This is the autobiographical story of Maria Palmer Hunsaker. It was written at various times in her busy life, under a variety of motivations. Some of it was given to me personally by her as early as 1951. Other parts were given to me during later years, the last shortly prior to her death on June 23, 1969.
While she said nothing of the reason she gave the material to me, I assume she had chosen me to be custodian, in the hope that I would compile her story for her family. I have procrastinated in this “assignment,” and even now approach the task with some reservation.
As I have alluded above, it is compiled from several handwritten individual stories. There was much duplication, and very little attempt to arrange in the order of occurrence. I have placed her story in chronological order by sectioning her life span, and I have eliminated duplication. The little editing I have done was to improve the clarity for the current reader.
As of this writing the originals are in my possession. Elmer Hunsaker, San Francisco, California, January 15, 1986
Ancestry
I was born at a place called the Big Bend Ranch, in Oneida County, Idaho, on September 12, 1883. This was a 160 acre farm my father and mother, Joseph and Maria Gardner Palmer, owned and lived on permanently until 1886. At that time they bought a house and lot in Malad City, so that their six children could be closer to school and church. At this time I was the youngest child in the family.
My parents were of English descent, my father having been born at Agnabylock, Lancashire, and my mother at Preston, Lancashire. My father left England in March, 1857, when he was seven years of age. He sailed with his family to America on the ship The George Washington. The trip took 22 days. They landed in Boston. They went on to New York City for two months, and then to St. Louis, Missouri, where they stayed for seven years before heading west by ox team, arriving in Smithfield, Utah in 1864. For four years the family remained in Smithfield before moving on to Malad Valley in 1868.
My mother, Maria, was the youngest of nine children. Among her earliest recollections is that of walking along the shady lanes of Preston, England, with her father and mother on the way to attend church services. She, in company with all other living members of the family (three brothers had died in England, and an older sister, Elizabeth, had emigrated earlier), left Liverpool on April 20, 1866, on the ship The John Bright. The family crossed the plains under the leadership of Captain Wright, arriving in Salt Lake City, Utah.
School Days
I received my education in the grade and high schools at Malad. The first school was in a log house, then at the LDS Meeting House. It stood where the LDS High School Seminary building is now–directly west of the present high school building. My first teachers were Catherine Jones (who later married my oldest brother William) and George and Edward Colton.
Until the Malad grade school was built, school was held in various places in town. For a time I attended the Presbyterian Mission School. The teacher there was Carrie Nelson. In the LDS Reorganized Church the teacher was Edwin Colton. Upstairs, over the old opera house, Samuel Davis and Clara McDougall were the teachers. Over the J.N. Ireland Bank, the teachers were Mr. Drake and Thomas Jones (a brother of my future brother-in-law Hugh Jones), Mrs. Ester Davis and Stephen L. Richards (later a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of the LDS Church).
I took part in plays and different programs, gave readings, sang solos, etc. In one program I remember I was a queen and sat on a high step in queen’s attire. For a children’ s program, I remember we were little Eskimos, draped with gray blankets. We sang the song, “We all are little Eskimos and live in fields of snow.”
The Growing-up Years
While still a young girl, I recall the many times my mother became sick with heart problems while at the family farm on “The Big Bend.” She would always say, “Run for Brother Daniels and Jenkin Jones to administer to me.” On every occasion she was relieved of her suffering. Many members of the family received blessings under the hands of the priesthood. My mother was very spiritual minded.
I remembered as a young girl, mother used to send me each Christmas to take a basket of goodies to a crippled lady, Mrs. Joseph Jenkins. It always made Mrs. Jenkins so happy. Naturally I felt good about it.
When the “deacon” dances were held in the old log meeting house, Wallace Thomas asked me to go with him. He said each deacon had to have a partner. I said I’d have to ask my mother. She consented. I remember the music was supplied by the Babbitt family, Tom, Dick and Moroni, who played everything by ear. Some of the young boys would frequently call out to the Babbitts, “Change keys, Moroni!”
My parents were well known and respected by everyone. They had many friends. They were lovers of music. Other members of the family and I were encouraged to invite company to spend our evenings at home in games and in song.
When Professor Woozley came to our home to give my sister Sarah music lessons, he sometimes remained into the evening.
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Almost all of the picnic parties in the town were held there. To add to the good times, several families from Salt Lake City bought adjoining farm properties. They were the Stayners, Richards and Allen families. Mrs. Allen and four sons played mandolin and guitar. Father and the neighbors built a dance floor under the trees. Many good times we had dancing in the cool summer evenings.
Horace Stayner did not stay at the Big Bend long. He returned to Salt Lake City. Arthur Stayner bought the Ed Richards farm. His son, Henry, still lives there (1957). After the death of his son David, Professor Allen sold his part of the Smith ranch to my brother William.
When the Richards boys, Stephen L., Claud, Stayner and Willard, cut and hauled logs from Bull Canyon to build the log house, my brother Joe used to take me horseback to stay with Irene, Stephen L.’s wife. While the house was being built, they lived in a shed. Many times I slept there with Irene on stormy nights. A big umbrella, usually used on the ‘spring wagon’ when riding into town, was placed over the bed to shed the rain. This Richards property later was sold to my sisters Mattie (Martha Eleanor) and Lizzie (Mary Elizabeth) and their husbands, Richard Nephi Hill and John Illum. John and Lizzie Illum lived on the property most of the rest of their lives.
Stephen L. and Irene remained in Malad some time after the rest of the family had returned to Salt Lake City. Irene and I spent many happy afternoons under the trees reading and doing fancy needle work. She was a person I greatly admired. I learned many things from her association.
Irene and Stephen lived in Malad in the winters, where he taught school. I attended some of his classes. They spent many Sundays at my parents’ home. We learned to love them as our own. He kept in touch with us for many years after moving back to Salt Lake City, where he soon was named to be a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
As he and Irene were traveling in California when mother died, they were not able to attend her funeral. When they returned we received a lovely letter from them. Whenever his Apostle assignments brought him to Malad, he always called to see Father. If Father was not at home, Stephen L. would leave a note under the door. He was the main speaker at my father’s funeral service.
In January, 1908, my brother Joseph was called to serve a mission in the southern states. All during this winter Mother had not been well. She told Joe when he left that she had a feeling she would not be there when he returned. She died June 9, 1908. Two weeks before she died, she told me her time was not long, as her mother had come for her. Naturally I was grieved about it. She asked me to write a letter she would dictate. She also said for me to put ten dollars with the letter and send it to Joe at his last address instead of the address to which he was being transferred. Joe received the letter just before leaving for his new assignment 30 miles distant. The money provided rail transportation for him and his companion and saved their walking in the mud and rain.
After Mother’s death, I assumed the responsibility of the home, caring for my father, brothers Joseph and John and a younger sister Ida. This arrangement lasted for four years until I was married in 1912.
My sister Ida and I had good times while we lived at home. She loved to tease me. One day as I was making the bed in the upstairs north bedroom, she crept up the stairs and from the landing poked me on the leg with the broom handle. Did she make tracks as I screamed!
When brother Joe returned from his mission he had a mustache. Ida and I tried to get him to cut it off. He refused. We decided to do it! As he was asleep one day, we managed to cut one side before he awakened. Oh, my, did we scrambled at his anger! The other side, however, came off without our assistance.
One day while I was churning butter in the cellar on the farm, Rachel Jones came over from the nearby Jones farm to help me with the cooking. After the churning was done, we decided to go horseback riding. Jesse Dredge, who was working for Father, offered me his horse. We just barely got through the gate onto the road when the horse began running. I couldn’t stop him, and I was thrown off onto my back. I sustained an injury which at the time didn’t give me much trouble. I had in later years the onset of arthritis in that area.
My sister Lizzie’s farm home was five miles from the Palmer home in Malad. A friend, Ella Colton (who later married my brother Joe) and I decided to walk to visit Lizzie and her husband John. After the long walk, we were really tired, so we stayed overnight with them. The bed we slept in had a tick (mattress) filled with fresh straw and wild hay. It was quite lumpy. So I kept getting up to try to smooth out the lumps. Ella was more content and said, “When on earth are you going to quit scratching so we can go to sleep?”
While still quite young, I went with my parents to Soda Springs for a 10-day camping trip. We traveled in wagons and white top buggies with Mr. and Mrs. Jedd Jones, Sr., their two children Millie and Jedd Jr., and the Ben Evans family. We drank soda water from the springs, and bottled some to take home. Millie, Jedd and I waded into the nearby creek and gathered shells. After playing all day, we were ready to go to sleep in the wagon box. I remember I was afraid to ride in the vehicles up the dugway with the Snake River so far below. I preferred to walk.
Father and Mother were lovers of music and the outdoor life. After Mother’s death, it became a must with Father that all of his children and their families get together yearly. His birthday, July 10, was the chosen date. Powerhouse Canyon was the scene of many of these “reunions.” Nearly always my brother Will would load a piano into the back of the wagon box and drive it to the reunion spot. We always had a musical program. Later Will’s daughter Phyllis performed at the piano and as accompanist for many of the talented family members. The reunions were usually held overnight, and included meals, games, hikes, nighttime bonfires, group singing, jokes and the renewal of old time experiences. This tradition continued until after Father’s death.
One time I had a serious infection in my middle finger. We called it a felon. For some time I had bathed it to ease the pain before going upstairs to the cold bedroom. I took a hot flatiron to bed with me to warm my always-cold feet. It didn’t help much. My sister Lizzie had been out on this cold night, and slept with me when she returned. She was so warm I put my cold feet on hers. This was too much, and she hit me right on my sore finger. If an elephant had kicked me it would not have hurt more. I left the bed, went downstairs and sat by the fire with my hand in hot water for the rest of the night.
My mother often had a presentiment of danger or some disaster ahead. I recall the time when my brother Joe wanted to go with the Daniels boys, our neighbors, to take cattle to the summer range on the 17th of March. Mother had the feeling he should not go. Father let him go. They left early. Mother was so upset about it that Father insisted she go to the ranch that day with him, while he plowed. She walked into a nearby field where a son-in-law Hugh Jones was working. Someone came riding fast on horseback through the field.
Mother said, “That is someone bringing a message that something has happened to Joe.” Sure enough it was Ed Morgan to report Joe had been thrown from the horse and had landed on his head. I was alone when they carried him in, unconscious. He lay that way from noon on Friday until early afternoon on Sunday. A number of men holding the priesthood (his brother William was one of them) were called. After the prayer he regained consciousness, recognized all–calling each by name. From that time on, he gradually showed signs of improvement. The doctor said he had a clot on the brain, and could die from it. For many months he couldn’t use his right arm and leg as before. He would lose his speech for a while at times.
He was called to serve a mission the following January. Mother and Dad took him to Salt Lake City for a physical examination before making the mission decision. Dr. Seymour B. Young examined him. He said the clot was still there, but gave him a blessing and promised him if he would go and fulfill an honorable mission the trouble would be removed. He and a neighbor boy, Thomas Jenkin Jones, went to the southern states. The promise was fulfilled.
One time I trimmed a corn too close and it bled. Infection set in. I bathed it in the usual way, but it did not get better. One early morning I dreamed my deceased mother appeared to me and said, “You have an infection in that foot. Get to a doctor, don’t delay, or you may have to have your leg amputated.” When I awakened it was coming daylight, and Mother was leaving me. I screamed, “Don’t go!” This awakened my father who came rushing upstairs to find me sobbing, sitting up in bed rubbing my leg. All that day we kept the old treatment up. By nightfall the leg seemed to be some [what] better. That night was Stake choir rehearsal night. My brother John and I were members. I hesitated about going. John said, “Come on, I will help you along, we have only two blocks to walk.” So I went. I sat by Mrs. Annie Dives, an older church sister. She said, “You look sick.” I told her about the sore foot and the dream. She warned me that the dream should not go unheeded, and that I should not let the night go without calling a doctor. As we didn’t have a telephone, I was taken to my sister Mattie’s home to call the doctor. He was out of town and was expected to return the call the next morning. Mattie did all she could to ease the pain. After Dr. D.C. Ray’s examination the next morning, he said, “It is lucky I came, as you have a serious infection. Three hours longer without medical care and the poison would have reached the blood stream.” He lanced and treated the infection. It was a long time before I could get around comfortably. My departed mother saved me a lot of suffering and possibly my life. That is one dream which is as fresh in my memory as if it had happened recently.
I recall a trip to Salt Lake City with Martha Harding who was president of the YWMIA, to attend a conference (I was a member of the YWMIA Stake Board). We were staying at the Wilson Hotel on Second South. I happened to meet Apostle Stephen L. Richards on the street. He asked me why I hadn’t come to his home to stay. He went to the hotel, took my suitcase to his home, and came after each meeting for me.
Another time I stayed with Aunt Emma Camomile for quite some time. While there I attended the Keyster Sewing School. I made a suit and a dress. While in Salt Lake City at that time I called upon the Richards. Irene and I together used my patterns and made a white serge skirt to wear with an allover embroidered blouse which I had made while at home. She and Stephen L. took me to see her sister Mrs. Dave Allen, who was still teaching at the University of Utah. Also they drove me to the cemetery to see the monument to her grandmother, Bathsheba Smith.
On my way home from Salt Lake City, I kept a promise and visited with Elijah Larkins. He was the undertaker who took care of Mother’s burial preparation. He and Mrs. Larkin stayed at Father’s home until after the funeral. Larkin was the first undertaker to come to Malad. The Larkins insisted I stay for a while. I traveled a lot with them, and visited a number of their friends.
I returned home to Malad for Decoration Day. Father had married Charlotte Parkinson Pratt (a widow from Preston) shortly before I had left for the extended Utah vacation. I shall never forget how I felt when I got home. I was grateful that little Ida was there to greet me. Everything has changed. Mother’s pictures were all put away. The Pratts and Parkinsons were hung everywhere. It was no longer home to me. I rushed off to my sister Mattie’s to give vent to my feelings. Later in the day we went to the cemetery to visit Mother’s grave.
Marriage and Homesteading
On May 1, 1912, at the Logan (Utah) Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I was married to Robert Jesse Hunsaker of Honeyville, Box Elder County, Utah. Thomas Morgan officiated at the marriage ceremony.
A short time after we were married, we moved to a dry farm in Bannock Valley which “Jess” had homesteaded. (Bannock Valley is in the northern part of Oneida County, just south of Arbon.) We lived in a one-room shack. Water had to be hauled three miles. Jess dug down 70 feet in an attempt to find well water, but was unsuccessful. We had one cow. I used to separate the milk with a hand machine which Ralph Harding had given us as a wedding gift. From the cream I churned butter, which I sold to Mrs. Parker. I lowered the milk and butter on a rope into the dry well, where it kept quite cool. To keep food from spoiling in the summer heat, Jess made a cooler which we placed on the north side of the house. I kept wet burlap sacks around it. He also made a bowery, covered with willows, for shade from the daytime heat. Our nearest neighbors were Parley and Rachel Sorenson, who lived a half mile away, and William and Laura Willie, who lived two miles from us.
Jess and I went into the nearby canyon to get logs for a house. It was put “up to the square” that summer. It was never finished, as we moved into Malad Valley that October to a ranch which we and Jess’s younger brother Lorin had purchased from their father, Robert Sweeten Hunsaker. The ranch was about four miles southwest of Malad City. We sold the Bannock Valley homestead to Parley Sorenson.
While we were on the Idaho homestead at Summit, a man with a herd of sheep camped not far from our place one night. Jess usually went to plow at 7 AM. He waited until 8 AM, hoping the herder would move on. Jess hadn’t been gone long when a knock came on the door. It was the sheepherder. He stepped right into the shack without being asked. Immediately I stepped outside the building. He asked where the boss was. I told him he already knew the answer to that question, as he couldn’t help having seen him go to plow. The old guy hung around, and kept coming closer to me. I kept walking backwards, and told him either to talk to “the boss,” or be on his way. I then started to run in the direction where Jess was plowing. At that he finally went on his way.
I had stayed alone a short time one night before Jess returned from a trip to Malad. When Jess was away like that I was supposed to stay with the Parley Sorensons. I didn’t know them very well at that time. As a result I was reluctant to go to their place, a half mile away. When I related this experience to my father, he said, “If you stay out there alone again, I will come out and bring you home.” Later I became well acquainted with the Sorensons, and the friendship has lasted through the years.
Editor’s note: From “Bannock County” by Laurie Jean Ward (printed by Keith W. Watkins, Providence, Utah), I quote from page 110: “Matthew Bird went north of Mrs. Margaret E. Smith’s and her brothers, the Willies, and chose a tract of land on which to file for homestead. It was 320 acres in Sections 5 and 6 of Townships 12 and 13, Range 33 East of the Boise Meridian. The next spring [1910] he and Jesse Hunsaker cut 1200 (cedar) posts with which they fenced each of their homesteads.”
A list of “Summit” homesteaders is on page 239 of the same book and includes: Hunsaker, Robert J. Township 12, Range 33 proved up: June 4, 1913.
As Matthew F. Bird is listed as a Buist homesteader, I assume Summit was adjacent to the north. As it took five years to get a homestead “proved up,” I assume Robert J. Hunsaker’s was proved up June 4, 1913, and had been filed June 4, 1908.
He had been called to an LDS Mission to the southern states on March 13, 1906 (set apart and blessing date) and was honorably released on March 2, 1908. As he had met Joseph Palmer of Malad City while in the mission field, he easily could have gone to Idaho to look up the family of his mission field friend, and filed on the homestead by June 4, 1908. At this time he also met Maria Palmer (his future wife and my mother), who was the sister of his missionary friend, Joseph Palmer, Jr.
The Down on the Farm Years
About the time that we left the homestead in Bannock County and moved to the newly-purchased farm southwest of Malad, Jess began working for the Studebaker company as a traveling salesman. He was then made local manager. During this time we lived in Malad in a house near his father’s place, and for a while in my sister Mattie’s place, since she had moved to Logan. Jess’s brother Lorin ran the farm for both of us.
Then two years after purchasing the farm, we bought Lorin’s interest, and began improving it into a dairy farm. Soon new fences were built, and milk cows were bought. I had 16 head of cattle left by my father. Also, I had a little money in the bank, saved from teaching school in Bannock Valley. I paid $150 for a horse and buggy. The old three-room log house was made liveable, although during the first winter, long to be remembered, it was very cold.
Until a barn could be built, the 20 cows had to be milked in the open. Cans of milk were carried one hundred yards to the house and separated by a hand machine. Cream sold for 8 cents a pound. As there was no creamery, for quite a while I churned 70 pounds of butter every week, also by hand. Forty pounds I sold to restaurants, 25 pounds to private customers at 20 to 25 cents per pound.
Next we bought a 300-egg incubator and raised chickens. A large coop was finally built. Not long afterwards a terrific windstorm came up and blew the coop into the nearby pond. It also tore the newly-built garage to pieces. As the wind hit, I was carrying buckets of water from the spring about 200 yards from the house. I reached the house just in time to grab my baby daughter Mae, who was sitting in a high chair by the door. My oldest child, Ivan. was in the machine shed swing. I was holding my breath for fear the shed would blow over and hurt him. I was alone at the time, as Jesse was in Malad. Just prior to the storm I had cleaned the house and was preparing a family dinner in honor of Jess’s brother Earl, who was going into the army (World War I). Real estate was on the move everywhere! The wind had piled a generous supply of dirt everywhere in my clean house. As the storm eased, I started over again to clean up and prepare dinner.
Seven years after buying the ranch, we purchased a home in Malad so our son Ivan could start to attend school. Also, we had bought a dry farm property in Holbrook valley, 25 miles to the west. Jess spent much of the time out there attending the crops.
When we bought the “house in town” Ivan was 7 years old, Mae 3, and Elmer 1. I had entertained thoughts of returning to some form of social life as it had been when I lived in Malad and was unmarried. For a while I was able to get out and enjoy social and religious events. Soon, however, the problems and pressures of a family began to be evident: Ivan and Mae got all the children’s diseases at school. That winter Jess had taken work at the mill in Magna, Utah. After he left at Christmas time, Ivan came down with scarlet fever. Soon Mae, Elmer and Lela contracted it. I was quarantined from January to March. All had the light form except Elmer, who had the old-fashioned type. One night he had such a high fever I couldn’t hold him on the bed.
I was afraid to leave him to go to a neighbor’s phone, so I just kept him in wet bath towels and prayed. Not until daylight did the fever break, and he became conscious. When the doctor came, he was afraid some other disease would follow. Elmer’s body was still scarlet when they took down the quarantine sign. After all of this I was worn out. The folks came to do the chores, but of course couldn’t come inside. Then in April Jess came home sick. He was in bed for three weeks.
We went back to the farm during the summer time. Soon Lela became sick with mucus colitis of the bowels. She was ill from May until September, much of the time dangerously ill, before she finally took a turn for the better. She had to learn to walk all over again.
At the farm we were finishing the work preparatory to coming into town for the winter months. On the weekend of September 8, 1924 we stayed at the farm. That Saturday night the Malad home caught fire and burned to the ground. Almost none of the contents was saved. So we faced that winter with no real home and five children!
A three-room house was moved near the highway onto our 40-acre property; the school bus passed on the highway, and the children could get to school in Malad easier that way. During the six week period of time while the basement and house were being prepared for occupancy. It was back to the log farm house again.
The house was not a warm one for that first winter. Farren, who was 7 months old at the time, came down with pneumonia. He was kept under an oxygen tent for some time before he recovered. Water had to be hauled until a surface well was dug. Later an artesian well was drilled. Finally we had plenty of water to pipe into the house! Later another two rooms were added. At least I had gotten over the shock and heartbreak, and tried to make a new home for the family.
Vignettes
After the birth of our first child Ivan I was not well for some time. Jess was fieldman for the Studebaker company and was not home much of the time.
I went to Lava Hot Springs with my sister Maggie and her husband Hugh Jones. While bathing in the hot water one day, I stepped on a rusty needle. This caused infection. My sister Mattie and her husband Richard Hill were living in Boise, and when they learned of my illness, they insisted I come to Boise, along with my youngest sister Ida who was attending school there.
Jess consented, and his father drove us to Downey to take the train at 3:00 PM. We arrived at the train station in Boise the next morning at 3:00 AM. Ivan, 15 months old, hadn’t slept at all. My foot pained so badly I had to remove my shoe, and then couldn’t get it back on. A bad time we had.
Ida had written Mattie to say we would arrive several days earlier than we actually did. As a result no one was there to meet us. Finally we walked the several blocks, carrying Ivan and two suitcases and me without a shoe! I stayed in Boise for six weeks, most of the time in bed under the care of a doctor. I shall never forget the kind treatment Mattie and Richard gave me and my son.
One day as the high school students passed by, Ivan stood on the lawn and put his hand out to shake, and said “how do you do.” A man picked him up as I watched from an upstairs window. My heart nearly “jumped into my mouth” for fear he would kidnap Ivan. Instead, the man kissed him, placed a dime in Ivan’s hand, and put him down. All the time Mattie was watching from the porch.
When we arrived at our first Malad Valley farm in the fall of 1912, we found a hive of bees had installed themselves under the kitchen floor. Jess and Tom Barney, a hired hand, dug a hole under the floor and tried to smoke the bees out. Days afterward a wind came up and started the fire to burn. I was churning butter in the separating room. Before I noticed it, the fire had burned through the wood and the linoleum of the floor. Jess was in the field at work, so I carried eight buckets of water from the spring and put it out.
Another time a fire started around the stove pipe. I was alone again so I put a bucket of water on the cellar roof, at the back of the house. That way I managed to get on the roof, close enough to throw the water at the blaze. When I came tumbling down. Fortunately I had no broken bones. Jess and my brother John were in the field and happened to see the blaze. They came hurrying on their horses and finished the job.
One time Jess had thrown a match into the coal bucket after he had lit a cigarette. There were papers in the bucket, and it was close to the papered wall. I was working buttonholes on a pair of pants for Ivan. Jess kept calling me to come to the barn to help him get the cows into their stalls. I did not heed his call until the job was finished. It was fortunate that I didn’t, as the match had started the papers to burn. Ivan was asleep on a nearby cot. If I hadn’t stayed and noticed the papers burning, it could have been a serious fire.
I was making a suit for Ivan. When I went to get him from the sand pile he was gone! My first thought was to run to the spring. The cover was in place. I heard a neighbor, Jack Thomas, hammering on some equipment at his nearby place, so I called him. I started to run up the lane toward town as Mr. Thomas looked around by the large pond. He happened to see Ivan at the furthest end of the field across the pond, among the cows. He had a long stick and said he was bringing the cows in for his daddy. At that time he was 26 months old. In the heat of that day in August, I was dripping wet and crying. Ivan said, “Don’t cry, Mommy, Mr. Thomas found me.”
When we were first married, we lived in areas without “modern” conveniences. I washed the clothes on the washboard until I had three children. Then Jess bought a hand operated washer. To get the clothes clean, I still had to wash by hand after they had been turned through the washer. I then boiled the white clothes. Later I used a gasoline-powered washer. It did good work, but I was never sure it would start. After I had my family of six children, electricity was brought into our area (1928). The kerosene lamps were put away, and an electric motor was put on the washer. This made the work very much easier. It was many more years before I had an electric stove. My mother had to do her work the hard way, so I learned early in life the way the pioneers lived.
One day a very old Indian came to our home on the farm. It was a cold, windy day in October. He said, “Me heap cold.” His clothes were torn. I asked him to get warm. Dinner was ready with hot soup, so I asked him to eat. After he had eaten, he asked for thread and needle. He sat by the stove and sewed the torn overalls. Farren was a little curly-headed boy about three years old. The Indian said, “Heap good papoose, me take him.” Lela was in tears. I offered him a pair of Jess’s overalls. He did not like blue. He had a team of poor horses and an old buggy. He lived in Washakie. Jess came from the field as the Indian was gathering bits of wood, so we gave him some coal. Also I gave him a sack of different kinds of food.
We bought a secondhand piano. Mae and Elmer took lessons in piano and voice from their cousin Phyllis Palmer Jones. Lela preferred the guitar. Mae and Elmer sang duets at church and other events. Elmer sang solo many times. Mae, Lela and Reed sang in church choirs, Ivan with the church quartette and Farren with the a capella choir. Elmer sang with the Tabernacle Choir for 32 years. Reed took voice lessons and sang solos in the Second Ward services. All of this gave me much pleasure.
Church Experiences
My mother was a deeply religious person. Her parents and family had emigrated from England when she was 12 years old as converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
At the age of 8 years I was baptized by George Stuart in the creek by the flour mill then owned by William Jones. My parent’s home was on the same city block as the church. In my youth I attended Sunday School, Primary, Sacrament Meeting and MIA. I had many chances to learn of the gospel principles. I was given many opportunities for self expression through taking part in many church programs and activities. I attended a teacher training class taught by Stephen L. Richards in the First Ward. As a result I was asked, at the age of 15, to teach a Sunday School class. This I did for 6 years.
I became a member of the Ward Choir at 14. Throughout my life I have been active in church music.
At the age of 14 years, I joined the YWMIA. In this organization I served as librarian and as a teacher for five years while Mary Ellen Evans was president. I served as an aide and treasurer to Martha Harding for three years. Later I was called to be president, in which capacity I served for two years with Amy Dives and Maggie Morgan Parry as my counselors.
At an early age I affiliated with the Relief Society of the church. I served locally as a block teacher for ten years. My companions originally were Fairlie Jones and Rose Jenkins. We traveled at first by horse and buggy a distance of four miles. I served as a Relief Society teacher most of my life.
I have tried to live true and faithful to my church’s teachings, and to the vows I made. I tried to teach my six children, with whom the Lord blessed us, by example as well as precept, I have been amply rewarded. They are honest and industrious men and women.
The Later Years
Three months after returning from a 10-day visit with my brother John and his wife Flora in Sacramento, the Japanese made their attack on Pearl Harbor. We were at war! It was a tense, heartbreaking time for everyone. Our freedom must be kept at all costs. One by one the men were taken into the service for defense or fighting. Elmer was the first one to go. He enlisted May 7, 1942, and went to Fort Warren, Wyoming, for training.
Jess worked for a time in the Ogden defense industries. Farren, Reed and I kept the work going on the farm.
Jess came home ill from Ogden, and soon after went to Soda Springs for an operation. At the same time (October, 1943) Elmer had an operation in San Francisco for the removal of a kidney stone. There were worries on all sides. Ivan came from his home in Wendell to help us out. Elmer got along all right, Jess not so well. A month later, Jess went to a clinic in Salt Lake City. He had a cerebral hemorrhage. It was some time before he came home. He hasn’t been able to do much work since.
Elmer served in San Francisco and at sea, engaged in transporting troops to the battle areas and home, as well as transporting prisoners of war home. He was the only one of the three who came close to being injured or to giving his life. Farren served in the occupation forces in Japan; Reed was in the medical corps at Fort Lewis, Washington. We were so happy and grateful to have them finally back, and the war over and victory!
During much of this time, Jess was ill. I had to depend to a large extent on my neighbors to help me, as I did not drive a car. Jennie Scott bought our supplies. I milked the two cows, and fed them and the chickens.
Elmer came home to reside in Salt Lake City, Farren to take over the farm operation for a while, and Reed to employment in Washington and Idaho. Finally we sold part of the acreage to Lyman Ipson, for whom Farren worked one summer.
While working for Mr. Ipson a horse kicked Farren in the head. The doctor did not give him much hope of recovery. All the family were called home. It was a sad, tense time for us all. Farren did recover, but was not able to do hard work for a long time. He again suffered a skull fracture in an auto accident near Downey. Again he lay for weeks in the hospital He was spared again. During part of this illness Lela cared for Farren’s twins, as Mae had helped likewise on many previous occasions.
In the summer of 1952 it was decided that Jess and I should move to Wendell to be near our son Ivan. This would afford Jess a place where he could be out in the country air and involved with the farm life he loved. This was to be the biggest trial of my life–to be uprooted from where I had been born, where I had spent all my life among family and friends. I was homesick and upset. It took me a long time to adjust and get used to a different house and surroundings. All of the neighbors except one belonged to different religions. I very much missed the privacy rural Malad living afforded me.
I missed going to the Logan LDS Temple. That privilege was mine quite often when I lived in Malad. I also missed the Native Idaho Pioneer Daughters meetings, and the opportunities for self expression they afforded. I missed not seeing my other children as often as I used to. And then, strangers did not drop in to pass the time of day, as old friends did.
As in Malad, I sang with the Singing Mothers in Gooding, and with the Stake Choir for conferences in Jerome. When I could, I sang with the Wendell Ward Choir. Also I have served for five years as a Relief Society teacher.
Finally I came to the realization that living near Ivan, Isabel and their children was best for us in many ways. I have enjoyed attending school plays, band concerts, and football games when Jess and Lucille (Ivan’s children) were taking part. Ivan and his family have been most helpful, supportive and understanding. I shall ever be grateful for all they did for us.
On February 2, 1953, at Wendell I received a patriarchal blessing from Patriarch William N. Butler of the Gooding Stake.
To My Children
It hardly seems possible you all are grown, married and have homes and children of your own. The house is quieter, and my thoughts linger around you, although you are far from the old home.
Your father and I have toiled to raise and educate you. We tried to instill in you principles of truth, honesty and right living. I am proud of the fact that I was a co-partner with God so that you could come to earth, have bodies and gain mortal experiences, and become members of His church. My greatest wish is that you be good members of the church, remain true and faithful, honest and upright. Teach your children to do likewise, that we may be one big happy family throughout the eternities.
You, of whom I am proud, are my precious jewels. You have been blessed, each of you with singing voices. May you have the desire to develop this talent, and to bring it out in your children and grandchildren. There are few things that will bring more happiness than music and singing. I have found great joy in our musical hours together.
Study the gospel and live its principles. Example is the best teacher in everything. I have tried to teach you by “example and precept.” My life has been an open book. I have never done anything I would be ashamed for the whole world to see and know about. The Lord is mindful of us when we keep his commandments.
I do hope you will each love and respect one another. Banish all thoughts of jealousy and hatred. They are not of God. Meet others in love and harmony and enjoy each others’ company.
May you all live so that you will not destroy the peace and happiness of your own lives and the lives of those around you. Always remember, you have to live with yourself. If mistakes are made, repent and live above them.
One writer has said, “Count that day lost whose low descending sun views from thy hand no worthy action done.”
And,
Now when I am dead and gone
And on these pages you look,
Remember it was your mother
Who penned these thoughts for your book.
Maria Palmer Hunsaker
Editor’s Note:
During a 1951 visit, Mother gave me “To My Children.” It was composed, as she wrote then in her own hand, “some time ago.”
Additional History by Elmer Hunsaker
Dad’s failing health began in the fall of 1943 when, as mother reports, “he went to Soda Springs for an operation.” It seems that this operation, and the medical problems which followed after, almost incapacitated him. He did not feel up to the usual work on the farm, and relied heavily on others to keep it going. It was this chain of events and his increasing failing health, which prompted the family to move them into Malad for the one winter. Out on the farm they just couldn’t take proper care of themselves. Mother never learned to drive an automobile. Much of the time they were dependent upon the kindness of their neighbors, as they couldn’t do many things for themselves. None of the children lived closer than 65 miles. As Dad never knew any life but ranching and farming, he was totally lost in an environment where he couldn’t at least get out into those surroundings when he was physically able. The only possible answer was for them to be moved to Wendell to be near Ivan, who was the only farmer at the time. A modest home was located and purchased, which was but a few blocks from Ivan’s farm. Dad could walk or be picked up to be around the farm doing the chores that he could. That was his only life. Gradually his condition, both physically and mentally, began to deteriorate. He began to hallucinate, and became more than Mother could handle. For the last several months of his life he was placed in a local rest home. He lingered for a while, but quietly succumbed to what appeared to be a severe intestinal disorder.
Mother remained in excellent health until one week before she died. She had no health limitations, no illnesses, was mentally alert and “in charge” until the last week. She had decided to take her first airplane flight at 85 years of age, to go to Olympia, Washington, to attend the wedding reception of a granddaughter. Her plan was to stay at Reed’s home visiting until I finished my two weeks’ annual military training at nearby Fort Lewis. She then intended to ride back to Utah with me. I drove over to Reed’s home on the Sunday night after my arrival at Fort Lewis. No one was home. I returned on Monday night. It was a warm evening, so we sat in the yard under one of the trees to hear her account of the flight and the activities since that time. She was positively “bubbly” in her enthusiasm, and assured me over and over that she was having a wonderful time. I said to her, “As you have enjoyed the flight so much, why don’t I contact your brother John, in Sacramento, to arrange for a visit there?” She replied, with a faraway look in her eyes, “No, I won’t do that, there isn’t time left for it.” Very shortly after that she was in the middle of a sentence when she stopped talking. I looked up and immediately could see that she was forming words, none of which came out. She slumped over in the chair and became unconscious. We carried her into the house and called the doctor. He said that she had suffered a major stroke, and hospitalized her. Two days later, on Wednesday, she had a second major stroke and never again regained consciousness. On Saturday I arranged for her to be flown to Utah in the Governor’s private plane, which had come to Washington to bring some local citizens to observe the training activities of the Utah men there. She quit breathing in the ambulance enroute to the plane (Mae was there, for which I am eternally grateful). On the flight to Utah, she quit breathing on two occasions. We got her to breathe again with massage and oxygen. Lela and Eddie met the plane at the Salt Lake City airport with an ambulance, in which she was taken to the American Fork hospital. (She had been living near Lela.) On the following Monday, between 3 and 5 in the morning, a nurse discovered Mother was not breathing, and the doctor pronounced her dead.