Born 27 December 1888 at Malad, Idaho
Died 13 June 1953 at Malad, Idaho
How does one write about his Mother? Can one possibly recall to mind all the tears she might have shed in his behalf, or recompense for all the toil and tribulations she had born. I think not. Perhaps some small precept into the eternal plan of life might be garnered from the poem I penned in behalf of her memory.
I saw the stars of Heaven in her eyes from time to time
When first she held me in her arms and said: my Son you’re mine”.
When first she held me near her throbbing breast to feed
I felt the love and warmth and strength that I did need.
I saw the stars of Heaven in her eyes from time to time
When’er our eyes would meet and love within would shine.
When first she lay me in my crib and I did cry
She gently, sweetly, soothed away my fears, my eyes did dry
I saw the Stars of Heaven in her eyes from time to time
When I did learn to walk, then run, then climb.
When I did stumble, fall and cry
She picked me up and put me on my feet again to try.
And as the years did come and go, I saw the Stars of Heaven still did glow
When’er I sat before her knee, to hear the words of wisdom spoken just for me.
She taught to listen, honor and obey; to love the Lord, to kneel and pray
To walk uprightly and be true, until my journey here be through.
And though her eyes through death have closed
The Stars still shine-the love still glows
And when’er my journey here be through, I’ll see again that one I knew.
And as her eyes look into mine, the Stars of heaven again will shine
As once they did, from time to time.
Hers was truly a life of service and love to all she knew. She was the second daughter born to Joseph and Sara Ann McKay. Born in a small farming town, she spent her youth growing up on her father’s farm. She learned the worth of hard work at an early age, helping her father in the fields during the day and with the milking chores in the evening. She learned the art of homemaking from her own mothers hands, preparing herself for the task of motherhood that lay near. From the letters written to my father during her youth and courtship days, one sees youthful beauty and vitality at it’s zenith. Having good times at parties and dances was a way of life. She lived a clean and virtuous life while waiting the time when marriage would take her into the realm of motherhood and service to whom she loved. She married my father, Thomas Francis Budge, 18 December 1912 in the Salt Lake Temple.
Looking back in retrospect, I see a mother whose love and devotion for her family transcends any personal feelings. One who’s tender care and patience were exceeded only by her infinite capacity to forgive. She bore the burdens of motherhood without any thought of recompense. Carrying water from the well to cook and wash. Laboriously bent over a tin tub and scrubbing board to wash the week’s dirty clothes. She was infinitely grateful when running water was piped into the house and an electric washing machine replaced the long endured tub and scrubbing board. The countless steps from the basement to the main floor and then to the upstairs bedrooms to clean and tuck sleepy children in at night, only to awaken them early each morning and get their daily tasks started, be it chores or school or both. To keep our clothes clean and pressed for school and church, using flat irons heated on the kitchen cook stove. What a blessing the electric iron was when it finally arrived at her home.
To teach her children by example and precept, all that was virtuous and good. The always present supply of home made bread, 8 loaves every other day. Meals always on time. Even when we came home late after a hard day’s work, there was always a hot meal waiting. She always worried when some loved one was ill and showed deep concern until they were well. The ever present readiness to help someone in time of need, whether they be friends, or relatives. The love for others that prompted her to nurse a neighbor’s child along with my brother Keith. The stoic bearing of life’s great burdens, when one by one her loved ones left this earthly sphere of existence. Her deep concern for her children and husband’s well being. The many personal sacrifices that we might receive our education and enjoy a more abundant life.
She was a marvelous housekeeper. Our home was always spotlessly clean. The floors mopped, beds made, clothing pressed and cleaned. Cooking was an art with her. Baked apple pie was a delicacy. No one could make a Raisin cake to match hers. How I always marveled at the hundreds of bottles of fruit, vegetables, meat, jam and jellies that graced the walls of the basement fruit room until arthritis made it too painful to cap the bottles. How well I remember the summer a bottle broke as she was turning the lid on. She suffered an ugly cut across the palm of the hand. How she cried with pain as the doctor sewed it up without any pain deadener. They didn’t have Novocaine in those days.
Mother was short of stature, and until Donna was born, quite thin. But I best remember her being plump in her later years. I can’t really remember her hair being anything but grey, although it was light brown in her youth, as were her eyes. An even temperament prevailed most of the time, unless provoked beyond endurance by antics of little boys. She spent many Saturday nights on the side lines at the dances while Dad played in the dance band. She was always concerned with our welfare when we were dating. Worrying and staying awake until she knew that we were safely home.
Her main talent was serving others. Many were the hours she spent nursing her own family when ill, along with friends and relatives. I vividly remember the time Lou Jean had pneumonia. She was about nine months old at the time and I can still see Mother and Dad taking turns carrying a sick child in tired arms. One night, in particular, they both felt that she would surely die. I can still hear her remark to Dad, “Francis she is turning blue and stuff. ? But their infinite faith in prayer and the power of the priesthood, along with a fixed resolve that she couldn’t die brought Lou Jean safely through this perilous time.
The responsibilities of life gradually took their toll. As we children grew older, so did our parents. Streaks of gray appeared in the once fair hair. Lines etched their way into her tender face. Leaving home for the first time to go away to college was just the beginning of the many goodbyes we would say to each other. Each one became a little harder as the duration of the absence became longer and more pronounced. In retrospect, it seems the ensuing years passed with a rush. I last saw her alive during the Thanksgiving Holidays in 1951. We were leaving to make our home in California. Sandwiched in between 1942 and this date was my graduation from college, leaving home to make my own way, marriage, service in the U.S. Army and the establishment of a home in Boise, Idaho. Little did I realize that when we said goodbye that it would be the last time. We intended to return home in the summer of 1952, but had to put it off because Verda was pregnant with Gary. Two weeks before we were to go home in the summer of 1953, we received a phone call that bore the sad news of her death. She had passed away from a heart attack. What a cruel blow this was to me and my family.
Two weeks before we were to go home for the projected vacation, I had a strange dream. I had, in the dream, returned home for a visit. But in the dream, Mother sat in a corner of the front room and I could not speak to her. I carried on a conversation with Dad, but not with her. I pondered the meaning of such a manifestation, but then dismissed it from my mind. When we later returned home to the funeral, the meaning of the above mentioned dream was made manifest. Her lifeless body lay in the casket in the very corner of the room where she had sat so motionless and unspeaking in the dream. The sadness of this day remains etched firmly in my mind as it must with all who have lost a loved one. But I shall see her again someday and her influence upon my life shall be interwoven and spoken of in my own life story.
(picture of the family home in Malad, Idaho)
The home pictured above was the family home located in Malad, Idaho. It was here that I was born 17 January 1949 and lived until I left home to make my way in the world in June 1942. I had graduated from Utah State University and had accepted employment with the Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, Burbank, California. Dad, being a building contractor, had built the home himself. The land was purchased from my Great grandfather, Joseph Blair McKay. He borrowed $750 to begin the building. The lot was very large and had sufficient room for the home, a large garden area, barns for the animals he kept and a woodworking shop for his business.
The house was brick veneer, with a full basement, a main floor consisting of one bath, kitchen, dining room, 1 bedroom and a large living room. It had an upstairs with two large bedrooms and ample storage closets. Morgan, Keith, and I slept in the larger one and Donna and Lou Jean slept in the smaller one. Another bedroom was added in the basement, which Keith and I used after Grandfather Joseph McKay came to live with us, following the death of Grandmother McKay in 1933.
Initially it was heated from the kitchen stove and old “Pot Belly” stove located in a corner of the dining room near the stairway leading up stairs. This door was left open to allow some of the heat to escape to the upstairs bedrooms, but it never got very warm on the cold winter nights. So when we went to bed, you didn’t fool around. You got in bed in a jiffy and crawled under a mountain of blankets. In the morning you had to run down stairs and dress behind the “Pot Belly” stove. Those were the days.
Of course, in time, we had such amenities as indoor plumbing, forced air heat and electric lights added to make life more comfortable. I can remember well the coal oil lamp that we used for lights until the electric ones were installed. I often marvel that we didn’t burn the house down. But you had to use extreme caution when using it. When Dad added the indoor plumbing, Grandfather McKay thought he had lost his mind–” Who ever heard of a toilet in a house”, he exclaimed. Up to that time we had to go to an outside toilet about 75 feet from the house. On those cold winter mornings and nights we had in Idaho, you didn’t linger long on the always cold seat, brrrr.
Initially, Mother had to carry water from a well near the garage for all domestic use. I can just barely remember when Dad piped water from a nearby spring into the house for culinary use. Eventually it was used for the bathroom plumbing and to water the lawns. A 20,000 gallon concrete tank was built near the woodworking shop and overflow water from the spring kept it full and it was used to water the garden and orchard. So it was a self sufficient water supply and it was always good and cold to drink.
It was in this house that we spent the depression years following the crash of “29. These were difficult times for many families and ours was no exception. I can well remember the shoe last that Dad had and it was used a lot of times to half-sole your own shoes. We raised a large garden, and chickens for eggs and eating, raised 2 or 3 pigs for winter butchering, had a milk cow for milk and butter and always raised a calf for winter meat. This was augmented by wild game and deer that were killed during hunting season. So in spite of the severity of the depression, we always had plenty to eat. No one ever went hungry like countless of thousands across America. Clothing was in short supply and I always wore hand-me -downs from my older brothers and cousins. Dad found work where he could. It was during these years that the WPA and similar government programs helped people work for help from the government. Dad didn’t have any mortgage to pay off so that helped keep a roof over our heads without any worry. We were really self-sufficient and I guess that I didn’t really ever realize that we were poor. It was a struggle but we survived. We didn’t have money to buy much of anything and for Christmas we usually built all of our own toys and presents. We had to haul wood from the nearby mountains to keep the furnace and stoves going and to keep warm and cook.
Dad continued to live here after Mother died in 1953. When he passed away in 1957, we had to sell it since no one lived there to care for it. The house still stands (1979) and is lived in and cared for, but the remaining buildings have fallen into a state of decay from neglect. It is disheartening to have to see what neglect has done to much of it, but fond memories of the lives that made a “House a Home” shall always remain.