The Life Stories of Harriet Elizabeth Hirst and Daniel Danielson

Compiled by Ruth Danielson

Only the setting sun marked the hour when Harriet Elizabeth Hirst was born —July 23, 1862, a pioneer child destined to toil in a frontier land. Hers were "goodly" parents, James David and Harriet Tarry Hirst; Englishmen by birth, factory workers by trade, converted to Mormonism, they faced life in the land they called Zion. Speaking of James Hirst in later years, she said, "I can never remember my father when he was not rendering some public service for the church. Actually he gave his life to it. My mother was of the kind they surely needed here in the West. She had a greater capacity for work than any woman I ever knew. Her energy was unlimited; her services were skilled. She was an excellent tailor."

The house in which Harriet Elizabeth Hirst was born was located on what is now known as Washington Boulevard. The two-room structure was built of adobe with a white-washed front. The following May, James D. Hirst sold his home in Ogden, bought a team of oxen and a wagon and, with his wife and nine-month-old baby, moved to paradise in the southern part of Cache Valley. The original fortress was located in the southeast end of the Valley. It was on the north side of the canal which takes the water out of East Creek to Hyrum.

But by this time, the cabins were no longer located in fortress style, but were built on the city lots. The few and precious cattle, horses and sheep, however, were herded on the nearby hills during the day and kept in a public corral at night. She has often told the following rather amusing story concerning her father. "It had come Dad’s turn to take the sheep out on the hills. One day at noon he brought them in, put them in the corral and came in for dinner. When he went back out he counted sheep. They were all there, but there was a calf in with them. He couldn’t tell how it got in, but with some difficulty he got it out. To the people’s amazement and amusement the "calf" turned out to be a cub bear." This incident illustrates how unprepared her factory-trained father was to meet the problems of an agricultural community.

Until they could secure a house of their own, they lived with Sister Ann Howells. James Hirst bought a log cabin. After putting in a board floor, a roof, a door and one glass window brought from Ogden, they called it home.

The following spring on March 18, 1864, a son who later bore his father’s name, James David, was born. He was more than just another, to little "Beth," he was a playmate, a companion, a defender. She experienced one of the bitterest periods of her life when 17 years later he died of the Typhoid Fever.

School days began for Harriet Elizabeth Hirst when she was but three years old. She related that day as she remembered it in the following words. "The first day I went to school, I sat on the teacher’s lap while he conducted his other classes. My teacher was Charles Shaw. My mother made my first book, sheets of white wrapping paper fastened together. (Mother had brought the paper with her. It could not at that time be bought in this part of the country.) Large letters cut from copies of the London Times were pasted in it. From this book, I was taught the alphabet."

In the winter of 1865, on December ninth, another child was born to the Hirst family. The baby, Frederick William, died on the eighteenth of September in the following year, 1866. His death, due to Typhoid, symbolized one of the great tragedies of the western exodus. Uncounted are the men, the women, and especially the children who died for want of proper care, sufficient food, and medicine in time of sickness.

By 1867 the Indian raids and thefts became intolerable. Upon the advice of Ezra Benson, the people moved the town site to a location about 2 1/2 miles to the north. By autumn of 1868, practically the entire community had moved its possessions, including the meeting house, to the new location. The move necessitated the extension of the canal, a piece of work not completed until the fall and most of the grain died for want of water. This shortage, however, was a mere prelude to the want with which they were to be confronted.

Early in the summer of 1869 an epidemic of Scarlet Fever swept through the community. Few were the homes from which it did not take its toll. One June first—for the second time—it robbed the Hirst family of its baby; this time, John Edward who had been born September 4, 1867.

Autumn came and with it, countless hoards of grasshoppers. Harriet Elizabeth Hirst describes the scene. "They came in numbers sufficient to darken the sky. It was on a Sunday afternoon we saw them first. I wasn't very old but I've never forgotten the expression on the faces of the people. Suddenly all the hope, all the strength had drained from them. We had a small garden to the south of the house. The pests devoured every blade of green. I remember in particular some onions. After eating the tops they scooped out the centers, leaving little cups in the ground. Vegetation wasn't the only thing they bothered. They would eat the clothes which had been washed and hung on the brush fence to dry. It was a common sight to see children with sticks beating them off until the clothes could be gathered into the house." The above description was not of a passing picture, but the beginning of a scourge which was to last nearly seven years.

On September 5, 1869, Harriet Elizabeth Hirst's first sister was born. When the time came to name the baby an incident occurred which she never forgot. "I remember there had been some controversy over the name. Thursday came and still they could not agree on a name (Fast meeting at that time was held on Thursday).

Little Jim, not yet six years old, had sat for some time with his chin cupped in his hand. Finally, he said, "Mamma, I know what to name the baby."

"What shall we name her, Jim?"

"Name her Rose and she won't die." The baby was named Rose Clara.

The account thus far of Harriet Elizabeth Hirst's life has been one of hardship and sorrow. This, however, is not a complete picture. The people were happy. "A lot happier that many people are today," she often declared. "First and foremost in our lives came the church. As a very young child, I remember attending three religious meetings on Sunday. The priesthood quorum and Fast meeting were held during the week. Sunday School was organized in 1865, but I have no recollection of it until I was about nine years old. At that time Brother John Oldham taught us from John Jacque's Catechism. The General Board sent out sheets of cardboard with songs printed on them; I particularly remember learning "When the Mists Have Cleared Away" from one of these cards. When the Relief Society was first organized in Paradise in 1869, Mother was the second counselor in the presidency.

I was sixteen years old when on August 10, 1878, Eliza R. Snow came to Paradise and organized the Young Ladies' Mutual Improvement Association. From the first time I saw Sister Snow, I loved her; she has always been a Saint to me. I think she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw; pictures of the Madonna always remind me of Eliza R. Snow."

Perhaps at this point it would be well to mention that in May of this same year (1869) the Union Pacific Railroad was completed. We, who never lived during the years before, and for some time after this railroad was completed, cannot possibly comprehend the task of the pioneers. Hundreds of things that every day we accept as a matter of course, they had to make or do without them. Flour, soap, sugar, cloth, all of them meant hours, days, weeks or months of toil for each family. A piece of Lindsey (a wool and cotton cloth) meant shearing a sheep, washing the wool by hand, spinning it on a spinning wheel and weaving with a hand loom. Nor was this the end of the work; every piece of clothing had to be made by hand. Cotton was expensive for the time and of poor quality. (The Civil War was being fought from 1861-1865.) Calico was a dollar a yard and thread was fifty cents a spool.

Following Rose Clara, two boys were born—Joseph Henry on October 10, 1872, and two years later on September 25, 1874, Charles Tarry.

In 1868 when the people had moved from Old Paradise, they had built a new log church. By 1876, however, it would no longer serve the community and in that year work was begun on the rock building. The people built that building stone upon stone; and everyone helped. "Every Monday morning, " related Harriet, "you would see the women walking toward the store carrying the Sunday Eggs. Dad mixed the mortar for the church. The limestone blocks were quarried and hauled from Hyrum Canyon. By the following year the 35 x 65 foot hall was sufficiently finished to be in general use." The new church may have been of great interest but in the Hirst family the attention was divided between the meeting house and their last child. Lydia Ann they called their beautiful red-haired daughter born on December 17, 1876.

Five years later, April 7, 1881, Harriet Elizabeth Hirst was married to Daniel Danielson, whom she had met at a dance. Claus Daniel (Carlsson) Danielson was born April 12, 1851, in Medelplana, Skaraborg, Sweden. Medelplana, not far from the city of Lidkoping, is located on the bank of Laka Va Vern in Southern Sweden. Claus Daniel was the youngest child of Maria Persdotter and Carl Danielson. According to the custom of the country, his name was Claus Daniel Carlsson. He had three brothers—Johannes, Anders Peter, and August—as well as two sisters—Anna Britta and Johanna. The births of all the children are recorded in the Lutheran Parish Church Records.

The father was a stone cutter by trade.

When Daniel was eleven years old, Elder Bergstone visited the family in Sweden. From him they heard the gospel and became members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Daniel was baptized 15 December 1863. Mormonism, however, was not well accepted in Sweden at that time, and the boy was not allowed to finish his schooling. The Lutheran Church was the official "state" Church of Sweden and to join another church was almost counted treason. Therefore, the twelve-year-old boy went to work with his father.

In June of 1864, Daniel along with his father and mother left Sweden; and on May 8 of 1865, they sailed from Hamburg, Germany, on the ship, The B. S. Kimball. They came as far west as Wyoming, Atoe County, Nebraska. Both he and his father obtained work in a grist (flour) mill and later as stone cutters. During this time they sent for the two brother—Anders Peter and August. Both of these brothers remained in Nebraska as long as they lived. Anders Peter Carlson and his wife Margaret Shelburg became the parents of two children. He was killed in a plow factory. August Carlson married Christina Swanson and they had a daughter, Annie.

In 1870, just one year after the railroad was completed to the West, the parents, Carl and Maria Danielson, came to Utah. From Salt Lake City, they came to Paradise, Utah by ox team. Some time prior to this, the two sisters—Anna Britta and Johannah, "Hannah," had come from Sweden to Utah. In her account Hannah remembers, "I crossed the plains—walking all the way. Sister Anna was sickly and rode in the wagon." The girls both obtained work in Utah. Anna Britta married Lars Peter Johnson and lived in Hooper. She had no children of her own but assisted in raising the family of his other wife by whom she was affectionately known as Aunt Anna. Hannah married Gideon Olsen and raised her family in Paradise.

Daniel stayed in Nebraska and worked on a farm. It was at this time, when he was twenty four years old, that Claus Daniel Carlson on October 27, 1876, applied for United States citizenship. (It is interesting to note that when he was granted full citizenship on September 8, 1894, it was still in the name of Daniel Carlson although he had been married in 1881 as Daniel Danielson.) Although he received little money for his work, he did not seem to suffer from what he considered "hardships." He managed to buy his clothes from the factory and to save enough money for the trip West. At the time he was in Wyoming, Nebraska, the community had a rather large population of Swedish immigrants, many of whom were converts to the L.D.S. Church and were enroute to "Zion."

A little of the color of the "old West" remained as one of Daniel's long memories. He told of the horse thieves who came by at night and who, if caught, were hanged at sunrise.

The farms in the area at the time impressed him as modern and improved compared with the ones in Sweden.

In 1880, Daniel joined his parents in Paradise, Cache County, Utah. Most of the inhabitants of the community had come from England. To them the idea of Claus Daniel Carlson being the son of Carl Danielson was indeed confusing. In keeping with the "usual order of things," Daniel soon became known as Daniel Danielson.

As Daniel Danielson, he was married to Harriet Elizabeth Hirst on April 7, 1881, in Salt Lake City, Utah, by Brother Daniel H. Wells. Eleven years her senior, he was a Swedish-born convert, handsome in appearance, quiet and deliberating in his ways. They were married in the endowment house in Salt Lake City and my grandmother received a blessing from her beloved Eliza R. Snow. To say that they lived happily would be untrue, yet to blame either of them would be unjust. If my grandmother had a fine character, his was equally fine; if my grandfather was sincere in his ways, so was she. Yet they were different—their backgrounds, their personalities were too far apart to find companionship in each other. She was fired with ambition to conquer and overcome; his philosophy was to accept without comment, without bitterness what life had to offer. In a sense theirs had been a parent-made marriage and once married the attitude of the people, of community and of the church decreed that they remain husband and wife.

The next spring, May 7, 1882, her first child was born. She was formally christened Ellen Maria but was always known by the more practical name of Nell. Much that is known of those early years of marriage comes from the personal account of "Nellie" Danielson Lofthouse. She writes, "I was born in my father's father's house in the northwest part of Paradise."

Shortly afterward Daniel's brother-in-law, Lars Peter Johnson, was called on a mission and the Danielsons moved to Hooper to care for his place. After they returned from Hooper they built a log house in the west part of Paradise. Again from Nellie's account, "Dad got logs from the nearby mountains soon after he was married. The logs were squared at the local mill run by William Thomas. With these he built a two-room house on the lot next to Grandfather Carl's house. In this house James (Jim, January 5, 1884), Claus (December 19, 1885), Rose (December 10, 1887), and David (June 10, 1890) came to bless and be loved by the family. These are many memories of this home that linger with me.

"Jim and I were so near of an age that I do not remember him as a baby, but I do remember Claus. I remember how I loved him and a lot of hair he had. I remember the midwife that came to care for the mother and the baby. It was a Sister Law and we called her 'Grandma Law.' I can remember as though it was yesterday the time Claus was playing on the bank of the small irrigation ditch which ran through the lot. We had a little fuzzy dog names Trix, which jumped on Claus and knocked him into the muddy water. He had been swearing some and it really upset me when he said, 'That damned Trix knocked me in.'

"I remember mother sending Jim and me to Jimmy Law's store with some eggs in a little bucket to buy some matches. She said if there was any change left over we could have it for candy. On the way home Jim became very sick. I don't know if it was the candy or some other reason. I only remember how concerned I was because he was so sick.

"My school days were started and ended in the old log school which stood up the street from the co-op store."

During these early years of marriage Daniel often worked away from home, several winters hauling lumber in the Yellowstone Area—Idaho, Wyoming, Montana and hauling supplies to Eagle Rock Bridge west of Idaho Falls. Summers he worked in the Bothwell Canal area with his team and shovel.

Nellie records, "Sometimes when my father was home, and the weather was bad, he would take me on old Maud (our horse) to school or come and get me. Sometimes I would go to my Grandma Hirst's before going home then I would be scolded because that was a long way. (She lived in the east part of town.)

"In April of that first year in school, tragedy struck our town and our home. Scarlet fever, a name to be dreaded, entered many homes—sometimes light—sometimes so severe it left the person sickly for the rest of their lives or death. Brother Claus, the loved little brother, was one of those. It left such a big hole in our family circle. (He died April 28, 1889.)

"It was soon after this, about the time that David was born, that father filed on some homestead ground. It was on the South Fork of the little Bear Creek (Pole Creek). It was five or six miles from town.

"Here I would like to explain something about moving. They knew so little about diseases so long ago and they were afraid the home where the dread sickness had been could cause more. So they often made people burn much of what was in the house. Sometimes even the houses were burned. In this case the town constable felt that even the new carpet needed to be burned. (It was a woven rag carpet.) But it was carefully cleaned and moved as were most of the other things to the homestead."

It was a hard life as neither was young when they took it up. They lived there during the summers and went back to Paradise during the school season. The land was not too good although they had 160 acres. The land was theirs for the filing but they had to live on it and make improvements.

Nellie later remembered, "Father logged for the sawmill; this was the main reason he wanted this place. Then too they would take many of the town people's milk cows to the canyon for the summer to pasture them.

"Mother and Jim would milk those cows, not always an easy job. The milk was set aside in pans to be skimmed later. This cream Mother made into butter and sold it back to the town people, often getting up so very early to carry it to town before the sun was too high in the sky.

"There was once when I was tending little Dave, a rattlesnake appeared in the yard. I put the baby in the house on the floor, grabbed a shovel and chopped that snake to bits. I was eight years old that summer."

Another time she told of taking young David to the neighboring Nichol's ranch. While she sat tending the baby in the swing, a teenage boy whom she thought very handsome approached her on his horse. Among other things he asked the baby's name. When she told him, he told her that his name was also David—David O. McKay.

Thinking back in her later years, Nellie observed that her mother, Harriet, never liked the land in the lower part of town—"too muddy," she said, "and dirty."

"I remember that it was about that time that Father traded the house and lot in the northwest corner of town (about one block west from the present location of Roland's Service Station) to Marshall Allen for two lots in the southeast part of town. When we moved back to town that fall we moved to a little log house on the new place. My youngest sister, Violet, was born in that little house that winter. Father soon had more logs out; he had them sawed flat and he and Ollie Anderson built the first two rooms of the new Danielson home. But the sense of satisfaction soon turned to sorrow when little Violet, only eighteen months old, developed Diarrhea and died. There was so little we could do for sick children."

On May 17, 1896, the youngest child, Joseph Hirst Danielson was born. During the summer months the family continued to live at the homestead. By now David was old enough to make the trips into town with his mother to deliver the butter and eggs. He often spoke of a pound of butter for ten to fifteen cents and eggs for about that much a dozen.

By 1900 they had acquired title to the homestead and they sold the land to J. B. White. They moved the little homestead cabin to the vacant lot in east Paradise where it served as an animal shed for years.

With the money from the land, they built an addition to their house in town—a spacious kitchen over a "cellar," a couple of porches and a "summer kitchen." It was to the "summer kitchen" that the work activities were taken in summer time, leaving the winter kitchen free to serve as a best room in homes not blessed with a regular "parlor." Board siding was also placed to cover the log structure.

While the building was going on, they planted numerous fruit trees and other trees. The apples were harvested and stored in the cool cellar. Later in the winter Daniel and Gideon Olsen usually took the apples to Bear Lake where they "peddled" them house to house.

Sometimes reading the account now, we think, "By this time, things were easier." But life was still serious business. All we need is an excerpt taken from about this time from Nellie's reminiscences. "I went to Primary which was taught as one class to the whole group. Aunt Hannah, my father's sister, was President of the Primary. There were also religion classes but I often failed to go. These classes were held right after school and I was often needed at home.

"I had two other teachers in my schooling, Robert Pearce and Jacob N. Larsen. Brother Larsen was Aunt Caroline's father. I finished my schooling in the middle of my seventh school year. Father was sick and they needed me at home.

"From that time on I worked for families in the town. I was fourteen at the time. I never needed to hunt for work. I loved many of the people I worked for, but the pay was small, about two dollars a week. Many only got a dollar and a half. I felt well paid. My work consisted of scrubbing floors, washing clothes on the washboard, cooking, ironing and washing dishes."

A few years later Rose was fortunate enough to graduate and teach in Avon for a few years prior to her marriage.

About 1907, Dave graduated; his principal was D. M. Bickmore. He also attended a few classes at the old B. Y. Academy in Logan.

By the time young Joseph finished school in Paradise, he attended some classes in the high school at Hyrum. He was among the first class of South Cache and he attended three years.

Illness still presented problems not often realized today. As a young man in his teens, David barely survived an operation for a ruptured appendix; his stay in the hospital, a building in the west part of Logan, lasted over six weeks.

"There were fun times, too." Nellie remembered. "There were dances and girl friends and beaux. The next most important event in my life was a box supper given in the MIA. In this case it was girl's choice and after much thinking I decided on Fred Lofthouse. This met my mother's approval so a note of invitation was sent by my brother, Jim. Special instructions were given that he should deliver to the said person and none other. The message was delivered and in due time there was a whistle at the gate. There was Fred in his favorite yellow shirt, riding his little black pony. When I went to the door he called "I got your message; it's OK!" Mother made us special ribbon bows. The gals and guys were both to wear like-colored bows. That was the beginning of the romance. We went together occasionally until Autumn; after that, it was true courtship."

Nellie was just eighteen when she married George Fredrick Lofthouse on October 17, 1900, in the Logan Temple. They moved to Avon, Cache, Utah, to live.

Rose was married to James Haslam Bankhead, September 24, 1913, in the Salt Lake Temple and made her home in Wellsville, Utah.

David and Jennie Howells were married in the Logan Temple June 5, 1919, following his service in World War I.

November 22, 1922, was the day Joseph Danielson and Margaret Pickett were married in the Logan Temple.

Some years following the sale of the homestead the family acquired and operated a small farm in Paradise from Jacob Larsen. They built a barn and raised a number of dairy cows—a small number, true, by today's standards.

Looking back, it is probably true to say that life Harriet and Daniel Danielson was seldom easy. As late as 1915-1920 were very difficult days, for Harriet especially—Nellie's moving to a homestead in the primitive areas of the Teton, Idaho Basin, and Dave's absence during the War. In 1927, the death of her mother left a void in her life, just as her father's death thirty seven years earlier had done. (He had passed away less than a month before her son, David was born.)

As a child—and later—I grew up only a block from my grandparent's home. My earliest memories include memories of them. I can visualize my grandfather—a slim, erect man, snow-white hair and blue eyes. Even as a youngster I knew that he was a handsome man, and I knew that he was an intelligent man. Without much formal education as a boy and with none in America, he had learned to speak and read fluently and well. He often sat, in later years, on the sunny side of the farm granary shelling corn or reading an old newspaper; the date was not all that important. Sometimes for hours, he would read the latest church magazine in the light of our west kitchen window. Although he was near ninety, he never wore eyeglasses. Reading, he verbalized his words in a hoarse whisper. It amused me that if an article were continued in another section of the magazine or paper, he didn't turn to the next page and continue. Since he usually read the whole publication, he eventually came to the conclusion of each piece.

My grandfather was a good gardener—at least he "grew"a good garden! Childhood recollections of him are filled with the memories of spring onions, born of little button onions planted ever-so-early; of radishes—small, round red ones and crisp white ones reminiscent of winter icicles; later on, of creamed peas covering marble-sized new potatoes on the Fourth of July. Fall brought the makings of pickles—cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers—squash, and apples from the trees which grew just east of the garden; and even through the winter snow, the spot yielded its treasure—sweet parsnips to simmer around the edges of a fresh-pork roast. I remember Grandfather hoeing his garden—white-haired man working on one row and then the next. As a child, I asked him once, "Why do you hoe just part of each row?"

"No need to sweat in the sun," he said, "While weeds are still growing in the shade." Usually there was some shade in the garden, either from the apple orchard or from the row of tall poplars growing at the bottom of the lot.

I don't know for sure who hoed the rest of the garden or when; I suspect it was my grandmother, an ambitious, impetuous woman who often worked red-faced and a little angry in the noon-day sun. True, there are times when all of us, like Grandmother, must sweat red-faced in the heat of the sun. Still, Grandpa had an idea! (Maybe ahead of his time; today, we call it "keeping our cool.")

The whole lot reflected his work, the numerous and varied apple trees, the huge, black-walnut trees, the currant bushes and pear trees. Our city lot still has one of the many trees he planted.

Until he was almost ninety, he enjoyed clearness of mind and health of body—always straight and neat in his appearance. Toward his latter years, he was hard-of hearing—hearing mostly what he wanted to. I have a mental picture of the old man chatting easily and softly with my two-year old brother.

He served his church as a home missionary, a ward teacher, first councilor in the Elder's Quorum and a High Priest. One week before his ninetieth birthday, he died at his home in Paradise on April 5, 1940.

If the outside was Grandfather's kingdom, the inside was Grandma's domain. Nice things had come to her slowly and she appreciated and treasured them.

There were the dishes in the tall cupboard; the plates stood up on edge (at home, ours were stacked one on the other). Every spring and fall, all of the "best" dishes were washed and carefully dried regardless of whether or not they had been used. There was the chiming clock which sat on the dresser. On top of it, was the statue of a deer and the key which wound the clock always rested on one of the horns. There were the sheer, white curtains to be washed, starched and "stretched" as part of the general house cleaning. And oh, the window plants—giant poinsettia plants which bloomed year after year, six-foot oleander plants blooming in a wooden tub, elephant-ear begonias and a host of others. My grandparent's home never had the convenience of running water or central heat; and yet I never doubted that it was a place of calm beauty. And it was; Grandma made beautiful lace to grace the pillowcases and table tops.

If Grandpa was a good gardener, Grandma was an equally good cook. No one else made quite the same kind of bread, raised with home-made yeast (kept from week to week in the cool dark cellar) and softened with mashed-potato water. I learned to love pickles at Grandma Danielson's—little round peeled onions, spicy, sweet, green beans standing ever-so-straight in the bottle.

Grandma was a stern perfectionist, a characteristic that often made life difficult for her and sometimes a trial to those around her. But to me, she was the soul of kindness. How I loved the dusky cellar; I often tasted (again and again) the foamy yeast. I was fascinated by the milk separator that magically poured cream in one direction and milk in the other.

We often hear of some person with a "photographic" memory; I think Grandma had an "auditory" memory. She remembered with completeness and accuracy the stories of her parents and their lives and of her own young life. Many were the hours, especially in her later life, she spent telling me of happenings as if the events were only yesterday.

Harriet Danielson was a proud woman, even a little disdainful. Anyone who was not a Mormon was a "Gentile" and she had small use for such. She had a fierce kind of family loyalty. I remember how it broke her heart when Nellie's oldest daughter died in childbirth. But I remember something else, too: every spring I helped her pack a large box of flowers to send to the "Basin" for Memorial Day. Flowers were never "out" up there she said.

No memory of my grandparents would be complete without Uncle Jim. The rest of the family married and moved away, but Uncle Jim the soft-spoken, gentle man was always there. How she loved him! How they both enjoyed the radio, and how she missed when he died in 1942. I missed him too, and the day of his funeral I wrote a little verse.

It has always seemed a sad irony that accident and dependence should come to her at the very time she may have found enjoyment. In 1931 when she may have found living a little more convenient, she fell, breaking her hip. Although she managed to get around a little, much of her life after that was spent in her rocking chair. Subsequent falls caused her further leg injury as well as a broken arm.

Yet, even, this, I know now, added dimension to our lives. I saw my father tend and wait on her; I saw my mother prepare and carry meals to her. And she and I had time to sit and hear the stories that otherwise may well have had their passing with her when she died November 8, 1947.