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.

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.