Making Mud Pies

One warm summer day when I was about five or six, Dad and Mother had to go to Burley, Idaho after something.  I was taken down to Uncle Vance and Aunt Vida’s place to play with Cousin Marilyn, while they were gone.  Marilyn was about two years older than I was. We played, swung on the big rope swing out under the trees in the back yard and had a good time.  Then we decided that we would make some mud pies.  We mixed up a nice batch of mud to make our pies or cookies out of.  While we were looking in the old root cellar near where we had our pies laid out we found a light brown tube of jelly like stuff.  When we mixed the jelly like substance to our pies it greatly improved the texture.  We would lay them on a board and pat them out and were certainly proud of ourselves when we looked at our array of pies.

When Aunt Vida called us in for dinner, hurried and washed our hands and cleaned up.  As we were eating, Uncle Vance asked us what we had been doing.  We excitedly told them what we had been doing and how good our array of pies looked.  We told him we found some of the best stuff to mix into our pies.  He asked us where we found it and what it looked like.  We said, “Down in the old cellar.”  Uncle Vance’s face went white, he got up from the table and went outside.  When he came back he told us we had been using dynamite.  It was some that Grandfather Lind had used years before.  It was old and had liquefied and even the slightest jar could have made the nitroglycerin in it explode.  Luckily he could find no more.

I’m sure the Lord was looking over us that day and had something more in this life for both of us to do.

The New Saddle and Bicycle

 When Douglas was about fourteen and I was about eleven, for a winters project, we ran a trap line and trapped muskrats in the creek.  We had good success with our new venture and caught a lot of muskrats and occasionally we would find a mink in one of the traps.  I don’t think either one of us kept track of how many we caught, but by spring we had a nice pile of pelts.  Every afternoon after school we would walk home along the creek and check our traps.  We would carry what we caught along with us.
 
When we arrived at home, we would skin what we had caught.  We had to be very careful and not cut a hole in the skin with our knives, as that lowered the value of the pelt.  The pelt had to be taken off the animal in one piece.  Then we would take the pelt and stretch it fur side in, down over a heavy wire frame that Dad had made for us.  Dad made us several of these frames, as sometimes we would catch several muskrats.  The skins had to dry for a week or more, then we had a place in the garage where we could store them.

In the spring a peddler came around and bought all the pelts we had.  Daddy supervised the
sale so I’m sure that it was a fair deal, that we got as much money that way as if we had hauled them to town and sold them.  When the deal was complete, we had enough money that Doug could order the saddle that he wanted and I was able to order the bicycle that I was hoping for.

Montgomery Ward’s was the catalogue that we used to do the ordering.  The pages were well worn by the saddles and bicycles.  After the order was made, then came the long wait for the articles to arrive.  About two weeks later our prized possessions arrived with the mail carrier, it was indeed a happy day.  That night we took the saddle to the corral with us when we went to milk.  After the milking was complete, we tied old Speck (a brockle faced milk cow) up to the corral fence and put the saddle on her.  Doug said, “Now I’ll ride old Speck as he got in the saddle”.  He was doing a great job of riding, when all at once Doug and the saddle both left the cow.  We looked at the saddle to see what the problem was, one of the three inch rigging leathers had broken.  The next trip we made to Burley, we took the saddle to Hoggan’s Leather shop and had the saddle repaired.  Doug never did ride old Speck.

My Hawthorne bicycle was red with white trim.  It had a speedometer on it so that I could tell how many miles I had ridden and how fast I was going.  The speedometer was marked in increments up to thirty-five miles per hour.  One day I rode down to the school house and was on my way home, when a brilliant idea hit me.  If I were to ride it up the Grouse Creek mountain, I could really come down fast.  As I started up the mountain, I soon realized that the road was too steep to peddle.  I pushed the bike about a mile and a half up the mountain, then got on the bike and coasted down.  Coming down was much easier than going up.  I really got going fast, in fact, I got going so fast that it broke the speedometer and it never worked again.

As I got older, I have thought about what a stupid thing that was to do.  I could have easily killed myself.  The bike was well used for many years as was Doug’s saddle.  Our trapping adventure that winter gave us enjoyment for many years.

An Answer To Prayer

(R-L): Grouse Creek Jack, Jenny (his wife), and their granddaughter

When I was about eight years old, Indian Jack and some other Indians came from Fort Hall, Idaho.  They were trading moccasins or gloves for deer skins.  We had some deerskins hanging over the beams in the shop.  Daddy traded for a beautiful pair of beaded gloves.  They were almost white, with beaded cuffs, that went about half way to my elbow.  I was super happy and proud to have such a beautiful treasure.  I was told that I should never wear them while riding the horse as the reins would get my gloves dirty.  I don’t remember if any other gloves were traded for at that time.  All I remember are the gloves that I received.

One day, I saddled up Eagle, our grey saddle horse.  I knew I wouldn’t be gone long, so I took my gloves to wear.  I hadn’t gone far, when I noticed that the reins were getting my gloves dirty.  I took my gloves off and put them in my hind pocket.  I kept feeling to make sure the gloves were there, but when I was about a mile from home, I felt and the gloves were gone, my heart sank, I was sick.  I turned Eagle around and rode back over the same trail, looking for my gloves.  When I got to where I had put them in my pocket, I had still found no trace of them.  I retraced my trail again and still no gloves were to be found.  I was really sick and frightened and didn’t know what to do.

I decided that if I was going to find my gloves, I was going to need to get some extra help.  I had been taught and had seen prayers answered before.  I got off my horse and knelt down by a service berry bush.  I pleaded to Heavenly Father with all the fervor I had, promising all the things I could think of, to please help me find my gloves.  I got on my horse and had ridden only a short distance, when I found my gloves laying right in the middle of the trail. 

There was no doubt in my mind that God answers prayers, He had answered mine, He has answered prayers for me many times since.

Fun at School

L-R Back: Marilyn Lind, Barbara Baker, Vonda Bird; Front: Dwain Lind (kneeling), Marvel Lind (standing), Noel Nelson (standing), and Doug Lind (kneeling).

When I was in about the third or fourth grade, and Douglas was in sixth or seventh grade, we had been having our lessons as usual.  During the noon hour, about six horses came down the lane by the school house.  Doug was in an adventuresome mode, as he generally was.  I don’t know who made the suggestion that we run the horses into the school yard, but the gate was opened and the horses were run into the school yard.  Doug said, “I’ll get up on the fence in the corner and you crowd the horses into the corner,” which we did.  Doug jumped off of the fence onto the back of one of the horses, I don’t know whether he got hold of the mane or not.  The horse was very startled and started running and bucking.  Doug didn’t stay there very long, but it was very exciting while he was there.  Laurel Hill, the teacher, was a little agitated and made us turn the horses out in the lane again.  I don’t know if any thing was said to the folks or not.

Update on Reunion information

We were able to get tickets for the Challenge Course, but there was only 1 ticket available for the Lake (for both Friday and Saturday).  We'll keep checking back for any cancellations. 

Information for PC Lind Reunion

We (Uncle Marvel & Aunt Junelle's family) are hosting the PC Lind Reunion on June 17th and 18th at the Heber Valley Camp directly east of Heber, Utah.  For directions, please click here.  There is no cost to stay at the cabins, but please contact us at mnjlind@gmail.com or at 801/878-9977 before June 15th to reserve a bunk for the night.  The bunks are plywood, so bring foam pads, air mattresses, sleeping bags, etc.

You are welcome to arrive any time after 2:00 pm and the camp rules can be seen by clicking here.  We will be staying at the Eliza R. Snow camp #1.  Interior photos of the cabins can be seen by clicking here. A map of the Heber Valley Camp can be seen by clicking here, but you will be given a copy of the map by senior missionaries located at the Welcome Center (entry gate) to the Heber Valley Camp upon your arrival.  At our campsite the pavilion is equipped with 2 refrigerators, sinks, grills, etc.  The pavilion is also equipped with indoor restrooms (with hot & cold water), but you will need to provide your own towels, soap, shampoo, etc for the shower.

We've made time in the schedule on Friday afternoon to visit the Legacy Lake Waterfront, please click here for more information and pricing.  Please note that we need to schedule tickets (and pay) at least 10 days prior to our check-in.  Which means that we need to know before June 6th if you want tickets for the Legacy Lake Waterfront and we need the money to pay for the reservations.  It should be noted that campers without prior reservations are welcome to check with their camp hosts upon arrival at camp and purchase any available tickets.  It is free to go to the lake and watch the other campers, you only need to pay if you want to be involved in the water activities at the lake.

If you would rather go for a hike, the Heber Valley Camp website has hiking information: Hike Route Sampler - hiking suggestions that originate in each camp, Hiking Trail Descriptions - a brief summary of what you will see on each trail, Hiking Times - a chart showing the approximate time it takes to hike from various locations around Heber Valley Camp, and Hike Plan - a required form that establishes a contact person while campers are on the trail.   The Heber Valley Camp trails host is to available to help campers plan hiking routes and advise them of any special situations. Our camp host can help you contact the trails host once you are in camp. 

There is also a sand volleyball court near our cabins and the camp hosts have a volleyball we can use.  We will also have a game of horse shoes set up.  We also have the option of doing a service project for the Heber Valley Camp.

Dinner will be served at 6:00 pm.  We will provide meat and homemade root beer.  Please bring potluck to share.  After dinner we will have a campfire, with time to visit and play games.  Quiet time in camp is designated from 10:00 pm to 7:00 am.

We will provide a full hot breakfast on Saturday morning at 8:00 am. 

We've made time in the schedule on Saturday morning to visit the Challenge Course, please click here for more information and pricing.  Please note that we need to schedule tickets (and pay) at least 10 days prior to our check-in.  Which means that we need to know before June 6th if you want tickets for the Challenge Course and we need the money to pay for the reservations.  It should be noted that campers without prior reservations are welcome to check with their camp hosts upon arrival at camp and purchase any available tickets.

Lunch will be at noon and we will provide a make-your-own layered taco salad.  Please bring potluck to share.

After lunch we will need to clean up the camp as directed in the Check-in/Check-out form.  There is also time for hiking, volleyball, visiting, horseshoes, etc.  We need to have the camp cleaned and inspected by the camp hosts before we leave.  We need to check-out before 5:00 pm on Saturday.

We look forward to seeing everyone there, please contact us at mnjlind@gmail.com or at 801/878-9977 with any questions.

• Please RSVP to Marvel & Junelle and let them know if you'll be able to attend before June 15th.  
• They also need to know if you will need a bunk for Friday night before June 15th.
• Money for reservations at the Waterfront and the Challenge Courses are due to Marvel and Junelle by June 6th.

The Old Ford

1919: L-R: John P. Lind, Lynn Clark, Philbert, Oscar & Laurence

On the ranch, in the shed below the road was an old 1916 (?) Ford Touring car, which used to belong to Grandma (Emma) Lind.  I think that it was the one that Uncle Oscar bought and after his death became the property of Grandma.  I don’t know if she ever drove it, but none the less it belonged to her.  Anyway many a happy hour was spent as a young boy as Doug and I pretended to drive the dusty old car.  It had a fold down top on it, four doors and two leather seats, the top was never put down.  I don’t remember if we were ever bank robbers, but we would chase the bank robbers and try to catch them.  Sometimes I would even get to pretend drive and that was very exciting.  We would get to go to many different places on exotic vacations, anyplace that our minds could think of to go.  It was a wonderful old car.

When Oscar was about 16, Dad told the boys they could have the old car if they could get it running.  Oscar and Dwain were the chief mechanics, Doug figured he was as good of help as they could find and Me, I was a good shade tree mechanic, most of my ideas went by unheeded.  After all I was only eight or nine and to older brothers didn’t know much.

The car was pulled out of the shed and work on it started in earnest.  First we got the motor running, because if the motor doesn’t run you can’t go very far.  After the motor was running and bands in the transmission were going, then we decided what to do with the body of the car.  It was decided to strip it down and make it into a pickup type vehicle.  The body was cut off behind the front seat, the back seat and the top were discarded.  A wooden platform was built on the back behind the seat that we could sit or stand on, so now we were ready to try it out.  The tires were no good as they had rotted while sitting in the shed, so the maiden voyage was made on the rims.

One of the interesting things about our “hotrod”, was that it had a Ruxstell gear in the differential.  This was kind of a low speed gear when you pulled on the floor mounted shift lever, giving it a two speed effect, high and low.

After we got tires on our auto, we were able to drive it all over on the roads at the ranch.  Oscar even taught me how to drive it, which I really appreciated.  We took it fishing, coyote hunting and one time we even decided to drive it to Grouse Creek to the 4th of July celebration.  There were about six of us that piled on to it and we were off.  Dwain was the chauffeur for us on that eventful day.  We putted down the road and up the mountain, as we started down the other side everything was going fine.  We came around Lower’s Curve and down to Poison Creek, as we were going down the grade by the creek, it started to pick up speed.  Dwain pushed on the brake and nothing happened, he tried everything he could think of, nothing worked.  We might make it around the gentle curve 1/4 of a mile ahead, but there was no way we could make it around Scott’s curve on ahead and we would go off the grade and down the hill.  The only alternative at this point, was to try and go up over the bank on the left and up the mountain.  Dwain grabbed the Ruxstell gear lever and gave it a hard pull, as he did this, every thing on the car seemed to work.  The sudden jerk almost threw us off, but we had been saved from serious injury or worse.

We went on to Grouse Creek and spent the day visiting with our cousins and friends.  The rest of the day was relatively uneventful.  The trip home was made in good order.

Oscar and Dwain went into the Army in World War II, Dad, felt sorry for a family with several boys in Moulton and gave our car to them.  They got it running and had lots of fun with it.  Us boys were really not very happy campers over the situation, but all turned out well in the end.

Strength Of The Lind Brothers Remembered

1917: Back L-R: Herman & Raymond; Front L-R: Oscar & Philbert

In 1966, Junelle and I and our family moved to Heyburn, Idaho, where we became acquainted with Elmer Heiner.  He was raised in Oakley, Idaho and was well acquainted with the John Peter Lind family of Lynn, Utah.  He was about the same age as my father, Philbert and Uncle Raymond.

I was visiting with Elmer one day and the topic of the conversation became centered around the strength of the Lind Brothers.  He was telling me how strong they were.  He said that on occasion, he would haul grain from Lynn to Oakley with horses and wagon.  On one trip that he made, he had spent the night in the Lind home.  After eating a hearty and delicious breakfast that Grandma Lind had prepared, he started for the corral and barn to get his team ready to leave.  Dad and Uncle Raymond said that they would go and help him.  As they approached the corral, they saw there was a yearling heifer in the stackyard.  Dad ran the heifer down and caught her, Uncle Raymond picked her up around the legs, carried her to the corral fence and lifted her over the fence  into the corral.  Elmer said the heifer probably weighed at least 400 pounds.  His comment was, “I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

On another occasion, two men were trying to load a fifty-five gallon barrel of oil into the bed of a pickup.  They had a plank they were trying to roll the barrel up into the bed of the truck.  They would almost get it in and it would get away from them.  Uncle Raymond watched them for a while, then said, “If you will move, I will help you load your barrel.”  He walked over to the barrel, picked it up, and lifted it into the pickup.  It weighed about 450 pounds.

Some deer hunters borrowed a horse from Dad to bring a deer they had killed off the mountain.  After they left, Dad said, “Let’s go for a ride and see if we can find a big buck.”  We rode over the mountain to Chadwick Basin and Kimball Creek, we didn’t find the big buck, but we did find the two hunters trying to load the buck they has killed onto the horse.  They were really struggling, Dad offered to help them.  He picked the buck up and threw it over the saddle and tied it on, the hunters looked dumbfounded.

Our Trip To Yellowstone

In 1940, after the alfalfa hay was all in the stacks and the fields watered, our family (Philbert’s) and Uncle Raymond’s went to Heglar Canyon, east of Malta, Idaho to buy timber to build two A frame derricks.  After talking to the man who ran the saw mill and making arrangement to get the timber, we headed towards American Falls.  When we got to Highway 30 at Cold Water Camp, Idaho, they stopped to decide what to do and which way to go.  All of the older kids wanted to go to Yellowstone Park.  The folks, said they were not prepared to go to Yellowstone, they didn’t have enough ready cash to make that trip.  We had all of our camping gear, so the kids didn’t see why we couldn’t go.  It was finally decided that we would go as far as Blackfoot and see if they could cash some checks and if they could, we would go to the Park. 

Just outside of Pocatello, Uncle Raymond’s car overheated and stopped.  We received permission to camp in a freshly cut alfalfa field.  There were a lot of trains running on the railroad tracks, just across the road south of us.  There was an airport just north of us, they were training pilots, just prior to World War II.  They flew just as long as they could see in the evening and started as soon as they could see in the morning.  We, Country Kids, had never seen so many planes or trains.  We lay on our stomachs with our hands under our chins and counted the cars on the trains as they went by.  Between the planes and trains and kids counting, I don’t think any body got much sleep, but we had fun.

In Blackfoot, Dad and Uncle Raymond both got them a hair cut from Wayne Bird, who had lived in the Junction Valley some years earlier.  He was glad to cash a check for each of them, so we were off on our great adventure.  I don’t know how Aunt Mildred made out, Nila was only a few weeks old and they didn’t have disposable diapers back then.  At night they would pull the cars side by side, away’s apart, we would lay out our beds between them.  Dad and Uncle Raymond would sleep, one on each end, Aunt Mildred slept in the car with Nila, I don’t recall where Mother slept.  We kids just slept and didn’t worry about a thing.  Our meals were cooked over the campfire.

As we left Yellowstone, we drove through the Tetons and down through Jackson Hole.  When we arrived at the Snake River, we were amazed to see the bridge we would have to drive on to cross the  river.  As I remember it, it was just planking on poles driven and used as piles.  Two sets of planking about three feet wide, with a gap of about three feet in the center.  There were no guard rails on either side.  The road going down the canyon was under construction and very rough.  I don’t know how many were afraid to cross this bridge, but I certainly was.  I remember putting a quilt over my head and praying that we would be safe.  If we were going to fall in the river, I didn’t want to know about it.  The dad’s were good drivers and made it across safely.

When we got to Alpine, Wyoming, we camped for the night.  Some of the kids soon found a pretty black and white animal.  We were busy chasing it, trying to catch it.  When people saw what we were doing they started yelling, telling us to leave it alone.  We chased that scared skunk through a fellows campfire, upsetting his coffee pot in the fire.  The man wasn’t happy at all with us, our folks, well, they were grateful that we didn’t get sprayed.  We did have a good time on the trip.

My Baptism

As I was coming up through the classes in Primary, I was taught the importance of Baptism.  I remember looking toward the time that I could be baptized and become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  The time was nearing that I would turn eight years of age and would be old enough.

The 28th of June was a hot summer day, we were putting up hay on the Lower Place, Uncle Alex’s old place.  We were stacking hay near the old curved shed, it was my job to drive the derrick team.  One of the difficult things about driving the derrick team, especially for an eight year old boy, was that the team soon learned how far they could go, before the big spring on the over shot stacker would yank them backwards.  The horses didn’t like to be hurried up to the end of the trail and then suddenly be pulled back by the spring.  The man on the stack would yell for the hay to be thrown back farther.  I would try to hurry the horses to throw the hay, but they would hurry only so far.  Uncle Raymond’s family was working with us, putting up the hay.

When the noon hour came, Mother and Aunt Mildred brought dinner down to us.  We sat in the shade of the haystack and ate our dinner.  I don’t remember what else we had to eat, but we had watermelon for dessert.  When we finished eating, Uncle Vance’s family came, he was our Bishop.

Daddy and I went into one of the buildings and changed into our white clothes.  We all walked down to the creek, by the bridge.  There was a beaver dam under the bridge, backing up the water.  Daddy and I waded out into the water, which was pretty chilly.  Daddy baptized me and when I came up out of the water, I was probably more frightened than cold .  My cousin Gordon, who was standing on the bank said, “Do it again.”  I certainly didn’t want to do it again and was angry at him for even suggesting such a thing.

The baptism accomplished, we walked back up to the shed, changed into our working clothes and went back to work for the afternoon.

The following Sunday, 7 July 1940, I was confirmed a member of the church by my father.  I have often thought since that, even though I was baptized in the creek on my birthday, it was just as valid and binding as if I had been baptized in a font in a church.  A very memorable occasion.

The Phonograph Motor

When I was about three years of age, we went to Emerson, Idaho one day to visit Uncle Frank and Aunt Annie Morgan.  Uncle Frank gave us an old phonograph motor.  It was a wonderful thing.  We would put string around all the glass knobs on the kitchen cupboards and then around the phonograph motor, this would turn all the knobs on the cupboard.  This was our factory.  You could wind it up, tip it up on it's side and it would crawl along the floor.  I felt that I was just as able as any one else when it came to running this wonderful machine.  One day, Mother and I were upstairs in the East bedroom.  She was quilting, I was playing with the motor.  I had it turned up on it's side, as one of the big wheels would turn around, there was a hole that would come appear.  As this hole would come around, I would stick my finger in the hole and jerk it out.  I had done it several times, before Mother saw me.  She told me that I had better not do it any more, as it would grab my finger.  I waited and watched and when she wasn't watching, I stuck in my finger again and it grabbed me.  I immediately began to scream and cry and holler.  Mother came running, she couldn't back the motor up, so she left me crying and ran down the stairs, outside to the shop, got a hammer, ran back to her screaming child and proceeded to break the motor to pieces so she could get my finger out.  When the older boys came home from school, they were really upset with me, because I was the one who caused the motor to be broken.  In thinking about the situation, I think that one of the older boys must have showed me how to do this wonderful daring thing.  Nevertheless, I still have the scar to remind me of that wintery day.

One Very Scary Night

One day, when I was about thirteen, possibly about 1945, we had all been in Burley and arrived home around dark.  At bedtime, I went upstairs to bed, I slept in the south bedroom.

I had been laying there for some time, when I heard someone moving in the East bedroom.  I knew that there was no one sleeping in that room. There were some doors that opened up into storage areas back in the eaves.  I became more than just a little nervous, especially when I heard footsteps coming down the hall.  It was a bright moonlight night.  I reached down very carefully and picked up a shoe, then I lay very still and watched.  I saw two figures go by my door and start down the stairs.  My heart was beating so hard, that I could hear it pounding in my head.  I was sure that whoever was going down the stairs could hear it also.  I heard the clock in the kitchen strike eleven.  I counted the stairs as they went down, the perspiration was rolling off of my body and face.  I had never been so terrified in all my life.  I heard the clock in the kitchen strike twelve. 

There were no electric lights to turn on and if there had been, who knows what would have happened.  I heard the squeaky stair at the bottom, the clock struck the half hour, I heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open.  According to my calculations it took an hour and a half for them to go down the stairs.  I still lay there very quietly for what seemed almost a complete eternity, then got out of bed, closed my door very quietly and
locked it. 

Needless to say I didn't sleep much the rest of the night.  When morning came and it got light enough to see a little, I went down stairs and woke up Dad and Mother.  When I told them of the happenings of the night, Dad got out of bed, took his rifle and went looking in the basement.  We never found anything to be missing.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep well for a long time after that.

Later on we found out the rest of the story was.  Two men had escaped from the Cassia County jail in Burley, Idaho.  The Sheriff had followed them to Moulton and the Utah line.  Then, Sheriff Warren Hyde, the Box Elder County Sheriff, took up the search.  He followed them for several days before he caught them.  After he caught them, they told about coming to our place, the doors were not locked so they went in and hid until after dark and then left.  To write about this sixty-five years later still raises goose pimples and makes cold chills run up and down my back.

Nikken

There is an old story in the Lind family, that has been passed down through the generations of children.  It is from the old Scandinavian folktale called “The Three Billy Goats Gruff,” that was printed in 1841.  When John and Emma Lind moved to the Junction Valley in 1884, there were several streams of fast running water and later ponds and reservoirs that were built.  John and Emma, who had grown up in Sweden, told the old story of the old water troll, Nikken, that lived in the water and pulled little children in.  This helped keep the children away from the water when they were young.  This story was passed on and retold to the next generation of Lind children.  We were very careful to stay away from the creek as much as possible, even while fishing.

In the 1940's, the pipe broke that was turned to open the valve on the reservoir so they could get water for irrigating.  They had no way to open the valve, without getting someone to dive down the twenty feet or so, and place a charge of explosives on the valve and blow it open.  They found a young man from Burley, Idaho, who was willing to do this.  The kids sat on the hillside while Jake Hodge performed this feat.  Jake had been trained as a Frogman by the U.S. Navy during World War II.  When  Jake surfaced and came out of the water, the fuse was lit and we waited.  After what seemed an eternity, there was an explosion and water flew many feet into the air.  Water started going through the outlet into the headgate and out into the ditches.  All that Dad and his brothers could do was irrigate until the water in the reservoir was gone.  After the reservoir was empty, they had to put in a new valve.  A bunch of us kids were up to the reservoir one day while the men were working on the new valve.  We were playing down by the headgate, all at once this loud booming voice came through the outlet pipe it said, “This is Nikken, get away from the headgate or I will come and get you.”  We dispersed very quickly and stayed away from there so Nikken would not get us.  Nikken’s voice that day we learned later was Uncle Raymond.

I can remember as a youngster going out into the field and running as fast as I could to get over the bridge that crossed the creek.  I was sure that Nikken would grab me.  I believe that if grandchildren of John and Emma could be asked today, most of them would remember the story of Nikken.  I also believe that the story may have been passed on to the third generation and maybe even farther.

As a note of interest, Jake Hodge’s daughter Patsy married my brother Dwain’s son Jeffrey, they have been blessed with four children two girls and two boys.

Philbert acts as "Historical Consultant"

In the early 1970's, Dad acted as a historical consultant for several newspaper reporters in the Burley (Idaho) area.  Al Dawson and Arvetta Savage wrote for the South Idaho Press and would write articles about the history of the local area.  As they had questions about events or people, they would often call or make a trip to View and visit with Dad about his memories, the people in Lynn and the surrounding areas.  Dad enjoyed sharing his experiences and was able to date and document different events by referring to his journals.  As they'd visit, the questions would trigger other memories for Dad.  He started writing short articles and stories that he'd share with Al, Arvetta, the Oakley (ID) Herald and others (or just for his own enjoyment).  We've added a new section on the right side of the page under the "Other Writings" area to house these articles and short stories.  One of these writings was about the dry farmers in the northern end of the Junction Valley along the Utah/Idaho border.  You can view the story by clicking here.

The name of Al Dawson's column in the South Idaho Press was "Western Sagas" and around the time that Dad died, Al left Burley and moved to Boise.  He went on to publish articles in the Idaho Heritage Magazine and wrote a book called "Western Saga Guide Book" using some of Dad's writings as a reference.  This really pleased Dad that he was able to contribute.

A new addition - "The Black Hills"

On the right side of the page, under the "Other Writings" section is a new addition called "The Black Hills."  Dad (Philbert) wrote this about 1963 - 1965.  Most of this information is from his memory.  For other of his writings, he'd go up to the college library in Logan and check out books,  he'd come home to read, research and check the facts. Then he would write the manuscript in longhand and Mother would type it for him.  Basically, it is the story of the schools in the Junction Valley (including Lynn) and stories of the early settlers.  I typed the book into the computer and then we added some photos of the people and places that are mentioned in the book.  I hope you read and enjoy it.  You can also read a copy by clicking here.

Christmas in Lynn

L-R: Philbert holding Virgene, Aunt Julia, Ellen, Aunt Otilia, & Uncle Lawrence

Christmas was always an exciting time in the Lynn Valley.  I don’t remember as much as I probably should, but none the less we always had a good time.  One of the things we liked to do was to go caroling, we would get on a bob-sleigh and go from house to house and sing Christmas Carols.  We enjoyed doing this and the people whose houses we went to seemed to enjoy it also.  When Laurel Hill was teaching we took Dad’s horses and bob-sleigh, sleigh bells were fastened on to the harnesses.  Simon Baker Jr. was driving the horses.  We had quite a caravan, we had a big sheet of iron hooked behind the sleigh, it was about four feet wide and eight feet long, the front of it was curved up so that it would ride over the snow.  We also had some individual sleds tied on behind and we took turns riding on them.  When we got up by the reservoir, Laurel, tipped her little sled over and hit her forehead on the edge of the big metal slide and when her head started to bleed, we were sure she was going to die.  Needless to say, this stopped our fun afternoon.

The ward met in the school to hold church activities so it was kind of hard to remember which activities were church and which were school.  We used to always have a Santa Clause party and Santa would come with presents for the kids.  We would always try to guess who Santa’s helper was, Aunt Julia was always a dead give away because of her thumbnails which were short and squatty.  We didn’t have electricity, so everyone would bring a lantern or a lamp, or both, to light the school.

We had grades one through eight in the school and everyone would help decorate the room.  Mostly it was paper chains that went crosswise from corner to corner, pulled up in the center and a large bell hung in the center.  The chains would also loop from window to window.  The school program would consist mostly of stories or poems given by the children.  Some years we would put on a one act play.

The folks would generally make their last trip to town to get supplies for the winter sometime before Thanksgiving, then we would be snowed in until some time in April when they would plow the snow out of the road.  One year not long before Christmas, Douglas and I had gone upstairs to bed.  There was a knock on the door and Dad went to see who it was, it was Clement Simper, he said that he was going to Burley tomorrow and wondered if Dad needed any thing.  Dad told him that he had a coaster wagon layed away at Western Auto and he wondered if Clement would bring it home for him.  The next night we had gone to bed and there was a knock on the door.  It was Clement with the wagon.  A few days later the road was still open, so Dad and Mother decided they would go to Burley.  Doug and I stayed home, after the folks were gone, we decided we would find the wagon.  We hunted in the basement, in the garage, the granary, the sheds at the corrals and all the small building, but we couldn’t find any wagon.  Christmas morning when we went down stairs to see what Santa had brought, the wagon was under the tree.  Years later, I asked Dad where he had hid the wagon.  He said he knew we would be looking for it, so he had carried it up to some tall sage brush between our place and Uncle Raymond’s and hid it.

As I mentioned, we didn’t have electricity, so when we, Uncle Raymond and us, decorated our Christmas Trees, we put candle holders on them with candles.  We only put about six or so candles on ours, and when we lit the candles, Dad would have a big bucket of water handy, to put out the fire if one started.  Uncle Raymond had a lot more candles on his.  They were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen when they were lit.  We had our tree up from December 15 to January 6.  Santa’s helpers would come again New Year’s Eve and leave candy and nuts again.

Our Pet Deer

Having grown up in Junction Valley on the ranch, we were surrounded by the high mountains with the large reservoir, mountain streams and broad blue skies.  We enjoyed a country lifestyle with our cousins close by.  We had many adventures with wild animals, many varieties of birds, and fishing was a favorite pastime.  We liked to catch the crawdads at the creek and make willow whistles.  We had trap lines in the winter and in the spring we waited for the eggs in the magpie nests to hatch, for the bounty was better on the little birds.  It was a great childhood.

The folks first home was a little three room house near Grandma Lind at the Lind homestead.  The joy of having a pet deer began early in life, probably even with Dad and his brothers and sisters.  When Oscar was only about two years old, he liked to feed the bottle of milk to his pet fawn and walk around holding on to it’s tail.  They were friends.  Mother said that she always knew when Tom Sherry was in the neighborhood, because the hair on the pet deer’s back would stand straight up and then the dog would start barking.  For some reason the deer didn’t like Tom.

I remember us having several pet deer that we loved, one about every year.  Dad would go out riding and find a little spotted fawn laying under the bushes and bring it home. We would feed them on the bottle and they would follow us around and live around in the yard and pastures.  As they grew up they would take off to live in the wild of the hills.

One Sunday in the fall when I was about seven years old, we were on our way home from church at the school house and as we got up by Uncle Alex’s place we spied a buck deer with horns standing in the pasture by the side of the road.  We called for Dad to stop the car so we could get out to see him.  We were sure he was one of our pets.  Dad stopped, but warned us to stay back away from him because he was a wild animal and not one of ours.  But we were sure he was as we all hurried out of the car in our Sunday clothes and started toward him.  He stood still watching us and we were able to walked right up to him and pet him.  He remembered us!  We were so excited to see him all grown up.  We didn’t want to leave, but the folks finally convinced us to go home for dinner.

We always worried that our pet deer would get shot with the wild deer at deer season time.  We had one that we raised that had four prongs on each side of his horns and we wanted to protect him.  When deer season came along that fall, Dad got a big piece of red cotton cloth and tied around his horns so he had a big red bonnet.  It saved his live for that year, at least.

The habit of having a pet deer continued down through Virgene’s teen age years as well.

George Bronson Family Memories

In the Deseret News on November 4, 2010, we ran across the obituary of Mary Lou Bronson Salter Galer.  It included the following paragraph of her birth and younger years: “Mary Lou was born April 30, 1926 at the E. Y. Ranch near Almo, Idaho to George William Bronson and Luella Jones She was the third of seven children.  She grew up in a log cabin and endured many hardships as a child with her family in the mountains of Southern Idaho.  Through this difficulty she learned to be courageous and was loyal to the end.” 

It went on to tell of her accomplishments in life after moving with her family to Salt Lake in 1940.  Our thoughts turned back to the years that the family lived in Moulton, on the north corner of the road next to the school and were our friends.  Dwain, Doug and I reminisced yesterday of those days long ago.  Dwain remembered the day of his baptism at the Lynn Reservoir as he was joined for baptism by cousin Lucille, Mary Lou Bronson and her cousin Patty Lee Updike.  The Bronson family attended church with us at the Junction School.  George was a counselor in the Bishopric with Uncle Laurence as Bishop and Uncle Vance the other counselor.

I recalled the summer that the older Bronson girls decided that the Lind boys needed some “culture” in their lives.  Mother would drive Eldon and I down to the Lynn School.  Mary Lou taught us tumbling, bringing the mattresses from their beds to serve as mats.  Georgie Gay taught us tap dancing.  Doug doesn’t remember the dance lessons, but told of often attending the dances at the Moulton school and recalled that the Bronson girls could really dance.  Sometimes the dances were held at the Junction School.  We talked of the little local group who furnished the music.  The musicians included the Lloyds, George Bronson playing the violin and Chester Bullers who was known as the left handed fiddle player. Mother and Laura Pearl Bronson played the piano with the group.  Their music was great to dance to.  Laura Pearl always said her goal was to play the Tabernacle organ in Salt Lake City some day.

The Bronson Family were all girls and our family was mostly boys and we “ kind’a got paired up”.  VaLois was the oldest then Laura Pearl and Oscar, Mary Lou and Dwain.  Georgie Gay was paired with Doug and I “inherited” Ethel May.  George mentioned to Dad one day about the possibility of the union of the two families in marriage and Dad commented that that should be left up to the kids themselves, and it was.  One son was born on the end of the Bronson family and they named him Simon William Brennon Bronson.  We called him “SWBB” for short.

Mother was the postmistress and had the little post office on our back porch.  George Bronson was the mail carrier.  The mail was delivered three times a week.  George would ride his saddle horse to Oakley to get the mail and return home the first day. The next day he would ride up the valley to Lynn and deliver the mail to Mother, usually arriving “conveniently” just in time for dinner.  In the winter it was a long hard ride in the snow.  He would come into the kitchen and walk across the room and pick up our family hair brush and pull it through his tousled hair.  A thin leather held the wire bristles in place, but they layed down under the pressure of your hand.  Doug told that one winter day we decided that we needed to fix the brush “so it would get his attention.”  We set about to fix it by replacing the thin leather with a heavy piece that would hold the metal bristles erect.  We then waited for George to arrive on his next visit and to do his customary hair brushing.  He picked up the brush and brought it down applying the customary pressure which suddenly brought tears to his eyes.  The next time he used it he put it on his head very gingerly.  It became known as "George’s brush" after that. 

Doug remembered the Bronson family was having trouble with a leaky roof.  So they put a thin layer of cement on the shingles and that fixed the leaking problem.

The Bronson family left Moulton in 1940 and we lost track of them.  I remember Luella Bronson payed us a visit one time with her daughter, Ethel who had married.

Deer Hunting Memories

I was in the 2nd grade when Laurel Hill came to teach at the Lynn School and she began to live with our family.  It was probably that fall that the following incident happened:

One clear crisp Saturday morning in October, the family was making plans for a day of hunting.  Mother invited Laurel to go along with her for the day.  I was riding behind Mother on her saddle horse and Laurel rode alone.  We rode up on the West Mountain through Uncle Laurence’s pasture, high on the mountain near the River of Rocks.  We were riding along up Deep Hollow and I was the first to see him.  I said, “There he goes, Mum!”  She moved quickly from the saddle, pulling the old lever action 32-20 rifle from the scabbard hanging from the side of the saddle as she stepped down.  She moved back, took careful aim and BOOM, she got him with one shot!  She had learned to ride, hunt and handle a gum during her growing up years in Grouse Creek.  I was so excited and yelled, “Ya’ got him, Mum, ya’ got him”!  We rode over to take a closer look at our prize buck.

Then came the job of preparing him to take home.  All that Mother and Laurel could find to cut his throat was a little pen knife of Laurel’s with a tiny 1-1/2 inch blade and so they took turns hacking away at the bloody throat to let the big animal bleed out.  By the time they were ready to load him onto the horse Dad came along the mountain to give a hand.  We really went home that day with bragging rights!  He turned out to be the only deer bagged by the family that day.  It was really an exciting experience for a little boy of seven. 

Mother always shot left-handed and preferred to carry the old pump-action twenty two.  In the 1960's Dad bought Mother a new left-handed bolt action rifle, which later became mine, being another “lefty”.

1964 Deer Hunt at hunting cabin

Through the years, Deer Season was always a gathering time for friends and family at The Ranch in Lynn.  The folks build the little family hunting cabin on the west mountain in 1954, so our dear friend, Dr. LeRoy Wirthlin of Salt Lake would have a nice place to stay when he brought his friends and family out for hunting season each year. He had covered several medical issues for our family while refusing any payment.   He’d drive out in his old Packard car loaded down with hunting gear, supplies and his sons, to meet his friends at the cabin, Steve Buckmiller, Bob Stewart and Abinadi (Bin) Tolman from Brigham City.  To them it was ten days of hunting bliss with no phones to interrupt their solitude.

One of my favorite memories of deer season and gathering at the ranch was in October of 1996.  VaLayne brought her little boys and came to Idaho.  Ellen invited us up to the ranch for the Friday night Dutch-oven dinner with the request to bring Mother along, by then in her 93rd year.  That afternoon we drove up to Lynn.  We sat in the old family kitchen, Mother in her favorite old rocking chair in front of the kitchen window.  A fire burning in the old fireplace and surrounded with love, laughter and great hunting stories.

As we drove down through the valley that evening, bright lights flickered from all the homes and yards. The roads were filled with cars and trucks pulling horse trailers coming in.  The valley had come to life once again.  Hunting season was in the air. It was a fun ride back to Burley as we sang old songs and reminisced.

Just ten days later Mother passed away suddenly at her little home in View leaving a pot of homemade soup simmering on the stove.

Some memories of World War II

I remember coming home from Church on December 7, 1941 and listening to the radio coverage of the attack on Pearl Harbor that morning by the Japanese forces. That event forced the United States to enter World War II.

Life at home went on mostly the same, but we had friends and family who left for military service. Gerald Lind went into the Navy. Keith Nelson married Ila in the Logan Temple just before he was drafted and she lived with her parents while he went into the service. My cousins, Verl Toyn and Rulon Kimber were both killed during the war.

You can imagine the fear and concern my parents felt when Oscar and Dwain were drafted into the Army. Dwain wanted to sign up for the Navy, but Dad said no. Before reporting for duty, Oscar and Dwain attended the Logan Temple with Mother and Dad. They left within a few months of each other. Oscar went to basic training at Fort Ord in California and Dwain went to Fort Hood in Texas. We posted our gold stars in the window and prayed we wouldn’t have to exchange them for black stars. Both ended up serving as cooks, Oscar in Japan and Dwain in Italy.

I remember being lonely and concerned when they left. We waited anxiously for their letters. Doug and I found ourselves busier around the place, especially after Dad got sick. Dad got really sick for a while with Inflamatory Rheumatism. It started out with stiff joints and swelled feet, but got worse and worse. For most of the summer and all winter, Dad couldn’t do much work. He spent a lot of time with his feet propped up in front of the fireplace. Doug was attending Bear River High School in Tremonton and came home as often as possible. Dad gave approval for me to take 8th grade again, so I could be at home and help that winter. We couldn’t have done it without the help of our extended family, friends and neighbors.

In 2001, Brigham Young University requested information from WW II veterans about their wartime experiences. My daughter, Paula, heard about the request and had information sent to Oscar and Dwain. Dwain mailed his information directly to BYU, but Oscar sent his information to Paula for her to forward on. I spoke with Kathryn last week and received permission to post Oscar’s experiences. You can read them by clicking here.