Keeping Peace in the Family

I believe harmony in the family is of the utmost importance, particularly with the SILs (Sons in law) and my only DIL (daughter in law).

To refrain from annoying my DIL, Shelley, I have decided not to ask Orville if he wants me to send him his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pillowcases.  No, Orville, they will NOT look great on your bed.  To avoid from being a prime irritant to Petunia's husband I pledge to NOT come for a month long vacation, even though traveling to their house takes three days.  In order to keep peace with Boris, I pledge to forgo mentioning to Eglantine sales involving stuffed animals.  I solemnly swear not to tell Flash's kids how fun I think running a marathon would really be.   And Hermione next time you leave your purse at the Staggering Ox, I will pretend something like that has NEVER happened before.


So when I irritate you, just remember that I don't mean to, and I am trying my best.  From the book of Prairie Smoke Chapter 5:3 "He who hath never irritated anyone, let him first cast a stone."

A Day in the Tobacco Roots

If you will all swear yourselves to secrecy, I will tell you where we went yesterday.  No telling until I get an oath because I'm not telling anyone else but family.

We four wheeled to about a half mile to a high mountain lake.  It's elevation was close to 9000 feet.    

Before arriving at the lake, we investigated a high mountain meadow with elk hoof prints and flowers.  The importance of this meadow is that it was there I discovered that I own a macro lens for my camera.  For seven years I've owned a lens that said super wide angle on one part and macro on another.  I could easily tell the lens was a wide angle.  The macro part made zero sense to me.  Who ever heard of a wide agle macro lens?  Yesterday, knowing it couldn't possibly work,  I put my camera about two inches from a flower yesterday and found that the macro part was for real.  This is superb!!!

Anyway, back to the outing.  The high lake had flowers, fish, and rock slides.  I mentioned to Wilbur that the map showed other lakes above the first lake we hiked into.  Being slightly deranged, I suggested to Wilbur that we take the short way to the higher lake:  around the lake, across the rock slide, up a hill that was a pile of rocks with a stream running down it that is almost a waterfall.  The hill was only a breath away from needing rock climbing equipment.  

In the middle of the rock slide, I decided I made a big mistake.  But having talked Wilbur into it, he insisted we continue.  Two hours later, we arrived at the higher lakes.  They were smaller, but even more fabulous!   

Dreading the trip down, we walk a little to the right and found an old road that was not very rocky. Using this road, it took only fifteen minutes to descend to the lower lake.  Next time, I'm investigating more before picking a route, particularly in country filled with mines.

I am posting a few picture here.  There are more on my hiking blog.

On Perfection

There is a lady in my social circle who irritates me because I think she abuses any authority she thinks she has.  Recently, she called up several sisters and told them that, contrary to the General Handbook of Instructions, a phone call or letter was no longer acceptable and would not be counted as visiting teaching. Hence forth, only personal visits would be counted.  This individual is not the RS President but has some involvement with Visiting Teaching.   Later, I got a phone call from a person in the Presidency informing me that phone calls, emails, and letters would be counted as Visiting Teaching.  I guess the word got out about the unauthorized policy change, so the RS President had to repair things.

Since I've been hot, tired, and cranky, I was stewing about the gall of this authority-abusing person.    "Who  in tarnation does she think she is?"  I fumed.  Then, I thought about how often I've been mortified in retrospect with my own actions.  I shake my head and wonder, "Was I crazy?  Why did I do something so ridiculous?"  I'm sure my goofy behavior has afforded an abundance of entertainment for others.

I started to laugh as I thought about the humorous aspects of the current situation and other situations involving this person.  I contemplated a perfect world with perfect people.  Holy Smoke! How dull!  There goes half my entertainment!  I guess I'm not ready for perfect people or a perfect world yet.

Fourth of July Visitors

The whole thing is very illogical, but maybe I don't have all the facts.  We have had several years of very dry winters and miserable fire seasons.  Fourth of July fireworks have never been banned, even when I thought they should be.  Maybe because of a late June fire a few miles to the north, or maybe because officials are wising up, we could not have fireworks this year.  Permitted professional fire works shows could take place, though.

Our fourth of July visitors attended a Parade in Great Falls and showed up here in the afternoon with flags and fans.  We drove our truck to a tall hill and put lawn chairs in the back while we watched a fabulous fireworks display in a town five miles away.  It was terrific!

Then Boris prepared to go to some training.  When I go to training, I sit in the conference room of a hotel try to stay awake for six hours.  Boris' training is a little different than that. 

On Saturday, Eglantine, Peanut, Casper, and I shopped at the farmers market.  After Casper's nap, we played on a sandbar in the creek with buckets and shovels until a flash of lighting and a crack of thunder directly overhead scared the living daylights out of us. We ran for it!

Sunday we attended church and had our tradition chili for lunch.  During lunch, Peanut imparted following information about his sister:

Peanut:  Our baby will want a costume.

Eglantine:   What kind of costume do you think she will want?

Peanut:  She will want a batman costume!

Hope everyone had a great 4th!

Fishing Excuses

We floated the Blackfoot yesterday and I made the mistake of attempting to fish.  I am the kind of angler you see once in a century.  I lost two lures, one right after another.  Then, I ran out a 150 feet  fishing line off Wilbur’s reel and into the river.   I wrapped line all the way around the raft twice and around the oar and oar lock when the raft went into a spin and I couldn’t reel in.  Let’s face it, I should only fish under Wilbur’s strict supervision.  And he’ll only supervise if I bribe him with cookies. Dave caught a fish near the end of the trip, so we know there are fish in the river.  

Below are only a few of the reasons we came up with for not-so-great fishing.

1)  The moon is not in the right phase.


2)  All the fish are on the other side of the river.


3)  The water is too clear.

4)  The water is too muddy

5)  It's too early in the day.

6)  It's too late in the day

7)  I brought the wrong pole.

8)  I brought the wrong bait.

9)  The fish are napping.

10)  Jehovah's Witnesses are tracting the river, and the fishing are hiding out.

Sound of Silence

The last of my children and grandchildren just left.  The silence here is deafening.

The Rest of the Summer

The fun crowd is leaving.  What will I do for the rest of the summer?

The Rules of Pro Basketball Viewing

Here are the rules of pro basketball viewing according to Wilbur:

1)  Any game in which the Lakers are the losing team is a good game.

2)  Pro basketball has TV viewing precedence over other programs during the finals.

3)  The phone will not be answered during the last half of the fourth quarter.

4)  Upsets are fun!

Values

Henry Byrd

Born 29 Aug 1849, Smithville, Platte County, Missouri

Died 18 March 1923, Millegan, Cascade County, Montana

A friend was telling me about some of the language and expressions used in her family as she grew up.  While my family was far from perfect, I felt grateful that crude language and expressions would not have been tolerated in my family.  My Dad, uncles, and grandfather were particular about what they said when women were present.  As I reflect on it, I believe both my Mom and Dad came from people with class. Below is family history recorded by Nellie Byrd who knew Henry and Robin Byrd (my father's great uncles).  Punctuation is as recorded in the document.

Uncle Henry, who was 56 when I first remember him, was even then gray-headed.  In Southern families the oldest son was always the head of the family when the father was gone.  All our lives Uncle Robin and Dad always consulted Uncle Henry about everything.

Uncle Henry was slender, probably about 5'8" or 5'9", tall and walked with a slight limp, as he had a broken leg when young and it healed shorter than the other leg.  He was a kind and loving man and very proper.  He had been raised very properly and expected us to uphold the Byrd name.  He always felt responsible for the rest of his family.  I asked Daddy why he never married and he told me that once Henry was very much in love with a young woman and had given her a ring.  He was gone during the summer, herding his cattle in the mountains, and when he returned, he found she had been unfaithful to him.  He went to see her and confronted her with it and she admitted it was true and returned his ring.  Dad (John Byrd Jr.) remembered seeing him come home and he threw the ring in a manure pile.  Anyway, he was never close to any other women.

He had large blue eyes that twinkled and smile wrinkles around them, lots of soft gray hair and mustache and chin whiskers, kept trimmed.  He rode like cavalry man.

His word was his bond and he expected everyone else to be the same.  He lent people money, which some did not repay.

An Important Lesson I Learned from My Mom

I was probably about thirteen years old when our phone rang one day.  Our main phone was a black dial telephone with a curly cord mounted to the wall in the kitchen.  Mom was in the kitchen when the call came in.  The call was for me.

 My recollection is hazy at best, but I seem to remember that it was a call from one of my Young Women Leaders.  The leader wanted me to to do something for mutual.  I can't even remember what she wanted, but I remember clearly that I  did NOT want to do it.  To avoid excuses or conflict, I agreed to do what was asked and hung up, fully intending not to follow through.

Mom turned around from her work at the counter and asked, "Are you going to do that?"

"No."  I replied.

Then, came the lesson.  Mom explained to me, "If you have no intention of doing what she asked you to do, call her right away and tell her.  Then, she can find someone else to do it.  It is very poor character to agree to do something when you have no intention of doing it.  "


This probably seems like a no-brainer, or an insignificant episode, but it was an important lesson to me about keeping my word and honesty.  The fact that I remember it so many years later highlights it's importance.

(Mom is the third nurse in from the right in the picture.)

Gardening

Good gardening gloves are important

Grandkid Quiz

Guess who:

1)  LOVES the movie Cars
2)  Has a sword as his favorite toy
3)  Wanted a Hermione costume from Harry Potter outfit for Christmas
4) Spearheaded an illegal effort chop branches off my Mountain Ash tree (now deceased - the tree, not the kid).
5) Has green as a favorite color and blue as a second favorite color.
6)  Aspires to be a nurse because nurses rock babies.
7)  Builds huge towers with magnetos
8) Attended her parent's graduation (two answers to this one).
9)  Birthstone is a pearl.
10) Was born on a holiday (two answers to this one).
11) Made paper airplanes and tried to sell them to the neighborhood instead of operating a lemonade stand.
12)  Replaces dolls with crayons and  dresses the crayons.
13)  Helps her father get ready for work by handing him his razor, contact lense solution, and toothbrush.
14)  Will live in a townhouse.

They Did It!!!!!

We now have a Mathematician and an Electrical Engineer in the Family.  These new grads will even us out since we had so many Language and Speech grads.

A Grandchild of the Depression

I am still coming to grips with the death of my toaster. My sister-in-law gave us the toaster as a wedding present over thirty years ago. Deep inside me, a voice insists that a decent person would need only one toaster in a lifetime. If I had cleaned old bread crumbs out of it daily and taken it in for routine check- ups, the toaster would still be alive and well, burning toast in my kitchen. Trashing that toaster suggests a lack of character and a degree of moral depravity in me that I am loath to face. I am a grandchild of the depression.


While eating strained peas in my highchair, my depression-raised parents imprinted the idea in my little brain that possessions should never wear out if you take proper care of them. An iron, a living room couch, and a crock pot, are lifetime investments. Just like a piece of real estate at the lake, they should never wear out. If they do well…. there is no stronger evidence of low character than an appliance that checks out before I do.

As a grandchild of the depression, I was thirty before I was spendthrift enough to purchase a store-bought dress. It took all my resolve to do it. I was squandering money on a department store dress when I knew I could make a dress that looked half as good for 1/3 the cost . My guilt didn’t quite kill me, but it was a month before I could shake the feeling that I needed to confess this dark deed to my ecclesiastical authority.

When I first married I unwillingly inherited many of my parents’ possessions that fell into their category “too good to be thrown away.” These possessions had burned out electronic tubes of enormous proportions, were full of rust, or had dinosaur scales from the Cretaceous period. I knew if I kept this junk around my home would look like a cross between a landfill and what is left in the wake of a killer tornado. Since I didn’t want hate mail from Goodwill, I couldn’t take the stuff there. And I felt a little an evil corporation that goes to the woods, clear cuts a thousand acres and leaves the timber to rot on the ground if I hauled these mill stones to the dump.

Fortunately, the man of the family utterly tuned out my Depression Era parents’ scruples. No advice about how he had an obligation to fix a swing set my parents bought in 1964 swayed him. He just wanted the pile of rust gone. And he handled the forthcoming inquisition about what he did with the junk with aplomb. A Saturday morning, a pickup truck, and he made short work of any junk my parents couldn’t handle throwing away. No wonder I like this guy.

Dad Stories

A month ago on March 9 was my Dad's birthday. Here are a few stories some stories about him.

Dad worked for a surveyor one summer during the Great Depression. Rest was in short supply. Darkness falls late in the summer anyway, and the surveyor had to stay up until the North Star was visible. He set up his surveying instruments using the North Star.

During this summer, Sunday was the only day off for the surveyor, Dad, and one other man employed by the surveyor. One Sunday the surveyor drove Dad and his fellow employee to a picnic area to spend Sunday. Dad and the other employee made friends with a group of Italians from Butte who were having a picnic. Dad and his cohort were having so much fun they decided to stay when the surveyor left to drive back to their camp for the evening. Night fell and Dad and his fellow employee had to walk all night long to get back to the camp. They arrived the next morning just in time to start work.

When Dad was in High School he and his brother Gene were regulars at the “Broadwater Plunge,” a swimming pool created after the prestigious Broadwater Hot Springs went defunct. Since they didn’t have any money, they worked as life guards and cleaned the pool area for swimming privileges. I remember my Aunt Win, Dad’s older sister, heatedly recalling how Dad and Gene would leave her home with dishes to wash while they slipped off to swim.

I remember that Dad did not like Irishmen much. He wasn’t one to speak ill of anyone, so I was startled when he told me Irishmen were a bunch of drunks. At work, Dad had a man named Flanagan he supervised during one period of time. From phone calls I overhead at home, I gathered Flanagan was a complete idiot. During Flanagan’s employment Dad received phone calls at home often because Flanagan was always dropping off or picking up mail in the wrong place. It was the only time I ever remember Dad getting work calls at home. Perhaps Flanagan led to Dad’s disdain for the Irish.

Maybe Dad didn’t suffer fools gladly because he was a very smart man. His army IQ test was 130 or more. He read constantly and loved buying books on birds and animals. When he stayed with us during his illness, he loved reading an archeology magazine I bought for the kids' band fund raiser. He LOVED reading books by Louis L’Amour. I can’t think of any topic he didn’t know something about. He loved the outdoors and went hunting and fishing often, usually near York where he grew up.

I am glad I asked him about our family history because Dad was not normally very talkative. If I hadn’t asked, he never would have told me.

Uncles Les, Dad, Uncle Gene at my grandparents' house

Smoke and Basketball in the Butte Civic Center

March madness basketball coupled with a trip to Butte for dinner with friends resurrected some memories about the Western Divisional Basketball Tournament when I was in high school. In the 1960s and 1970s, the Western Division tournament was always in the Butte Civic Center. The Butte Civic Center was only place the boys played basketball where smoking was permitted. It was a smoking free for all. Smoking was allowed any time and any place in the civic center. It seemed like every adult in the place was a six pack a day smoker. Since it was a divisional basketball tournament, the building was packed. We would watch boys dribbling, shooting, and running through a blue-gray haze of cigarette smoke. One team had oxygen for its players. I remember seeing a couple of the team’s players pulled out of the game for an 15 minute oxygen break. Even as a high school student, I was appalled that adults in charge were OK with this situation.


During that same time period, my Mom and Dad decided to take in a divisional basketball tournament game in Butte. They brought my little sister who was not yet in high school. Mom, a nurse who worked with people dying of emphysema, was horrified to see the basketball players physically exerting themselves in the thick cigarette smoke of the Butte Civic Center.

To understand why this story is memorable, you need to understand my parent’s personalities. Mom was a pistol. She was a champion of good health, especially when it came to the drinking and smoking. She did not tolerate abject stupidity. Mom didn’t respect authority just because it was authority. When authority sanctioned stupidity, compromised safety, or endorsed what was harmful, she had no compunction about raising Hell.

Dad was another story. Dad was 6’2 with a solid build. He had big, thick hands and feet, a barrel chest, and a placid disposition. He had more tolerance for people’s foibles and if he thought someone was an idiot, he merely ignored them and avoided them. I rarely remember him saying anything unkind about anyone. I never knew him to start an argument or provoke a scene of any kind.  He was a humble, church-going man.

So these two diverse personalities and my sister, Colleen, sat watching a basketball game through smoke-filled haze of the Butte Civic Center. A couple of spectators seated themselves in front of my family and proceeded to light up. This misguided couple picked the wrong seat to enjoy a quiet smoke during the basketball game. My Mom asked the couple how they thought those kids playing basketball court were supposed to breathe in a building reeking with cigarette smoke. The couple flung down the gauntlet. Their position was that smoking was permitted, they were going to smoke, and there wasn’t a thing my Mom could do about it. Never one to meekly accept defeat, Mom, accompanied by Colleen, stood up and grabbed their winter coats.  They created the civic center's newest ventilation system, using the coats as large and visible fans to blow the smoke away from them. Every smoker in the entire Civic Center must have had a view of the proceedings. The man of the smoking couple turned around and threatened my Mom. Where upon my quiet, peaceable father raised his huge, anvil-like fist and let it be understood that if the smoking spectators disturbed my Mom in any way, Dad would settle the matter in the traditional Butte manner.

Evidently, the couple thought better of pressing the issue. Aunt Colleen would have further details about the couple’s subsequent actions since she was there. Not long after, smoking in the Butte Civic Center was prohibited.

I'm Brilliant

Peanut and I were at the park.  We were running our cars down the slide when I suggested, "Let's race our cars and see which one is fastest."

"That," he said, pausing for emphasis, "is a brilliant idea."

Who Do You Think You Are?

Most of the time, I love the TV program Who Do You Think You Are?  Friday's episode was an interview with a famous, talented, and beautiful actress.  The actress's family was fascinating.  Her ancestors were exemplary people who made fabulous fortunes and took up important causes for the benefit of society.  I liked the actress herself.  Her personality was reserved, and she didn't deck herself out like she was auditioning for a part. Her personal life, though, wasn't one I'd be happy with.  She was living out of wedlock with a man and his son and her daughter. 

As I thought about the actress's impressive roots, I wondered what her ancesters would think of her conduct.  Then I began thinking, "I wonder what my ancestors would think of me."  That thought made me want to cut back on my whining, ramp up my serving, and make progress on my family history project.

The Happiness Project

For book club this month we are reading The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin.  I recommend it.  I downloaded it from Audible.com and really enjoyed listening to it read by the author. 

Enough Already

As you all know I am a Webelos Leader. Most of the boys in my troop live 15 to 20 minutes out of town, so their parents pick them up from school and bring them to scouts in town. Every meeting, except the Clay Arts Guild trips , somebody is late. (When we go the Guild I tell them 4:00 sharp - the Guild means it!) And this irritating.

Another ward holds their cub scouts and activity day the same day of the week that our ward holds these events. People from this ward live in town, so their kids are usually at the church 15 to 20 minutes early waiting for things to start.

EVERY week a nice lady from the other ward walks by my class and say, "Your children aren't here yet?" EVERY week she wants an explanation.
This is VERY irritating, and boring. My explanation is: 1) our children have farther to travel; and 2) some parents just don't care if their kids are late. The explanation never varys. Some kids are late most every week and for those same two reasons. Because I'm already annoyed with the lateness, this repetitive questioning and explaining is boring, tedious, and irritating.

I am considering trying Hermione's suggestion. Hermione suggested that next time the nice lady asks, "Your children aren't here yet?" I should reply in shocked tones, "What! They're not! Your kidding! I thought they were passing of their aquanaut badge in the baptismal font!" Any other suggestions?

Whining

There is no problem so bad that whining about it can't make it worse.

Tired of Being Silent

People who don’t agree with my views think my silence is golden. This week I decided I am fed up with being silent.

I am tired of being silent as people espouse the views that homosexuality is natural and normal and maybe even good. It seems from the liberal media and my liberal friends believe that I not only have to accept it, I have to like it and teach my children and grandchildren to like it too. I don’t want to beat up any one in an alley because of their lifestyle. I don’t want to deny jobs to anyone because of their lifestyle. But I’ll be danged if I think homosexuals should be adopting and raising children - as if children raised in this environment would have much chance of being “straight.” The only certainty for those victimized kids is that they will be mixed up.

Being gay is very popular. Why are gays portrayed on TV as smarter, more “with it”, more attractive, and just a little bit better than heterosexuals if the media hasn’t fallen in lockstep with the gay agenda? Obviously, their agenda is to normalize their aberrant behavior while gathering as many followers as possible. When what someone does in bed is his/her defining characteristic, doesn’t that speak volumes about his/her distorted perspective on life?

Possibly in nature in very rare circumstances a genetic aberration could cause an individual to prefer the same sex. If you look at all mammals, the occurrence would be very rare indeed. Possibly, trauma in the younger years could have the same effect. I can’t tell who cannot help having aberrant preferences and who can. I don’t want to sit in judgment on anyone because I don’t know when it’s a choice and when it is not. But don’t tell me it’s good, healthy, natural, normal, and that I have to like it and embrace it. It's aberrant behavior. That's that.

Pictures to go with the Stories

I thought it might be fun for you to see some pictures of the people in the stories from my last post.

OA Robertson, according to my Dad

OA Robertson, older.

Nellie Byrd - person who wrote some of the stories
John Byrd Jr. and Ina Kincaid's daughter

Nellie Byrd

John Byrd, born 1826

Henry Byrd, John Byrd's oldest born 1849. Person who gave me the picture told me that the photo was taken when Henry was getting the mail.

Henry Byrd, young man.

FAMILY STORIES

I can neither confirm nor deny the truth of these stories. I’ve found that family lore usually contains a grain of truth, but often one generation is mixed up with another or facts get garbled.

POWs
Two of my Great grandfathers fought for the South during the Civil War. Both John Byrd and O.A. Robertson were taken prisoner by the Union. After a while, both were released on giving their oath that they would: (1) Never again take up arms against the Union; and (2) Go west and join the cavalry to fight Indians. They both did (1) but didn’t do (2). Source: Sid Robertson

QUANTRILL’S RAIDERS
As OA Robertson made his way west he ran into Quantrill’s Raiders - an infamous band of pro-Confederates who pillaged the countryside on the Kansas/Missouri border. My Dad said OA had known Quantrill before the war started. Quantrill invited OA to join the group. OA had given his word not to fight the Union anymore but felt sure he would be killed if he didn’t agree to join the group. For the sake of survival, OA agreed to join. He waited until members of the group were soundly asleep, got up, saddled his horse, and silently rode away. Source: Sid Robertson

CORINNE, UTAH
OA Robertson ran a 20 mule team freight outfit from Helena to Corinne, Utah the nearest railhead. Source: Sid Robertson

GOLD IN A CORNFIELD
After John Byrd's release from POW camp he returned to his Missouri farm. He hid in a cornfield and during the night came and saw his wife, Emmeline. John told her he was headed west. Then he accessed some or all of the gold he had buried in a cornfield. John had been part of the 1849 Gold Rush to California whence he acquired the gold. Source: Sid Robertson

NORTHERN SOLDIERS RAID PLANTATION
“When the Civil War began, Grandfather [John Byrd] enlisted and was very soon taken prisoner. During this time, Grandmother [Emmeline Owens Byrd] was alone on the plantation with the slaves to look out for her and her four children. Daddy, John Byrd [Jr.], was born January 9, 1862, and when he was a few days old, the Northern Army came through their plantation and took everything – all the food stored in the store house, including hams and bacon, etc.; all the livestock, including all the horses, except one lame mare. They ransacked the house while Grandmother and her tiny baby were lying in bed, and took everything of value. They could not load the barrels of sorghum, so they spit tobacco juice in it so she couldn’t use it. The slaves were hiding in the woods. You may be sure she hated the North with a venom.” One of the daughters of John Byrd Jr., possibly Nellie.

BURNED OUT WAGON TRAIN
“He [John Byrd] and the other men left by night and went to Colorado in 1863. Gold was discovered in Montana later and they went to Alder Gulch (now Virginia City) in 1864. I went through some of the old records there and found where he [John Byrd] signed for groceries. It looked so rich to them that he wrote Grandmother and said to get up a caravan and leave from St. Joe. She left their home in charge of her brother, freed the slaves and took her five children Henry, Rose, Robin, Clara, and Daddy. [She gives ages, but I know they are not all correct from my research]. They left St. Joe with a caravan, most neighbors, in May 1865 and arrived in September 1865. They had three wagons, some livestock and a milk cow, which they led behind one of the wagons, so they had milk for the children. They hung a pail of milk on the back of the wagon and that way they churned their butter.

When they crossed the Platte River it was high and a lot of the livestock were drowned, but they all came out fine.

Once they came upon a whole caravan that had been killed by Indians and scalped. Grandmother was so shocked, she said she wanted to take her little family and go back, but, of course, could not."
Source: Quoted from a paper by one of the daughters of John Byrd Jr., possibly Nellie. Heard wagon train story from Joanne – a granddaughter of Molly Byrd Cochrane. Also Emmeline Owens Obituary that I found in the Helena Independent, May 1894 mentions Emmeline driving the wagon with oxen across the plains.

I started this post with all kinds of different stories in mind. When I stumbled on a paper of Byrd stories, I ended up posting them. If people are interested in stories, next time I will have more stories from other branches of the family.

Weekend visitors

So when is everyone going to move here, so you don't have to be just visitors?

Insights from Flash Junior

Flash Jr., gazing out into the snow-covered fields: Are there rattlesnakes out there?

Me: The rattlesnakes are all curled up in their dens sleeping. They will sleep until spring time.

Flash Jr.: Rattlesnakes sure get a lot of rest!

The Miracle of the Kitchen Cupboards, Part 2

(Part of the kitchen cupboards. To the left was the fridge with an overhead cupboard and a then there was a full length pantry cupboard. We purchase the stove at a church rummage sale for $25.)

Story continued.....


For a while, it didn’t seem possible that I could ever have kitchen cupboards. Then, I remembered prayer. At first, I felt guilty about praying for something as superficial as kitchen cupboards. After all, I had a roof over my head and food to eat. There were lots of people in the world who would have thought our electricity, telephone service (even if it was an eight-party line), and running water made us wealthy beyond belief. I remember kneeling down in the living room and praying, “Heavenly Father I know there are people in Africa who don’t have enough to eat, but if I don’t get kitchen cupboards soon I am going to go crazy! Please help us find a way to get kitchen cupboards…..”


While I was coping with the mess of a cupboard-less kitchen my sister, Bev, and her husband, Joe, a Captain in the U .S. Coast Guard, were stationed in Elizabeth City, North Carolina. According to Bev, the only thing noteworthy about Elizabeth City was its proximity to the Great Dismal Swamp and a factory that made cabinets. Bev once mentioned to me that the cabinet company that sold their “seconds” out of a shop not too far from her house. “Seconds” were cabinets that didn’t quite make the grade as far as the manufacturer was concerned. For example, the finish on “seconds” was not up to the manufacturer’s specifications, or a “second” might have a small nick in it.

An imperfect finish or a nick seemed like a small matter to us, having no cupboards at all. Wilbur drew up a plan of the kitchen with measurement and explanations of the cabinets we would need and sent the drawing to Bev. She visited the shop on my behalf and found there was next to nothing in the shop that day. But the shop’s proprietor told her to keep checking back. The proprietor was dubious about the prospect of finding all the cabinets we needed for our kitchen, but he thought Bev might find one here and one there if she looked in from time to time. Overall, the prospect of rounding up enough cabinets from this source was not encouraging. For some inexplicable reason, though, I felt my prayer was heard. A faint hope and a spark of faith whispered to me that we would somehow get kitchen cabinets.

One day a few weeks later, Bev dropped in again at the cabinet shop. The man running the shop said, “Well you picked the right day to come in! I just got in a big shipment of cabinets. I have a list of people waiting for cabinets. Every one of these pieces has been spoken for on my list, but since you are here, I’ll let you have anything you want.” Bev found every type of cabinet we needed for our kitchen for $600.00. This was a miracle. A complete, unadulterated miracle equal to the parting of the Red Sea and walking on water. A miracle.

Next, we had the problem of how to get the cabinets from Elizabeth City, NC to Montana. The cost of shipping would easily exceed the price of the cabinets. We would have to save for another year come up with shipping costs, even if the economy improved and we had more work.

Miracle number two occurred. Bev and Joe were being transferred from Elizabeth City to Alaska. As is common for service families, they were coming to visit Mom and Dad and staying in our city for a few weeks between their tours of duty. The cabinets were still technically Spoja property. So they were packed with the Spoja belongings and delivered free of charge.

I will never forget the Saturday that Wilbur, with the help of our neighbor Roger Nummerdor (who just happened to be a carpenter) installed my kitchen cupboards. We tried to pay Roger, but he just waved any idea of money off. Being a native Montanan, Roger would no more take money for helping out a neighbor than he would insist on pay for helping his Mom change a flat tire.

At the end of that Saturday I stood back and admired my wonderful, complete kitchen. Counters, cupboards, a new stainless steel kitchen sink; this was luxury of the highest order! I could clean my kitchen and it looked clean! I had a place to chop vegetables. Opulence! Lavishness! If the finish was not up to par or any nicks existed in my kitchen cupboard “seconds,” I was blind to these circumstances. I enjoyed having those cupboards every hour I lived in that house.

I suppose there are some who would say my kitchen cupboards were the result of coincidence. To me this is as ludicrous as saying the breath-taking orchid, exquisite yellow bell, or unique shooting star exist merely as a result of evolution. I know that cannot be true. Yellow bells and shooting stars bear witness of a caring, loving Supreme Being who delights in showering us with blessings of all kinds, not just those that sustain our lives. My kitchen cupboards bear the same witness. A struggling young family of four living in a daylight basement house during a recession, we had the necessities of life and more. But Heavenly Father was not a disinterested observer in our lives who would rather not help us. He is not chintzy, and His help was not limited to assisting us with the necessities only. He had both love and compassion for the young mother who was struggling with the ugliness and disorder of block and board shelves. When that young mother prayed, He answered her prayer.

The Miracle of the Kitchen Cupboards, Part 1

It was 1980 and we were moving into our new house on Diamond Springs Drive, north of Lincoln Road. Even though it wasn’t finished, the house was an improvement over the 10 x 55 ft. Kit trailer we had lived in. But it didn’t have any kitchen cupboards, or any finished cupboards period. The floors were concrete which we had painted with a floor paint. The paint made it possible for us to be able to sweep the floors more easily and to prevent concrete dust from sweeping up every time we swept.

Over the next year, Wilbur did extra jobs after work and on Saturdays. This extra money allowed us scrape together enough to have carpets installed, but kitchen cupboards were far and away too costly. Having kitchen cupboards was about as possible for us as a second home in the Bahamas.

About a week after we moved into the house, lightening struck our well and fried the pump. A new pump was $1000. We had no money to pay for a new one, so Pacific Hide and Fur allowed us to purchase one on credit if we paid it off in a month. Paying off the new pump took all our money, so I had no money for groceries. We ate chicken pot pie almost every day for a month until we could shop again. Fortunately, Wilbur likes chicken pot pie.

Since I had no cupboards, I had shelves in my kitchen built with block and boards. I stacked food, pans, dishes and other cooking supplies on the block and board shelves. My kitchen sink was from my parents’ old house on Third Street. They had remodeled their kitchen in the early 1960’s and had removed the old cast iron sink. Being of the generation that survived the Great Depression, they didn't throw things away. My parents had stored the old sink in their basement. They allowed us to have it since we had no money to buy a new one.

I lived without kitchen cupboards for almost two years. It wasn’t easy for me, though. The kitchen always looked cluttered and messy. Once we had the missionaries for dinner. One elder didn’t make any secret of the fact that he was appalled by our house and didn’t want to be our guest. The worst part was when I found mouse droppings in the package of spaghetti I had sitting on my board shelf. To be continued.....

High Fashion

Next time I am thoroughly disgusted by a current fashion, I should try to remember that fashion excesses are nothing new. And some of them even come back in style: note the big flower in my Grandma's hair. She could wear that today.

I admit I feel sorry for Arthur Mason dressed like Little Lord Fauntleroy, a popular novel of the time. I am astounded that Arthur's Dad let his Mom dress him that way.

Accident on Third Street

When I was a pre-schooler, I remember asking my Dad about the scars all over his hands and face. Looking back, I realized that when I first asked those scars were recent. When my Dad was older, I don't remember seeing them, so maybe they became less apparent over time. At any rate, the scars were an emotional subject for my Mom. I remember her telling me about a fire in the basement of our house. It was bad enough that she called the fire department.

At that time, people believed that cold water was the worst thing you could put on a burn. They believed putting butter or another oil was the best thing for a burn. I cringe to think what my Dad suffered.

Mom also told me that there was snow when this happened. She was on her way home from St. John's Hospital when the car she was driving slid backwards at a stop sign near Rodney Street because of the slippery streets. To add insult to injury, a police officer ticketed her. When she went before the judge, she explained what happened. The judge said in a disgusted tone, "Oh that was ______." Apparently this officer was notorious for issuing unwarranted citations. The judge dismissed the ticket.

Another interesting fact of this incident is that the Lieutenant Brockway mentioned in the article was the grandfather of one of my good friends in middle school.

My Dad fully recovered. And I never, ever saw him with gasoline or fire in the same place at the same time.

New Years Resolutions

1) Be able to win a Reece Witherspoon look-a-like contest by September.

*Alternatively: Make a concerted effort not to look in the mirror too closely at the wattle I seem to be forming

2) Keep a positive mental attitude.

*Alternatively: Limit whining about going to work full time to every other day.

3) Keep my speech free from all swear words.

*Alternatively: Limit usage of "oh crap" to once a day.

4) Walk four miles every day and do yoga three times a week.

*Alternatively: Go hiking with Eloise every week and leave the chocolate peppermint brownies at home.

5) Keep the house clean enough to show to all our acquaintances at a moment's notice without embarassment.

*Alternatively: When company comes, hide all clutter in the mudroom and blame any mess I miss on Wilbur.

Christmas 1995

As I finished up this year's Christmas letter, I stumbled on to some letters from years past. I thought it might be fun to reminisce with a glimpse into our 1995.

"December 21, 1995

Dear Family and Friends,

After having sat through 8th grade girls basketball games, soccer, and volleyball, a graduation, a fortieth birthday, college classes, a death in the family, and dropping off a daughter at college, we hope we are getting better, not just older. We feel very grateful for the blessings of health and family that we have had this year. We also feel optimistic and hopeful about the year to come.

Our year began with a multitude of volleyball games. Maren played varsity and Julie played J.V. One game we will never forget is the match between Helena and Butte. A terrific upset occurred when Helena beat Butte for the first time in 10 years. Maren's spiking was a major factor in that game and throughout the season. We again realized the joys of living in a town that is not too large when KTVH television featured Maren on the sports wrap up on the 10:00 news several times during the season. Western Montana College asked Maren to play volleyball for them, but Maren had already been accepted at BYU. Not even an offer to play volleyball could change her mind. After attending a semester, Maren is convinced she made the right decision.

As well as volleyball, Julie continued to pursue her interest in music this year. She participated in district music festival by playing the piano and a flute solo. During the summer, Julie had a fabulous time attending music camp at BYU. Because the band was short of oboes, Julie decided to switch from flute to the oboe. In March, she is going to Disney World with the Band. Preston, being a self-sacrificing kind of guy, offered to chaperone.

Although we are not all musicians of Julie's caliber, one of the most fun times we had this year was the family band we put together on Thanksgiving. Lisa and Kristy borrowed the band teacher's complete music score. Ione (Preston's Mom) played the piano, Julie-oboe, Kristy-clarinet, Lisa-saxophone, Becky-flute. Preston said we improved significantly from the Thanksgiving before. Regardless, we had a howling good time - well, at least the dog did....

....Julie's band played for Maren's graduation in June....Becky's Mom was to ill to attend the graduation because she was dying of cancer....

...Our family experienced some outdoor adventures this year. On Memorial Day we hiked to Heart Lake in the Scape Goat Wilderness. Glacier Lilies and Fairy Slippers were popping out everywhere....

Another outdoor experience transpired on Labor Day when we tried riding the ridge with our bikes. We struggled up a steep hill with our bikes only to find that some of the slopes were so steep and full of loose rock that we had to struggle downhill with our bikes too....

.....Becky's Dad became ill in the fall...Since he was so weak, he had to move in with us.....

....Since I haven't mentioned Evan in this letter, I had better tell you that he is in fourth grade this year. A month ago, he wrote an excellent report on the Black Mamba, which is considered by some to be the world's most dangerous snake. He insisted on going to the public library since the school library didn't have much information on Black Mambas. When his teacher informed him that the information he had was enough, he refused to write his report until he had answers to all his questions. Evan said, 'But I really want to know!' I sincerely hope this does not mean he is a budding herpetologist.

Kristy surprised us all this year with her flair for writing, not reports, but stories. She entered her story in the P.T.A. sponsored 'Reflections' competition where she placed first. The story went on to the State competition where it won another award. On her second award, one of the judges wrote, 'Keep writing, Kristy!'

Lisa was also full of surprises in track competition this year. She placed first and second in many 100 and 200 meter events. She did very well in the huge city wide track meet with a second place in the 100 and 200. As parents we are realizing how limited our prophetic abilities are. The kids we thought would be primarily musicians turn out to athletes; the kids we thought were primarily athletes turn out to be musicians; and talents we never suspected crop up when we least expect it. Hopefully, our kids have learned not to take us too seriously and try to do everything that interests them!

.....We hope the coming year is happy and prosperous and wish all of you a Merry Christmas."

I'll never be a rocket scientist. I've never had a lot of prestige or a ton of money. I'll probably never have people come up to me in church and want to talk to me because I am so important or such a great leader. But I sure have a great life with great people in it. I wouldn't trade money, prestige, or importance for my life or my family.

Dog Training

There is never a dull moment with Harvey around. Last Friday, I went upstairs to start dinner and found that the two chicken breasts I had thawing out on the counter had mysteriously disappeared. My expensive rain jacket has a two foot tear down the back. My snowshoe poles are missing half their baskets. Right now I am staring at the remnants of a fabric marking pen I purchased to mark my quilt.

Harvey particularly enjoys teasing. Whenever I am out walking or hiking, he gets immense enjoyment out of swiping my hat or glove and running off with it. I usually say something like, “Give that back, you snot!” Well, today I stopped for a minute and unthinkingly put down my favorite winter hat. (My other hat is missing half of its ornamental braid, thanks Harvey). Harvey grabbed my hat and was off. I quietly said to him, “Please give me my hat back. I really need it, and it’s my favorite hat.” Harvey dropped the hat about two feet to the side of my boot. I thought, “I know this game. I’ll reach for it. Before I can grab it, Harvey will snatch it and run.” So I didn’t touch the hat. In a few seconds, Harvey picked up the hat and dropped it on top of my boot. I thanked him and told him how good he was. Maybe I’m getting better at dog communication.