Our Journey to the San Luis Valley
The company which we were to travel with to Colorado were ahead of us, but said they would wait at Green River until we arrived.
We left Huntington and took a short-cut through the mountains to try and reach the company earlier than we would by going back to Price and traveling on the regular highway.
We traveled all day on a very poor road. Our keg of water was exhausted, both ourselves and the team very thirsty. My husband had been told at Huntington that there would be no water that day except in holes in the rocks by the side of a rock canyon. Dark came on, but fortunately the moon shone, and I drove the team while my husband went off to hunt for water. After what seemed hours he came and said he had found a little. Imagine the loneliness of that hour, I driving the team on a lonely mountain road, the three children fast asleep in the wagon, and my husband no where in sight or hearing. I called to him occasionally, sometimes I got no reply, but once or twice he called back and told me to go on. [Page 79]
When he found water we camped for the night, and after he had watered the team, he and I took a drink of the brackish water, ate our lunch in the dark, and went to bed.
Early next morning the children awoke and asked for water. I went to get them a drink and found the water full of small insects which we called wigglers. Then I got a cloth to strain it, but the water was so thick only a small amount would go through a thin cloth. It was nauseating to look at, and yet we had to moisten our throats with it. We immediately hitched up the team, and traveled on as rapidly as possible, but we had gone but a short distance when we came to a rock canyon which we must cross. It was very steep on both sides, and very difficult to cross. My husband had to unload a part of the load, which was a great trial to him, and he gave way to his temper and made some very uncomplimentary remarks before he got the last half of the load across that awful place. I and the children walked across, but we were helpless as far as making his burdens lighter, though we longed to help him, and surely felt sorry to see him have so much trouble.
Then the road led for many miles down a great gulch where a small stream of Alkali water was running, the sight of the water was tempting, but we had been warned that it was almost sure death to drink it. Bones of animals were bleaching on either side of it, as a testimony that our warning was correct.
Our thirst was almost intolerable until about 12 o’clock when we came to a side gulch where a very small stream of water came from another direction. We drank some of that and rested the team for an hour, then traveled on. It just seemed that we would never come to a human habitation again, and I was afraid our bones would be bleaching by the road side like the bones of animals which were strewn along the way.
As the road passed an opening in the mountains, far away a railroad train passed, and it was a welcome sight indeed.
That evening we arrived at Green River, the company had just been ferried over. That evening we visited the power plant which was near the river. Next morning we went down to look at the ferry. There was an island near the opposite shore. To cross the river the teams would drive onto the boat, and the boat would take them to the island. There the team would drive onto the island and across the remaining part of the river. [Page 80]
I was afraid to cross that way, and preferred to walk the railroad bridge, which was also very dangerous. We were told that a train would not be along for half an hour. So my husband took Lottie in his arm, and took Ida by the hand while I took Bent F. by the hand and we got over the bridge in safety, but we had not got off from the grade, until a great eastern train came rushing by.
After our arrival on the east bank of the river we spent a short time getting acquainted. The men were getting everything ready for traveling. The company consisted of Paul Poulsen and his wife, Oleanna, and 4 children, Marns Funk, and his first wife, Will, the grown son, Tilda, a grown daughter, and Walter’s small son and 4 other families from Utah’s Dixie. There were 12 wagons and 1 white top buggy.
They were all going to San Luis Valley to take up large farms, build new homes and get rich. It all sounded like a will-o-the-wisp story to me. I wasn’t going there for that purpose at all. I was going because I could see no other way.
We traveled all day over the bench-land east of the river, and stopped at night near a very large railroad water tank, and a railroad section station. The water which the men had taken from Green River was almost gone, and the group of Chinese section men refused to let us have water, but after a lot of persuasion, and strong talk, our group finally got permission to fill their water barrels and water the horses. That night we all rested the best we could on beds scattered on the ground.
The next morning I was quite tired, and did not feel extra well, so after the breakfast things were cleared away, and while the men were filling their water barrels I went a short distance from camp, and just out of sight, and sat down to rest a few minutes if possible. The future didn’t look very bright, with a journey of 600 miles to travel in a lumber wagon over rough roads and all the perplexing problems to be solved, and each day going farther away from the little home which we loved, and leaving the dear relatives behind, and my confinement drawing nearer, no home, no money, and how would things turn out. No one but God could help me, so I prayed earnestly for strength and comfort. B. F. came running and said, “Oh mamma, all those China men are going away on funny little cars, all but the old woman. I guess she has to stay home and get the dinner.” Very soon my husband came, he discovered that I wasn’t in camp and was worried. He told me never to go out of sight of camp again, said those Chinamen were dangerous. There were two section houses a short distance apart, [Page 81] and all morning the Chinamen had run back and forth with a cup of tea in their hands chattering like a flock of geese.
We went on that day to the Grand River north of Moab, and rested there the next day. Some of the men tried their luck at fishing while some of the women did a little washing and baking.
The river was an immense stream. It looked a very long way across. The ferry was at the mouth of the canyon. And on the following morning we all drove up to the ferry. It was a large flat boat. Across the canyon had been stretched a large metal cable which was securely fastened at either end in solid rock, and on either end of the flat boat was a somewhat smaller metal rope. One end of each rope was fastened to each end of the boat and then the other end fastened over the large wire cable which spanned the river. When the boat came to either side of the river to receive its cargo, it was made fast to the shore. The teams attached to the wagon would drive onto the boat. When I crossed there was, on the boat, 2 covered wagons, 8 horses, and about twelve people. The method of crossing the river was, as I remember, as follows. The back end of the boat was lowered, and the current of the river took the boat to the other side of the river. We just went into Moab that day. Next morning we enjoyed the beauty of the little town. It was like an oasis in a desert, and looked very good to us.
We traveled that day on the bench beyond Moab, and camped near a ranch house for the night. Next day we traveled past Cane Springs then through hills and mountains, by the side of a deep rock canyon, which had to be crossed by going in a very round-about way from one ledge of solid rock, to another until we reached the bottom, and repeated the same method going up again.
Near the canyon, when we reached the top, there was a great cistern of good water, called the “Great Hole in the Rocks,” a great hole in solid rock, more than 40 feet deep and many feet across at the top. That place is now called “Double Nipple Springs”. We camped near by overnight. Next morning after filling 12 water barrels with good cool water, and giving the horses all the water they could drink, we started for Hatch’s Ranch. When part way there we left the regular highway and took a short cut to the ranch. Talk about sand, that day we traveled through sand ankle deep. Most of the women and children walked, the teams had to stop and rest very often. We walked, often sat down in the sand, and tried to rest a little and empty the sand from our shoes, only to have them fill up again as soon as we started to walk. [Page 82]
Ole-Ann Poulsen and I usually walked a little ahead of the wagon train, she carrying her 10 months old baby boy, Leslie, in her arms. We were each going very reluctantly away from our dear homes to save our husbands from going to the pen. She had been hiding up since her baby was born, at a ranch either in northern Utah, or in Salt Lake country. She had 4 children, Henry, Milton, Etta, and Leslie. As we traveled on, poor little Milton often cried nearly all night with toothache, his father tried to make him keep quiet, and the dear little fellow tried hard to obey. Will Funk, the only grown young man in the group, often got disgusted traveling through the stretches of sand and poor pioneer roads, creeping along at a snail’s pace, up mountain sides when his young blood was boiling and his youthful spirit urging him to rush on. He was like a war horse tied in its stall, and often when he, like the rest of us had to stand around waiting for the teams to rest, he often declared that he would commit suicide before he would travel over that road again. But the small children all seemed to enjoy it. Little Walter Funk and my Lottie had a grand time playing together. They were like caged birds just set free. They got so tired sitting cramped up in the loaded wagons and the horses just moping along.
As we drew nearer to Hatch’s Ranch we could see the house for quite a long distance. It was built on the hillside with many evergreens on the mountainside as a background. The evergreens came trailing down on either side to the bottom of the mountain where the immense cattle corrals nestled against an almost perpendicular hill on the west side. In fact the great corrals were built against the hill’s perpendicular wall.
The cowboys of the ranch were having a roundup. I had never seen cowboys before, and shivers ran down my back for fear we would be murdered before morning, but they surprised me. They told our men where to take the horses so they could have good grass to feed on during the night. They had just killed a beef and told our company to take all of it except one hind quarter.
Mr. and Mrs. Hatch were from the east there looking over their property. Mrs. Hatch, a very refined lady, came and visited with us awhile, she said their cattle men were very fine fellows.
The next day two desperado cowboys passed us on the highway. They were carrying a loaf of bread and eating as they went. They had gone to a resort in the mountains a few miles from the highway, had drunk liquor and had begun shooting out the lights in the houses through the windows the night before. [Page 83]
Shortly after they passed us, two officers came along looking for them.
We arrived at the foot of Blue Mountain on Sunday morning. And when we came to Peter’s Hill it was so steep that we all got out of the wagons and walked up. The following poem tells how we spent the day.
Sunday morn we climbed up Peter’s Hill
And of nice fresh water had our fill
Which to us was a treat most grand
After traveling for days through scorching sand.
We cooked and feasted for an hour or two
As travelers at camp usually do.
That afternoon I’ll remember long
Spent at Blue Mountain in San Juan.
An Indian with his two wives came and asked for food.
I gave them sweetsoup, he said, “wino, good.”
T’was in a grassy dale we stopped that day,
The children had a fine time at play.
They ran to and fro in frolicksome glee
Like caged birds just set free.
Pie, cake, pudding and bread was made
By the womanfolk, while the children played.
Bishop Paul, and Counciler Bent
At a game of checkers were content.
While Bishop Marques Funk repaired the shoes
On the ponies he next day would use.
At the close of this the Sabbath day
All hands were happy, glad, and gay
As round the campfire we drew near
A genuine song service to hear.
Which was rendered so complete
It was indeed a campfire treat.
A group of cowboys drew near
On knee and hand
To listen to the songs of that Mormon band.
At a late hour we retired to rest
Feeling that all had been greatly blessed.
Our travels took us through southeastern Utah, into northern New Mexico, and back into Colorado.
While in San Juan Co., my husband and Paul Poulsen decided to travel on ahead of the rest of the company on account of my condition. [Page 84]
One night we came to a group of watering troughs one placed just above another, and placed just so the seepage from one would go into the one just below, so that not a drop of water should be wasted.
We made our bed on the ground, and next morning discovered that our bed was just between two graves, but we had slept well nevertheless.
All the men that we saw in that part of the country were heavily armed, and some of the ranchers came to our camp and talked to us during the noon hour or evening when we stopped near their ranch. And some of them were at swords points with their neighbor, and swore that they would kill them at first sight. It was so different from our dear old Utah, and our people, that I could not understand how people could feel that way toward each other.
When we came to the Mancus River there was a horseman in the stream letting his horse drink, and immediately I discovered that he was unarmed. I called my husband’s attention to it, and he said to the man, “You are a Mormon.” The man replied, “Yes, and you fellows are Mormons too”. My husband said, “How do you know?” He said, “I can always tell um.”
We traveled on past Mancus and Durango, over the Conejos Range of mountains on a narrow gage road not wide enough for our Utah wide track wagons. The journey was a hard one for me. On one occasion when we were on the mountain top I was so tired I could hardly endure it. Mr. Poulsen came over to our wagon and arranged the load so it would be more comfortable for me in the wagon.
As we came off the high range of mountains and were nearing Conejos it was Sunday afternoon and the Mexican people were coming from their church in town and going to their villages and ranches.
For miles we kept meeting them in groups. The women all wore a shawl of some kind over their heads, though the sun was almost unbearably hot. Their head coverings were all the way from the finest embroidered silk shawls, to a common hand towel, and their complexions all shades from blue eyes and red hair to black hair and eyes.
Life in Sanford, San Luis Valley, Colorado
We went into San Luis Valley, and rented a house from a Mr. Carter, and lived in Sanford for a year. [Page 85]
My son, Enoch, was born 22 August, 1889, and at his birth I nearly lost my life. He weighed 14 pounds at birth. On the fifth day I had a bad fever. A woman by name of Bertelsen was the midwife and at her home there was a child sick with typhoid fever. She called on the third day, and we were afraid to have her come again on account of the sickness in her own home.
When I took such a fever I got my husband to make me some hop tea, and put that and quinine on a table by the side of the bed, with a glass and spoon, and a pitcher of water. And having no doctor or nurse I dosed the quinine and hops out to suit myself. My husband administered to me and I got better.
A part of the time while I was in bed we had no woman to help us. A neighbor lady, Sarah Jane Crowder Johnson, who was very sweet and kind, came and washed the baby, and brought me cornmeal gruel, which had a very fine flavor.
The day I was confined there were present beside my husband, Julia Ann Johnsen, Sister Libbie Snelling, and a Sister Hosteeder. I was so very sick before baby came that it seemed like I would die. There was a special meeting in town. Dr. Maggie Ship and a number of church authorities were there, and I begged my husband to send for Dr. Ship. The midwife was cross, she thought I was making more fuss than was necessary. She did not realize how very ill I was. One lady, the one that I do not remember her name, fainted because she thought I was dying, and Sister Snelling ran all the way to the meeting house which was several blocks away, and with one slipper on, and one stocking foot. When she got there she saw a man outside and told him to go in and tell the bishop to send two of the best men in town to our home to administer to me.
Bro. George Casto and another elder came, and when they saw how sick I was, they anointed my head and never ceased to pray for me until baby was born.
When the midwife saw baby she said she knew he was a big fellow, but if she had known he was so large, she would not have had any hopes for me.
She said she had been a midwife for 26 years, but had never seen such a large baby. I was crossways on the bed when baby came and could not be moved nor changed for 24 hours. [Page 86]
Sister Julia Ann Johnsen was a delicate woman and from her anxiety and worry at my home on that occasion she was sick abed for nearly two weeks.
We had a girl from the south working for us for about eight days, and when Sister Johnson came to see how we were, the doctor from Lahara came to get the girl to work at his home. I said I simply could not get along without her, but when the girl went out, Sister Johnson said if you could see how your work is being done you would be glad to get rid of her.
When baby was three days old our southern girl took the children when I was asleep and went to her home some distance away. I awoke when a terrific wind from the west blew our west door open. My bed was just in the path of the wind. Everything in the room was waving in the air. Things that were not fast were blowing in all directions. A heavy carpet was going in waves a foot and a half high. The curtain around my bed was against the ceiling. I called and called, but receiving no answer, I pulled the bed covers over mine and baby’s heads, and waited in awful suspense until the girl came back, which was not in a hurry.
When baby was ten days old I had been so weak and poorly I had not even been bolstered up in bed. Baby had not been washed for two days. He was thoroughly soaked through. I slept on a fine old fashioned bed with a rope cord. The cord on my bed broke and let the bed and me in a heap on the floor. We had no girl, so my husband said he would fix the rocking chair and I could get out and he would fix the bed. I was very weak and dizzy.
When the bed was in order he said he would bring water and baby’s clothes and I must try and wash the baby as we had no money to pay for help, and he did not like to ask the neighbor lady to do it without pay. Well I managed somehow to get it done, and tended baby every day after that, though so weak I trembled and perspired through each ordeal.
My little Bent F. and Ida were just wonderful. B. F. mopped the floor, carried the chopped wood from the wood pile, tried to sweep the floor and help put the house in order, and do all the things he possibly could to make mamma happy. And Ida, the sweet little soul, with a goods box for table, washed all the dishes, and did them beautifully, although she was only between five and six years of age.
And when they saw mamma’s sincere appreciation they just beamed with happiness. [Page 87]
My husband was cook for a week or two, and the children were such helpers. I tried to be careful, but I went beyond my strength, and never regained my health again until after I came home to Utah.
When baby was perhaps two and a half weeks old my husband went onto the mountain to try to find work. He thought he would be gone just overnight, but an awful blizzard came on and he was obliged to stay at a saw mill, and did not return for three days. The blizzard was a fierce one. Our anxiety can scarcely be imagined. We didn’t know what had become of him, and we couldn’t get away from the house.
There was very little work to be found there for me. New land did not produce well, and the men who went out there to make their fortunes were glad to get enough money to get them back to Utah.
We were living there for one year. We got a lot in Sanford and my husband built a fine log stable and a one room log house. We had to move into the house before the chinking, plaster, and whitewash were dry. I slept next to the damp wall the first night after we moved in, and had a terrific spell of neuralgia and toothache for a month. Then Apostle Francis Marion Lyman administered to me and I was instantly relieved, and had no more neuralgia for some years.
My son, B. F. Larsen, was baptized at Sanford.
While at Sanford there were four Monroe boys working there for Jim Warnock, who resided there, but was formerly from Monroe. The boys were as follows: William Warnock, Jim’s brother, Louis Magleby, Lorenzo Farmer, and Robert Johnson. They came to our house just like it was their own home. They brought their letters for me to read, even their love letters, and they seemed just like my own brothers.
While I was still in bed with baby, Charles Harris came there with a second wife, Lizzie. He was afraid of being arrested, and said his second wife was his daughter. He was very affectionate to Lizzie. They stayed at our house all day, and toward evening while he was talking to my husband, both standing near the door, my Lottie, who was not quite three years old, went and stood right in front of Bro. Harris and looking up into his face said about three or four times, “Oh Brother Harris, Brother Harris.” Finally he said, “What?” Then she said, “Are you married?” He said, “Who should [Page 88] I be married to? “ and she pointed to Lizzie and said, “Why that little girl over there.”
They came to our home very often, as long as we remained there, and stayed many afternoons, and had dinner each time before leaving. He was a bald headed man. He was not very fond of work so they had plenty of time to visit. He had a grown son, Eugene, who worked at a sawmill to support them.
One evening while they were at the dinner table Lottie stood on a chair and looked at his bald head and then at her daddy. She rubbed her head with her hand and said, “No sir, no sir, he hasn’t any hair on his head like my daddy has.”
Twice during that year Lottie took sharp scissors and cut the hair from one side of her head so tight that her daddy could not shingle it as close, and once she put a long button hook up her nostril and gave it a jerk to get it out. Blood streamed out which gave the rest of us quite a scare.
The children had such a fine time playing there. Bent was always dadda and Ida mamma, and Lottie the big girl.
Bent went to the mountains (woodpile) for logs, and got wood and poles to fence the farm, build the house and stables, and keep the home fires burning, while mamma (Ida) and the big girl, Lottie, cooked dainties and decorated the little house. Daddy Bent, often went to the field which was a few yards away and worked like a beaver, plowing the ground with the hoe, leveling it with the rake, laying it off and planting grain and vegetables, while the ladies of the house planted flowers and shrubs near the house.
Often they would come and take baby Enoch out, and have a real holiday playing with him. When he was old enough to put his weight on his feet Ida would put her hands under his armpits and walk him around and he loved this exercise so much that he often called, “Ida, Ida,” when he was only nine months old. People coming to our home often said they never saw children play so congenially together before.
After leaving my home in Monroe we had to stay at home for fear some one would recognize us and then report our whereabouts and then U. S. marshals might arrest my husband for having two wives. I always loved Sunday School, so we had a little Sunday School at home and each one of us would take part, tell a little story or sing a little song. At Sanford the neighbor children found out about our [Page 89] little home meetings and asked permission to join us. We had them come in on Sunday evening so as not to interfere with any public gathering.
Often we had the house full of children, who kept perfect order, but who anxiously awaited their turn on the program. We continued having our little home meetings during our two years in exile, and when we returned home to Monroe the children loved them so much that we still continued to hold them, and again the neighbor children were delighted to join us. Many pleasant, happy and profitable hours were spent in those little home meetings.
Before leaving Sanford money was very scarce, and work for men was impossible to get, so we economized in order to get away from there. For six weeks we lived on eight dollars, that paid for our food which consisted mostly of bread, bacon, potatoes, turnips, a little meat, sugar and rice, etc. Also for the coal oil our lamps, and soap for toilet, and laundry. I also bought an apron or two for the little girls.
Pa was away working a part of that time to get enough money to travel to Durango, which was about 200 miles west.
I had some very fine neighbors in Sanford, Julia Ann and Sarah Jane Johnson, Elizabeth Lewelling, a Mrs. Carter, and Mrs. Brown, where the nearest neighbors with whom I was most closely associated. I learned to love some of them very much.
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