Sarah Monson Whitehead Part 2- Happy Childhood

I wanted to share my great grandmother's own writen life story.  I am truly grateful to have this treasure to read and share with my own children and family members.  I am inspired to do this as well.

I was born in Preston Idaho Aug 5, 1888.  At the time of my birth, the manifesto was taking place, and all plural marriages were checked and no more allowed.  I was the seventh of ten children.  When I was just a baby we moved to Franklin Ida.(the oldest town in Idaho, the first to be called a town).  I remember how proud we were to be living in that place, in later years up to the present, Preston just seven miles north became much larger, as have a good many others, as Franklin remains yet, about the same as when I lived there 50 yrs. ago, but it still holds a very dear spot in my heart.  My happy childhood days were spent there.

picture of Preston found at www.presonidaho.org

My parents were in very humble circumstances, my father was a carpenter, cabinet maker and an architect.  He worked mainly at the architect and cabinet building  he made all the furniture in  our home everything but the stove.  He always owned a sawmill, when I was very small it was down near the Cub River in a hallow place at Franklin Idaho.  Later he moved just south of the R. R. station and built a very large building which covered all his machinery each of its kind in separate rooms.  There was an engine room where the huge steam engine controlled the running of the log sawing, the lumber planing, the shingle machine, the lath and all the other contraptions I remember so well in that huge place.  My father was very particular that we children were not allowed  in the mill when it was in operation, but my half brother Brigham who run the log sawing mac. would let us ride on a fresh log he had just began to slab, and as I look back now I remember the thrill we got, also the terrific danger of us riding on that log approaching closer every minute to that large round saw whirling so fast to saw the lumber.  We would go toward it quite slowly as it sawed and when the slab dropped, away we would go back like a whirlwind.  I shudder as I write this.  This same brother had his right hand cut off, but I am quite sure that was done in the lumber planing mac. and that's another thing I shall never forget, when he was brought into our house.  If ever a little girl was terrified it was I that day and I never ask for another ride or went near the mill when it was running, ever again.

We enjoyed playing on the large sawdust pile in our bare feet or hop around from log to log in the large yard, or pick spruce gum from them.  That was the only gum we ever had.  We tho’t it was very good and were satisfied and content to enjoy it.  Rachel could always find the biggest nests of it and would pick and pick till she would have a whole spool box full.  Spool boxes were the only kind of boxes we ever had.  They would give them to us in the store when the thread was sold, we used them for pencil boxes at school.

Sunday morning was one of the happiest days of my life.  We only had one pr. of shoes and I can still see us all lined up on the long porch of our home in summer, bright and early Sunday morning, each cleaning our own shoes.  We learned very early in life that we had to do our own work as our mother had all she could do and more than she should have had.  We would shine away on our shoes singing “never be late” or “Sabbath morning comes with gladness, little hearts are filled with joy” which was one of my favorites.  I really was filled with joy- I loved it all and we made quite a parade as we walked the mile to Sunday School to the sand-rock one roomed “meeting house”.  We sat on home made benches and there was a class in every corner and in the center, but we all had a dark green curtain around.

I remember so well too, a little Welsh man, who was blessed with a good loud voice for singing, who used to “Lead the singing”.  He would say, “Now this song is for the ‘ittle ones, but I want yo all to sing”.  Dear old brother Nash and then Bro. Herd who taught us to sing “Little purple pansies,” he was a fat jolly fellow, whom every one loved.

Now I am beginning to wonder if I should have started to write a sketch of my life.  I’m afraid you have all laid the book down now but it is fun to be reminiscing and recalling the happiness of my childhood.

Back to Bro. Herd when we kids had measles my father was away so mother called brother Herd and Bro Durrant to administer to us.  The first place we went when we were well was to the store where Bro Herd was manager (the old union store) and he gave us, Rachel and I, a whole orange each.  We were so thrilled we couldn’t get home fast enough to show mother.  The only other time we ever had an orange or tasted one, was when Father went to Salt Lake to Conference he would bring us home an orange.