My Mother

Many times I cried when Mothers’ Day came around because I felt so guilty that I wasn't a “good enough” mother—wishing that I could be a better mother. Now my children are all grown and most have children of their own. Now I can see past my own inadequacies of motherhood, and I can enjoy Mother’s Day again. Today, I can recall my own mother and reflect on her traits and what a good mother she was.

My Mother

My mother was a very soft-spoken woman, with a gentleness that was obvious to all. She never yelled at her children, but we always felt guilty that we had disappointed her when we did something wrong or we didn't meet her expectations. She was a very intelligent woman and very creative and imaginative. She would often tell us stories that kept us waiting breathlessly for the end.

She painted landscape pictures and you could sit next to her while she painted and talk to her and she’d never rush you to finish your questions or thoughts. She patiently waited until you got up your courage to say what you wanted to say (or to ask). Then she answered thoughtfully. You could talk to her about anything. Sometimes when she was painting a scene, she would get frustrated with how it was going and say, “I’m going to burn this whole mountainside up and do something else with it.” Then with a couple of strokes of her brush, all the trees, would disappear, and she’d ask you what you thought should grow there, and she’d begin to create another 
type of scene. Once she painted a beautiful valley, but then put a bank of fog over the bottom of the valley so you couldn't see what was there. I used to ask her what was under the cloud and she’d say, “You decide what you think is under the cloud. Is it as lake? Is it a forest? It is a meadow? What do you want it to be?” I liked that painting the most because I could imagine anything underneath the fog.

Once, I convinced my youngest sister (13 years younger than me) that if you knew the magic words and said them three times as you twirled around, you could fly into the picture and find out what was beneath the fog. I found out later that she tried for years to do that! She had believed me.

Mother was a very spiritual person. She had great faith and love for others. She always looked for the underdog—the person left out or one who seemed to feel uncomfortable, and then she’d go up and talk to them and make them feel welcome. She was not comfortable in leadership positions or speaking in public. She had grown up in a Danish immigrant household, and had quit high school to work as the school janitor to support her family so she had never gotten her high school diploma. In many ways she felt “inferior” to others, but in the ways that matter, she was very competent, intelligent, loving and very thoughtful of others.

She would never gossip about others, and would never listen to others gossip. It was something she

Mother

didn’t tolerate. She always said kind things about others, and was never judgmental. She was always saying how nice someone’s dress was or how she enjoyed their talk, or complimented them on little things.

My mother was about five foot seven feet tall, slender, with naturally curly dark hair. (Since I am five foot two inches, I always felt very envious.) She loved the outdoors and especially hiking. My dad worked at Hill Air Force Base in Utah and got off work about 3:30 p.m. so she’d often make a packed dinner in the summer and we’d go up to Mueller Canyon with our lunch when Dad got home, and hike the trails until we ate our packed dinner. Now Mueller Canyon (which is less than four miles from our old home) is a state or county park and costs $10.00 a car to get into plus a permit to eat there. But back then it was something we did all the time—and we loved to do it.

My mother wasn't perfect—she had a temper—and my

Grandmother Hansen

Grandmother Hansen, her mother-in-law, could bring it out. One time we had all gone down to Bryce Canyon with Grandmother Hansen.  We were all so excited to hike down the canyon, because to us, that was the best part of the trip. Dad was carrying my three-year-old sister, Janet, on his shoulders, and mother was preparing six-month-old Will for the hike. That was when Grandmother Hansen hit the roof! I don’t recall the actual words that were said, but the meaning was clean—ladies don’t climb down mountains with tiny babies. Babies are too fragile to be dragged down trails in the heat and dust! Mother tried to explain that they did it all the time—they loved to do it. Grandmother stood firm; mother would hike down the canyon with Will over her dead body!

I remember watching the altercation with wide frightened eyes. My quiet, soft-spoken mother never got upset. She never argued with anyone over anything. I’d often wished she would stand up to my father, who was very domineering and overbearing, but she never demurred. Yet, here she was standing up to Grandmother Hansen.  I looked to my father to see if he would support mother or grandmother; he mumbled something about his mother being right. Mother and grandmother strode angrily went back to the car with tiny baby Will.

I can’t remember much about the hike. I’m sure everyone else had a wonderful time, but all I could

Bryce Canyon

think about was what was happening in the car at the rim of the canyon. Was Grandmother yelling at Mother like my father always did when someone disagreed with him? Was Mother crying? Was it hot in the car? Was the baby crying? Finally we got back to the top and I ran to the car.

Mother and Grandmother sat there silently starring out the front window. Little Will was asleep on the back seat. I was afraid to ask anything at the time, just gave Mother a big hug and told her all about the hike. Later I found out that she and Grandmother had sat there without speaking the whole time we were gone.  I gained a lot of respect for my mother that day!

My mother had her first bout with cancer when I was 14 years old, right after Will was born. She gave birth to my youngest sister Ann three years later. She had her second mastectomy when I was 18 years old, and she never recovered. The last two years of her life were very difficult and she passed away when I was 20 years old. I was one of the three oldest children. My oldest brother was married and had a baby, and my next oldest brother served a two-and-a-half-year mission to Denmark, but he was home and just married when Mother died. My four younger siblings, ages 17, 14, 11, and almost eight-years of age when Mother died don’t have the many memories of mother that we older siblings had.

My sisters (from left), Ann, Coleen, Janet, myself with my dad

One of the hardest thing about being a mother was not having a mother I could call for advice when I had questions about mothering. That was the same, I am sure, for my three sisters, also. So we at times called each other and asked how to do things. As the oldest mother with the oldest children, I had to blaze the way. It was no easier for any of us sisters because we never lived near each other while our children were growing up, so we had no one to share the problems of motherhood with. Even the two times my husband served in Vietnam, and I went home to Utah to have a baby each time he was overseas, my older sisters were living elsewhere, and my youngest sister was a teenager. So I didn’t have a husband, a mother, or even sisters with me when I delivered my babies—but I did have my Aunt Ruth, my mother’s sister, who was very dear to me.

My dad and my mother

I am not very much like my mother in some ways; I am loud where she was soft-spoken. She was calm, and I am hyperactive. She had a peaceful spirit about her, and I definitely don’t. But we both love the Lord and have faith. We both love to hike, and read, and tell stories, and do things with our children. We are both creative in different ways—she loved to paint and I love to write. We both love music. 

We are both mothers who tried the best to be good mothers. 

Visits from Heaven

My Danish grandmother, Grandma Hendrickson, lived 18 years after her husband died. She

My Grandmother Hendrickson who said her deceased husband comforted her 

was poor and in very poor health during those years, with most of their 10 children to raise alone. She didn’t speak English as well as he had, and she suffered from increasingly more severe anxiety attacks which gradually developed into Agoraphobia. My aunt who lived with her for many years said that sometimes in the most difficult years, Grandmother said the spirit of her husband “visited” her and she could feel his spirit comforting for an hour or so. She never saw him or was able to talk to him, but just feeling his spirit near her calmed and consoled her, and helped her face her troubles more bravely.


One of the times I knew he had planned ahead for me was such a little thing, but it meant so very much. The last four or five months of Ed’s life were very difficult. He was in hospitals and in ICU a lot of the time; he lost 30 to 40 pounds and was very weak. But towards the end, around November and December, they were able to identify one of the infections that had laid him low, and he had got a little bit better. Around Thanksgiving we flew to Los Angeles to consult with his lung specialists there and he perked up a bit. The two weeks before Christmas, he was the best he’d been in six months and he was able to go to Costco and Cabella’s and ride the carts there and do a little shopping.

He kept saying he wanted to buy me a nice dress for our anniversary (which fell on Thanksgiving that year), and later insisted he wanted to buy me a nice outfit for me for Christmas. But there was never time, and he just was never up to it. So it never happened.

Photo of our grandson, James (Elder VanderMeyden)
skyping on Christmas Day

Three days before Christmas he caught the flu and became critically ill. He refused to go into the hospital until he was able to “Skype” with his missionary grandson in Costa Rica (missionaries can call home only twice a year—on Mother’s Day and on Christmas). Ed was able to skype with all his grandchildren and children in Nashville, Tennessee; Issaquah, Washington; and Chicago, Illinois, as well as visit with the children and grandchildren who lived locally. The day after Christmas Ed was too sick to even stand up and my youngest son carried him into the car and I took him to the hospital. The following day he was so sick they had to intubate him and put him on a respirator. He died about 10 days later.

My daughters insisted on was taking me down to my favorite dress store and helping me find a nice dress for the viewing and one for the funeral. They kept reminding me that these were the dresses that Ed had wanted to get me for my anniversary and Christmas, so I was just doing what he wanted. But later I thought I really should not have spent the money on clothes for me when there were so many other expenses to be met.

After the funeral, we were going through Ed’s things and sorting which of Ed’s things to see which things needed to be given to charity and which things other people could use.
My daughter Diana opened a “Mag-light” case in Ed’s drawer and gasped, “Mom, there is money in here.” She counted it and said, “Mom, you won’t believe it but the amount here is exactly what you paid for your dresses, less about $10.00 or $15.00.”

I was immediately suspicious and thought that one of my more well-to-do children had overheard my comments about my regrets about spending the money on the funeral dresses, and had “left” the money to be found as a gift for me. I was blaming the box of money on this child or that child and feeling like they were taking pity on me, when my older daughter, Athena, who lives near us walked into the room.

Here I am wearing one of the outfits 

Ed had bought for me posthumously 

“Oh, you found Dad’s stash of emergency money,” she said. “Before you went to California in November he got some money out of the bank and put it in the “mag-light” box in his drawer. He wanted to leave some emergency money for Bryan (our youngest son who lives in our house with us) but he didn’t want to leave it in the regular places he normally puts it because Bryan then finds an emergency to use it. He put in more than usual because he didn’t know how long you’d be in Los Angeles.”

When Athena counted how much money was in the box she was shocked how closely it matched the amount I had paid for my dresses.

“Well, it looks like Dad left you the money to buy you the dresses he never got to buy you for your anniversary and for Christmas,” Diana said.

You never know when and how Ed’s influence will be felt. Our youngest son, Bryan, was performing as the lead in a play, “Is He Dead” at the local community theater at the time Ed died. The play is a comedy about 

Bryan (left) in the newspaper’s publicity
photo of “Is He Dead?”

death, and funerals, and at one point in the show, Bryan even jumps up on the coffin and dances on it. It was hard for Bryan to perform after Ed’s death so all of the family who were there for the funeral went to the show he was doing for the first time after Ed’s death to support him and let him know we were there for him.

Bryan did really well, and at intermission, we all gathered together, and just as Ed had always done, everyone started critiquing the play and pointing out the best parts of the show. It wasn’t done in a mean spirit—it was just what our family of performers had always done and what Ed had taught them to do! I looked around at them talking about the performance, and I suddenly felt Ed was right there critiquing it right with them—just as he was with all of us seeing Bryan’s show and supporting Bryan in this difficult time.

Diana who sang "I Did It My Way" for Ed

Our daughter Diana is a skilled and talented vocalist and when Ed had planned his funeral he had written that he wanted Diana to sing “I Did It My Way.” Diana had wondered how she could sing it without crying, but she had prepared and prayed that she would be able to get through it; she wanted to sing it like Ed wanted it sung. And so she did. But we all felt as she stood up there singing—perfectly just as he wanted—that Ed was up there holding her and supporting her so she could perform it as he wanted her to. She was not alone up there at the pulpit. He was there with her.

 One last experience that I want to share. Last week I talked to one of Ed’s church friends who usually sat with Ed in the back row of their High Priest Quorum class each Sunday. He was saying how much he missed Ed’s teasing, joking and saying funny things to liven up the class.

“This Sunday in high priest class, we passed around a signup sheet for a work project. Those who could help were instructed to sign their names and phone numbers on the paper,” he said. “But instead of writing their name, someone had just written on the line instead of their name, ‘yes,’ indicating their willingness to help, but not letting anyone know who they were. As I looked at it, I knew that was the type of joke Ed would have done if he had been in class, so I marked him present on the class roll.”

Where do spirits go after they die? I know they are busy in paradise, but I think sometimes, they get a chance to visit with us, to uplift us and to strengthen us—or sometimes, to just joke a little to remind us of them. 

In Memoriam
Edward O. Dayley
4 April 1941-8 January 2015

“Where Did I Put That?”

As we age, we tend to lose things more than before, but I began to lose things years ago. Maybe that’s because I began to lose my mind years ago.

I still get frustrated when I can’t find something—especially if I have just put it down. One

thing I always lose are my glasses. Therefore I have decided to put them in a special place on my china case, which is right inside our house, whether you come in from the upstairs or downstairs. However they still go missing.

Before we had to move to Los Angeles for nine months a few years ago I made a master plan of my house, put alphabetic stickers on everything which could hold anything (where it couldn’t be seen) and made a map with matching alphabetic keys which told what was in each storage area. I thought then I could remember what was in each storage area while I was gone. Then if I needed something, I could call my son who was living in the house and say, “Send me the ___________ which is the drawer labeled “EE” in my dressing room.

It worked well enough until I lost the map with the key.

When I got back, I started rearranging things and there went my plan. I found most of the time I can’t find stuff is right after I’ve gone through stuff, gotten rid of stuff and reorganized things. (There, family, I do go through and get rid of things—you thought I never did.)

For the first while after I’ve rearranged things, I can’t remember where the new thing belongs!!!

I have decided there are four reasons things disappear in my house:

1. My youngest son: He hides them to frustrate me. No, he is not a child—he is 27 years old, but he likes to tease me and move my glasses or purse just to see how frustrated I can get. I admit this isn’t often, but it does happen.

• The worst thing he did was not on purpose. We had gone to L. A. for medical reasons and I’d stopped the mail and paper so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. My husband ended up in the hospital and we stayed 10 days longer than we’d planned so I called and told him to put the mail in a pile on the kitchen table.
• 
  
• We came home, I went through the mail and paid the bills. The next month I got dunned for a bill I hadn’t seen the while we were gone. I asked my son about it, and he led me to another stash of mail that hadn’t made it out of the basement and was buried under his clothes. It contained the bill I hadn’t paid.
• 
  
• The worst thing he claimed wasn't his fault at all. He was borrowing my laptop at night when I was using it during the day at the hospital while my husband was hospitalized. One morning I was in a rush to go to the hospital and I could find the laptop in one place, the power cord in another and no sign of the cord. He'd already gone to work and I couldn't reach him. 
• 
  
• I texted him, "where is my mouse?" and left for the hospital. When I got to the hospital I got his text, "It is on top of the cabinet." Now remember he is 6 feet 2 inches tall and I am five feet 2 inches tall. Would I ever find a mouse on the top of a cabinet? He hasn't used my laptop since. 

2. My oldest daughter: She comes to my house and cleans and everything left out goes

into a box and into a closet. I usually try to straighten up before she comes because anything that is left out is fair game for her. She just puts it into a box for me to put away “at my leisure.” 

But then I can’t find the box with my purse, keys, glasses, and the important papers that I was working on when she came. She has to come and tell me where the treasure box is hiding out. But I appreciate her help with cleaning more than the hassle of finding the stuff she puts away, so she’s a keeper cleaner.

3. Curse of the Gadianton Robbers: We live in the Last Days, which has been prophesied as a day when wickedness will be prevalent that no one will be able to hold onto their treasures. The Book of Mormon scriptures mention that the people will be so wicked that the land will be cursed so no one can find their treasures: I don’t envision robbers coming to steal my stuff. Neither is the stuff I can’t find real “treasures” except to me, but when I can’t find something important I remember the curse upon the land that makes all things “slippery.”

• “Helaman 13:34: Behold, we lay a tool here and on the morrow it is gone; and behold, our swords are taken from us in the day we have sought them for battle.”
• 
  
•  Book of Mormon 1: 18 “And these Gadianton robbers, who were among the Lamanites, did infest the land, insomuch that the inhabitants thereof began to hide up their treasures in the earth; and they became slippery, because the Lord had cursed the land, that they could not hold them, nor retain them again.”

4. IL Folletto: When we lived in Italy years ago, I studied Italian at the University and through a conversation Italian class taught by the dearest Italian lady, Angela Buvoli. She taught us all about the customs, history, culture, folklore and other things about Italy that we’d never learn in a book. She told us the story of Il Folletto.

• The dictionary says a folletto is an elfin, elf-like, mischievous, playful, sprightly, genie, gremlin, or pixie.
• 
  
•  Wikipedia’s explanation is not as innocent: “The folletto is a legendary creature typical of the folk tradition generally depicted as being a small, joker, agile and elusive, able to fly and become invisible. In folklore European shares similar characteristics with . . . the brownies , the puck, the goblin and leprechaun .Lives in burrows in the woods especially conifers or at the homes of men, courtyards and barns. Almost always comes out only at night to have fun doing mischief to the beasts of the stables and mess up the hair of beautiful women, cluttering agricultural tools and household objects”

4. La Signora Buvoli’s Folletto: Her idea of a folletto was a tiny mischievous elf who lived inside the house and was attracted to shiny objects. He came out at night and would sometimes take with him shiny objects that were lying around the house, especially if they were not put away. However, the folletto was attracted to millet (grain) and if you left a little bowl out of him, he would get busy counting the grains of millet and leave your items alone. 

So you could fool him by putting your things away correctly in their drawers, shelves, etc. all the time, or leave a bowl of millet out for him to count. Then he wouldn’t steal your items away and you’d never find them—or you’d find them in a new place, when he decided to return them.

So, who is the real culprit when I lose something and can’t find it? 

Perhaps all of the above, but I admit I am most likely the biggest culprit for not putting things away where they should have put it away, and for trying to find new ways to organize things. And of course, my poor memory.

We Are All the Pioneers of Our Own Lives

Pioneer Day is a day to remember our ancestors and the struggles they overcame coming to America and settling the Salt Lake Valley. As I recall my pioneers, the ones who crossed the plains, I tried to look at them with a different eye—as though I were their contemporary.

Hans & Caroline were from Bornholm, Denmark

I think of my one set of ancestors, Caroline Larsen, 21 years old, from Ostermarie, Bornholm, and Hans Miller, 28 years old, from Nexo, Bornholm, Danish sweethearts. Bornholm is an Island seven miles by seventeen miles which is south east of Sweden. Caroline was a very popular girl with lots of friends, while Hans was older, well-educated leader in the church, trained as a shoemaker. 

Hans’ father was well-to-do as partner in a windmill, who had taken on the permanent name of “Miller” as his last name so all of his three children had Miller as their last name, instead of the normal tradition of the father’s first name added to son as their last name. After his baptism at the age of 20, he was valiant as a missionary, and in many leadership positions. His history says that because of his proficiency in English, “He was called to Copenhagen especially to teach English - - a language in which he was quite proficient - - to the converts who expected to emigrate. In Copenhagen he was counselor to the president of the conference.[i]”

One history states that they met on the journey and fell in love, but another written by her daughter indicates that they were sweethearts before they left Denmark. From hints in Caroline’s story, we can tell she was a friendly, sociable lady who left friends behind. A quote from later in her story crossing the plain tells of a tornado striking, which “carried away along with small keepsakes from her girlhood and her home among which were some poems and eulogies written to her on her nineteenth birthday that her friends had celebrated in her honor, and tin-type photographs of her relatives and friends.   To mother’s last days she was saddened when she recalled her loss.” 

A story tells that when Caroline was getting ready to

Caroline (here a representation) ran 18 Danish miles to catch the ship

leave for the ship going to America “she took so long saying goodbye to everyone, especially an uncle, that she missed the boat taking the people to the ship. However she knew that it would be at anchor farther up the line, and although on March 19 she had to walk 19 Danish miles in an all-day rain to catch the ship, she made it. If she had not gone, she would have been left behind.[ii]” I think of this popular young lady, who may have had the “late” streak that often runs in our family, she did what she had to do to "do it."

They came on the "Franklin" clipper ship arriving in New York on 29 May 1862

Arriving in America, Hans, because of his ability to speak English, was able to go to New York and arrange for train transportation to Nebraska for the group, and he and Caroline were able to see the sights in New York. Hans’ history stated they disembarked at “Ellis Island” and went through customs there, but study has shown that they actually went through Castle Garden, the first official immigration center.[iii]

Although Hans and Caroline had

planned to wait until arriving in Salt Lake City and to be married in the Endowment House for all eternity, it didn’t work out that way. “Father contracted a fever and became so ill that he could not leave with the friends with whom he had crossed the ocean with and whose leader he had been.[iv]” Caroline needed to take care of him, so they married on 22 June 1862 in Florence, Douglas  County, Nebraska.

While waiting in Omaha to go west, they found work in the fields. Hans must have recovered from his illness, because his history explains what happened on 16 July 1862: “One day while father was working in the fields, a black cloud appeared in the south-west sky.   The American workmen began to run, and soon threw themselves upon the ground.   Father and other immigrants followed their lead, wondering what the excitement was about.  They soon found out.    A tornado had struck followed by the inevitable rain ending in a flood.[v]”

A Compilation of General Voyage Notes[vi] gives us further information about this tornado:

They experienced their first tornado near present-day Omaha

“The rest of the emigrants remained in camp for several weeks before beginning the journey across the plains. A few days before the company left camp, Florence and vicinity was visited by a terrible tornado, accompanied by rain, thunder and lightning, by which two of the brethren were killed and Elder Joseph W. Young received severe wounds from a wagon box which blew down upon him; after the accident, he was carried to a place of safety in an unconscious condition, but recovered after a while. The tents and wagon covers of the company were badly torn and shattered on that occasion. . . .”

Caroline Margaret Larsen Miller

Hans and Caroline came to Utah in J. R. Murdock’s, company leaving Omaha, 24 July 1862. His history states they walked most of the way to Salt Lake City, and arrived in Salt Lake City 27 September 1862, where they “stopped at the old Tithing House where the Hotel Utah now stands.  Here they were met by P. M. Peel, the same man who, in Nexo, had brought the missionaries to my grandfather’s home.[vii]”

Their first home in Utah was in Mt. Pleasant, which had been settled two years earlier, and where Mr. Peel lived. Hans was certified as a school teacher, but he also worked as a shoemaker during their time in Mt. Pleasant. It was here their first child was born exactly one month later. It was a small cabin with a “lean-to” as a second room.”

In the fall of 1864, Orson Hyde called a group to settle Sanpete County and the Sevier River, especially that area that had had such a bountiful harvest of barley that its name had been changed from Omni to Richfield. Hans’ family was among those called.

A comment from Hans’ history tells of Caroline’s introduction to this area that Elijah

Ward an old mountaineer had called “the finest country in Utah.”

“He [Hans] with others left that autumn - - 1864 - - to prepare places for their families to live.   These men did what a few men - - who had settled earlier had done - - they dug cellars, placed a willow-dirt roof over the excavation, formed steps out of the soil leading to the entrance, and brought their wives and children.[viii]”

“Arriving in Richfield, Mother surveyed a barren valley surrounded by mountains and a ditch flowing crookedly along, almost lost in willows and greasewood; and mounds rising or two feet among the greasewood [brush).[ix]”

“When Father stopped at a ‘mound’ and gravely said, ‘Well, here we are, Mother,’ [Caroline] with tears in her eyes asked, ‘Is this home?’ Caroline had a child a little more than a year old to take care of, a second child to be born in mid-spring!   She sat down and wept.[x]”

“A cellar, a dirt floor, a roof of willows covered with soil, steps that had been cut with

Photo of dugout near Salina Utah

a shovel deep into the soil leading to the entrance. The entrance was not a door; lumber could not be used carelessly in a cellar. A canvas of some sort was hung to keep out the cold, no windows. Father was working hard to make enough adobes (molded from the clay and placed in the sun to dry) to build a little one-room house with a window and a door. Before the roof was put on, rail fell. Father hurriedly made a roof of willows, covered it with damp soil, gathered dry grass and scattered it over the damp dirt.[xi]”

 One more comment from Hans’ history tells about Caroline’s struggles. “A little incident about the ‘cellar’ recalls the extreme poverty these early pioneers went through.   Father was working early and late to make enough adobes to build a little house.   Mother had prepared dinner as best she could and went to call father to come in.   Standing chatting for a moment while he put the mud mixture into the adobe mold, one corner of the cellar roof caved in.   Mother made an exclamation of dismay.   Father answered, ‘Our roof is gone, but so is our dinner for today!’   And so it was.[xii]”

        

Later photo of Caroline

Hans and Caroline became stalwart founders of the Richfield area; Hans was a school teacher for many years, later served as tithing clerk, Superintendent of Schools, postmaster, president of the Quorum of the Seventy for many years and a leader in many other ways. Caroline had eleven children, was chosen as Mrs. Utah one year, and rode in the Fourth of July parade. She looked beautiful, dressed in white with a crown on her white hair and a banner, reading, "Utah We Love Thee."  Later she was one of the nine original pioneers chosen to be honored at the 50^th Anniversary of the founding of Richfield in September 1914.

I think of the little I know of their early years—

Photo of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.

Caroline, friendly, sociable, but determined to get along in this hard new world. Hans, educated, obedient, a leader, but willing to build and live in a dugout if that was necessary. They hadn’t been raised to live in such a raw, new world, but they did it.

Many young couples today go out into the world with high hopes and optimistic dreams, but when life hands them lemons, or blows their life apart with illness or disaster, they soldier on, making do with whatever is necessary just as Hans and Caroline did. They know that eventually things will get better and someday they will be the pioneers of their lives and others will look back at that and say, “How did you do that, Grandma?” “Grandpa, I can’t believe that you didn’t give up when that happened.” They will remember that they are the pioneer of their own life and say, “I did it because I had to, and so will you! That is what this life is about.”

Caroline Margaret Larsen Miller as Mrs. Utah

---

[i] Miller, Eudora: “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.,” written 1846, p. 6

[ii] Miller, Eudora: “A History of Caroline Margaret Larsen Miller”

[iii] Castle Garden, today known as Castle Clinton National Monument, is the major landmark within The Battery, the 23 acre waterfront park at the tip of Manhattan. From 1855 to 1890, the Castle was America's first official immigration center, a pioneering collaboration of New York State and New York City.

[iv] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.,p. 6

[v] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.,p. 6

[vi] the Voyage from Denmark to New York City, 1862, from the MORMON IMMIGRATION INDEX (CD-ROM) Voyage of the Ship Franklin: https://familysearch.org/photos/stories/1367886

[vii] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.,p. 7

[viii] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr., p. 8

[ix] Miller, Adeare, “Unpublished History of Caroline Larsen Miller.”  In Ten Penny Nails, Op Cit., p. 21. (Sevier County General Plan: 1998: Sevier County History and Communities Land of the Sleeping Rainbow : Chapter 10); http://www.sevierutah.net/general%20plan/Chapter%2010.pdf     

[x] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr., p. 8

[xi]Miller, Adeare, Ibid: p. 21.

[xii] Miller, Ibid., “The Life of Hans Peter Miller, Sr.,p. 8