So, on Christmas Eve I thought I would share a couple of family history bits...

First, our family has its own EBENEZER!  Ebenezer Lambson:

Second, one of our ancestors, Alfred Lambson, a brother to our great-great-great Arba Lorenzo, had this encounter with the prophet Joseph Smith:

Merry Christmas!

Food Mood

Google reminds me that today is the Fall Equinox (I know you do not have to capitalize "fall", but when you put with a higher-intellect word like "equinox" it looks ridiculous in lower case).  It is harder to wrap your mind around here in Arizona where the high will be either 99 or 101 depending on who you consult.  Still, it represents the turning of a corner in the year, and I will honor it.

My thoughts today are on food, in spite of or maybe because of a delicious breakfast I had this morning: 2 half-slices of thick-cut bacon, a sausage and cheese omelette, freshly baked biscuits, and two large tomato slices...good eatin'!  But fall is a time of kind of shifting gears food-wise...more soups, fewer salads; more fall spices like cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg. and (sorry, Jeanne) cloves; and one of my favorites, changing from the cold cereal rotation of rice chex-corn chex-wheat chex to the hot cereal rotation: oatmeal-cream of wheat-cracked wheat.  Sundays is always home-made granola no matter what season.

So this food daydream brings back memories of the foods I associate with fall as I was growing up.  We had chili, but it was not really home-made.  It was usually a large can of Dennison's Chili, mixed with a large can of pork and beans.  You may laugh, but I loved it!  We also had tamales on occasion, but if we did they came out of a can, and were wrapped in paper, not corn husks.  I think Ellis was the company that produced those, and again, I loved them dearly.  Nothin' better than an Ellis tamale smothered in Dennison's Chili, with a little ketchup on top!

My mother did make some amazing soups as well...her vegetable soup was an amazing thing...it was so good I usually had more than one bowl.  She also had a ham and bean soup that is not to be compared with lesser concoctions...and her beef and macaroni with tomatoes could never be called "mung".  Home-made beef stew with the leftovers of a recent pot-roast.  Any of these on a crisp fall Utah evening added a special luster to the season.

Another wonderful thing about fall food is that you can legitimately talk about pumpkin again.  Now I am not as much of a pumpkin nut as some...for example, I do not consider crossing chocolate with pumpkin as a legitimate amalgam, nor will I add pumpkin to my cocoa.  But pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bars with cream cheese icing, pumpkin cheese cake, and of course, pumpkin pie...bring 'em on and keep 'em comin'!

Growing up, I do not remember Mom doing much with pumpkin except making amazing pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving...and Dream Whip didn't even exist in those days.  She did, however, make some out-of-this world raisin-spice cookies and spice cakes with black walnuts that just sucked you into the kitchen while they were baking.  It was probably no more interesting to my little brain than watching paint dry, but my nose didn't care.

I guess those smells and flavors of autumns past, both ancient and modern, help make fall such a nostalgic time of year.  Well, I hear lunch calling! 

His Mercy Endureth Forever* 

I promise this will be the last on this theme...just closing the loop.

My sophomore year of high school I was so busy with football and marching band and trying to survive Mr. Berch's advanced algebra class that I don't remember much else...but junior year was another matter.

By that time I had decided I was not going to be a professional football player after all and that I better focus on academics.  That gave me more time for unrequited yearnings, and one came in the form of a young lady I sat by in history. It was a very dry class, and it gave me many opportunities to show off my wit by pretending I was various characters from U.S. History (the subject of the class)...  reincarnated (it isn't very hard...you should try it sometime). I felt like I got some traction, but I never got to the point I could pull the trigger, and ask her out on a date...(sigh).   

Junior year was also the year that I fell in with a group of students from my early morning seminary class, including my best friend,  Matt Chatterley, and three girls, Ruth Welsh, Dale Infanger, and Vickie Scholes (fun fact: Vickie was the sister in law to future BYU President and general authority.  seventy Merrill Bateman...and aunt of St. Louis Mission President Michael Bateman) That somewhat mollified my social needs for much of the rest of that year.

Unfortunately, during the summer between junior and senior years, Matt left with his family to go to Texas, and Dale with hers to Colombia, both of their fathers on sabbatical from BYU,  That sort of splintered our social group a little...Ruth and Vickie and I did a few things, but the dynamics were not the same...so I was free to dream again, and during my senior year there were several attractive subjects.  I learned how important dimples were to me via two of these, one of whom I served with  on the seminary council.  I also learned that difference in age was not all that important, as I admired two of our junior and one of our sophomore debaters.  This would be important later.

Still, I passed through my senior year having had a few more dates, but still mostly unrequited.  

The summer passed, and fall approached, and Matt came to live at my house as we both entered our first years at BYU.  My neighbor, Sister Linton, knew the director of the Stake Play that fall (Suddenly You're Older), and recruited us to try out.  We both got speaking and singing parts, and, another fun fact, I learned how to tie bow-ties (part of our costumes).  I was also cast opposite a raving beauty, long dark tresses, with whom I was in close proximity in each rehearsal for several weeks.  After the program, around the first of the year, I decided to ask her to go to a concert with me (John Denver).  I couldn't believe her lame excuse: she was having her tonsils out!  Well, that was that...if the subject of my affections didn't consider me more important than her tonsils, I saw no future in a relationship.

That was my last real yearning before my mission  and two years of celibacy.  When I returned I was

blessed to find a young lady that combined all the amazing qualities I had yearned for across the years in one lovely package.  And wonder of wonder...she liked me back.  All the past unfulfilled pinings and lame attempts were erased and forgiven.  My dreams became reality.

*1 Chr. 16:34

                

     

At Long Last Love?

I guess it is time to bring this "crush" thing through high school; then pre- and post-mission.  We'll see how far I get.

Sixth-grade, because my elementary school was running out of room, was spent at Orem Junior High School, as the youngest (and least privileged) class.  We did have lockers, which I thought was pretty cool.  The buildings were still pretty new.  The other thing I remember about sixth grade is that they introduced mat dances (short for matinee).  These dances were held right after school, just for sixth graders, and were primarily exercises in clots of girls looking and giggling, and clots of boys trying to stay just out of reach of Vice-Principal Zimmerman, who would try to push us toward the clots of girls to ask them to dance.  There were a few boys who figured out early that they could dance with pretty much anyone they wanted because the rest of us were too chicken to ask.  I don't remember any specific sixth-grade crushes, just one long year of quiet desperation.

Seventh grade brought on a whole new landscape, as we were mixed up and co-mingled with kids (some of them girls) we had never seen before (many of them legitimate crush material), and the mix changed with each class. Two new girls hit my radar: Bonnie Leavitt, who I would describe as 10 lbs of cute in a 5 lb sack, with, of course, dimples, and a perfectly coiffed mop of curly black hair.  She was also smart, witty, and totally beyond my reach.  We did have gym the same hour, which meant that when they tried to teach us to dance, our classes joined together and we were paired off by the instructors.  Failing to read my mind, however, they never once paired me with the bonny Bonnie.

The other was Deb Roberts...a more classic beauty...not a Mormon!  How crazy was that in Utah Valley?  But she was even more out of reach that Bonnie, because we didn't have gym the same hour, or any other classes for that matter, and she ran with a different crowd.

We did have seventh-grade dances, actually held in the evenings (7-9).  These were exactly the same as mat dances, except for the time.  Mr. Zimmerman was ubiquitous.

Eighth grade did little to erase my admiration for Ms. Leavitt, but Ms. Roberts was replaced by one Debora Steed.  I had always loved horses, and this one was no different (no comparisons to Julia Roberts, by the way...you know who I am talking to). She combined beauty and cuteness, something I had never seen...and super-smart, super talented...but she was science, I was band, and never the tracs shall meet.

I did have her for one class in ninth grade: seminary.  In fact, I only sat a few desks away from her; but by then I had relegated myself to admiring from afar.  

Seminary did bring some other opportunities, however.  I was President of our class, and as such, part of the seminary council with my friend, who was the overall Seminary President, Mark Pinegar.  At mid-year Mark's family moved, which saddened me, but I was called by our Seminary Principal, Brother Jones, to take Mark's place.  This meant I got to work closely with the executive council: me, two vice-presidents, and a secretary...and they were all female.  The Vice Presidents were Janene Marrott and Velda Cramer, and the Secretary was Becky Billings: all really smart and really talented.  But Janene especially stood out.  She was short, but a lovely bundle of energy, and we had something in common.  Her brother Robert had actually once gone on a date with my sister Michelle, leading to the "Carmel does it to me everytime" legend.  There were real possibilities here.

Unfortunately, timing is everything, and though I got to go to several meetings with her and the others, and got to be good friends with all, Janene was connected to another guy from our rival Lincoln Junior,  so I never got any further with her than with any others.  I think the last two years of High School she may have had a crush on me, but by then, I was running with a different group of guys and girls...like I said...timing is everything.     .           

        

Unrequited Love...

or, Hope Blooms Eternal

...So after another halcyon summer, I set my face for fourth grade, and further adventures, romantic and otherwise.  Of course that begs the question of how I was to have further romantic adventures when I hadn't had any previous romantic adventures...only disappointments.  

In fourth grade there were once again two: Rita, a short, athletic blond, dimples of course, and really smart, of course, who was attractive as much for her personality as her looks; and Nan Starley, a kind of geeky girl, super smart, and a piano player; but also taller by two heads than any of the boys in 4th grade.  I ruled Nan out early because of the height thing, and more's the pity.  She continued to be smart, and didn't gain much more height, so that by high school she had become the brilliant, talented, kind, graceful swan she was meant to be.  She was Young Woman of the Year at Orem High her senior year...made me wonder what might have happened if I had gotten in on the ground floor.  The what ifs...

But Rita was a worthy object, and things looked like for once they might be going my way.  My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, was also athletic (I think she minored in phys.ed.), and for our big performance for our parents, we were going to do this synchronized jump-rope extravaganza.  There would be individual jump-roping and negotiating two jump-ropes at once...but the centerpiece was to be an activity where the boys would line up in one column, girls in a column adjacent, and two by two we would pair off, (isn't this cozy...boy-girl, boy-girl), take your partner by the hand, and together negotiate three jumps over the twirling jump-rope before exiting and returning to your line.

It just so happened that, though I can't remember her last name, it must have been close to the L's, because she was paired up with me. That meant for every rehearsal/practice (and there were many scheduled) I would get to hold her hand at least once by teacher decree. The boys couldn't accuse me of liking one of the flea-ridden girls, because I had no choice; meanwhile I would be in Fantasy Land for several moments each week...and this time, NO WARTS! 

Fickle fate...we hadn't gone through more than two or three practices (each one a bit of heaven) when I came to school one week and Rita was nowhere to be seen.  I had a bad feeling, confirmed soon after class started:  Mrs Smith announced that Rita's family had moved across town (there was never any proof it was so she wouldn't have to be my partner), and we would have to reassigned partners for the paired jump-rope demonstration.  The extravaganza was a blur for the rest of the time.  I don't even remember who my partner was.  I am sure she was fine, but she wasn't Rita (or even Nan), and I felt a great kinship with a Bobby Vinton Song popular around that time:  

    Blue on Blue

So much for fourth grade.

I don't remember too much about fifth grade, crush-wise.  There was a girl I thought was kind of cute, though she didn't have dimples, didn't play the piano, and was only moderately smart.  She was one of a pair of identical twins, and for good reason, the school never put them in the same class.  They did not shy away from dressing the same and using their twin-ness to confuse people.

I remember in the spring we were assigned to work on a bulletin board together.  There musdt have been something else going on for others in our class, because we were just two of a few kids in class at the time.  At any rate, we started some kind of friendly joking, and by the end, she was try8ing to put staples in my back with the stapler.  I remembered my misguided attempts to get JaNae Anderson's attention in 3rd grade, and hoped this meant Sharon had some affection for me.

NEXT WEEK: The Teen Angst That Is Junior High  

Orange Crush...or, Girls have Fleas, Don't They?

Stepping back from the hard core ancestral material this week (although looking forward to a lead we received during the week on a book, "Our Lambson Family" referenced by another 3rd cousin, Albert Lee Lambson, another of Frank Lambson's great grandchildren)...I thought I would talk about crushes I had throughout my years in elementary, junior high, and high school.

This discussion has to begin with the acknowledgement that for much of this time I was compelled to follow the masculine mantra that all the feminine unfortunates were afflicted by some social disease...we called it fleas, but others have called it cooties,  or other labels.  I think I speak for the majority my gender that we actually thought, in our heart of hearts, that the opposite sex was awfully nice and kind of cute, but it would have been unmanly to admit that attitude.

I should also mention that from age 4, I always had a "girl next door".  My friend Peevis's sister Terry (the target of our ants melted into crayons prank...see my May 5th entry) was a lovely girl, never really went through any of those awkward or homely phases that most of us go through...and really smart.  But she was my neighbor, which disqualified her from being crush material. 

I do not remember having a crush on any specific female in kindergarten, but I did have sort of a hero in a young lady named Velva Potts.  Yeah, I know.  But I was afflicted with common warts on my  hands (if interested, search google with "common warts on hands").  They were not large, but they were numerous...25 at their peak, about evenly distributed between right and left hands.  They were invariably on the backs of my hands, and seemed to show up a lot at the joints.  Why do I mention these?

Because in kindergarten, you do everything holding hands!  When we walked to an assembly, we held hands!  When we went on a walking field trip, we held hands!  When we sang happy birthday to anyone, we encircled the birthday kid and sang, for crying out loud, holding stinkin' hands! And of course it was always with members of the opposite sex, and they were always freaked out by my warts.  I remember one little girl (not to mention names, but her initials were Linda Blake, my future den mother's daughter), after another rousing chorus of happy birthday, took me by the wrist to the teacher, Mrs. Hymas, and informed her "Teacher, Steven has bugs on his hands!" Well.  Other girls I remember usually just held my hand loosely, or held my wrist, or dropped it altogether.

Velva Potts may have been an ordinary girl with an unusually plain name, but unlike others, she never complained about holding my hand, nor seemed uncomfortable with it.  I don't remember how many times she was called upon to make this sacrifice, but I remember she was assigned to me on one unusually long field trip walk in the early spring. It was to visit a classmate, Blaine Kemp, who had been laid up with rheumatic fever for several weeks.  She held my hand going and coming without flinching.

She must have moved during the summer, because I never saw her after that, but she has always been an early hero of mine  

First grade likewise is a little hazy.  We only met half a day for kindergarten and first grade, so not much chance to get deeply acquainted.  I had lost my warts by then...somehow, magically, over the summer, they disappeared.  I do remember my teacher Mrs. Dowdle, reminded me of the wise old owl in Bambi.  She was great.

So my first memorable crush(es) were in second grade, and they were three:  Valonne Harris, Theresa Arnold, and Judy Bailey.  Foreshadowing a life-long bias, the first two of these had dimples.  All three were smart.  I am not sure if any of them could make chocolate chip cookies.

These were crushes from afar.  Like Charlie Brown and the red-haired girl, I would watch them, and wish that any one of them would give me some sign of affection or even friendship, but too timid to even approach them...and,  of course, I had to maintain theological purity...girls have fleas!

Only Judy Bailey would continue to live in my school area.  However, she was not in my third grade class. 

Third grade. I finally determined I would not live the year in silent yearning...I would get noticed!

The object in this case was one JaNae Anderson.  She had glasses, but they did not disguise a lovely smiling face and beautiful, long, brunette hair.  She was really smart (are we seeing a pattern here?) and, foreshadowing another bias, she played the piano...well...with both hands!  If that were not enough, her father was a land baron...a fruit farmer, growing mostly sweet cherries, but other orchard fruits as well.

I thought I might catch a break when we were both cast by our third-grade teacher, Mrs. Marshall, in our November theatrical gala, "The Little Red Hen"...she was the pianist, and I was the narrator.  Unfortunately there was little interaction...none, actually...and it failed to get me the leverage for which I longed.

Christmas came and went...the year was slipping by and I was getting desperate. On a February morning, with a new layer of snow on the ground, I saw her approaching, all lovely in her winter coat and muffler and boots.  It was now or never.  I acted on my first impulse.  I gathered the proper amount of snow for a good snowball, and, Cupid-like, I launched my projectile at her.  Unlike the Cherub, I did not hit her heart.  I think I may have hit her in some part of the head.  I am pretty sure I did not hit her glasses directly, but the effect was the same...off they came, into the snow.  If I had thought this through a little better, I might have rushed forward apologetically, and gallantly retrieved them.  Instead I stood in shocked horror, wishing I could disappear.  I finally got recognition...as her assailant. 

To her everlasting credit, she did not rat me out to Mrs. Marshall, but I knew our relationship was over before it began.  Oh well, back to girls have fleas.

NEXT WEEK: I hone my attempts at positive recognition.    

     

This continues the story of William Stradling and his family from last week, and covers the trip to St. John's Arizona to help settle. There is some material on the hard life there.  Rose's death  is mentioned, and the taking in of the children (including my grandfather, Paulos Byron) by George and Mary (Stradling) Cook.

  They traveled to Arizona by way of Kanab, entering the Territory of Fredonia, traveling over the Kaibab Mountains to House Rock Valley, on the north side of the Colorado River. Here their horses strayed away from their camp one night and were lost for two or three days. When finally the horses were found and brought to camp, Dan Vincent decided to return to Utah. He had seen all of Arizona that interested him. 

Their next obstacle was the Colorado River. They went into the canyon at Lee's Ferry. The wagons and people were taken across on a raft, but the horses had to swim the deep, swift water to the opposite side. Then came the hard climb out of the canyon and over the rugged Buckskin Mountains. There was one particularly rough, hazardous ridge of almost solid rock called "Lee's Backbone" that everybody dreaded.

After that there were long days of slow travel over the almost water-less Navajo reservation to the settlements on the Little Colorado River, east of the present city of Winslow. The old St. Johns road followed on the north of the Rio Puerco (dirty river) until its' junction with the Little Colorado, about twenty-five miles from St. Johns. They then had to cross the Little Colorado, but compared to the dangerous, difficult crossing of the Colorado at Lee's Ferry, this wasn't much of an obstacle to the hardy travelers. The main hazard was that an animal might step off into an unseen chuck-hole and get down, or a wheel fall in and tip the wagon over, and there was danger of becoming stuck in the shifting quick-sand if for any reason the outfit didn't keep moving. 

It was December 21 when William arrived at St. Johns with his family. They camped temporarily on the Public Square, where the Old Bowery stood and where a school-church was in process of being built. The man working on the roof climbed down and introduced himself as Brother Kemp, the first person William met in St. Johns. Later Bishop Udall visited them and made arrangements for them to buy land. They purchased 100 acres across the river east of town and in a day or two moved into a couple of small adobe houses, with dirt roofs and floors, which had been built by an early Mexican. Thus they celebrated their first Christmas in Arizona.

Life was hard, the land which they had purchased for $10 an acre was very poor soil and most of it was only used as pasture land in later years. Their work animals, after the long trek from Utah, were in poor condition and feed was scarce. The men had to go into the hills with their wagons and hoe dry bunch grass to keep the animals alive. They could not be turned out to graze because of the poisonous "loco" weed which looked a lot like alfalfa and was often fatal to cattle and horses if they ate it. There was plenty of work on the ranch; hauling wood, cutting and hauling posts from the hills, making fences and ditches, and planting crops. For the women there were endless household chores and no conveniences. Sometimes the men got cash paying jobs outside the farm. William and his son Joseph, worked for Bishop Udall, driving mail from St. Johns to Navajo. 

Richard (Dick) Vincent died in 1883. He went after the calves one winter evening and didn't come back. A storm came up. After a two day search, he was found at the Garcia ranch on the Carizzo, 20 miles from home. Chimio Garcia found him wandering among the cedars (said he had been eating cedar berries). Garcia sent word to the folks. He died a couple of days later and is buried in the Stradling plot in St. Johns. 

The Stradling family built a house and stock buildings, made corrals and planted an orchard. They constructed a dam about one-forth mile above the house, which formed a storage reservoir to hold run-off rains. They could also turn water into it from the river when it was their turn to irrigate. In this way they could keep the irrigation water shut up in the reservoir until it was convenient for them to use it. The dam formed a lake of several acres and contained many fish. 

They also built a small pond between the house and the corral for watering their stock. It was filled by a ditch leading from the reservoir so there were fish in it also. Sophia used to feed the fish regularly - in fact they were like pets, surfacing when they saw her coming with the feed. The family had all the fish they needed to eat. 

St. Johns was cattle country and many wild cattle roamed the range. Often they broke through the fences and ate the crops. One day William was trying to drive a bunch of wild cattle out. He had his two dogs helping him herd them. A wild rabbit distracted the dogs and they chased after it, leaving him alone with the cattle. A wild bull then turned back and mauled and gored him, almost killing him before the dogs returned and chased the bull off. He was badly crippled from this unfortunate accident and was not able to do much work from then on.He used a cane for the rest of his life.

William and Sophia lived at their old homestead in St. Johns for about ten more years. It was a long distance for their children to visit and care for them, and in 1895 they moved in with, their son, Joseph and his family. A room was added on to their house especially for them and because William's happiness depended upon having a fireplace, a man was hired to come in and build one in his room. In July of 1902 their daughter, Rose died and her five children were taken to Joseph's home where their grandparents, William and Sophia Stradling, were living. Nettie was the oldest of Rose's children being almost 10 and the baby, Franklin was only one day old.Sophia cared for the little fellow night and day until he died in her arms in December. 

The children's father died in February of 1903. George and Mary Ann Stradling Cook had returned to Provo from St. Johns and having no children of their own, they decided to bring Rose's children to live with them in Utah. At the time of April Conference in 1903, the four surviving children went by train to Provo with Sophia going along to look after them. Although she intended to return to St. Johns, the family in Utah persuaded her to stay in Provo. That summer, William also returned by train to Provo. William and Sophia had left their home in Provo in 1881. They lived in Arizona for about 22 years. During this period they endured many hardships and deprivations of the comforts of life to which they were accustomed. They had been called, and had willingly gone to help settle the St. Johns, Arizona area to conquer the wilderness and establish a colony of the Church. In 1903 they returned in their old age, to their beloved city of Provo to finish their days her upon the earth. William died August 17, 1912 in Provo, Utah at the age of 88 years. 

   

This will be extracts from a short history of Joseph's and Rose's father William, the man Brigham Young asked (along with Apollos Boaz Lambson and others) to help settle St. John's, Arizona when it was still part of the Utah Territory (before either Utah or Arizona were states).

While in his teens, William was "bound out" for three or four years as an apprentice wheelwright, to a Quaker named Fry. Quaker Fry and his wife were people of high moral character and the years William lived in their home were pleasant and profitable and he always held them in high regard. From Quaker Fry he learned to make wagons, carriages, etc. He became a wheelwright and carpenter. He also gained considerable training in farming and horticulture because the Fry family had a farm and orchard. He lived with this family several years.

We do not know how he heard the Gospel nor where he was baptized. On the 8th of December he married Mary Anne Vincent. He was 29 years old and Mary Anne was 22, they were both of Bassaleg, Wales. Their married life was very brief. We also have in his own writing the dates on which a son was born, and the dates his child and his wife died... This is how William recorded it on the inside cover of a small book that belonged to Mary Anne. "Marey Ann Stradling daied August 20th 1854 on Sunday morning at half past one. Elijah Charles Stradling was born August 11th 1854 on Friday at 2 o'clock after noon. Daied August 16th 1854 at three o'clock morning." 

It seems probable that he crossed the plains to Utah in the Isaac Allred company which arrived in Salt Lake City in November 1855. According to an entry in a book of immigrating Saints for the season, "38 wagons, 62 souls arrived in Great Salt Lake City; Isaac Allred, captain. Some wagons, which had to stop over at Green River, arrived on the 13th." He gave the money he had saved to the Brethren to assist the poorer emigrants to outfit themselves for crossing the plains and was told he would be given employment when they reached the Valley. He drove a two yoke ox team on the journey. The job he was offered at Salt Lake City, was driving an ox team and hauling timber out of the mountains. He didn't think that was much of a job for a first class mechanic and refused it, saying he needed a little change of occupation any way. 

William was an industrious man and always had plenty of work to do, "for himself and kindred too, ere the sun went down." He helped build a sawmill at Spanish Fork. He and a blacksmith, Nels Nelsen, built the first harrow used in the valley and he and Thomas Cook brought the first threshing machine into Provo. Besides working at his trade of wheelwright he engaged in farming and fruit raising. He acquired 14 acres of land in Provo Second Ward, in the southwest part of town. The original old Provo Fort was on part of his land. He had a 40-acre farm in the Fort field, two 10-acre tracts and a 40-acre pasture down by the Utah Lake. On October 1 1856, William married Sophia only daughter of James and Sophia Bush. She was seventeen years old, William was 32. 

In the early days at Provo, William and Sophia had to travel a long way to get wood for fuel and posts to fence their land. In mid winter Utah Lake would freeze so that teams and wagons could cross over it on the ice, and they frequently made trips to the west side for wood and posts. It was a risky business, but the distance around the lake was so great that they took chances of losing their outfits and maybe their lives, and traveled over the ice. Sometimes the ice would crack with a loud report, and the oxen sensing danger would run for the shore, the ice bending under the weight of the outfit and water coming through the cracks to a depth of several inches. 



William and Sophia was very comfortably situated in Provo and expected to stay there permanently. They owned their own home, orchards, farms, and pasture land. They were happy in their church and community life. Provo was a friendly community, growing and progressive. Prior to 1881 the First Presidency of the Church began to call upon families in the settlements of Utah to go out and help colonize other places. William was asked to go to St. Johns, Arizona, a new settlement on the Little Colorado River in northeastern Arizona. So he had to pull up the stakes they had so patiently and laboriously driven in the soil of Utah, abandon property, hopes, and cherished plans and pioneer in a new, wild county where, to say the least, it would be a long hard fight against the elements and adverse conditions to make a living and establish homes. 

In obedience to "those in Authority" the call was accepted at the sacrifice of personal feelings or desires. Property was disposed of at much less than real value, teams made ready and wagons loaded with a few household goods, tools, farm implements, food, and seed grain and in November of 1881 the little caravan was on its way South. There were four wagons at the start of the trip Two outfits belonged to William, one to George E. Cook and the fourth to Dan Vincent. (It is possible Dan Vincent was a brother of William's first wife.) William also had a number of loose horse. William and his son, John, drove the two teams while sons Joseph and Ephraim drove the loose animals. The traveling party included: William Stradling, 57, his wife, Sophia, 42, married daughter, Mary Ann and her husband, George E. Cook and their two small children, the Stradling children - John, 17, Joseph, 15, Sarah, 13, Rose, 9, Ephraim, 7, Susan, 4, and Owen, 2. There Iwas also a man about the same age as Mary Ann whose name was Richard (Dick) Vincent. People called him "silly" and he was probably ********. He was mistreated by his relatives and William befriended him, giving him a home as long as he lived. It is possible Dick was a cousin of William's first wife. 

NEXT WEEK: THE TRIP TO ST. JOHN'S

Part 4: Ancestral History

More on Joseph Stradling:

ME: Note the description of Joseph in the second to the last paragraph...in these circumstances, the line between protector and gunslinger may have been a little blurry...

Last paragraph is kind of a sweet vignette.  

Stradling Sons The Cousin Connections Contributed by Direct Line Relatives Compiled in 1997 by Bonnie Stradling Beazer

Joseph Obediah was born in provo, Ut in 1866, fifth child of a family of eleven children.

Joseph was very good with animals and when he was young it was his job to drive the horses, cows, oxen to pasture. He grew up learning how to grow field crops and also vegetables and fruit. He probably learned to ride a horse very early since he, at 15 , and his brother , Owen age 7 rode horses and drove the cattle the 500 miles from Provo, Utah to St. Johns, Arizona when his father was called to settle there. 

Joseph was 18 years old when he met Hanssina who was 15. During the next three years Joseph and Hanssina got to know each other and decided to marry. Joseph had dark hair and blue eyes, medium height, strong from the hard work he did. Hanssina was a lovely girl with soft brown hair, green eyes and beautiful Danish skin and slim figure. At that time polygamy was still practiced and Joseph, age 21, was thankful to win the girl he loved. 

In 1889 their Elsina was born, their only daughter, she lived just six weeks. Ten Sons were born to them.

Hanssina was a wonderful cook, was capable of taking care of her children's wounds ( and neighbors illnesses) knitted socks for her family, fiathfully paid her tithing (tithing receipts were saved in a butter mold) and loved her husband and sons. She helped plant fruit trees and had a garden. Joseph and Hanssina shared their home and food and milk with others new in the area or in need.

Joseph's parents lived with them ( they added a room and fireplace to their home for them) when Joseph and Hanssina had five boys. The youngest 18 months old, Joseph always referred to his wife as Mrs. Stradling, and a compliment on a meal was, "that was pretty good".

Besides farming, Joseph was the Water Master for many years, a job that required long hours and a firm hand. (Water meant LIFE and squabbles happened often and had to be dealt with)Joseph loved his team, they were well cared for and when he cultivated their response to his Haw and Gee was so instant it was a joy to behold. 

One interesting insight to Joseph's character (as told by John Sherwood, Sr. ) Was Joseph's fearless defense against lawlessness. He wore a gun and carried a rifle. There were many desperados in Arizona because it was still a territory and the Sheriff depended on local men to help protect the town and it's people. Joseph never turned back after making a decision. 

Hanssina died in 1939, leaving Joseph a widower for 16 years. He built a room near his son Marvin's home. As he aged, he seemed shorter, he kept his hair short, he was clean shaven and his clothes spotless. He missed his Hanssina, once one of Marvin's children went to his grandpa's door and heard him praying, asking Father in Heaven why he had to stay so long after Hanssina "left him" . . . the grandchild rushed in and cried, "I need you, grandpa!" Marvin's children loved their grandpa and he was always there for them.

From Memories under Joseph Obediah Stradling

Part 3: Ancestral History

This is the first of two writings about Joseph Obadiah Stradling Sr. ... the brother to my great grandmother Rose Stradling... and his wife Hanssina Thomsen.  The other will come next week.  I will continue to look for bits and pieces on the St. John's connection to throw in here every once in a while.

 

Arizona's Honeymoon Trail pg. 202-203 (found in the Snowflake Arizona Family History Center)

Joseph Obadiah Stradling Sr. - Hanssina Thomsen Joseph Obadiah Stradling Sr. was sixteen when his parents (William Stradling and Sophia Bush) moved from Provo in 1881 to help colonize the Little Colorado settlements. Joseph's father returned to Utah to attend to business matters and Joseph did a man's work on the farm in the absence of his father. He cut posts and built fences, dug irrigation ditches, hauled lumber, carried the mail, and worked on public works' projects such as ditches and dams. he also served in whatever capacity the church leaders assigned to him. 

In the fall of 1884, Joseph was working with a thresher crew at the farm of Hans Adolph Thomsen. During the noon break, he was attracted to the young lady who waited tables--- Hanssina Thomsen, the farmer's daughter. It took him six months to muster courage to ask her for a date. Their first date was May 1, 1885, when they attended a May Day dance in the log meeting house. 

Hanssina was an accomplished young lady. She had her own horse, saddle, and gun. She could ride and shoot and was capbable in all domestic and farm chores. She kept her revolver in a holster fastened inside the covered wagon box. One Sunday several young people came home with the family after Sunday School. Hanssina, to show off, reached into the wagon got the gun, pointed it in the direction of one of the girls and pulled the trigger. It was the same old story of the empty gun that wasn't empty . She had been careful to unload the gun before she went to town that morning, but one of the boys had occasion to use in and left it loaded. To her horror the gun went off, the bullet barely missing the girl, who had dodged enough to save her life Hanssina never shot the gun again.

In the Spring of 1887 Joseph Stradling went to Flagstaff with his team to haul ties for the railroad. He worked hard and saved his money. The job was finished in July and he sold his horses. The proceeds from the sale of his team, and his wages made hima sizeable wedding stake. He returned home and was persuaded to put his money in a newly-organized bank for safe keeping until he needed it. He did and the bank shut its doors. He never got a dollar of his money back. 

Joseph and Hanssina planned to travel to the St. George Temple with another young couple. When the two young men applied for their temple recommends, the Bishop turned them both down. He did not consider them as active in their church duties as they should be. The other couple went on with a civil marriage, but Hanssina would not consent to such an arrangement and the wedding was postponed indefinitely, finally, in 1888 Joseph obtained a recommend and Joseph and Hanssina left for St. George in February.

Brother Nelson and his bride-to-be (second wife) accompanied them in another wagon. Their problems did not end with their arrival in St. George. It was Sunday, March 11, when they arrived, and the temple was closed until Wednesday. They went back to the temple on Wednesday and were told they had to have a marriage license. This new law had just become effective. It is said theirs was the first marriage in the St. George Temple that required a license. They went to the County Clerk's office for the license. By then it was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the temple. The marriage ceremony was performed -- the date was March 14, 1888. They started back home the same evening. The two teams and wagons averaged twenty five to thirty miles a day. ----Glenda Maude Stradling Lloyd-----

PART 2: FINDING ST. JOHN'S

Fast-forward six days to the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend.

Friday night we left after dinner and travelled as far as Holbrook, where we stayed at a Howard Johnson’s Motel.  We made good time and were able to get to bed before 11:00.

Breakfast the next morning had sausage and scrambled eggs along with muffins and juice.  It provided a good start for what would prove to be quite a long day.

Our first stop on the way to Monument Valley, a 3+ hour trip, was the historic Hubbel Trading Post.  It was a fascinating place, famous for its namesake and all he did to serve the Native Americans.  It was interesting and educational.

Next Stop was the Canyon De Chelles (De Shay), an amazing geographic phenomenon, beautiful on its own, but also home to ruins from ancient native civilizations and to farms of current natives as well.

By the time we got to Monument Valley the wind had kicked up considerably, and we found that you had to pay $20.00 even to visit the visitor’s center, so we cut our losses, and photographed what we could from just outside the park.

We made our way back to Holbrook, and went to a steakhouse that had been recommended…but when we saw the prices ($23.00 a plate at the lower end), we walked out, went to Safeway and got some pre-cooked ribs, and had a nice dinner in our motel room, including individual servings of Blue Bunny Ice Cream.  The day was a success.  

Sunday we had breakfast, checked out of the Howard Johnson’s, and headed to St. John’s to attend church with what we hoped would be some extended family.  I am grateful to say that this part of 

the state is also at a higher elevation, and we experienced some wonderful temperatures throughout our visit there.  We were extended a warm welcome from the Ward we attended, and our gospel principles class was taught by my other third cousin, Neil’s brother Delbert (locals call him Deb to avoid confusion with his father, whose name was also Delbert).  We also met a couple of Stradling relatives there, and had a really good time. 

After church we sat out in our car in the shade in front of the church and ate our snacks.  We couldn’t check into our motel in Springerville until 2:00, so we drove up to the cemetery to see what we could see.  We were delighted to find a very detailed directory posted there, so that with only a little effort we were able to locate my great grandfather’s headstone, as well as what we believed to be a brother to Rose, and a woman we later discovered to be the brother’s wife.

We left about 1:15, and arrived at our Motel in Springerville at 1:45.  They were kind enough to let us check in early, and we rested a bit before heading over to the home of a couple of Jeanne’s Fraedrich connections, Chuck and Beverly Martin, who lived just a few miles away in Eager.  They had invited us to dinner, and we joined them, a daughter and her husband and grand-daughter.  The company was wonderful and the food delicious.  After dinner Chuck and Beverly treated us to a tour of the Eager area, very interesting.   

Around 7:00 we made our way back to our motel and settled in for the night, watching a couple of Time-Life infomercials on Carol Burnette and Bob Hope.

On Monday morning, Memorial Day, we once again checked out of our motel early, then went over to Beverly and Chuck’s home for a couple of photos we forgot to take the day before.   We stopped by Safeway for supplies and for flowers to place and my forbearers’ gravesites.  After some quiet moments there, we embarked on our trip home which took us by the Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert, both of which were worthy of a stop and gander, and in some instances, have your breath taken away. 

We arrived home in good time, about 5:00, grateful for two weekends of strengthening weakened strands of family connections, and of the prospects of continuing to nourish    

those connections. 

We have had a few busy weeks, so I have not posted.  The next three posts will break down the miraculous experience we have had as we have gotten to know our St, John's, Arizona ancestors and some of their descendants in a more intimate way.  The first part will be about finding my 3rd cousin Neal Lambson; the second part about our trip to St. John's; and the third, things I have learned since our trip.

FINDING NEAL

    

The most remarkable thing has happened in the past few weeks.

One of the things Jeanne and I wanted to do while in Arizona was to visit the farming town of St. John’s in the northeast corner of the state.  According to the scant research I had conducted, it appeared this small community on the Little Colorado River had been settled by assignment to two of my ancestral families, the Lambsons and the Stradlings. In fact, we already had reserved Memorial Day weekend to visit there and a few other sights in that part of the state.  Jeanne had a few names of people with those family names in that area, so we were hopeful.

Much was our surprise, however, when our Mission President returned from a conference of Mission Presidents several weeks ago.  At the end of the conference he was riding in a shuttle to the airport with the President of the Arizona Tucson Mission when the conversation turned to vehicles.  The Tucson President mentioned that his vehicle coordinator was Elder Lambson, and President Collins wasn’t sure if he heard right.  When he confirmed, he almost laughingly stated that HIS vehicle coordinator was also Elder Lambson.  They exchanged contact information, and at our next meeting, President Collins reported this conversation to Jeanne and I.

If you know anything about Jeanne, you know she took it from there.  She contacted Elder Neal Lambson, and suggested we come down to Tucson on a Saturday, and maybe go to lunch together.  After a few days of considering that, Neal called back with a proposal of his own.  Why didn’t we come down Friday evening and spend the night at their place?  They had an extra bedroom with an attached bathroom that they often boarded Elders in when they arrived or on transfers, but it was usually available.  That way we could spend more time getting acquainted, go to dinner, have breakfast together the following morning, and maybe go to the Temple.  We did some checking, made some arrangements, and the next Friday afternoon we were off to Tucson.

After you get past Chandler, the path to Tucson (about 2 hours) is not pretty until you start to close in, so we were glad when we began hitting the outlying communities.  What Tucson is, however counter-intuitively, is COOLER.  Even though it is 2 hours south of Phoenix, it is higher in elevation, which translates to a 10-15 degree difference.  We felt it as soon as we stepped out of the car.

Neal and his wife Claire were so welcoming.  He is a short, larger-than-life guy who does everything in a big way.  Not surprisingly, Claire is a quiet, intelligent woman, who paints beautifully.  She  will take on many subjects, and has some nice landscapes hanging, but her favorite  is portraits and painting involving people.  Neal also dabbles, but he has many interests.

At any rate, after chatting and putting our luggage inside, we headed over to Sweet Tomatoes, one of their favorite haunts.  It turns out Claire is also celiac, and this restaurant offers some good gluten-free alternatives.

Long story short (TOO LATE!)…we had a wonderful time.  We found that Neal’s great grandfather Frank Bates and my great-grandfather Armus Arba, were brothers, making us 3^rd cousins.  They fed us a lovely breakfast the next morning and we made the temple session we had chosen.  Following hugs and pictures outside the Tucson temple, we parted ways with new found family members, but it gets even better…

Neal is from St. John’s, and has a brother Delbert still living there.  He has two houses in St. John’s, and knows many of the locals.  He also told us of a Lambson Family Reunion that is held every year on either the 4^th or last week of June (we need to clarify) in Rama, New Mexico, another longtime hotbed for Lambsons. He is in charge of the one in 2019, just after our missions, which we plan to attend. 

Though we still would have visited St. John’s, one has to wonder if it would have been as productive but for the conversation of two mission presidents.

Mad, Bad Science

Now you know a little more what it was like growing up Lambson, I will get back to MY life;-)

Of course when left to our own devices we were always finding ways to amuse ourselves, often in the form of various experiments.  Some of these were science-related (I think all of my circle, in some part of their make-up, fancied ourselves as fledgling mad scientists).

For instance, we were quite interested in how insects would interact with each other in a confined space.  Some of the combinations were red ants with honeybees (probably one of the reasons there are fewer honeybees around these days...and almost certainly the reason some bred with a more aggressive South American bee).  We put 2-3 bees in with about a dozen ants.  As you might have guessed the ants won...bees have only one sting to offer, ants can apparently sting many times.  Another combination was a grasshopper (a pretty big one) and a stink bug.  No contest...I don't know what stink bugs emit, but the grasshopper was black the next day!

Sometimes we tested the effect of different stimuli on sentient beings.  We managed to capture a couple of fingerlings in one of the pools left when the water to the canal was shut off for the season.  Peevis was the mastermind on this one. He wondered what would happen if we wired a couple of nails  to an electric train transformer, then touched them to the outside of the bottle the fish were held in.  Of course each time we did this, the fishes' muscles would contract...not too comfortable for them, but hilarious to a 9- and 10-year old; and while I cannot say that no fish were harmed in the conducting of this experiment, I can at least tell you they were returned to the wild alive.

Another experiment later that same year involved dry ice, of which we managed to obtain some reasonably large chunks after the Sharon Day Fair held the last day of school.  We managed to get it home without permanently damaging anything, and then the experiments began.  We started by flash-freezing various plants to see their response...then somehow we managed to secure a wasp...a WASP.  Not that wasps weren't easily available, but I can't imagine why we didn't try our old friend the honeybee, which, as you recall, only had one sting in him.  Oh well, bird in the hand, I guess.  We froze the wasp until he was totally stiff and immobile...crispy, almost...then backed away to let him thaw...and sure enough, after perhaps a minute (we didn't have much patience in those days), he began to move, then got on his legs, and finally, took off...a little groggy, to be sure, but alive!  By then our dry ice had pretty much melted, so, providentially, we couldn't take on anything bigger.

On at least one occasion our experiments involved another non-voluntary human.  Somehow we all acquired inexpensive magnifying glasses within a few days of each other, and immediately began collaborating on for what nefarious purposes they could be used.  We found early that the concentrated beam of sunlight they could produce was sufficient to burn small things...leaves; paper; rolls of caps.  We also tried it on ants (the small black ones that didn't bite, not the larger biting red ones, but that wasn't amusing for very long...they smelled terrible).  We weren't completely finished with the ants, however.  Peevis's Mom, a very resourceful woman, kept a tin of broken crayons that she would pull out when kids were bored enough to do some random but unimportant coloring.  I am not sure who thought of this, but someone thought it might be fun to melt the crayons, so Peevis retrieved the tin and brought it outside...and sure enough, melting spots in the crayons, creating small dots of liquid wax, was entertaining.  Not half so entertaining, however, as when an ant was inserted bottom-half down into the small pool of wax...you can imagine the wriggling.

But the human element got involved when we decided to return several ant-infused crayons to the tin, and return it to its place.  The target was Peevis's older sister Terry (my age, 9 at the time), and we were not disappointed...it wasn't thirty minutes later (we were already playing some other game, but were in earshot of the house) when we heard the distinct cries of horror from a 9-year old girl.

I do not remember if there were any long-term consequences for Peevis, or how his Mom must have regarded the group he hung around with.  I am happy to report that as we got older, our interests were diverted to more constructive ways to amuse ourselves; and Terry married a dentist, and has a very normal, wonderful life...she actually asked me to go to a dinner-dance with her in high school, demonstrating the forgiveness and resilience of the human spirit.   


     

Mom & Dad

Our family wouldn't be complete without a discussion about Mom & Dad.  I know I have talked about both separately, but this is more about them together...two very different people who managed to overcome their differences to focus on the one thing that was most important to them both: raising a family with so much love and support, and occasional firmness, that they would always feel secure.

I suppose that priority might have been borne of their own individual growing-up experiences, dad a virtual orphan who was raised by an elderly great aunt and uncle (George and Mary Cook...the same ones who raised grandpa Byron when he was literally orphaned); and mom without a father from a very early age, and whose mother had to work very hard to put a roof over the heads of and food on the table for her own brood of six.

Dad grew up as a smallish kid who loved competition, and always went around with a sort of chip on his shoulder.  He was baptized as a child (the Cooks were religious folk) but was not active and didn't have much background in the church.  The one childhood experience he did mention once in a great while was being terrified by some rustling curtains while alone at a church building.  He loved sports of all kinds, and being outdoors, and like many men of that generation, was sort of a renaissance man...there were few practical skills he didn't possess.  He didn't go to college, but did graduate high school, something of an accomplishment for a young man in his situation.

Though Mom's dad was not very religious (rumor was he made his own beer, and maybe more serious stuff at times), her mother was.  The Jackman family was very spiritual and family oriented, and Gertrude had a temple recommend all the time I knew her...even though she drank a little tea.  She was kind and gentle, and that passed through to Mom, who was always the patient opposite of Dad's impatience, and short temper.  If you got in trouble, you better do it in the daytime when Dad was at work, and you hoped Mom would not follow through on her off-hand resolve to "tell your father when he comes home.

Even though we feared Dad's short temper, I don't remember him ever spanking me or otherwise punishing us physically (except the infamous boot situation I have mentioned in other writings:-)).  I do remember him gripping me by both my upper arms, and raising me to eye level, and giving me an angry look...that accounts for the fear, I guess.

But there was no inconsistency...they both came to any evening events I was in (plays, concerts, games, etc.).  Their discipline was absolutely in harmony...you better not be caught trying to play one against the other ("well mom said..." "is that so? well let ME go ask her..."well maybe that wasn't exactly what she said"...).

And they always praised even our best efforts, though sometimes they questioned, accurately,  whether something was our best effort.

But one thing that triggered this memory was a photo of my Dad and Mom together at a ward dinner.  They were not party animals while we were growing up, but right before my mission, and after until I got married, my Dad began a practice of taking my Mom to lunch...not every day, but several times a week.  He was retired, she was still working, and he would pick her up and take her to one of their favorite haunts...not really fancy places, but not fast food either.  He invited me to come along on a few occasions, and I just remember how my Mom glowed at being treated so specially. Dad would usually put on some nice clothes, and he would do the whole chair-door thing.  I think he was pleased that he was finally in a position to afford to do it, both in terms of time and money.

I am grateful that two such different and individual people were able to unite on all the important things...it gives me hope that we can do that in other settings as well.    

              

Jeff

As promised, if a few days late...we had a busy weekend.

Jeff's entry into our family circle represented the largest gap from a previous sibling...but he was not a surprise.  I remember Mom saying in later years that whenever our family gathered before Jeff was born, it felt like someone was missing.  When Jeff came, it felt complete.

Jeff was the one who most inherited Mom's "Indian in the woodpile" looks...in summers his tan was so dark.  One summer time when Jeanne and I were in our first student branch Mom, Dad, and Jeff came to attend our ward with us.  At the time, the Church had a program where disadvantaged Native American children, with their parents' approval, could live with LDS families off the reservation, where the opportunities for education and work would be  much greater.  It was called the "Lamanite Placement Program", and I knew several kids growing up who benefited from it.  Well, the next week several of our friends approached us to ask about the handsome young Native American whom my parents were boarding.  Jeanne and I got quite a laugh over that.

Jeff  was nine years younger than me, six younger than Dave, so the groups of kids we ran around with were a little too old for him, and there weren't many kids in our neighborhood his age.  We did have one family who occupied the house next to ours for a few years, the Englebretsens, who had two sons around Jeff's age: Shell, who was a little older, and Mark, who was a little younger. Jeff's easygoing friendliness made it easy for him to attract friends though, so there were often kids from school populating our house.  Later he would become close friends with Johnny Maestas, a full-blooded Native American from a few houses to the north whose father, a great man, became our Bishop while I was on my mission.  I wrote some time ago about an experience forever linking my father and Johnny (see April 13, 2016 post), and Bishop Maestas was a great friend to Dad.

Because he was nine years younger, our games with each other were a little different.  One of our favorites was "stairway basketball", where we set a plastic bucket at the top of the stairway, and one of us would take a Nerf ball, and from the bottom of the stairway try to get past the other enough to stuff it in the bucket...very physical, but lots of fun.

We also played a modified whiffle-ball  baseball where there were just three bases, home, 1st, and 2nd. If you hit the ball hard enough to make it around all three bases, well and good; but if you got stuck on 1st or 2nd, the pitcher-fielder would toss the ball a little bit in the air, enough to tempt you to try to advance, but not enough you actually could.  It required great skill and strategy, and Jeff beat me virtually every time.

The summer after I got back from my mission, Dave and I got the crazy idea we could coach a little league team.  Jeff's team was in need of a coach, so we volunteered.  I don't think we were the worst team in the city...we actually had some pretty talented players, Jeff among them...but I am pretty sure we had two of the most clueless coaches.  Fortunately kids are pretty forgiving...not so much their parents.

When he was older, Jeff became a great help to me in many ways.  When Jeanne and I moved from Virginia back to Provo for the summer, before determining where we would go to law school, we decided to do the move ourselves, for which we would be paid by the Army what they would have paid the movers.  Jeff agreed to come out and help me drive the full-sized Ryder moving van from Virginia to Utah...good thing, because I knew nothing about such things as backing up a tractor trailer,and he was quite comfortable with it.  

Later still, he would become my mentor as he became a Bishop before I did, and later became a counselor in a stake presidency before me...what an example.

How was I so lucky to have four such gifted, fun, and uplifting siblings??