll bet you a quart of whiskey that there’s an uglier foot than this in this house," said Tad.

"And I’ll be taking that bet," said the woman.

At that, Tad pulled his other foot from under him. "Now ," said he, "which is the uglier, the first foot or the second one?"

"Upon my word, the second is a lot uglier," said the woman.

"Very well," said Tad. "Send out for a quart of whiskey for me."


(retold from a story provided by Hutman Productions)

Who was Saint Patrick?

Saint Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, lived sometime around 432 to 461 AD.  He was born in the Roman British Isles, but he was kidnapped when he was 16 years old by pirates.  They took him and sold him as a slave in Ireland. 

Patrick lived and worked as a shepherd in Ireland for six years.  He was a Christian, and his faith helped him through this difficult time.  Eventually he was able to escape from his owners and he went to the Irish coast where he was able to find a way back to Britain.

Back in Britain Patrick decided to become a priest.  He was diligent and worked hard, but he dreamed that the voices of the Irish people were calling him to come back to Ireland and teach them about Christianity.  Eventually Patrick went back to Ireland as a Christian missionary.  There were already some Christians living in Ireland, but Patrick was able to preach to the well-to-do, upper class.  As they were converted it opened the door to Christianity being taught across the country.

Still, there were many people who didn't like what Patrick taught.  The old pagan religion was strong in Ireland, and the druids argued heatedly with Patrick and plotted many ways to kill him, but he was able to outwit them.  Patric laid the groundwork for Christianity in Ireland, and hundred of monasteries and churches were built across the island.

It is said that Saint Patrick brought the Bible and the written word to Ireland.  Before this time stories were passed down orally from generation to generation, but Patrick encouraged studying the Bible and legal texts. 

Patrick's mission to Ireland lasted for about 30 years.  It is believed that he died on March 17, which is why that is the day St. Patrick's Day is commemorated.

Sean of the Brushes

The Irish have their own form of logic.  This story is a good example of that.

A long time ago a poor man and his wife lived in Buffickle.  He made his living by making and selling brushes in Cork.

It so happened that the mayor of Cork died.  Three men wanted the job, but when the election came all three had the same number of votes.  The three men went to the magistrate to decide who should become the next mayor, but he shook his head and said he couldn't settle the matter.  He told the three men to go out the next morning to a certain place at the edge of the city and tell their troubles to the first man who came along.  The magistrate declared that whoever the man named would become the mayor.  And so they did.

The first man to come along that morning was Sean of the Brushes, loaded down with a bundle of brushes on his shoulder.  The three men stopped him and told him their story.  Realizing that whichever man he chose to be mayor, the other two would be very put out, Sean told the three men that he couldn't choose any one of them, they were all so good.  He told them he thought it would be better for he himself to be elected mayor than for any of them not to be chosen.  And so, Sean was made the mayor. 

In the meantime, Sean's old wife was at home.  When she heard that her husband was mayor of Cork with a gold chain across his chest and two gray horses drawing him from place to place she set out at once for Cork.

She looked about, and next day she saw Sean being drawn by two gray horses, a Caroline hat on his head and a big gold chain hanging down from his neck.  Happy to find her husband, the woman ran towards Sean, but he exclaimed, "Stay away from me, old woman!"

"Are you my husband, Sean?" she asked in surprise.

"I am," said he, "but keep away from me and don’t pretend to know me. I don’t even know myself!"

(retold from stories provided by Hutman Productions)

When You're Irish It's the Smell That Counts!

Once there were six young fellows visiting a small Irish town.  One of the boys suggested they get something to eat, so they went into a hotel where the boy ordered a meal for them all.  Each fellow wanted to pay his own share.  The pub's owner put a pound of meat in front of each young man, but  one of the boys told the woman he didn't want any meat and to take it away.  "I won't," says she.  "It was ordered and you can eat it or leave it."

The young man ate a small bit of bread and took a cup of soup, but didn't eat any meat.  After the meal, each fellow went to pay his share, but this boy wanted to pay only for the bread and soup he ate.  As they were about to leave, the woman snatched off his hat at the doorway.  He asked her to give it back, but it was no use.  They started to argue, but she remained firm.

One of Ireland's wisest citizens, Daniel O'Connell, happened to be walking down the street just at that moment.  He heard the arguing and stopped to see what was happening. 

"Five fellows and me-self came into this pub to get a bite to eat," the young fellow began explaining.  "One of us ordered a pound of meat for each.  When this woman put the meat in front of me, 'I won't have any of it,' says I.  The woman says to eat it or leave it.  I didn't taste any of the meat, so I won't be paying for it."

"If this fellow didn’t eat the meat," said O’Connell, "tis strange that he should have to pay for it. Give him back his hat."

"He didn’t have to eat it," said the woman. "The smell of my meat filled his belly."
"You may be right in that," said O’Connell.  With that, he took off his own hat, reached into his pocket, took out some silver, and threw it into the hat.

"Good woman," says he, "place your nose over this money and take your time a-smelling it.  Fill your belly well with it.

She was taken aback by that.

"Does that satisfy you?" asked O’Connell.   She was covered with shame and made no reply.

"Give him his hat quickly, said O’Connell. "You have got as good a bargain as you gave."  And that ended the matter. The fellow got his hat and the woman went back into her pub to think things over.

retold from a story provided by Hutman Productions

What's a Corner?

Today is Moe's birthday!  (He's my husband.)  In his honor I'm going to tell one of his mother's favorite stories about when he was a little boy.  Funny thing, I've heard this story told by a bunch of people over the years, but Moe's parents swear it happened to him, first. 

Little Moe had just been given his first tricycle.  He was so cute, trying to reach his little legs all the way out to the pedals, and learning to push them down one after the other so his little tricycle could slowly toddle over the sidewalk.

It wasn't long before he got the pedaling down right, and before you know it that little boy was speeding all over the place,  a big grin spread across his face, blue eyes twinkling under a shock of red hair ruffling in the breeze he'd created.

Daddy stayed around for awhile after teaching his first son how to ride, glorying in the fun, but there were chores to be done and soon he had to get to them.  First he warned his little boy, though.

"Moe, you can ride all around our house and in front of the neighbors, but you mustn't go down to the corner.  OK?"

"Yes, daddy," little Moe promised as he zoomed around the driveway.

Daddy turned for one more look before he stepped inside the front door, just in time to see Little Moe heading toward the intersection of their sleepy little neighborhood street and the larger main street in town.  Running, he reached his son just before he trundled his tricycle to the corner.

"Moe," daddy exclaimed.  "I told you you couldn't go to the corner!  You come home with me right now!"

"OK, daddy," Little Moe said unconcernedly, and he peddled his bike back up to their house.

"Now, promise me you won't go to the corner," daddy reiterated, and little Moe smiled and shook his head in agreement.

Daddy watched him ride around the driveway for a few moments, then went on into the house. 

Less than ten minutes later he went back out to check on his son, only to find him once again heading down the street for the intersection.  Daddy ran and caught up with him, turned him around, and scolded him all the way home. 

"I'm going to spank your bottom and take your tricycle away if you don't obey me!" he finally said.  "Now, don't you forget that!"

"I won't, daddy,  I promise," Little Moe assured him.

One more time Daddy turned to go into the house and finish his chores.  Mother passed him with a load of laundry to hang on the line.  "That boy is just not obeying today," Daddy complained.  "I don't know what's got into him."

"Why, that's not like Moe," said Mother in surprise.  "He's usually such a good little thing."

"I know," daddy said.  "I don't understand it at all.  I guess it's the excitement of the new tricycle, but if he goes down to the corner one more time I'm going to take it away from him.  He could get hurt."

Mother went on out the side door, just in time to see Little Moe riding his tricycle down the street towards the corner."

"Daddy," she called.  "You'd better come see this."

Hurrying outside, daddy exploded in frustration.  "I told that boy!"  he exclaimed.  Running down the street he picked up Little Moe, tricycle and all, and carried them home.  Dumping the tricycle on the lawn he turned the little boy over his knee and gave him a big swat.

"But daddy, why?"  Little Moe sobbed with tears running down his cheeks.

"Because you disobeyed me again!" daddy replied angrily, preparing to spank his son again.  "I told you and told you not to go down to the corner."

"But daddy," cried the little boy, "What's a corner?"

A Visitor In the Night

The central Arizona desert can be a hot, dry place, uninviting for all but the hardiest of creatures.  On the other hand, when water is brought to it the most amazing things can be grown there.  Cool, shady cottonwood trees can lower the temperature from unbearably hot to just very warm, and if you add a ditch full of cold water coming straight from the river you suddenly have a very nice spot to spend a lazy summer afternoon.

Evenings and night are the magic times on the desert when everything but the people wake up and do their business.  (Perhaps the people have it backwards.)  Coyotes, owls, lizards, geckos all come alive when the sun goes down.  As do the other nocturnal creatures, as well.

When I was a little girl my auntie came to visit us once.   My sister and I gave her our room and we slept on the living room couch. One night I was awakened by something going across the floor. Thump, thump.  Thump, thump.  Whatever it was went into the dining room and crunched a crust of bread it found on the floor. I had never heard our old pussy cat make a noise like that, she was always as quiet as a mouse.

"Catherine," I whisper quietly as I shook my sister's shoulder.  "Wake up.  There's something in the kitchen."

Catherine rolled over and listened.  When she heard the noise she whispered back, "It's a skunk."

As we lay on the couch wondering what we should do it came back through the living room and went into our bedroom, rattling some paper behind our aunt's trunk.   Auntie woke up and called mama to come and see what was in her room. My sister said, "It’s a skunk, mama," but papa said, "How could there be a skunk in the house?"

Mama got up and lighted the lamp while I made a dive for papa’s bed and snuggled down close to him. All the noise scared the old skunk, who ran out into the dining room and hid under the refrigerator.  There was certainly nothing more we could do in the middle of the night, so we all went back to sleep, hoping the skunk would give up exploring our house and let itself out the same way he came in.

To our dismay, in the morning when we got up we found the skunk still hiding under the refrigerator.  
"I think I can kill it without it scenting things up," my big brother offered when no one could figure out a way to coax the skunk out of the house.  "Everybody says if you shoot a skunk between the eyes it will die before it can let off it's scent."

None of us were very excited about my brother trying to shoot a skunk in the dining room.  It would be a tough shot to make, lying on his stomach so he could see the skunk under the refrigerator, but since no one had any better ideas papa finally gave in and let brother get his gun.  He lay down on the floor under the dining room table, aimed his gun towards the refrigerator, and took his time to get everything lined up just right.  Finally, when he was sure he had the perfect shot, he squeezed the trigger.  He shot that old skunk right between the eyes, just like he planned, but it didn't work out the way he had hoped, because the skunk scented up the dining room anyway.  Peeeeewwww!!  It was awful!  We cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, but we could not get the smell out.  Finally we had to paint the refrigerator and the whole room to get rid of it.  Whew, what a mess!

When we looked around the next morning we found the back door ajar and papa remembered seeing some of the grand children eating grapes on the door step that evening. You can bet he got busy and fixed the door so we had no more such visitors in the night.

(from memories of Ethel H. Stewart)

The Angry Bull

Living in frontier Arizona was always exciting.  Between cowboys and Indians, flooding rivers and monsoon thunderstorms, snakes and skunks and coyotes, there was never a dull moment for the early settlers.  One story grandma used to enjoy telling us about was the time she and her mama were nearly skewered by an angry bull.

One day Ethel's mama asked her to come out to the carriage house and help her turn the quinces and pomegranates they had stored there for the winter.  The fruit would go bad if it was left lying on one side all season, but when it was turned over it kept longer.

While they were working some cowboys came down the street.  They were moving a herd of long horned cattle that belonged to their neighbor from the field they had been grazing to another pasture.  
Just as they went by one of the bulls saw something in their yard that attracted his attention.  He broke away from the herd and jumped right over the front fence, running straight towards Ethel and her mama!  They were so scared!

There was no door on the carriage house, and only an old raincoat hanging on the wall to hide them.  Ethel's mama grabbed her and they hid behind the raincoat, pressing themselves flat against the wall.  With hearts pounding they prayed that the old bull wouldn't see them.

There was a table along the outside of the carriage house.  A five gallon can of honey sat on the end, not more than eight feet from where they were hiding. The old bull caught the can in his horns, tossed it into the air and ran his horns into it.

On the clothes-line near by was an apron flying in the breeze.  It caught the bulls attention and he ran towards it, catching it in his horns and ripping it off the line as if he was trying to get even with someone. Finally, when there was nothing left to catch his eye, he lumbered off into the backyard.

As soon as the bull was out of sight Ethel and her mama ran for the house.  The men driving the stock came into the yard to drive him out, but he wouldn't go.  Finally they decided to leave him alone.

By and by he jumped over the fence and went back into the neighbor’s pasture. Maybe he had made a friend there that he didn’t want to leave. Whatever his reasons, Ethel and her mama were sure glad that day that someone had left their old rain coat in the carriage house for them to hide behind.

Arizona Memories

Phoenix, Arizona, wasn't a very big city back at the beginning of the 1900's, but it was a lot bigger than Mesa, where my grandma, Ethel, was born.   It was twelves miles away, and going to visit Phoenix was a big occasion.  Ethel's Papa would put on his best suit and harness the horses, Lib and Fly, to the surrey, then start out right after breakfast.  Everyone hoped the river wasn't too high because there was no bridge across it.

Late in the afternoon we began to watch the road for we knew papa would soon be coming and hidden away somewhere in the surrey would be something nice for us, maybe a string of bananas or rosy red apples or oranges.  Sometimes it was a storybook with pretty pictures in it, and then how excited we were!

One morning when our dishes were done and the kitchen floor swept my sister and I took our book and ran out to the wide-spreading branches of the fig tree for a cool, quiet place to enjoy our book. We were barefooted because it was summer time. Out along the path we flew, trying to see who could get there first, when, what do you know? A big old garden snake came crawling across the path just in time for me to step square onto him. Which do you think was the most surprised? The snake ran quickly into the bushes but me oh my! I nearly died of fright and scampered up the tree double quick. I couldn’t keep my mind on the story my sister read for thinking about that old snake. I hoped he wasn’t hurt too badly because snakes are our friends. They keep the mice and gophers out of our gardens.

By and by some Indians stopped for some figs and we climbed down to get them. Mama let us keep the money from the figs we sold. After their baskets were full and they went to climb back into their wagon one of them saw the old snake in the bushes nearby. When I told them what had happened they laughed and laughed. I wondered who they thought the joke was on. Me or the snake.

When I was a little girl the Indians often came during the fruit season to help pick the grapes, peaches, and apricots, which we dried and sold in the mining towns about the state.

The grapes were just spread onto drying trays, but the peaches and apricots were cut in half and spread on the trays in the sun. They had to be turned and sulphured in the process. There was lots of work to be done.

Sometimes the children came. Then we had fun playing hide and go seek or hop scotch or jump the rope. At first the children were very bashful but they soon were good playmates and always jolly and quick to catch on.

At noon mama gave them milk for their lunch, which they poured over sue tic (parched ground corn) which they brought in a pottery jug. After lunch they always laid down and had a nap under our big umbrella trees in our front yard.

My older brothers used to trade things for their bows and arrows. One day all the boys in our neighborhood had a sham battle on our straw stack and one of them got hit in the eye with an arrow. Fortunately, it did no damage and was soon healed, but that put an end to playing with arrows.

The Indians often went by our place riding their ponies bare back to hunt rabbits in the mesquite thicket below the base line. For many years the Indians came to visit with us. We loved them, they are a noble people.

(excerpt from memoirs of Ethel H. Stewart)

I Am a Child of Royal Birth

I remember when I was a very little girl that we used to get together with my aunts and uncles and grandparents and their families for Big Family Nights occasionally.  One of my aunts, Joan Johnson, was a talented violinist, and I remember her playing for us on these occasions.  I'm sure my mom and the other aunts told us stories and taught us lessons, but the only one I remember in particular was one evening when Aunt Amy told us about our Heavenly Home.  She gave each of us a copy of the following poem, and I kept it for years.  I have never forgotten this poem, or the truth that it teaches.  Perhaps it will make as big a difference for you as it did to me.

I am a child of royal birth, my father is king of heaven and earth

My spirit was born in the courts on high; A child beloved, a princess am I.

I was nurtured there, I lived by his side in a home where patience and love abide

My mother was there in that glorious place, blessing her children with queenly grace.

I grew to the stature that spirits grow, I gained the knowledge I need to know

I was taught the truth and I know the plan that God and the Christ laid out for man.

I was there when the stars of morning sang, I mingled my voice when the heavens rang.

I was there to rejoice, to praise and applaud the shouts of joy from the songs of God.

I waited my turn and I came to earth through the wonderful channel of human birth,

Then the curtains were closed and the past was gone, on the future, too, the curtains were drawn.

I live on the earth, and God will it so, with the freedom to choose the way I should go.

I must search for the truth,　I must serve and obey, I must walk by my faith many miles of the way.

Someday I’ll go back; I will answer the call, I’ll return with my records to the Father of All.

The book will be opened and so will my heart, there will be rejoicing if I’ve done my part.

My Father, the King, with His infinite love will welcome me back to the mansions above.

The curtains will part and eternity in its light and glory will open to me.

by Anna Johnson

Too Many Snakes

Today would be my Grandma Russell's 118th birthday.  In her honor I will tell you my favorite story about Ethel H. Stewart Russell.  Hope you enjoy it.

TO MANY SNAKES!

Wham!  The gun slammed into Ethel's shoulder, undercutting the sidewinder and blowing it and dirt into the air, knocking her back a step on the damp earth.  The snake came down and immediately began zigzagging  across the wet desert.  Catherine grabbed a hoe and chased after it, chopping its head off.

Ethel's heart pounded in her throat, but she swallowed hard and ran to catch up to her sister and the dead snake.  How she hated snakes!  One day when she was a little girl she had started towards the big, shady fig trees in the backyard, taking a book with her to read.  As she ran barefoot through the grass, she stepped right on the middle of a big gopher snake.  She never forgot that feeling!

In 1882, Ethel's father, Joseph Alvin Stewart, settled in Mesa, Arizona.  He built a home on Alma School Road and West Main Street.  Since he had a large family he thought it would be a good idea to file on a homestead as well, planning to divide it among his children.  A homestead consisted of 160 acres that the government would give anyone who was willing to work the land for 5 years.  In 1906, Joseph Alvin chose land on the desert about 11 miles south east of town in an area called Higley.  The soil was rich and the desert was covered with mesquite trees.  Queen Creek, just east of them, often overflowed the land, making it possible to grow crops with very little other moisture.  Often as not, though, the rain wouldn't come at the right time and crops suffered.

Now it was the summer of 1910.  Ethel had turned 16 that spring, and her sister Catherine was 23.  The two sisters had volunteered to stay on the farm, taking care of the stock while their parents helped out a sick relative.  During the summer the desert was cool and fresh compared to town.  The sisters were glad for a chance to stay at the homestead.  They slept outside at night so they could enjoy the breezes that drifted across the desert.  They had no close neighbors to be embarrassed by, and they kept a loaded gun under their pillow for emergencies.

As often happened in the summer, there had been a big thunderstorm on this afternoon.  When the rain ended, Catherine suggested walking over to Queen Creek to see if it had flowed over its banks.  The air was fresh and clean after the downpour.  Although the mountains were miles away, it seemed as if they could reach out and touch them.  Superstition Mountain in the east, the San tans on the south, and Usery and Red Mountains on the north glittered like amethyst in the rays of the setting sun.  Four Peaks and the Sierra Anches gradually turned blue behind them.  Dust had been washed off Palo Verde trees turning their skin lime green.  Saguaro trunks were swollen with water, and prickly pear and jojoba bushes glittered with drops of rain.  Nothing in the world could compare with the perfume of the desert.  Wet dirt and creosote mingled to produce the smell of rain itself.  With so much beauty around them it was not surprising that the sisters did not notice the sidewinder on the ground in front of them until they were almost upon it.  It was purely a reflex action on Ethel's part when she lifted the gun and pointed at the snake.  She just wished she had killed it instead of Catherine.  If only she hadn't shot so low.

With disgust Catherine looked down at the sidewinder.  "You know, the old timers say if you see one snake you'll see another one in the same day.  I bet we'll kill another snake before the sun goes down."  Ethel sure hoped Catherine was wrong.

Ethel left the gun on the front porch when they got home from their walk.  Later, when she was ready for bed, she remembered and went to the porch to get it.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a snake slither up on the porch to hide behind a five-gallon oil can in the corner.  "Catherine was right!" she gasped as she lifted the gun to shoot, but this time she was too close.

"Catherine, come out here!" she yelled.

Hearing the fright in her sister's voice, Catherine ran to the porch.  "What is it?" she demanded.

"A snake, there, behind the oil can," pointed Ethel.  "It's huge!  I was afraid to shoot because I was so close, but we can't let it go.  What should we do?"

"Wait until it comes out from behind the can," answered Catherine.  "I'll get the lamp."

As the twilight deepened Catherine brought the kerosene lamp from the kitchen table and put it on a chair.  She and Ethel sat on the front porch and stared at the can, waiting to see the snake peek out from it's hiding place.  The night was still.  Crickets chirped in the yard.  Doves settled on the branches of mesquite and Palo Verde trees, cooing softly for their mates.  A coyote howled at the moon, answered by another, then another, as the summer evening turned to night and the nerve-twisting seconds lengthened into minutes, then hours.

The girls kept their vigil most of the night.  At last, softly at first, then louder and louder, the sisters heard the unmistakable whir of rattles.  Warily, the snake lifted its head and looked over the top of the oil can.  Slowly Ethel raised her gun.  Not breathing, she looked down the barrel at the triangular shaped head, then squeezed the trigger.  Boom!  The headless snake dropped into it's coils and lay still, the whir of it's rattles slowing to a tick, tick, tick, and finally stopping altogether in the startled night.

It was a diamondback rattlesnake, five feet long, five inches around, with nine rattles and two buttons.  This was no ordinary snake!  Knowing that a rattlesnake's reflexes could make it move even after it was dead, Ethel decided to put a heavy anvil on its middle.  She did not want this snake to slither under the porch and be lost before she could show it off.

The next day Ethel's father and older brother Jess came out to the farm.  The first thing they saw was the dead snake on the front porch.  Jess was impressed that his baby sister had killed the old diamondback.  Months earlier he and his brothers had cleared the desert for planting.  In the process they came across a pile of dead cactus and other rubbish that looked like a pack rat's den.  The brothers decided the quickest thing to do was to burn the heap.  When they did, snakes slithered out.  The men chased and killed as many as they could with shovels, but a huge granddaddy diamondback escaped and made its home under the windmill platform.  From time to time the snake was seen around the yard, but no one had been able to catch him.

Ethel's father thought it was pretty funny that she had squashed the rattlesnake flat with an anvil.  Jess, on the other hand, was glad that the snake was still there.  He had seen an advertisement at the Co-op in Mesa offering $100 for a rattlesnake skin five feet or longer.  He was disappointed, though, when he brought the skin in to get the reward and found that someone else had already collected the money.

So Ethel killed a rattlesnake, and she had proof.  When the anvil was lifted off a grease spot was left where the snake had been pinned down.  No amount of scrubbing could ever wash it out!

Today, the porch and the homestead are gone, torn down long ago to make way for progress.  Still, at least in memory, the rattlesnake and his stain remains.

A Near Tragedy

To make the desert "blossom as the rose" takes water, lots of it.  In 1878, when the pioneers settled in the area East of Phoenix and Tempe, south of the Salt River, in central Arizona, they found remnants of old canals that the original inhabitants of the area dug hundreds of years before.  These early Native Americans had been given the name Hohokam by later Indian tribes.  The name meant "Those who have disappeared, or are all gone," because all that was left of these first people were their ruins.   The pioneers cleared out the ancient canals and used them to bring water from the river onto the desert.  Soon Mesa, Arizona, was a flourishing community.

Cottonwood trees grew along the banks of the dirt canals, creating beautiful, cool shady oasis' on the desert, but when the monsoons came the river flooded, and sometimes so did the canals.  I remember driving to see the river one summer when it was flooding.  The water rolled and tumbled and sounded like thunder rumbling along, throwing huge trees around like matchsticks, while big boulders washed against each other sending the water splashing into the air as it rushed across the desert.  It spread out far beyond it's normal channel, covering a huge swatch of desert, completely submerging the bridge that normally crossed it and tearing out it's foundation.  I remember being fascinated and terrified at the same time.

Many years earlier, when my grandmother was a child, flooding on the river was even more intense since no dams had yet been built to store and save the excess water.  She wrote about the floods that would come rolling down the river and overflow the ditches.  Once the ditch overflowed into their yard after a big storm and drowned some of their little baby chicks.  They could hear the river roaring from their home, it was only a little over a mile away, and they would pile into their wagon and drive over to see the amazing, terrifying sight.

One day Ethel took her little brother to the school-house to watch her big brother practice for a play.  The actors were practicing out under the porch of the school house while Ethel and her little brother sat on a bridge that crossed the ditch in front of the school, playing in the water.  It had rained and the water was high, with  sticks and leaves rushing by to catch and throw onto the bank.  All of a sudden Ethel couldn't see her little brother.  He had caught a big stick and it had pulled him into the water.  She jumped up and ran along the ditch, wringing her hands in despair as she looked for the little boy, but he was no where to be seen. 

Ethel's big brother and the neighbor boy saw her running up and down the bank.  Guessing what had happened they came running to the ditch.  The big boys dived up under the bridge and found her little brother caught in the limb.  Pulling him out, they rolled him on the grass and soon he began to sputter, and thank goodness he was all right.  Ethel was so grateful that her big brother was watching over her, and that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

(Taken from memories written by Ethel H. Stewart)