A copy of this letter dated January 1, 1978, went out to the living sons of Norman and Agnes Brimhall:

"There are living today FIVE of the thirteen children (six girls and seven boys) born to Norman Andrew and Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall. The shadows are getting long with all of us, Elias Ray 76, Rulon Wells 78, George H. 81, Joseph Thomas 83, Logan 86, as we were named each in his turn.

"Norman and Agnes were special people with intriguing stories that reach back to the Garden of Eden and forward to Paradise. Considerable information has been recorded across the years and much lingers in the memories of the living FIVE. It will be too late for memories ere long, and too little of the records is well preserved.

"Soon or never will the FIVE do its specially assigned job to compile, create, edit and publish in book form that which is the Norman Andrew and Mary Agnes Willis Brimhall family story. Shall we do it? DO IT!

"Assuming you are in harmony with the idea, meetings are called for 6 PM 3/18/78 and 8 AM 3/19/78 at the ranch home of Elias in Taylor, Arizona. Please bring your FORMAT for the book. The enclosed format was done hurriedly but we [it] may serve as a stimulant for action from which we can select our final plan of the book."

Writing and compiling this book, in which members of the families of the nine who reached maturity took part, has been most revealing, interesting and rewarding. One hundred sixteen years ago the originators of this family left the world of spirits and came to Earth on assignment. Norman, in October 1862, joined the Noah and Samantha Brimhall family in Hyrum, Utah, and a few weeks later Agnes, in December 1862, came to the home of Josuah Thomas and Sarah Dodge Willis family in Toquerville, Utah. Eighteen years later they met at a leap year lady’s choice ball in Taylor and after two years preparation they started a new kingdom February 14, 1882.

What this couple, their thirteen children and two additional lovely ladies crowded into little more than a century of living, you, dear reader, are invited to share with us.

The FIVE

IN APPRECIATION

The FIVE are most appreciative of all help in preparing this book. Members of the Family have cooperated many ways too numerous to list.

Perhaps special mention should be made of the efforts of the wives who kept accurate records of many interesting activities and father Norman for his journals and for his persuasion in getting his daughter Dicie May to record the many things he dictated to her as she wrote, ACROSS THE YEARS WITH NORMAN ANDREW BRIMHALL and ACROSS THE YEARS WITH MARY AGNES WILLIS BRIMHALL.

Thank you,

The FIVE

Sons now living 1978



"NO
FLIES
ON
US"

This is a family quip used when the quality of one,
or all family members, or what they did,
was in question.



TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter Page
1. "When A Lad’s a Man"    by N. Merrill Brimhall
2. "Dark Eyed Maiden"    by Vern H. Brimhall & Norma B. Tidwell
3. "Together Across the Years"    by Logan Brimhall
4. "The Builders"    by Elias R. Brimhall
5. "The Freighters"    by Logan Brimhall
6. "The Farmers"    by Elias R. Brimhall
7. "The Stockmen"    by Joseph T. Brimhall & Elias R. Brimhall
8. "The Churchmen"    by Logan Brimhall
9. "The Long Dozen"
         Return of the Four Little Ones
         Mary Alice Brimhall Palmer by Dorcie P. Ball & Otto B. Palmer
         Andrew N. Brimhall    by Edna L. Brimhall
         Logan Brimhall    by Norma B. Tidwell
         Dicie May Brimhall Ellsworth    by LaDawn Ellsworth Brewer
         Joseph T. Brimhall    by Joseph T. Brimhall
         George H. Brimhall    by Janet Zablinsky & Rosie B. Hall
         Mocella Brimhall    by Seymour Fish
         Rulon W. Brimhall    by Rulon W. Brimhall
         Elias R. Brimhall    by Elias R. Brimhall

10. "The Aunties"    Caroline by Logan Brimhall
         Phoebe by Logan Brimhall

11. "Our Heritage"    by Jean B. Stapley
12. "Tales, Tall and Tender"    by various members of the family
13. "Afterglow"   by Logan Brimhall

Addenda
Illustration Index
Name Index

CHAPTER 1

"When a Lad’s a Man"

"Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your blessings, every doubt will fly
And you will be singing as the days go by."

Norman Andrew Brimhall was born October 20, 1862, in Hyrum, Utah (territory) to Noah Brimhall and Samantha Lake whose marriage was now in its tenth year. The joy this frail youngster brought into the frontier home of Noah and Samantha must have been boundless. This lovely child was later to make the footprints of a giant as he walked across the theater of life. He was to sire descendents of goodly fame and some fortune. Greatest of all though, he gave them and theirs a heritage to be forever proud of. The frontier school of "hard-knocks", coupled with the admirable stature of a good father and a lovely mother who put her entire soul into making a home for hers, had a great influence on this new boy, their sixth in what was to be a family of 11. (Note that four died very young.)

Both of his parents had shared in the early years of church history, even to Noah’s working on the Kirtland temple and to being a participant in the rescue of hand-cart companies stranded on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Samantha knew Nauvoo as a girl and undoubtedly thrilled to the adventure of riding her little sorrel pony across the plains. Their roots were deep in church history, fed with burning testimonies of those early prophets and leaders. As a youth, Norman must have delighted to the many hours of story telling that only mother and dad could relate from past experiences. No doubt his strong testimony was built on this solid foundation, a foundation that held strong when later threatened by doubt and frustrations.

Probably no more beautiful valley in the Mountains could have been the haven into which the newly born Norman was sent, than Cache Valley. It had been explored and trapped less than forty years earlier by the greatest of western explorers, Jedediah Smith. This valley and surrounding valleys had hosted several "Rendezvous" of the burley, hairy, courageous, cantankerous mountain men as they met yearly to swap their "hairy bank notes". Even its name, as "a place of storage" derived its source from these early adventurers who "cached" their furs and supplies as they trapped farther away from home base.

Hyrum, Norman’s birthplace was situated in the southern end of the valley. Its mountain streams would flow northward as tributaries of the Bear River. Ringed on three sides with magestic mountains gave this spot a special atmosphere of awe and wonder. It was "new". It was " young". It was there to be developed and shaped into a way of life. It was the frontier. Frontier was the mode of life. Their first home here and the one into which Norman was to come, was built in a peculiar shape, something comparable to a triangle triplex of today, except this was built as a defense for the three families who occupied separate but attached living quarters. What was common place daily routine then would be like camping out continually today. Saturday night with its rinse baths, running water (if you ran fast enough from creek to kitchen barrel), home-made furniture that Noah fashioned and manufactured with his ready carpentry tools. There were beds of straw and sometimes feather ticking. They had home grown spuds and cabbages cooked with the delicious tidbits of plentiful wild game. There was a scrub-board, a homemade bar of lye soap, a tub of hot water and lots of elbow grease that kept clothes spotless and smelly clean. Cords of wood had to be piled and chopped to supply huge stoves and hungry fireplaces. Even at this date, homespuns were still in vogue and Norman’s mother was one the best weavers in the country. It was a hard, demanding life interspersed with moments of fun, frivolity and excitement. Norman’s older sister tells of her delight in watching her father playing his drum and marching in the community band; of how she noticed the inviting hearth fires and candle lanterns from village homes that beckoned them invitingly, as father took the children out in the winter evenings to see the stars, that only mountain air can give such indescribable beauty to. Norman must have loved these first years.

Elsewhere in the world, the commerce and contacts of men went on. Norman was 13 months old when President Abraham Lincoln solemnly delivered his immortal address as [at] Gettysburg. Six hundred miles west of Hyrum, the richest of all silver finds, the Comstock Lode of Nevada, was belching its wealth to the surface as men flocked to it from all over the world to work in its depths. Its riches would relieve the financial burden of the Civil War then going on. Less than a days drive, in today’s automobiles, from Norman’s bedside, would have put us into the heartland of the vast buffalo herds that would fall prey to the large calibrated rifles and sharp knives of the hide hunters during the next two decades. Nine hundred miles to the south, later to be Norman’s home of his adult years, several bands of the Apaches, the Coyoteros, Mescalero, Jicarilla, Chiricahua, White Mountain and San Carlos were following leaders like Cochise and Mangas Colorado who existed on the plunder of their victims, a way of life inbred over the centuries and soon to come into open warfare with the U.S. soldier. The frontier was yet to be tamed.

Here at home, that is along the Bear River, and within a days travel by wagon from the Brimhall’s village, Commanding Officer Patrick Edward O’Conner’s 200 troopers from Fort Douglas, Utah, fought the Ute-Bannok of Chief Bear Hunter’s band in the "Battle of Bear River". Norman was almost three months old to the day, when 239 mangled, bloodied corpse lay strewn over the stained snow on that cold, bitter January morning of 1863. All major harassments against settlers and travelers would gradually cease and within one and one-half years, Noah will move his young families into that general area to pioneer a new homestead.

At the age of 18 months, Norman is placed into a wagon along with all the families possessions and his father moves some forty plus miles northward to homestead at the northern base of the 9200 foot peak now called Oxford Peak. Here, new land had to be cleared and broken to the plow, buildings constructed and a fresh new venture put into operation. This was a beautiful spot, respendent with native grasses and gushing mountain streams. Noah’s was the first cabin to signal the coming of settlers. It was made of logs standing on end in a trench, with other logs placed across the top to form the rafters that supported brush, covered with earth, to make its roof. In one corner was a voluminous stone fireplace for warmth and home cooking. At each end of the structure, a wagon box was placed next to the building to serve as bedrooms. Defense from maurading Indians wasn’t so important now as was protection from the winter cold. All of this was probably considered fancy for the times and conditions but vastly different to centrally heated, carpeted, spacious houses of today.

Situated now in what was then the warmth and comfort of the day. Noah’s brood prepared for a winter that was to be long and hard. Two friends from some miles to the south will come to visit for a few days and then on their return trip home, freeze to death in the bitter cold of an Idaho winter.

Along with the buds and blossoms of spring, other families came, looked and settled near. The loneliness wasn’t as pressing with others sharing in the delights of grubbing a new community out of the wilderness.

This new village was to be Norman’s home until he was eleven. Dear reader, think back on your own life from about 3 to 11 years old. Very formative years weren’t they? Every day [everyday] was a new experience. Sometimes the daily tasks were looked upon as "old-new" exposure to the vicissitudes of life but being a day wiser always gave the numerous tasks a new hue of excitement or boredom. So it was with Norman. Many a spring day he must have helped prepare and plant rows of garden vegetables and worked fields planted with marketable crops. Many a warm summer day would have been spent weeding and tending plants, irrigating and nursing crops to maturity. Harvests must have held a special awe to this boy. He grew up loving the soil and what it could do under the hands of loving care.

Animals were a special delight to Norman. He learned early their needs for attention and kindness. He developed "his way" with them. A way that even the best of horsemen admired and a way that was to hold him in good stead when and wherever he worked with animals during the rest of his life.

Formal schooling for Norman during these early years wasn’t as thorough as might have been. "Mans work" kept him out too much of the time. What few years he had was at the village school of Oxford and at his mother’s knees. It wasn’t until his adult years that he excelled in academic subjects but the school of "hard-knocks" in these years of early youth had chucked him full of learning to live and help provide.

At the age of eleven (1873) Norman’s mother and her children were moved to a farm some two and one-half miles from the village. We don’t know the arrangement nor why. Noah did have two other wives, Melinda Zundell who gave him one child, and Lovina Jones, widow of Baily Lake, Samantha’s brother, who gave Noah 15 children over the years. Regardless of the happenstance, Norman at age eleven is now cast into the mold of being the man of the family, a role he must shoulder the rest of his life. Childhood for the boy was short. Formal schooling stops and an education from the college of "Daily Toil" takes over and heads the boy in the direction of a "diploma" of life. A man’s world was his to cope with. This was the beginning of when a boy’s a man.

Early in 1877 (Norman is not yet 15) Norman’s father sells his properties and half of the farm, takes his other family and starts for the Little Colorado settlements in Arizona via Lee’s Ferry. By May of the same year Norman’s mother had sold her acreage, packed and was ready to migrate southward to Arizona, the "land of opportunity" as expressed by Norman in his journal years later. Samantha’s goal may have been the Little Colorado River colonies too since this was where her husband Noah was going and her brother, George Lake, was there also. Smallpox changed those plans.

Perched on a high wagon seat, holding four reins (guide lines) in his deft hands, encased in beautiful soft deerskin gloves made by his mother, an expert glover, feet and legs hardly long enough to touch the brake arm, hat pulled down against his ears, Norman eased his double teams into their polished well-cared-for harnesses. The younger set, Alma, Elnora and Willard rode up front with Norman while Clayborn nudged along the four milk cows and three calves. The second or possibly the third night’s stop must have been near the old familiar grounds of southern Cache Valley along some mountain stream. Dutch oven biscuits, butter, berry jam, fresh cooled milk taken from an earthen jar set down in the stream, the last vegetables from the winter root cellar and strips of venison could have been the menu of that lingering supper. All probably slept under a blanket of stars since the space in the long wagon box was filled with reminiscence of a past and hopes for a future. Then too, maybe it rained all that night - Grouch.

Several days into the month of May found them passing through the Salt Lake City corridor and arriving at Santiquin (June 1). Here were some of Samantha’s family. She rented a small house for what was to be but a few months and set up her tools for crafting excellent gloves and straw hats that were traded and sold to the local population. Norman and younger brother Clayborn contracted hauling iron ore for the Tintic Iron Mines. This twentyfour [twenty-four] mile stretch not only toughened up their prize teams for the later to be Arizona-New Mexico trek, but gave the very young boys the challenge to excell. This they did. Young as they were, older teamsters tried to take advantage by forcing their loaded wagon off the beaten track but with Norman’s capacity to maneuver and Clayborn’s accuracy with thrown chunks of iron ore, bullies soon let them be. Can you imagine what it must have been like--say--even to lining up with rough, burly grown men to draw your pay for a job well done?

September, Samantha and children bid all familiar faces of the Santiquin stop-over goodbye and with her children started south. Near Salina, they were overtaken by the Bear Lake Company who convinced Samantha and her children to take a more easterly route than originally planned. It would take them through the northwest corner of New Mexico, to Fort Wingate and then to Savoia (Ramah), New Mexico. Here she could visit with her oldest daughter, Samantha, who had moved there with her husband, Benjamin Boice and his seven motherless children.

Because she and her children were alone, "Widow Brimhall" soon became Samantha’s nomenclature to the others of the caravan. Many an eye watched and admired with some envy the well ordered life of this "Widow". Her "teamster" sons kept the menagerie moving. They were the early ones when it came to pulling out in the mornings. Their equipment was kept in good working condition. Their animals were toughened to the rigors of the trail. Early responsibility had jerked these young men, Norman and Clayborn up to be men and they seemed to handle themselves very well.
Farmington, New Mexico became their home for a month while they rested and cared for their animals. Not to be idle, Norman and Clayborn got jobs milking cows for one of the local inhabitants. Clabourn [Clayborn] later returned to this area to make his home and today we find some of his descendants living there.

Late in December, they left the comforts and rest of the San Juan river valley communities and started southward. The second night on the trail the old milk cow wandered away from camp and the next morning, Norman mounted the trusty pony to retrieve her and the stock she led away toward the rich grasses of the San Juan. By the time he found and turned them back it was late evening and the high altitude of Canyon Largo contributed to the bitter cold of the coming darkness and falling snow. Norman spied a herd of sheep and sought refuge with its two herders. They sensed his plight in spite of his crude sign language and poorer Navajo and Spanish. The skilled herdsmen soon had the cows tethered to near-by trees and Norman seated next to a warm fire eating a shepherds supper served up with congenial companionship. They shared their sheepskins and blankets with Norman but the cold bitter night soon drove all three together to keep warm. Placing Norman in the middle they were all soon snoring in their own language until the rising sun stirred the camp. This experience so impressed Norman, that he carefully noted its details and his appreciation in his journal. Experience was molding compassion in this young man’s life that would later be one of his outstanding traits of character.

By afternoon of the new day, Norman catches up to the now waiting family. All together again, they move on. Christmas finds them in a Mexican village watching with curiosity the excitement and uniqueness that only the Mexican can put into this season. Eggnog is sampled. Hot Spanish tidbits take his breath away. Norman is so fascinated with his first Spanish fandango that he must squeeze a word about it into his record. No doubt he was awed and fascinated with the Hispanic culture of the Southwest as were so many Americans who first came into the area only fifty plus years before, first as traders, then trappers, next as soldiers and now as settlers. It had been only a short 36 years past that famed Mormon Battalion had moved southward through this general area. It was but nine years ago that the famed Kit Carson had walked the Navajo to the now infamous Bosque Redondo "prison camp" but a few hundred miles to the south and east. All of this was undoubtedly part of the lore of the land but another incident of this season of the year had a more lasting effect on the lad. A man of rough character traveling in company with the caravan, sold one of his horses and bought merchandise which he gave to the needy. Norman and Clayborn each received a much needed pair of shoes. He learned it is blessed to receive in humility and thanksgiving as well as to give graciously.

January 1, 1878, they arrive at Fort Wingate. Twenty five [twenty-five] miles through deep snow to Savoia valley is all that’s left of a long artuous [arduous] trip. The young teamster pushes the weary horses up over the mountain road along which they meet Benjamin Boice, husband of Samantha’s daughter, on his way to the Fort for medicine and supplies. Smallpox in the settlement was taking its dreadful toll. News of this caused some of the Caravan to move away on their own. Norman’s mother, out of money, food, clothing and travel weary and wanting to see her own, chose to enter the stricken village and see what help she could be.

The need for family funds finds Norman working in the logging camps during February. With the cold of late February comes smallpox to the Brimhall encampment. Word is sent to Norman at the log camp, but before he can reach home, his mother sickens and dies. It is now March 6, 1878. Those "responsible" in the village won’t let him look on his mother’s body. Instead he is given a shovel and with the held [help] of a young man who has just recovered from smallpox, Norman must dig his Mother’s grave. What memories must have passed before his mist-filled eyes as he picked away at the frozen earth. Falling snow blotted out the immediate landscape and the forested hills of this small but beautiful valley. All was arrayed in beautiful soft white except for the gradually growing mound of brown earth soon to be placed carefully upon a pine box containing the earthly remains of the greatest influence in Norman’s life.

What was he to do now? Norman, not yet 16, but the oldest at "home", in a new land, with very few acquaintances had the responsibility of caring for himself, three younger brothers and sister Elnora. True, there were neighbors but each had their hardships to contend with. Other graves were being dug on the same small rise on the valley floor. Four other mothers of large families were soon laid to rest along side Norman’s mother. Norman being the only one not stricken with the dreaded disease found himself tending two families, his mother’s and that of his sister.

Noah, in Woodruff, Arizona, hearing of the plight of his family in New Mexico, came to claim his own. The three younger children were left with a caring family and he took the two oldest boys on an extended freighting tour of several weeks. Norman managed his mother’s teams and Clayborn rode with his father Noah, who cared for him while he recovered from smallpox. When they returned to Savoia they picked up the other children and made their way to Woodruff, Arizona.

The few months Norman stayed in Woodruff were filled with memorable and unusual experiences of which probably the most impressive was personal interview by the President of the Church, Erastus Snow, who was visiting the Arizona Colonies. A quote from Norman’s journal gives a clue to this unusual experience, "...my life was changed in that I have profound respect for men of God, leaders of the church, and have striven to yield obedience to their counsel and advice."

This could have been one of the turning points in Norman’s early life. A testimony of strength and conviction pertaining to the Gospel and the Lord’s Plan for man must surely have been his now. The pangs of sorrow and remorse brought on by the struggles of the previous cold forbidding winter months accompanied with the terrible loneliness from the trauma of losing his precious mother, were eased.

A few weeks later we find Norman relaxed and camping on the shores of Silver Creek in what was to become the community of Taylor. His father would arrive in a few days and this is to become the "home" of Brimhalls. Norman loved his valley as evidenced by the roots he so deeply planted in its soil. Here he will meet his sweetheart, raise their children and eventually come to rest in the depths of its fertile loam.

Not to be unnecessarily idle, Norman worked along side the "men" digging the ditches to irrigate the numerous farms being laid out by the brethren. He turned his knowledge of building to construction of the new ward’s first meeting house. It was a busy life. It was a satisfying life but the need for hard cash to supplement their needs soon found Norman perched high on the seat of a freight wagon, gently coaxing his beloved horses to pull heavy loads of freight intended for miners, railroaders and soldiers moving into the young territory.

It will yet be four years before the old Beale camel route will be spanned by the now Sants [Santa] Fe Railroad, so we find the lad picking up California-bound frieght in Las Vegas, New Mexico and tediously moving it across the territory to the California border where his emptied wagons were piled high with the bounties of California destined for the commerce of eastern cities.

Elsewhere, the young town of Prescott, not for off his route was booming as the capitol "city" of the young territory and as center of increased mining interest. Over six thousand mines of the eleven thousand recorded in the Territory at that time were in Yavapai County of escott [Prescott] is the county seat today. The tall timbers of the virgin forest around Flagstaff won’t feel the twang of the sharp axe for a few years. Not until the year Norman’s marriage will the railroad reach this hamlet that will produce millions of board feet of lumber. The harsh droughts of the late 70's and the terrible winters of the 80's that killed herds of cattle on the open prairies from Texas to Canada is yet a few years away. These happenings will cause many cattlemen, some good, some honest, others filled with greed, to look into the corners of the Arizona territory for what grasses haven’t been staked out. This will result in the eroding and destruction of much of the beautiful meadowlands that Norman’s wagon rolled across. Around the settlements surge the last Indian uprisings. Soldiers on their way to assignments and military posts trudge through the village of Taylor as do wagons of Norman-s [Norman’s] neighbors contracted to carry the Quartermasters supplies. General Crook, the greatest of Indian fighters, so called by General Sherman (one of the greats of the Civil War) had been called back to Arizona to stiffle Indian uprisings that have all the southwestern U.S. in alarm. Fort Apache is kept fully manned and ready to check renegade movements. The spotlight of the eastern news media is intently focused on this little corner of the west. Millions read, watch, and wait.

Norman is part of it all.

Norman is important even though his name will not appear in featured story or military dispatch. Not yet out of his teens, his contribution to peace and tranquility of "the last frontier" is felt. He is somebody.



CHAPTER 2

"Dark Eyed Maiden"

The bright yellow dress Agnes and her mother had made was the envy of all the girls. In the long swirling skirt she moved around the dance floor as her brother, Merrill, played the violin. The boys vied with each other for the pleasure of a dance with her, for she was light and graceful and a good conversationlist. As the music stopped and the boys were escorting the girls back to their seats, a call came up from the boys section, "Agnes, Agnes."] This was a cue to brother Merrill to change the tempo of the music. Tucking the violin back under his chin, he drew the bow across the strings in a few practice chords, then there burst forth a lilting melody. Everyone cleared the floor but Agnes, hesitating for a moment to catch the rythmn, she felt the joy of the moment. As she started to dance, her friends joined in by clapping their hands in time to the music. Around and around she swirled, holding her yellow skirt just high enough to show the tops of her shoes. At the conclusion of the dance, she fell exhausted on a nearby chair, receiving the accolade of her friends with a happy unassuming air as she rested for a few moments before the next dance.

This was "Aggie" - the dark-eyed maiden whose loveable zest for life was infectious and admired!

Mary Agnes Willis was born December 31, 1862, in Toquerville, Utah. The twelfth of sixteen children born to Sarah Melissa Dodge and Joshua Thomas Willis. They were converts to Mormonism in the New York state during the early rise of the church and participated in the hardships incident to the exodus of the church from Illinois and the colonization of Utah and other Western states.

Agnes was a bright active child and a favorite in her father’s large family. She learned early the ways of the household.

"Aggie, would you please keep an eye on the children, as I will need to be with your father at the Ward House for awhile, then I’ll stop by Aunt Dosha’s to check her needs; she hasn’t been well lately, and then," her mother paused trying to put into place all the things she need accomplish that day, "and then I’ll work in the garden. Oh, and thanks, Aggie, for being such a great help. You know how I love and appreciate your willingness." And fetching her bonnet, Mother was off for the days activities. For a moment the black eyes of Aggie fired up, then a smile flicked into them. Well for the most part she did enjoy her responsibilities, but sometimes they seemed pretty heavy. Now she thought, "No sewing today. JUST the house, the meals and the children!"

Her father was a polygomist, her mother lovingly known about town as "Aunt Sarah" was the second wife. The other wives, Aunt Dosha, had two children and Aunt Ellen and Sophia had three each. So of a necessity her mother’s home was the largest, to accomodate the very large family. Aggie loved this home, a large two-story brick building facing east on main street.

Her mother was a wondrous sustaining influence to her father who was the Bishop of the Toqerville Ward for twenty-five years; in fact, she seemed to be such in each of their lives. Aggie dearly loved her Mother who was a true friend. She loved and appreciated her father’s kindly ways.

Dependability became Agnes’ early watchword, as she learned quickly and easily. She knew how to make decisions and act on them. She discovered her talents and skills and enjoyed using them.

Aggie and her older sister, Mocella (Dolly), were constant companions during their late childhood and early youth. Their talents were comparable in music, acting, dancing, creation of clothing and culinary tastes.

Whatever was going on in Toquerville, be it school, church, socials, theatrical performances, Independence Day programs, Halloween pranks, Christmas or birthday parties for young or old, Agnes and Dolly were in the midst of it all. On the other hand, if there was nothing going on, these two girls were in the planning process of stirring up something worth the effort. Often it was a dance where they danced all night. At midnight there was an intermission for rest and refreshments. And at Mother Willis’ there was often a steaming hot supper for her children and their partners.

Later, many of Aggie’s brothers and sisters were married, leaving some room in the large home, so her mother turned it into a hotel. She served a special Sunday dinner each week, which attracted many from the near mining town of Silver Reef, near Toquerville. Agnes did a major part of the cooking and serving and general care of the hotel.

Then came the call to move to Arizona in 1879. It seemed as though the end of the world had come, but Agnes took with her the things that had given her enduring popularity among the young and old: [.] The same delightful gaiety at home or with the crowd; the same dependable assistance to her Mother; the same capacity for sincere comradery and friendship and the same trust in the Lord. So the pangs of loss were soon forgotten in her involvement in the new town.

Their first home in Taylor was a small log building, not nearly so nice as their big home in Utah, but Agnes and Dolly cheerfully accepted the challenge and put into this little cottage touches of art made by their hands. Agnes knitted curtains for their bedroom, a room which served as a living room for the family as well. These were a work of art that caught the attention af all who came to visit.

Then came the day all young maidens pin their hopes and dreams on - the discovery of the greatest, the finest!

Aggie had been a resident of Taylor a short while. Her father, sister Dolly and a few others of his family had come to Arizona in advance of the rest to get a home started.

Now it’s February, 1880, and the little town of Taylor is ablaze with preparations for the leap-year dance. Agnes joined a group of young girls who were going around town "dating-up." She was to ask Bailey Brimhall whom she had met a few days previously. The group of happy girls halted at last by the woodpile where Bailey and Norman were cutting wood, the former big and agreeable self-assured, the other slight, but athletic in build and retiring in nature. Bailey rested his axe, was at ease with the girls, and stood out ready for a date.

Dolly gave Aggie a dig with her elbow. "Get busy, he’s waiting."

Agnes answered in a side whisper, "I’m going to ask the other one!"

"Why Ag, you haven’t even met him yet."

"You’re right, but I’m going to meet him now," her black eyes sparkling and a chuckle in her throat as she stepped forward, putting the question squarely and without embarrassment. "Norman, will you go to the dance with me tonight?"

Norman came out of the backgroung [background] lifting his hat with the right hand, still holding the axe in the left, "Certainly Agnes, and I thank you."

It was a case of mutual love at first sight. Agnes gay and carefree, showed Norman a good time that night, repeatedly bringing him out of the background to dance another set, he was literally "taken off his feet."

Then followed two years of courtship, during which time Norman was freighting between Bacon Spring and Needles, California. He and Agnes ran a banking institution of their own. He sent or took every dollar he could spare of his wages to Agnes, who deposited them in a private cache dedicated to the fulfillment of their plans.

Agnes continued in her service to those around her, family members as well as townspeople. Her brother, Merrill, oft times called upon her to assist his wife, Cedenia. Aggie would be the nurse and household manager. She became the editor of the local handwritten newspaper: The Young
Ladies Herald of the Union, which was still living in 1895 (see below). She continued in her singing and theatrical performances, at which she was exceptionally good.

Thus, the "Dark Eyed Maiden" came to the threshold of, "for time and all eternity" with a sparkle in her brilliant eyes, a great love for her family and community, a deep and abiding faith in God, and complete confidence in her lover. She came with her lamp trimmed and filled!



CHAPTER 3

"Together Across the Years"

Theirs was an interest of mutual understanding and appreciation from the moment their eyes met when Agnes, with a group of village maidens, date shopping for the February 1880 ladies choice ball said to him, at the Brimhall wood pile, "Norman, may I have the pleasure of your company at the dance this evening?" Norman, ever the gentleman, responded, "Thank you Miss Willis, I shall be delighted."

They dated, courted, planned, worked and saved for their wedding day, February 14, 1882. The ceremony was read by Jesse N. Smith, president of the Snowflake Stake in the Willis home, Taylor, Arizona. Within the year their vows were solemnized in the St. George Temple.

Norman was an industerous boy who knew how to work and save. As we learned in chapter one during the years 1877-79 the Samantha Lake Brimhall family trecked to Arizona by way of the Savoia Valley, New Mexico settlements. Bereft of their mother by small pox [small-pox], Norman’s three younger brothers, Clayborn, Alma, Willard and sister Nora [Elnora] looked to him for leadership, guidance and sustenance. Norman and Clayborn used their mother’s teams and wagon hauling freight from Fort Wingate to Fort Defiance, a distance of some twenty-five miles and from Keams Canyon to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

When Norman’s brothers and sister arrived at Woodruff, Arizona, Aunt Lovina took them into her home and cared for them. Norman turned his mother’s horses and wagon over to his father and went out on his own. He brought from the Walker boys a pair of gray horses, harness and wagon. With these, he freighted from Bacon Springs (150 miles east of where Holbrook now is) to Needles, California.

Agnes was his bookkeeper and banker. When came their marriage date, they paid all expenses, had bought a building lot, paid for their freight outfit and had $200 towards the trip to St. George Temple, that was consumated the same year.

Their first home was a log cabin or frame house on their own lot just south of, and across the street from the red brick Palmer home in Taylor, Arizona.

Bless this house, O Lord we pray,
Make it safe by night and day;
Bless these walls, so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out;
Bless the roof and chimney tall,
Let Thy peace lie over all;
Bless this door, that it may prove
Ever open to joy and love.

Bless these windows shining bright,
Letting in God’s Heav’nly light;
Bless the hearth a-blazing there,
With smoke ascending like a prayer;
Bless the folk who dwell within,
Keep them pure and free from sin;
Bless us all that we may be
Fit, O Lord, to dwell with Thee,
Bless us all that one day we
May dwell, O Lord with Thee.

Norman’s three brothers, Clayborn, Alma, Willard and sister Elnora came to live with the young couple and a bond of love evolved that made this home sweet home to all of them.

About three years from their marriage date, their home was blessed by the coming of Sarah Agnes, a lovely little girl. Sarah stayed with them but fourteen short months, just long enough to teach them the sweetness of children in the home. She sickened and died of summer complaint and left a great void in their hearts and home. Months later, Agnes found relief from the overwhelming pangs of sorrow, when it became known to her that she should be blessed with another child. It was then she came to know, it was more tragic not to be able to have a baby, who was subject to death, than death itself. She knew more fully that woman’s greatest joy and achievement lies in having and rearing children to good citizenship. Mary Alice came July 3, 1887, and decided to stay for more than 80 years to brighten the homes and lives of many.

Agnes’ grief was added upon by the passing of her parents during these trying years. Their bodies were interred in the Taylor Cemetery and markers placed to designate their place.

In March 1889, Electa was born to Norman and Agnes in the Rock house erected on property that previously was owned by the Willis family. She made a short stay of some fifteen months, and once again the family went into mourning.

Norman was involved in the passing and burial of his two parents, his wife’s parents, five of his children and two of his three wives (not polygamous). Nine of Norman’s thirteen children grew to maturity, and five of his seven sons are living today, 1978. Twelve times death came to the Norman’s door, all of which he bore manfully and provided for each a proper grave marker. His children and great-grand children like to visit and repair the graves in the Taylor cemetery. These are great teaching moments as to life, death, realities of the resurrection and eternal life, and the continuity of the family.

Following the death of Sarah Melisa Dodge Willis, mother of Agnes, Norman bought the Willis home and lots situated on both sides of Highway 77 in Taylor, Arizona. They moved the Willis house from the east side of the road to the west side and set it over a cellar and called it home while they were building the two level Rock house now known as the J. J. Shumway house in south Taylor. (Present home of Vera S. Rogers.)

Eight of the thirteen children of Norman and Agnes were born in this two story [two-story] rock [Rock] house; Electa, Andrew Noah, Dicie May, Joseph Thomas, George H., Mocella Verdell, Rulon Wells, and Elias Rae. Logan was born in Mesa, Arizona, Sarah Agnes and Mary Alice in house #1 and Margaret and Jesse N. in the family Taylor farm house.

HOME

By Edgar A. Guest

It takes a heap o’livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun and shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ‘preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ‘em somehow with ‘em allus on your mind.
It don’t make any difference how rich ye get ‘t be,
How much your chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home ’t ye, though it be a palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped ‘round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a help o’ living’ in it;
Within the walls ther’s got t’ be some babies born then
Ritht there ye’ve got to bring ’em up t’ women good and men;
And gradgerely, as time goes on, ye find ge [ye] wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used - they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumb marks on the door.
Ye’ve got to weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit and sigh
An watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness of night t’ see Death’s angel come
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was and is no more - ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing and dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ some one dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got to t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.
_______________

Each of the FIVE have pleasant memories associated with the old Rock home . Here we lived out the days from early morn to the wee hours of the night. Here we filled each hour with sixty full minutes of effort. Here we carved out of life most of the thrilling stories of our family life as a unit and as individuals. Father and mother were good story tellers and the children learned how to keep it interesting. Some of them, the reader will find retold in chapter 12, Tender Tales. Here we lived through tragedy, pathos, mirth, warfare, debate, humor, health, sickness, success, failure, love, hope, apology, forgiveness, and try, try again for more than eighteen impressionable years.

Mother Agnes was center of all positive activity, for around mother, little folk build their here and now and much of their tomorrow. Father was away from home much of the time doing missionary work, making a living and presiding over church units. One of the delightful occasions was family hour. It took place most every evening, partly because there were no other attractions in a small country town. Mother was musically inclined and used her beautiful voice in teaching us many of the songs of the day and hymns of the church. She was a good reader and selected lively stories from the scripture for our enjoyment and edification. Besides taffy and molasses candy, we enjoyed parched sweet corn that we pounded to powder by ‘chounching’ it with the hammer handle in a quart can which we then covered with a layer or two of rich cream from one of the several pans of jersey cow’s milk. A special treat was clabber from the milk pan covered with a layer or so of sugar and seasoned with some spice. After the games and fun, there was always family prayer werein each of the children took his/her turn. Then there was bedside story, individual prayer, and the tuck in safely and the night night kiss.

Big events like the Civil War, World War 1 and 11 always give us stirring songs that are popular for years. Many of the songs mother taught her children had their origin in slavery and Civil War days.

The older one gets, the more precious becomes the memories of those moments at mother’s knee in prayer or even a flitting dream that she sits on the edge of one’s bed and leaves her impression of solution to one’s problems. Oh, that mothers could never forget their God given power to raise their children in righteousness! This world would never lack for love, security and happiness if they would but remember.

Father Norman was always the gentleman who honored women and motherhood. He was at mother’s side in joy, sickness and death. What a contrast today wherein more than a million babies were never born because of abortions, and mothers run away from their families and fathers desert them. Millions born out of wedlock never have a legal name and go through life as regular topsies.

Mother bottle fed sister Dicie May, and her brother, two years older, vividly remembers climbing into her crib, taking her bottle and when it was empty, hiding it in a hole in the wall behind the cook stove. The mother was quite relieved when she caught the lad on his eighth trip to the depository and retrieved all eight bottles and accompaning nipples. The lad was declared to be a cutie, but a thief!

Logan, Dicie and Joseph were confined to the sick room at the same time. One had measles, one had whooping cough and the other had measles and mumps. They occupied a room away from the rest of the family. There was crying, itching, coughing, scratching and vomiting to no end. Golly, how could a mommie love such a nasty trio? But she did, and we can only repay her by being good for something.

There was a cherry tree in mother’s garden below west Taylor irrigation ditch, that came as a twig from Toquervill [Toquerville], Utah in 1879 and became a haven of delight to the community, for it was always full of summertime cherries, kids, birds and bees. Mother managed to keep us out of the tree till ripe fruit appeared and then taught us how to pick only the red fruit and thus we had ripe fruit, red lips, torn trousers and aprons from June to September.

There was this apple tree and four peach trees, one pear tree and oodles of currant and goose berry bushes on the four acres devoted to gardens. The apple tree was named "old leather coat." [".] It was a hardy specie that bore fruit every year regardless of weather. It’s hide resembled the skin on a baseball, hence the name "leathercoat." [".] It became most delicious after Christmas. These we came to think of as our fruit trees of life.

One of the family delights was to harness a pair of horses, hitch them to a wagon and head out for the Jensen Ranch, about five miles south of Taylor. We generally took along quilts, pillows, chairs for each, and a box of bread, cookies, bottles of cherries, a supply of jerky or what had we. The boys never knew what the women talked so much about for so many hours, but we do remember a goodly dinner each trip.

There were polly wogs, toads, fish, rabbits and an occasional fox in the underbrush at the confluence of the Silver and Show Low Creeks. We had whistles, water guns, fiddles and slings made from raw material at hand and a lot of chappy hands and feet come sundown. It was here among the stumps, grass bumps, rocks and snags that we learned there was one thing that was worse than a sore stubbed big toe, and that was two of ’em.

At the dinner table, one of the Jensen girls that was beginning to talk in her young days, answered mother’s question on this wise, "Leona, why don’t you eat all of your custard pie? Don’t you like it?" Her response was, "I like the cuss of the cussed pie but I don’t like the cussed." The family usually got home before darkness set in.

The Rock house had no plumbing, that did not come ‘till after 1930 or later, and the Brimhall family had long since moved out. However, we managed for when it came shower time, the children carried water from the ditch and heated it on the cook stove. It was then transferred to a number two or four wash tub, placed in the wash room where the occupant soaped and soaked ‘till someone called, "Make it snappy."

If shoes had been scuffed too badly, or someone wanted to appear well groomed, he turned a stove lid upside down, applied a little water to the soot, and applied it to the shoe and rubbed it in. If one wanted a real shine, he used milk rather than water. After this preparation he ate a bowl of gruel, or bread and milk and shuffled off to bed to wait for the sabbath morn and Sunday School. This family was taken to church, not sent. Then there was Religion class, M.I.A., Primary and Sacrament meeting. The chief texts were the Standard Works of the Church. Thus the children became acquainted with the Ten Commandments, Articles of Faith, and learned true happiness lay in the area of obedience to what Deity had prescribed for mankind’s happiness.

To the listed activities, we may add a Friday night dance or a Saturday night play presented by the local town talent, and these together with school five days a week, made up the families activities. In this day and time, 1978, the variety of activities the child is expected to engage in is so great, the parents seldom get time to teach lessons that can best be taught in the home.

Mary Agnes had learned in her youth to participate in all of the functions mentioned above. She and her sister Dollie were "live wires" in the town of Toquerville, Utah where she learned to be happy in well doing. Service is a good word whose activity pays large dividends in happiness.

All of the Brimhall children were school minded and did well in the grade, high, and college level schools. Norman, as a child, lived on a farm in Idaho some distance from the school house. Due to severe weather conditions, children’s diseases of epidemic proportions, quarentines, etc., his school days were limited to the equivelent of two years. He made good use of the opportunities to study with his children in the home and became a self educated man.

Young folk of the town liked to visit the home of Agnes for there were always songs, stories, games and refreshments to their liking. To this, add the miracle of the phonograph that played Alexander’s Rag Time Band off a round disc through a big horn. There was a piano in the home, and some of the children became proficient accompanists to the singers of duets, quartets, and the chorus. It was something special to have the Tenny boys drop in to sing the Valley of Custer.

Norman and Agnes were lovers of trees, grasses and flowers. They planted shade trees around the Rock House above the ditch and this meant water had to be hauled to them. For this purpose, a lizzard was built, a kind of sled on which one or two fifty gallon barrels were placed to bring water from the ditch to the thirsty plants. Often, the horse weighed less than the barrels of water and in order to get the load moving from a dead stand still, the pony would back up take a run and things in motion. This often tipped the barrels up on edge and sometimes tossed them over. On one such occasion, the writer got one of his big toes under the barrel. Good thing Norman was there to lift the barrel and yell "get your toe out!" If Norman had not been there, the kid would still be hollerin’ 60 years later, Mommie! Mommie! Mom.

Norman had been assigned to do missionary work in the Salt River Valley in what was called the Mutual Improvement Association Mission. Some two years later, he was called to the full time missionary service in the Western States Mission with Denver, Colorado as headquarters. While he was gone March 25, 1900 to February 10, 1902, Anges and the children carried on at home. There were responsibilities for all during those twentytwo [twenty-two] months. Of course, mother Anges carried the responsibility load. It is surprising how children can and will go to and carry their part of the burden.

Mother Agnes was overall planner and daughter Mary Alice, thirteen, became general overseer of the children. Logan says he remembers doing some things, not of free will and choice. Andrew, ten, was farmer and Logan, eight, was cowboy for that is what the family cow milker gets dubbed. He well remembers going after the cows in the pasture or on the ranage and getting them milked, simply because Andy said, "Do it!"

Maybe this is a good place for a little story oft remembered, but unrecorded. Mr. Bull, a cattleman, located at the juncture of Bull Hollow and Show Low Creek, owed father a small sum of money for some deal thay [they] had made, and since Norman, the missionary was in need of money, mother dispatched her two oldest sons to the ranch on a collecting mission. The ranch was some seven to ten miles south of Taylor. Neither of the boys had been that way before, so it was a try and find out assignment. They saddled old John, a dark red horse, that had been a Hash Knife cow pony, with two sheep skins, one fore and one aft, mounted and headed south into the wilderness. Some five or six miles out, the boys came to a fork in the road, and one half of it went southwest and the other southeast. Which way? Andrew always got the inspirations first and he said, "Tuggie, we are going to turn around and go back the way we came 100 yards, get off old John, and you’re going to pray. The Lord always listens when you pray. You tell Him we are going to get on old John and go up the road and old John must choose the right road!" Logan boosted Andrew aboard and Andrew reached out his foot for a stirrup and pulled the pray-er aboard. The reins were laid on old John’s neck, and he fox trotted up to the forks of the road and took the left hand trail. About two miles farther on we came to Show Low Creek. Old John took a few bites of water, went on through and up the hill to where the road forked again. Old John reached down, got a few nibbles of grass and took the right hand road. Ere long we came to a large corral, a sizeable house, and the biggest dog we ever saw. A man met us in the yard and said, "I am Mr. Bull and I suppose you are Mr. Brimhall’s boys? We admitted that was our name and he said, "Get down boys and come in the house, my wife had a lunch ready for all of us." They were such nice and kind people, we loved them from the start. During lunch, they asked us lots of questions about father, mother, the children and what each was doing. After lunch, Mr. Bull said, "Now boys, I owe your father $80.00 and maybe that is why you came out here to get it." Andrew, the trained spokesman had to tell it the way mother said to do it, and they seemed pleased with his story about father’s need. They watched us mount old John and seemed amused. Then he tied a sack around old John’s neck that contained the money..all of it and when we got home, mother said it was a good job and kissed both of us a big "Thank you, my sons." How do kids know prayers are answered?

Our farm of 33 acres lay on the East side of Silver Creek and all of the hay, grain, potatoes and whatever we raised had to be carried over the creek to the barn, cellar or grainery. Irrigation water for the farm was taken in turn, day or night, at a specified time. It was a case of "Use it or loose it" when your turn came midday or midnight. Mother and her oldest son went to the midnight irrigating, more often than she went with her two oldest sons, so Andy said. Logan would contend that if he did the praying, nothing would hurt Andy during his irrigation sojourn.

When father built the barn he provided a runway to drive the wagon load of hay in out of the rain at the west end. Directly overhead, and at the barn’s apex, he placed the gear for running the hay lift fork perpendicular, and to the right a cable that ran full length of the barn, and down the east end to the ground where a horse was attached to pull the hay up to the apex, and at right angle to any spot in the barn for dumping the hay. It was a thrill to ride the fork up and away! The hay unload fork was made in a "U" shape with an extra set of tines running inside of each of the prongs that turned to a right angle by a lift so the hay could not slide off ’till released by a trigger rope in the hands of the operator. Grain was stored in bins west of the hay run and tools were placed in their shed just north of the grainery. Roots and fruit were stored in the cellar.

Sometimes we sold ourselves short on animal forage and had to work and worry about feeding the animals in the spring. Andrew made a wagon for the purpose of hauling green feed from the field to the barn. This was difficult, but again, Andy said, "Do it!" Joseph four, and George two, went along for the ride. Boy, there is going to be a howl when those two read this because they are inclined to think nothing went right unless they did it.

We cut hay with a scythe. Do you know what that is? Well, it’s a six foot long crooked handle, bent just so, and a sharp edged steel cutting bar fastened to the lower end at a right angle. The operator put his left hand at the upper end of the handle and his right on a knob at center. Now with a half circle swing into the grass or hay and it fell severed from it’s roots stem. Gather it up, place it in the wagon and head for the barn one-half mile away, and get amused at the hungry animals fighting for a portion. We sometimes used the cradle reaper. What’s that? Another handle comparable to the scythe, but to the back of it was fastened a basket into which the mow fell and was gathered in the arms and tied in a bundle by a few strands of the mow.

Did you ever make a wheat stack? No? Well this is how. The binder cutting machine that goes into the field cuts the grain, binds it with string and throws it to the ground. You come along and stand the grain up on end to the tune of a dozen bundles in a shock. After it dries for a week or ten days, it is loaded on the wagon and hauled to the stack yard. Begin by making a shock for the middle of the stack. Then begin laying the stack by placing bundles flatter and flatter on the ground ’till the circle is the size you want the stack to be. Next, you go ’round and ’round with bundle on top of bundle ’till you get up some 10 feet to where Andy or Joe or George can’t bang you to the side of the head with a well aimed bundle. Now you can lay off that perpetual complaint, "Stop it, stupid!" Your compensation for the many bundle bangs is to see the pitcher’s sweat and grunt in the great effort of heaving 20 pounds up and over. Well, go on up with the stack, but begin to pull the bundle butts in each round to top out the stack in a peak at 20 feet. "Beautiful," says mother or sister, "and you have done it!" Except your brothers that threw the bundles up will surely say something like, "Looks like ...... ......," some girl in town that all of you know. Of course, it’s a compliment if the right girl is named.

This is not a tall story, so it may fit in here, about taking the horses and cows to water. It was some 100 yards from the corral to the ditch where the animals quenched their thirst. Too far to walk and too close to ride, so Andy said. One day, Log, that was his nick name, ’till Andy wanted him to pray for something, and then he changed it to Tuggie, well, Log had gathered up several hats that originally belonged to his younger brothers, who had not taken the best of care of the wear. He had on his head several hats collected on the principle of "loosers weepers, finders keepers." [".] Log was following Andy by some thirty feet and the howling brethern were some where to the rear calling after him, "Give me my hat, I want my hat, mommie, mommie, Log’s got my hat." Andy had ordered distribution of hats several times but Log stuck to the sound principle of loosers weepers, finders keepers..., and as he opened his yap to re-announce the adage, wham! A rock lodged in his mouth. He could neither spit, pull or blow or shake it out, he couldn’t even cry for mommie. Blood oozed down the chin and Andy rushed him to mother. She tried with fingers to dislodge the stubborn rock, but it would not, so she resorted to her chief tool, a button hook, what’s that? It’s a thin round steel, crooked at one end in a small half circle and a complete circle at the other end some four inches up. Well, mom dislodged the rock, lectured Andy on efficient denistry and the brethern on proper care of hats and as for the rock victim, she told him, "Keep your mouth shut or you may loose all of your teeth instead of two. That bunch has your number." Log couldn’t eat anything but Mormon gravy for a week.

This chapter is not adhering to chronological order, so we shall return to an earlier event that threatened disaster. During the years 1891-94, Anges was stricken with paralysis that rendered her entire right side useless. During these years, she gave birth to two children, Logan and Dicie May. Some might think there should have been no children during these years, but to the contrary, Anges wanted the children and said they kept her from being completely paralyzed.

During this time of great trial, George Q. Cannon came to hold Snowflake Stake Conference in Pinetop, Arizona. Agnes felt if she could get a blessing at his hands, her general health would improve. To this was added a trip to the Salt River Valley during the fall months of September and October. She wanted to be nearer a doctor when her expected child came. Logan was born October 12, 1892, and the family left for home in Taylor in late November. They traveled by way of Black Canyon, Camp Verde, Beaver Creek, Pine Springs, Jarvis pass, Winslow and on to Taylor. A snow storm of blizzard porportions overtook them and lasted a day and a night and a day. The horses, Jeff and Chess, seemed to realize the safety of the family lay in their strength, ability and service. Norman cared for his family well by placing a small wood stove in the wagon box and a supply of wood for Mary and Andrew to keep the quarters warm. Each night, Norman dried his horses off with gunney sacks and fed them well. His only guide to keep in the roadway in this two feet of snow, was blazes on the trees put there twenty-two years before. They took four days from Camp Verde to Winslow. To add to the discomfort, the baby had the whooping cough.

During the hectic days in Taylor, Agnes was efficiently helped by grandma Margaret Hancock, the town midwife, and young ladies like Rebecca Standifird, who later became wife of Jesse Kay.

Norman sold his thriving sheep business, with headquarters in a valley known as Phoenix Park, between Pinedale and Heber, Arizona. He found employment nearer home so he could be with his Agnes most of the time. She mended slowly, but surely ’till she had recovered complete health.

In an attempt to meet their finances, that were badly strained during the paralysis days, they sold their Rock house [House] home and the four acre lot and built a house on the farm on the east side of Silver Creek. Among the chattels received from purchaser Betsy McCleve, 1904, were 27 head of cows and a 40 acre tract of land just south of Pindale, Arizona. The cattle were leased to Ira Wakefield, who took them down on the Perco River, North of the Point of the Mountain, east of Snowflake some ten or fifteen miles. The deal was on some kind of increase basis. The cattle were returned in 1906, with an increase to 30 head of cows and a white face bull.

Norman secured from the state brand department the right to his cattle brand, , the N was for Norman and the 7 represented his seven sons. Logan was designated chief cowboy for the summer of 1907. The cattle were taken to the Pinedale ranch where there had been erected a corral and barn (see chapters 4 and 7). His equipment was 33 head of cows, one bull, one dunn pony, a sheep skin saddle, a tent with stove, and cooking pots and pans. His instructions were to keep salt in the trough for the cattle and at the springs in west fork of Pinedale wash and at the deer licks. "You will see each one of these animals every day for the next six weeks. If any of them stray away from the herd, you will bring them back to the fold." The cattle wintered in the cedars north of Pinedale and south of Taylor.

The old rock [Rock]house, barn, corrals, sheds, woodpile, fences, the old cherry and apple trees and all the rest bring memories that pull at the heart strings. They call for a lot of stories, some of which belong in chapter 12, Tales Tall and Tender [Tales, Tall and Tender], and some that belong in one’s own individual storybook. Some few things may be said without infringement on other tales. There were a lot of kid fights, group fights, that scattered dough, biscuits, cans, pillows, hats, and anything that was not fastened down, around and about. It was battle royal when big sister Mary and Andrew chose up sides for the fray. Even the little kids got splashed with cold water if they cried too loud. One of the favorite games was the rock fight. Can you imagine kids taking sides and throwing rocks at each other at close range or far off? Joe likes to tell how he put Log to flight when he hit him on the ankle with an egg sized rock that put him on crutches for a week. Rulon and Elias were little fellows, but they got training in how to keep your place or go hurt and hungry. After the battles, we cleaned up the place, after a fashion, and other [Mother] coming in from Relief Society would look us over and say, "Well, I’m glad you didn’t kill anyone."

George H. was younger, but as tough as an owl. He did his part in tearing up and fixing up, but was hard headed when it came to being told not to do something that looked feasable to him. Like the time when the lye can fell off it’s perch and before his sister could get it away from him, he had his hand in and some of it in his mouth. Why did he do it? Well, he thought it was cold gravy. It took a lot of time, doctoring, mothering, brothring and sistering to get him healed before he could take his place at the table comfortably.

There were three sisters in the group, Mary, Dicie and Mocella. Each of them were good women and true to the standards taught by their parents. Mary was chief when the parents were away, that is, almost and until Andrew decided his territory had been invaded. Not that he was quarrelsome, but he was defender of equal rights and didn’t like anything that had the appearance of usurpation. Mary brought us all up in good kindly style and turned over to sister Dicie after she began dating. Her chief suiter was John E. Palmer, whom she married after he returned from the mission field and Mary had been graduated from the Snowflake Stake Academy, (S.S.A). These two events were well approved by our parents and became a model for the children of the family. Dicie May was a model child in every way. Just thirteen months youger than Logan, she became his constant playmate, bedfellow for six years and tutor in arithmetic. Dicie helped bring the family through two tough trials. She was mother to the younger boys after their mother died in 1913. Then some years later, she was keeper of the family together after father’s second wife, Caroline Smith passed away in 1924. Mocella Verdell was a small child when the writer of this chapter was in the home, but he learned to love, honor and respect her for her many talents in music, art, educationa [education], and for the comfort she was to her father during his many trials. The writer ate Thanksgiving dinner with her and a few days later came the word that Mocella died of the flu December 7, 1918. She had a sweetheart in the person of Seymor Fish to whom she was sealed as wife in 1927. More shall be said about the girls in chapter 9, The Long Dozen [The Long Dozen].
Among the many things Dicie did well, was telling the story of her parents and family in articles titled, "Across the Years with Norman and Agnes Brimhall." [Across the Years with Norman and Agnes Brimhall.] It’s pages are worn and crisp but much of her effort will find place in this volume under appropriate chapters. Here we quote from her article about Agnes: "In 1904 the family gave up the rock house with its adjacent lots and went into the field on the east side of Silver Creek to begin again. It was a trial for Agnes to give up the lots above and below the ditch whre she and her mother had planted a pansy bed, rows of peppermint, spearmint, asparagus, dill, rose bushes, trumpet creeper vines, currant and gooseberry bushes, and many fruit trees. The place was in bloom of productivity and more [,] it was rich in memory for the entire family.

In the new home in the field she helped Norman and the boys plant fruit trees, berry bushes, shrubs and the like. She did not live to see these bear fruit, but she did get harvests from her own little garden of herbs, pieplant, dill and sage.

During those years 1905-13 in the new home, after she had laid her last two babies away, Margaret and Jesse N., and realized there would be no more child bearing for her, she reverted to the arts of her girlhood days, crocheting, knitting, cutting and fitting quilt blocks, making herself new clothes, and doing things to improve the home. She wanted everything about the place done up in good order including the family record. She made many trips to the home of the ward clerk, F. M. Perkins, to verify dates, ordinances and bring her record to completeness.

Agnes longed for her son Andrew to get home from the B.Y.U. where he had been attending College [college] since 1911. She wanted very much to see him and he had promised to put in the new house, cupboards, clothes closets, etc. He had not been home since leaving for he found it necessary to work in the Butte Montana mines during the summer months to maintain himself in school to the finish. At the time he went to the mines to work, Agnes said to her daughter Mary, "I shall never see him again in this life." Sometime later, she told Dicie just how she wanted things done in case of death...just how the children were to act. How and who was to make her burial clothes and what she expected her children to be without further help from her.

During her extended sickness, a few years previous, she went into a coma and attendants thought she had passed away. Later she told her husband that she had seen the spirit world and was admonished to remain there but she felt her family on earth needed her help and promised to return as soon as the children could get on without her. She now felt the time was near for her to keep the promise made. Apparently her time came, for in [the] spring of 1913, she caught a cold that turned to pneumonia and died March 12, 1913. Her remains were intered in the Taylor cemetery. The funeral service was beautiful. Among the speakers, [no comma] was Sam’l F. Smith, president of the Snowflake Stake, who said of her, "She was a women in whom there was no guile." Mother Mary Agnes had lived a good life, reaped the rewards of virtuous living, had reared a large family, had done her part by church and society and was now ready for the next step forward.

Norman was left with six sons, the youngest, Elias Rae, ten years old and three daughters and the Taylor Ward to preside over. Norman soon found anothr [another] lovely woman for a helpmeet in the person of Caroline Smith, daughter of Jesse N. Smith and Emma Larson. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple October 9, 1913, and immediately returned to their duties at home in Taylor, Arizona. Caroline picked up where mother Agnes left off and endeared herself to the entire family by her kindness, understanding, and real love for the members of her ready made family. No woman could be more loved and respected than was our new mother Caroline Smith Brimhall. The writer cannot remember a single incident wherein there was disagreement, confusion, argument or ill feeling. It was "Home Sweet Home." [".] In the spring of 1914, Logan was called to the North Western States Mission where he labored from June 5, 1914 to September 10, 1916. During this time, every month, without fail came a letter and check from mother Caroline and her husband Norman. Heaven bless them!

Caroline took her place as mother of the Taylor Ward and assisted her Bishop husband to fill his obligations as the leader of this unit of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At his request, Norman was released as bishop of the Taylor Ward, February 11, 1916, and was made a member of the Snowflake Stake High Council. He was also made superintendant of the Snowflake Stake Sunday School. Caroline was his secretary of the organization.

They were released from these positions November 10, 1917, because they were moving to Mesa, Arizona.

The farm life of Norman, Caroline and the children will be part of chapter 6 titled The Farmers [ The Farmers]. Suffice it to say, Caroline was a devoted wife to Norman and mother to his children. She passed away following a tumor operation January 19, 1924, and was buried in the Taylor cemetery. The plot where Norman’s wife Agnes was buried being filled, Caroline was placed in a new plot nearby where since have been placed Norman and wife Phoebe.

Norman, bereft of his Caroline, eased the ache and sorrow in his farm and church work. Then one bright day came Phoebe Neslen Foster into his home as wife and helpmeet. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple [,] June 23, 1925, and their efforts will be chronicled in chapters 6 and 10. Phoebe was a devoted wife to her Norman and they lived well and happily.

During Norman’s last years, he took his wife and daughter Dicie by car back over the trail to Savoia, New Mexico, where he visited the ruins of each house as he remembered the standing location of each. At his mother’s grave, he gave way briefly to tears of joy and sadness in memory of his greatest of friends, his mother. There was placed, at that time, a fence around the plot of ground where there were several graves and he replaced the marker with a more durable one. Some years later, the Norman, Clayborn, and Alma Brimhall family decendants held a family reunion in the area and placed a bronze plaque in cement that was in good condition August of 1977 when the area was visited by Norman’s son Logan and grandson Norman Merrill and his wife Bonnie Brimhall.

During Norman’s visit to his mother’s grave, some forty years after burial, as a final parting, he sent word to the home of chief [Chief] Josephine of the Pines, that he, Norman Brimhall was in the area and would like to see him again. Joseph of the Pines sent word he was too ill to see anyone but to you I send my son. Norman retold the story of how Joseph and his people had saved the lives of the white people by bringing fresh meat, medicine and other relief in time of their great need.

Norman planned and built well and left evidence of his thrift in the homes he constructed, the Taylor ward chapel that was completed during his bishopric, supplying the Relief Society house with chairs, purchase of the Decker Hall as a place of ward recreation, fencing Ward Square and similar projects. He was interested in education all his days, was a good story teller and shunned all things of a derogatory nature. He died suddenly of heart failure at his home in Mesa, Arizona, November 29, 1938, and was buried in Taylor, Arizona.



CHAPTER 4

"The Builders"

Norman and Agnes were married on Valentine’s Day 1882, and started a life long career as builders.

Shortly after their marriage, they purchased a town lot from Agnes’ half brother, William R. Willis. This lot was across the street south of the big red brick Palmer home. They built a two room [two-room] house out of logs (presumably). This building has been added to and most of Norman and Agnes’ children have known this house as the John Standifird place.

Sarah, Mary, and Electa were born in this home. Agnes’ mother, Sarah Melissa Dodge Willis died April 1, 1890. Norman and Agnes purchased the Willis property. This property was in the southwest part of the town of Taylor. Two of the seven acres were on the west side of Highway 77, and five acres were on the east side of 77.

Grandpa Josuah T. and Grandma Sarah Melissa Dodge Willis lived in a log house just above the West Taylor Ditch on the east side of highway 77. Most of the five acres were below the ditch, and made a very fertile little farm.

Norman and Agnes dug a basement and moved the Willis log house to the west side of Highway 77, and placed it over the basement they had prepared. The family lived in this home while they built a rock house on the property west of Highway 77. This two story[two-story] rock house became the birth place of several of the Brimhall children. Andrew, Dicie, Joseph, George, Mocella, Rulon, Elias, and Margaret were born there. Logan was born in Mesa while Norman and Agnes were on a trip to Mesa for Agnes’ health.

The two story [two-story] rock house was made livable [liveable], but was not entirely completed until Norman returned home from his mission early in 1902.

Early in the nineties, Norman signed a contract with the Army at Fort Apache to feed not only their mules, but to furnish a house in which they could cook, feed, and billet the men as they came through Taylor on their way to Holbrook or other parts of the state.

They built a large hay barn running east and west with a grainery in the west end. To the north of the barn, they built a large board corral which covered one-half acre. Along the entire west side of the corral they built a sturdy shed. There was a manger against the west wall. This manger ran the full length of the shed. Under this shed, stalls were built so that each mule would have his own stall. In addition to the manger in each stall, a grain box was built for each mule, or horse. There was a rope running the full length of the east side of the stalls. The rope was put up to keep the mules and horses out of the stalls until hay and grain were placed in each. When the feed box was filled, the rope was dropped and each mule or horse went into his own stall to feed.

A three room house was built so the army cooks could provide meals for the soldiers, and their officers. The officers also slept in this house.

The hay and grain used in this operation was raised on a thirty-three acre farm on the east bank of Silver Creek which Norman and Agnes purchased from the Perkins boys. Norman and his boys had turned this thirty-three acres of brush into a very productive little farm.

This enterprise only lasted five or six years. As soon as the telegraph came to Snowflake, the Army moved their feed operation to Snowflake so it would be near the telegraph office.

Early in 1904, Norman and Agnes sold the Highway property to Joseph and Betsy McCleve, who soon sold it to the J. J. Shumway Family, thus the two story [two-story]rock house on the west side of Highway 77 has been known throughout the years as the J. J. Shumway home.

While a new home was being built on the thirty-three acre farm, the family lived in the Joe Warner home which was on the east side of highway [Highway]77, just south and across the highway from the rock house, in which they had lived and raised their family.

Norman had become acquainted with an excellent carpenter in Holbrook by the name of Laraby. At that time, Mr. Laraby had no tools, so Norman bought a complete set for him to use in building the new home. The home was built in the southwest corner of the thirty-three acre farm. This placed the new home right on the east bank of Silver Creek.

Both Norman and Agnes planned this new home. Not only did they plan the house, they planned for a garden and an orchard. The orchard was planned especially by Anges. Since it took several years to get the orchard in, Agnes did not live to see it bear fruit.

Soon after the new home was finished, the fine tools Norman had purchased for Mr. Laraby became property of Andrew. This started Andrew on a long life as a builder. He, in turn, taught nearly all of Norman’s boys the building trade, both in school and on the farm.

The last of the Brimhall children was born in this new home. Jessie N., named after Norman’s friend Jessie N. Smith, the president of the Snowflake Stake, was born on April 29, 1906. Jessie N. lived only a few months, and passed away September 16, 1906.

Shortly after the family moved to the farm, an adobe cellar, and an adobe chicken coop were built. Norman and his boys, during several years, built a big barn and corrals. There were few barns ever built that were as practical. The hay barn stood in the center. On the north were stalls and a corral for the cows. On the east was a tool shed that ran the full length of the barn. On the northeast end of this shed was a room used as a harness room as well as a Blacksmith shop. Above this room was a grainery.

The horse stalls were attached to the west side of the barn. All of the mangers were built in the stalls next to the barn so it was easy to feed all the animals.

Norman was not only a good builder, he was an agile builder. He prided himself on being able to get around in high places much like a mountain goat. When his son Elias was about eight years old, he and Norman were up on the roof of the barn putting on the comb. There had been a rain just before they went upon the roof. The roof was wet and slick. Elias with his leather soled shoes was creeping around on the roof very cautiously. Norman became very aggravated with the clumsy boy, and scolded him severly. Then Norman said, "Here I am over fifty years old. I have a house full of high shool athletes, and none of them can get around up here as well as I can. I can hop the full length of this comb on one foot." At that point he grabbed one foot in a hand and started hopping on the comb of the roof. Mid way [Mid-way], his foot hit slightly to the west of the comb. His wet leather sole slid out from under him. He rolled and slid down the west side of the roof, and dropped the four or five feet to the roof of the horse stalls. He had built up such speed that he continued to slide and roll down over this roof, and as he fell over the edge of the horse stall roof, a work horse came out of his stall and Norman lit on the horse. The animal was so suprised that he threw Norman high in the air.

Elias oozed down off the roof and went to his father who was by now sitting up in the corral gasping for breath. After catching his breath, Norman limped into the house and was laid up for a day or so.

This thirty-three acre farm with its buildings proved to be an ideal place to rear a family. By 1917 many of the children were on their own, either away on jobs, or in homes of their own. The little farm became the property of Joseph, and later Logan.

In the year of 1904, Norman and Agnes started the cattle ranch in Pinedale. Nearly all his boys helped with the cattle and the ranch, but the main responsibility for the cattle fell on the shoulders of Logan until 1913, when Joseph became the cowboy of the family. Joseph not only had charge of the cattle but aided Norman in several other cattle projects.

Here at Pinedale, Norman and his boys built a log barn, and a huge log corral. The corral was not only huge, it was built out of huge logs. Norman notched each log with his trusty double bitted axe. Each log was then rolled up skid poles by a faithful team and placed just so.

The log barn and corrals served the ranch well for many years. About a year before the ranch and cattle were sold to John Hunt, in about the year of 1915, Norman with the help of Joe and George, built a new corral in the northeast corner of the ranch, and dug a new well near the corral. This ranch was not only a cattle ranch, but was a very productive dry farm.

Agnes passed away on March 12, 1913. Caroline Smith became Norman’s second wife October 9, 1913. Norman and Caroline with Rulon and Elias, moved to Mesa in the early fall of 1917. They purchased an eighty acre farm located on East Broadway and the first canal. They purchased the farm from George Ellsworth. The farm had been used as a pasture for diary cattle, and while it was in bad shape, it was extremely fertile.

There was a snug two room adobe house on the farm. Norman and Caroline used their building know-how to add to the house, and make it liveable for the little family. Two years later, when Andrew and Logan took over the farm, Andrew also added to the house and it became a very comfortable home.

Norman used his building skills in erection of an adequate barn with corrals for the horses and cow that was ever a part of the farm operation.

Norman’s true skills came to light in his creating and maintaining farm implements and machinery. He built land drags, land planes, buck-rakes, and ditch-vees. All of these implements were the best in the Salt River Valley. Not only did Norman revamp the whole eighty acres, and build all new ditches on this farm, he did the same thing with the 320 acre Metz farm as well as the 160 acre Cash Brimhall farm, both of which he added to his farming operation.

While Norman was numbered among the most successful farmers in the valley, the depression and age finally caught up with Norman and his third wife Phoebe Foster Brimhall, and they retired to their new home at East Broadway.

This beautiful little home was planned, and financed by both Norman and Phoebe. Much of the work on the house was done by Norman. The home was built on about two acres of land that was located on Broadway and Cresent Street.

While Norman and Phoebe had moved to the city, they took the country with them. They put in an orchard with all kinds of fruit trees and vines. Norman built corrals and a very sturdy barn on the property. Naturally they had to have two Brown Swiss milch cows to keep them happy and contented.

It was imperative that Norman build a shop and tool shed. This shop was no palace, but it was unique and very serviceable. The neatness, and the care Norman gave his shop and tools was the wonderment of his family, and his neighbors. No one ever found a dirty or dull tool in his shop.



CHAPTER 5

"The Freighters"

WAGON WHEELS

Wagon wheels, wagon wheels,
Keep on turn-in’, wagon wheels
Roll a-long, sing your song
Keep on turn-in’, wagon wheels,

Roll a-long, sing your song
Wa-gon wheels, carry me home
Wa-gon wheels, carry me home.

Freighting in western U.S.A. was an intriguing, but hard way to make a living. Many men who loved animals, wagons, close friendships and long days found this occupation to their liking. These yesteryears reach back from 1920 to 1850 for the subjects of this chapter.

Norman Brimhall’s acquaintence with this employment began at age 14 in 1877 and ran across the years to 1920. Of necessity, the wagons had to be well and sturdily built. The roads were rough and deeply rutted and seemingly ran to nowhere [no-where] and back. The vehicle bounced over rocks, stumps, trees and whatever was there. Among the sturdy brands of wagons, were the Bain, Studebaker, and the Winona. The chief lubricant was good old stand by Frazer’s Axel Grease.

The Samantha Lake Brimhall family, having grown tired of cold winters, short school seasons and forbiding loneliness of farm life in Oxford, Idaho, sold their land in the spring of 1877 and went out towards sunny southland of Arizona. The husband and father of the family had already left for the south with his other family on another route. Samantha wanted to go by way of Savoia, New Mexico, so she could see her daughter Samantha Boise, who was going into Old Mexico with her family. This group consisted of mother Samantha, 42, Norman, 14, Clayborn, 10, Elnora, 8, and Willard, 4 years old.

The family had a good covered wagon that was drawn by four horses, Doll and Beck as leaders, Lime and Madge as wheelers, four cows, three calves, and a brown pony, Skipper, that was ridden by Clayborn to herd the cattle. They stopped along the way to visit relatives. At spring, between Santaquin and Goshen, they rented a house for the summer and spent the summer hauling iron ore fromn the Tintic mines to the Santaquin station, some twenty-five miles. The mother added much to the family budget by making and selling hats and gloves.

Norman and Clayborn did the freighting. They took good care of the horses, grained and fed them hay in right proportions and made good use of the currey comb. A horse likes to have his hair and mane combed as does a young woman. The round trip was some 50 miles and since a freight team travels from three to four miles per hour, the boys had to camp out one or two nights per trip.

This was quite a responsibility for two boys 14 and 10 years old. They made friends along the way, and added to the budget sufficiently to complete the funds and equipment necessary for the journey into New Mexico and Arizona. Norman managed the four horses and wagon with ease and pleasure. They arrived in the Savoia Valley in late December of 1877 or early January of 1878. The mother sickened of small pox and died March 6, 1878. Norman dug her grave in the edge of the pine forest and helped a good woman friend lay her to rest in an unfriendly land covered with snow.

Noah, the father, came from Woodruff, Arizona in a few weeks to help his children. Norman was placed on the lead wagon with four horses and Noah and Clayborn followed with his teams. Clayborn was recovering from a bad case of small pox and needed to be near his father. The other two children, not fully recovered from small pox, were left with friends.

They hauled such items as wood, hides, salt, blankets and food supplies for Indian traders from Fort Defiance to Fort Wingate and from Keams Canyon, Arizona to Albuquerque, New Mexico. On return from Albuquerque to Savoia, they gathered up what was left of Samantha’s equipment and started for Woodruff, Arizona where they arrived July 24, 1878.

Norman soon went to Taylor, Arizona to help construct a home for Noah’s third wife and her family. This was on the property that now, 1978, is home of Vern and Lena Hatch. Noah had managed to buy the farm north of the house and across the street that came to be called the Jennings farm. It was here on this property and in this house or another near by that the "Boy from Taylor", Renz Jennings was born.

Our young man made friends among the Walkers and Kays and with them helped dig the irrigation ditches that serve farm land on east and west Taylor. Norman must have had lonely moments away from his brothers and sister who were being cared for by Aunt Lovina and her children in Woodruff. It was under these circumstances that he met his wife to be, Agnes Willis, at the woodpile and caught a new vision of life.

In 1880, Norman bought a pair of gray horses, harness, wagon, etc., from the Walker boys and set out freighting from Needles, California to Bacon Springs (150 miles east of where Holbrook now is, 1978). His earnings were well cared for by his sweetheart, Agnes Willis, and they were married February 14, 1882.

About 1886, they went into the sheep business and had the promise of making good in the industry until his wife became very ill and almost helpless. Their interests were disposed of so Norman could be close to home and more helpful to Agnes.

Freighting from Holbrook, Arizona to Fort Apache south some ninety miles, became a part of the local effort in making a living. Most every man had some kind of freight outfit. Our young father to be got into the whirl with a six horse and two wagon tandum hitched outfit that proved profitable employment. This freighter rode the right rear horse so as to be near the wagon’s brakes and closer to the horses. He used a single line to control the animals. This line ran through the hame loop of the swing horse up to the inside ring of the leaders bridle. A slight twitch of the jerk line and a call of "Jip, hah," would turn the animals to the left of the reverse by calling "Jip, gee." Other calls included "Get up," that meant go forward. "Whoa." meant stop, and "Hold," which meant to stop and hold the load where it was. If the driver wanted more or faster turn right or left, he repeated the call till he got what was wanted.

This freighter had a way with horses. After a brief acquaintence with him, he could get them to do what ever [what-ever] was needed. Some men made balky animals out of good horses but he could make pulling horses out of those that refused to work for other men. The family had a black mare by the name of Florence, that the boys used to haul wood with. Most every time they arrived at the mud hole, near the unloading place, old Florence would stop dead still just before getting into it or at the middle point of the bog. The boys tried most everthing short of building a fire under her, but nothing budged the animal. Sometimes she sulked for more than two hours or until Norman arrived on the scene. He would pat her nose, rub her shoulders under the collar, smoothe her mane and brush the flies out of her eyes, say a few kind words, mount the wagon and say, "Florence, it’s time to get the wagon out of the mud, get up!" Florence would respond by moving off in unison with the other horse and dad would try to explain what made Florence balk. Florence always got a double portion of grain for obedience after one of her scenes.

The writer of this chapter has seen this man go deep into the pine forest, cut a log two feet in diameter and thirty feet long, hitch his freight team of four horses onto it and bring them to the corral or barn that was in the process of being built. This he did without doing anything with the horses save call to them, "get up, gee, haw, whoa."

One of his sons said, "What dad can’t do with a team of horses, an ax, a shovel, a hand saw, and adz, a hammer, a bale of hay and a bag of oats is very limited."

Where did Mary Agnes fit into the name of this chapter, The Freighters ? She was bookkeeper, banker, replenisher of the grub box, and on occasion, the cheerful sojourner. On an occasion of mountain travel, she got directions mixed up as well as her words and said to the driver, "Norman, is this side of the mountain the other side?"

The freighters day was long, difficult and was often sprinkled with amusing incidents. The day began at daylight. One man was dispatched to bring in the horses that had been hobbled out to grass the night before. Another man greased the wagon wheel axels, mended harnesses or whatever needed fixing and the rest made breakfast ready. They left the camp ground in prearranged order and moved along at three miles per hour ’till the sun said it was noon. The horses stood in harness, given a bucket of water from the barrel on the wagon and a bag of grain hung over his ears into which he lustily thrust his nose. An hour or more before sundown, the freighters arrived at a designated camp area and made preparations for the night. The most entertaining hour of the day came while each person warmed the rivets in his overalls by turning fore and aft around the camp fire. Many freighters carried hot rivet scars. Subject matter ranged from mishaps of the day’s journey to the Tukes’ Berry war, to feats of Commodore Owens, to Sheriff Dan Divelbess, to the Flake brothers attempt to capture the desparado in the streets of Snowflake, Arizona. This latter story ended by Charles, a young father and the desparado dying on the spot and James M. Flake being wounded in the lobe of one ear. Well, Norman and his sons did freighting and story telling summer, and winter for several years and Mary Agnes and her girls kept the home fires burning.

It was during these latter freighting years that Vern Hatch and Leo Willis accompanied their fathers on occasional trips to Ft. Apache. Vern tells this story. He is a good story teller. He never records one....just tells them. Perhaps because he won’t have to remember what he said last time. At any rate, he and the Willis boy were the last two wagons in the line. The Willis lad had a pony named Finger Tail and he was a stubborn animal. The Willis wagon was last in line and Finger Tail had been tied behind the wagon to be led along. One of the boys managed to come out of McCoy’s Pinetop store with a 5 cent bag of Bull Durham, set it on fire in the form of a cigarette and it smelled more Bull than Durham. As the men often did when the going was comparatively easy, they walked or rode and chatted with each other on their leisurely way. Willis tied his lines to the wagon rack and went to Vern’s wagon for converation and a little home comfort. They disposed of several stories and a number of roll your own Bull Durham cigs. The boys pace put them a worrysome distance behind and the fathers rested behing [behind] a cedar tree ‘till the boys’ wagons came along. They stepped out and yelled, "Whoa." Everything came to a halt, even the cigaretts couldn’t find a hiding place. After gathering the Bull Durham bag and papers, the dads went to see why the Willis team was so well soaked with sweat and seemed well nigh done in. They found Finger Tail on his side, rope around his neck taught, [taunt] tongue out and his ground side completely void of horse hair. Young Willis cried bitterly over Finger Tail’s demise and Vern finished by saying, "Boys, tabbacie, ’specially Bull Durham, ain’t no good for growing up Mormon boys, and is hard on horses."

The three biggest sins of freighters are: Caffine, nicotine and exaggeration. There were those among them who knew no sin.

Good freighting was an education in and of itself. The freighter had to know how to care for self, animals, and equipment. He learned about courtesy in dealing with others. Of necessity, he had to be reliable, full of integrity, helpful to others, get up and do on time. A good freighter was a gentleman, a friend, full of kindness towards men and animals. He was dependable and EVERREADY.[EVER READY]




CHAPTER 6
"The Farmers"

Norman Andrew Brimhall was born on a farm in Hyrum, Utah, October 20, 1862. His wife, Mary Agnes Willis, was born in Toquerville, Utah. Toquerville was and is a very small town in southern Utah. Not only were they both born on a farm they pretty well spent their entire lives on the farm, therefore, it is not hard to see why they both had a deep love of the soil.

Norman and Agnes were married on Valentine’s day in 1882. Their farming consisted of gardening for the first eight years of their wedded life. Anges’s mother died in April of 1890, and Norman and Agnes bought the Willis home and farm. The home and farm was in the southern end of Taylor. Two acres of the property was on the west side of what is now Highway 77. The home they built here was patterned after the Willis home in Toquerville. The two story rock house is now occupied by the widow of Paul Rogers. Four acres of the property on the east side of Highway 77 was mostly under the West Taylor Ditch.

On this irrigated land was a small orchard. Many of the trees were brought from Toquerville by Grandpa and Grandma Willis. Norman and Agnes added a few trees of their own. Naturally there was a garden. Agnes had to have her rhubarb, dill, mints, and asparagus beds. On the rest of the land they raised wheat, oats, corn, and potatoes.

Several of their children were born in the two story rock house. Elias who was born October 28, 1902 was the last of their children to be born there. Shortley after 1902 the Willis property was sold. In a short time it became the J. J. Shumway family home. Norman moved the family to the Joe Warner house on the east side of Highway 77. This little house was not far south of the two story rock house. The family lived here while a house was being built on a 33 acre farm on the east bank of Silver Creek which Norman and Agnes had bought from the Perkins’ boys.

The house on the new farm was built by Mr. Laraby. Jessie N., the last of the children, was born in the new home. He was born on April 29, 1906 and died on September 16th of the same year.

The general slope of the land on the new farm was from east to west, but the ten acres on the west side near Silver Creek was a little higher than the land in the middle of the farm. A dyke had to be built to put the ditch on to get the water to the west end of the farm. This project took a lot of time and effort. One team was used on a slip scraper and one team was used on a tongue scraper. Today, Larry and Darrel Brimhall can move more dirt in one load with their front end loader than a team and scraper could move in an entire day. Since the ditch was much higher than the surrounding land it took one boy to keep the gopher holes plugged up on irrigation day. If that boy was a little lazy the water soon washed a big hole in the ditch.

It was necessary to purchase Water Shares in the Snowflake and Taylor Irrigation Company. The water came to the various farms on a two[Two] Turn schedule.
The Long Turn came every 14 days, while the Short Turn came every 7 days. This made it possible to raise lush gardens. The Short Turn lasted but a few hours, but the Long Turn ran for many hours.

Agnes was an expert gardener and under her eagle eye she and her boys
always raised an outstanding garden. Norman was considered to be among the best farmers in Navajo Country [County]. There were many horses and cows on the farm so the garden and the entire farm was well fertilized, and the productivity of the farm was the envy of the whole community. Not only was the land well fertilized, but since Norman and Agnes were prayerful souls[,] the land, the garden, the orchard, the stock, and the children all got a daily blessing.

I always marvelled at Norman’s capacity to have a place for every thing [everything], and to have everything it [in] its place. His whole farm was neater than most women’s front rooms. Just a few days before he died one of his daughter in-laws complimented him on the neatness of his shop and his entire place on East Broadway.

In his youth, Norman was an expert with a cradle. I am not refering [referring] to a baby cradle but one that was used in harvesting grain. With an axe he had few equals. He could hugh [hew] a straighter line with an axe that some of his sons could with a hand saw. When I remember how easily he could swing a scythe even in his old age, I get an inferiority complex. Up until his death his little place on East Broadway was free of unsightly weeds and grass and his faithful scythe was the instrument he used to keep it so well groomed.

Norman wasn’t lazy but he was always looking for easier and more efficient ways of doing things on the farm. While Norman’s neighbors pitched the hay on to the wagon in the field and then again pitched it off the wagon into a stack or into the barn, he worked out a system of rolling an entire load off the wagon into the barn. Two ropes were fastened to the back of the barn and then brought down over the top of the hay and fastened to the two ends of a rope that had been looped across the wagon before the hay was loaded on to the wagon in the field. When the load was brought into the barn [,] the team was taken to the far end of the barn and hitched to a long cable that ran over a pulley in the top end of the barn. It then was taken the full length of the barn up over the new load and hooked into a rope that had been placed on the wagon. When all the proper connections were made the team would roll the entire load to the back of the barn. What a beautiful sight for tired boys to see.

There were no field hay bailers in those days, so the hay was not bailed until late fall or early winter. The power to operate these bailers came from a team of horses going around a power take off that operated a plunger thus compressing the hay into bails.

There were no harvesters that threshed the grain in the field. Grain was cut by a binder drawn by three horses. The machine bound the grain into bundles. The boys put these bundles into shocks of about 12 or 15 bundles. When the grain was thoroughly dry it was hauled to the stack yeard and the bundles were placed in round stacks that sloped to a point so as to be rain proof. Late in the fall the threshers would come and thresh the grain.

The threshing crew was usually composed of four or five men. The boys in the family did the rest of the work. The threshing machine was powered by 12 head of horses hooked up as teams that went around a power box which turned a drive shaft that in turn operated the threshing machine. A boy was usually given the job of bouncing a few rocks off the ribs of the laziest horses so the would do their share of the heavy work. The boys stacked the straw, and hauled the grain to the bins in the grainery.

The crew was fed at the family table, therefore, our women spent days getting ready for the threshers. The women of our family knew the threshing crew would compare their cooking with the cooking of the women in all the families in the community. Believe you me, the threshing crews were fed like monarchs.

Some years Norman raised sorghum cane much like Uncle Joe does today. Just before frost, when the heads had ripened the boys would take short sticks fashioned some what like a short blunt wooden sword and beat the leaves off the cane. This was called stripping. The heads of the cane were then cut off and saved for stock grain. When the cane was cut it was hauled to a cane press powered by one horse going aroung the juicer. The juice was cooked in big metal vats placed over furnaces fired by wood. Norman usually used a neighbor’s vat and juicer, but the boys hauled the wood and fed the furnace. Uncle Joe [,] being modern [,] uses an electric motor to operate his juicer and gas jets to fire the furnace.

Norman didn’t make a yearly practice of making molasses, for Uncle Will Willis had a corner on the molasses market.

We hear much these days about the L. D. S. Church Welfare program, but it hasn’t reached the perfection of the 33 acre Brimhall welfare program.

Norman and Agnes would be considered poor by todays standards, but by the standards of their time they were among the more fortunate. Food and clothing were what counted in those days,[] and if you could get what was needed of these two items[,] you were living in the lap of luxury.

Picture if you will, a cellar with several pans of rich milk with thick cream setting on the cellar rack, pounds and pounds of home cured hams, and side bacon; ample potatoes, carrots, turnips, parsnips, and cabbage in a frost free pit. Quite often a quarter of a beef was hanging on the north side of the house. There would be big barrels of salt pickles, and a barrel of sauerkraut in the cellar. There were eggs in the chicken coop. Frequently there was a dozen loaves of hot bread on the kitchen table made from home grown wheat, ground at the Silver Creek mill in Shumway. This mill was run by water power. Dryed and home canned fruit were usually available.

This was a diet that kept the hard working men strong and healthy, but a diet that left much to be desired as far as the women were concerned. This was doubly true during the period of the year we referred to as ‘Between Hay and Grass’. Between Hay and Grass came in the spring when the hay in the barn was gone, and the grass on the range surrounding the town had not started to grow. Fruit, green vegetables, carrots, turnips and the like had been exhausted. Taters, ham and gravy were the order of the day. This was a littly heavy for the women.

Hog killing time was a time of rejoicing. Not so much for the older boys, for it was hard work for them, but for the small fry it was a celebration. A fifty gallon barrel of water was heated scalding hot and leaned against a platform. When the hogs were killed they were placed on the platform and shoved head first into the barrel of hot water. Then they were pulled out and turned around and shoved, behind first into the scalding water. When the hogs were pulled out on the platform, Norman and the older boys used scraping knives to remove all the hair. The hogs were then ready to butcher. The hogs looked so white and clean at this stage.

After the drawn carcasses had hung in a cool place for a few days, they wre taken down and cut into hams and side bacon. All the meat was salted to remove excess moisture and placed in wooden barrels. After a week or so in the barrels the hams and side meat were hung in a smoke house. This smoke house looked like a Chick Sales Three Holer. There was a fire pit under the little house and a stove pipe leading from the fire pit into the little house. Corn cobs were usually used to fire the pit. Smoke, and a little heat went up into the little house. The smoke could be seen oozing out of the cracks of the little building. After several days the meat was cured and ready for winter use. The small boys usually got to tend the fire.

The women made head cheese out of the pig’s head, and some other parts of the carcasses. Home made [Home-made] soap was made out of the trimmed off fat. This was done by boiling the fat in big wash tubs over an open fire in the back yard. The right amount of lye was placed in the solution to bring about a chemical reaction that produced soap.

Sauerkraut was made by chopping up a hundred pounds or so of cabbage with a hash knive in a big wooden bowl. The chopped up cabbage was placed in a wooden barrel kept in the cellar. The right amount of salt was added. A clean white cloth was placed over the cabbage in the barrel. A wooden lid that fit down inside the barrel was placed over the cloth, and weights were put on the wooded [wooden] lid so that the cabbage was soon coompletely covered by its own juice. After a week or so you had delectable sauerkraut. The wooden lid was then removed. Any boy who hasn’t sneaked into a cellar and run his hand and arm up to his elbow into a barrel of sauerkraut and pulled out a big handful and eaten the luscious kraut hasn’t experienced life at its fullest.

Speaking of the joys of youth, what modern recreation could possibly bring the utter joy and satisfaction to a young soul as a leisurely hour spent in a three holer on a warm spring day thumbing through a Sears-Roebuck Catalogue? A boy could dream about all the wonderful things he could order after he spent a full week pitching hay for Johnny McCleeve ten hours a day at the hourly wage of 25 cents. This was doubly true if the winter had been long and cold. Then nature demanded that the trips to the little brown house be short and done with dispatch.

In those days when a neighbor lady came to visit her friend it was considered in good taste for the two of them to go to the little brown building together if they so desired, for visiting time was precious and not a moment of it could be wasted. There was a small hole for a child if one needed to be taken along.

Much that has been told has been men’s work. We should now take time to mention one of the major tasks for the women. The task of which we speak was Wash Day. Women today with their automatic washers and dryers won’t quite understand. Washing was a task for the women in the family except the boys carried all the water, built the fires and carried the wood.

Gallons and gallons of water had to be heated in tubs over open fires in the back yard. The clothes were all scrubbed on a washboard (you know, rub a dub dub, three men in a tub) by hand, using the homemade soap as mentioned before. All white clothes had to be boiled for many minutes while someone continually stirred them. The boiling took place in a special oval shaped vessel called a copper clothes boiler. Lye was placed in the boiler to soften the water. While the water was heating, scum would form on the top of the water. This scum had to be skimmed off many times before the clothes were placed in the boiler with cut up homemade soap. When the clothes had boiled a sufficient time they were taken out of the boiler with a long round stick and placed in a tub of cold water. They were rinsed in several tubs of water. Each time they were wrung out by hand. The clothes were dried on clothes lines.

The last of the Brimhalls to own the little farm was Logan. Here he raised most of his 13 children. Logan kept many of the old ways but of course he was able to modernize the old place with modern household appliances. His farm equipment was mechanized.

Norman and Agnes engaged in many activities not associated with the farm in their effort to provide the necessities of life for their family, but these activities will be dealt with in other chapters.

Early in the fall of 1917 Norman, Caroline, Rulon, and Elias moved to Mesa. Norman and Caroline purchased an 80 acre farm on East Broadway and the Consolidated Canal which was known as the George Ellsworth Farm.

The farm had been used as pasture land for dairy cattle for many years, so it was a most fertile farm. Norman and his brother Cash bought a Sampson Tractor, and the plowing was done by Cash Brimhall’s son Morgan, who at that time was a senior at Mesa High School.

The west forty was planted to wheat, and the east forty was planted to cotton. The wheat crop was most outstanding. Ben Johnson and Rulon furnished the man power to put the wheat bundles into stacks, and again from the stack to the thresher. Ben was a leaner while Rulon was a pitcher, but the uneaven team got the job done. The wheat was of such high quality that it was sold to the Mesa Mill for seed at $2.50 a hundred.

The forty acres of cotton was the best in the valley. Early in September of 1918 Rulon set out to match our cotton pickers from Oklahoma. He was able to pick a hundred pounds of long staple cotton in one day. Elias struggled manfully to match his brother, but his ten thumbs were no match for Rulon’s piano picking fingers. The younger brother got only 35 pounds over a very long day.

When Norman and Caroline arrived on the farm there was an open well for water, but Caroline being a trained nurse was afraid of the water in the open well so a thirty five[thirty-five] foot well was drilled to furnish running water for the home. Now, because of overuse of pump water in the valley, you could not strike water in the same place short of three hundred feet.

Early in September of 1918, Rulon went to Snowflake to attend the Academy as a senior. Mocella, who had graduated from the Academy came to Mesa. The flu struck and Mocella passed away on December 7, 1918.

The tractors of that time had proven faulty, so they were discarded by the farmers after one year’s use. All the farmers in the valley returned to horse power.

In the spring of 1922, Norman and Caroline again took over the farm in Mesa. During the time Norman’s youngest son, Elias, was on his mission (October 1922 to December 1924) Norman and Caroline expanded their farming operation. Their operation not only included the George Ellsworth 80, but also included the Metz 320 acre farm just west and south of the 80. (This farm is now known as the Gail Fuller farm.) Norman and Caroline were also operating the Cash Brimhall farm on the corner of Southern avenue [Avenue] and Gilbert Road. This 160 acre farm is now called the LDS Church farm.

On January 19, 1924 Caroline died after an operation for a tumor. Elias, the youngest son, was on a mission, and Dicie was teaching at the Academy. Dicie gave up her job at the Academy and came to Mesa to take care of her father, Norman.

During the early winter of 1925, Rex Shumway came to aid Norman and his son Elias on the expanded farm. Rex worked on the farm in the daytime and pursued Bessie Solomon vigorously during the hours of the evening.

When school was out at the Academy in Colonial Juarez, Mexico, Norman’s eldest grandson, Otto Palmer, came up from Mexico to help on the farm.

Shortly before Otto came to the farm Norman married Phoebe Foster of Salt Lake City. The solicitiousness of the new bride for her husband amused young Otto to no end.

Norman’s neighbors usually slept during the early hours of the morning, but he did a lot of his planning during those hours. Norman knew a long time in advance just what was needed to be done on any given day, so he and his crew were always ahead of the operation. The planting, irrigating, cultivating, and harvesting was done at the proper time, therefore his crops were always among the best in the valley.

The great depression didn’t come until after the stock market crash of 1929. The truth however, was that farming in the valley never recovered from the cotton slump of 1920. No one knew this any better then Andrew and Edna, for there were on the Mesa farm during the early twenties and the going was tough. From that time until the early thirties, Norman did what few farmers of the valley were able to do, and that was to hang on. A few years after his youngest son left the farm Norman and Phoebe retired to their small but lovely home on East Broadway.



CHAPTER 7

"The Stockmen"

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
where the deer and the antelope play.
Where never is heard a dicsouraging word,
and the skies are not cloudy all day.

Where the air is so pure, and the zephyrs so free,
and the breezes so balmy and light
That I would not exchange my home on the range
for all of the cities so bright.

How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
with the light from the glittering stars,
Have I stood there amazed, and asked as I gazed,
if their glory exceeds that of our.

Chorus

Home, home on the range, where the deer and the
antelope play.
Where never is heard a discouraging word,
and the skies are not cloudy all day.

Shortly after Norman and Agnes were married some of Norman’s brothers and sisters lived with them for a short time. While Clayborn lived with them, he and Norman had a few cattle that they owned together. This little start never really got off the ground.

Norman and Agne’s first successful stock adventure was in the sheep business. Norman began by looking after the sheep belonging to the ACMI organization. However, Norman and Agnes acquired a small flock of their own that they developed into a very profitable business. Norman and Clark Lewis ran their sheep together. Their range was from Taylor west to Phoenix Park Wash about twenty five miles[twenty-five] west of Taylor.

Norman told the following bear story. He left Clark with the sheep and came into Taylor for a few days. At night the sheep were kept in a big brush corral. One night while Norman was in Taylor, a big bear got into the corral and killed a number of the sheep. When he returned to camp the first thing he saw was a number of sheep carcasses lying around just outside the corral. Clark had skinned and thrown the hides on the brush corral.

It was evening when Clark returned to camp with the sheep. Norman was told what had happened and Clark predicted that the bear would be back that very night. They sat up near the corral and at about three in the morning the bear crashed over the brush corral and the sheep went wild. The two men rushed to the coral to shoot him. The night was rather dark and it was hard to get a shot at the bear. The bear recognized their presence and crashed over the brush corral and ran toward a clump of large pine trees. The two men were sure they had seen the bear go up a certain tree. It was too dark for them to see the bear in the tree so they built a fire at the base of the tree and waited for morning.

After several hours it began to get light but they still couldn’t see the bear. Finally they convinced themselves that they hadn’t seen him go up the tree, so they started back to their cabin with their guns in their hands. They had gone but a short distance when the bear came down the tree backwards, making a tremendous sound. The racket so unnerved the two that they ran for the cabin as fast as they could go. They hit the door at the same time and fought to get in first.

When they had slammed the door shut they looked at each other sheepishly by the light of the coal oil lantern that they had left lit in the cabin. They stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.

Clark was an old bear hunter, and he was very chagrined by the fact that he had run. Norman, not being a bear hunter, only saw the funny side of the matter. They got breakfast and as soon as it was fully light Clark took their little sheep dog that they had locked in the cabin during the episode and went to the bear tree. The little dog picked up the bear’s trail and in the middle of the afternoon, Clark came back to camp with the bear skin over his shoulder.

Agnes was a semi-invalid between 1891-94. Norman sold his profitable sheep business in October 1892 so he could be with his wife and take better care of her.

In 1904, Norman and Agnes sold or traded their home and farm on Highway 77 to Betsy Crandall Brewer McCleeve for a little cattle ranch in Pinedale. With the ranch came 27 herd of cattle, which George and Ed Brewer, two of Betsy’s sons, delivered to the 33 acre farm in Taylor.

This little bunch of cattle became the nucleus for the very profitable cattle outfit. The [] brand stood for Norman and his seven sons.

The first year the cattle were kept around Taylor and were cared for by boys on a pony and on foot. The second year Norman contracted with the Wakefield boys to take the cattle for four years. They were to double the herd in that length of time and return them to Norman.

Norman and his son Joseph trailed the twenty seven[twenty-seven] head down the east side of Silver Creek to Navajo Springs where the Wakefield boys had their headquarters. When they came to the Little Colorado River it was at flood stage so Norman and his son had to spend several days taking care of the cattle on the south bank of the stream until the flood receeded. The trip was made by wagon and pony. They took turns driving the wagon and riding the pony on which they drove the cattle.

Due to circumstances beyond the control of the Wakefield boys they only kept the cattle for two years, and the herd only increased from 27 to 31 head. One of the increases was a TOT bull on which Ira Wakefield had placed the[ ] brand. Ira had done a masterful job on the[ ] that he had placed on the bull. The bull was beautiful, but morose animal. His offspring were all magnificent.

Late in the summer of 1907 the cattle were moved to the Pinedale ranch which by then had been expanded to a full 120 acres with grazing privileges on 40 miles square of range