Lorena Eugenia Washburn Part 2

Life Sketch of Lorena Eugenia Washburn Larsen

Birth and Childhood

I was born at Manti, Sanpete County, Utah, January 10, 1860 in a room in the northwest corner of a fort which the people had built for protection from the Indians. A little rock school house stands now (Nov 15, 1931) on the exact spot where I was born; it is directly across the street east from the Manti City Hall, and just north of the old Manti Courthouse. The same old courthouse stood there when I went to school in the little rock school house when I was a small child.

My father was Abraham Washburn, born in New York State March 17, 1805.

My mother was Flora Clarinda Gleason, born in Tolland, Berkshire County, Massachusetts, August 2, 1819.

Life Sketch

The fartherest that my memory goes back is when I was about three years old. My father had what they called a blessing meeting.

My parents invited a patriarch “Father Isaac Morley” to come one evening and give their family patriarchal blessings. Small as I was I was overjoyed at the thought of having a patriarchal blessing. I was in the habit of going to bed very early, and so before the patriarch arrived I was fast asleep.

The next morning when I awoke and found that I had no blessing my sorrow can scarcely be described; I cried and cried and refused to be comforted, until my father promised to have the patriarch come back soon and give me my patriarchal blessing. I and my sister Almeda were the only ones of our family of children who did not receive their blessings that evening. She had gone to Wales, Sanpete County, to a party.

[Page 2] My parents somehow neglected to have the patriarch come back, and give me my blessing, and I went longing for that blessing year after year until I was fifteen years of age, when I received a blessing from Patriarch William McBride.

Often as a child when walking on the street I would chance to see Patriarch Father Snow, I could scarcely keep from running to him and telling him how badly I wanted a patriarchal blessing. But children in those days were taught that they must be seen and not heard, so I kept silent.

When I was almost six years old, January 5, 1866, my two older sisters Almeda and Huetta were married to Alphonzo and Zenos Wingate. There was a double wedding at our house. I remember the elaborate preparations for that occasion.

The new white dresses made of book muslin, and palm leaf hats, with a wreath of pink roses on them, which they sent to Salt Lake City for.

The fine wedding under slips, with 15 inch hand embroidery on the bottom scalloped something after this order.

This is a very poor representation because the work on those slips was very beautiful and very elaborate filled in with exquisite work. Their pillowslips had crocheted and knitted lace several inches wide on them, and quilts the finest obtainable, with sheets, tidies, and table cloths, and even some of their towels had a bit of hand embroidery on them. And when I saw all these lovely things and the pile of new rag carpet, I felt that no people in the world were richer than my sisters.

But there were no suits to be bought. No cloth to be found to make suits for the grooms. So mother had the girls spin yarn quickly, she dyed it, and wove jeans. Then she cut and made the Wingate boys wedding suits.

Mother had a large adobe oven at the back of the house, which for this occasion was filled several times to its capacity with bread, meat, pie, cake, and puddings.

[Page 3] The time arrived, the guests assembled, and Bishop Andrew Moffat performed the marriage ceremony for my two sisters and the two Wingate boys.

Thomas or Tom Bowles from Nephi brought his family over to Manti in a sleigh to be at the wedding, he was full of fun and thought he could play a joke on the newly weds, so he told the girls that he had the sleigh at the door, and said just as soon as you are married step into the sleigh and have a ride. His eyes twinkled, and a roguish smile was on his face. He intended to take the girls for a ride and leave the boys to receive the congratulations. When the marriage ceremonies were finished, Tom started for the door, when a stalwart man Elias Darvill standing near by, took him into his arms, while the two newly married couples stepped into the sleigh and drove off.

During that afternoon and evening more than 200 guests ate at the wedding banquet which mother and her daughters had prepared.

The Wingate boys gave a fine wedding dance that evening in the old council house. And again refreshments were served.

Here I had another great disappointment. I had been promised that I could go to the dance in the evening, and again while guests were being served, I fell asleep, imagine my sorrow when I awoke in the morning, and found that the night had passed, and I had not been to that wonderful dance. My 4 year old brother Orson had been there for a little while, and he told me how the fiddlers had sat on the stand, and one big fellow had stood here all the time and hollered balsa-hay. I felt that I had surely missed the time of my life. I thought my sisters had married the finest men in the world, and maybe there would never be any more such men, and what would I do when I was old enough to marry.

In the years which followed I certainly enjoyed going to my sisters’ homes, they were such dear kind sisters and I loved them so.

When but a small child mother often sent me on errands, sometimes they took me several blocks from home. She would usually tell me to hurry back.

Sometimes I would meet some of my little friends and would stop and talk for quite a while. Then I would remember that mother sent me in a hurry. I usually felt conscience smitten, and often [Page 4] offered up prayers as I walked rapidly home, hoping that mother had not needed badly the article I had been sent for. I was always surprised when mother smilingly said, “Oh I am so glad you are home again, and all right.”

Mother was Relief Society president from the time I can remember back, until she resigned on account of old age. She was the confidential friend of many women.

Aunt Sally Peacock, George Peacock’s first wife, sometimes came and talked over her private affairs with mother. I would be playing with my dolls on the floor, and sometimes Aunt Sally would say in a low tone to mother, but which was plainly audible to me, “Clarinda will this little girl understand the things I am about to tell you.” Mother would say “Oh no, she is always so absorbed in her play, she doesn’t notice what is going on around her.” Then Aunt Sally would proceed to tell mother all about her troubles. They were not about her husband’s other wives, oh no. She always spoke in the highest terms of Mary and Sarah Bell, the two other wives. But she had some deep sorrows, and I sat there and heard her relate them to mother, and I have remembered them almost word for word ever since.