Jens Peter Christensen Winter
and
Ane Pedersen Winter

Compiled and Edited by Kristine Halls Smith

Jens Peter Christensen Winter was born in Arhus, Denmark on August 5, 1832 to Christen Pedersen and Maren Jensen Winter. Ane Pedersen was born on August 31, 1833 at Tilst, Arhus, Denmark. They were married on December 27, 1861. While living in Denmark, Ane gave birth to three daughters and one son, but only the son, also named Jens, born in 1865, survived infancy. They joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1869. They emigrated to Utah soon after the completion of the transcontinental railroad, arriving just a few months after the driving of the Golden Spike. They settled in Huntsville, Utah where four more daughters were born, but only Jensine, the youngest, lived more than a few months. She was born in 1875.

Because Jens was a faithful member of his church which at that time encouraged polygamy, Jens was married to Mette Marie Pedersen on January 18, 1882. Mette Marie gave birth to three children, Anna, born in 1883, Peter, born in 1886, and Mary, born in 1889. Unfortunately, with the birth of Mary, Mette Marie died, leaving her young children, to be raised by Ane who was at that time fifty-five years old.

Jens and Ane’s son, Jens N. C. Winter, was married to Mary Margaret Petersen in 1890 and they had four children born between 1891 and 1899. When the youngest was just a year old, in 1901, Mary Margaret died, leaving four young children. Ane and Jens P.C. took these grandchildren into their home to raise, so at that time the household consisted of Anna, age seventeen; Peter, age fourteen; Mary, age eleven; Margaret, age nine; Anna Eliza, age seven, whose name was changed to Eliza because she was moving in with an Aunt Anna; Dora, age five; and Elmer, age one. Ane at this time was sixty-seven years old and Jens was sixty-eight. Ane lived only two more years, however. She died on June 2, 1903. Care of the younger children fell on the shoulders of nineteen-year-old Anna until 1904 when her half-brother, Jens was remarried.

Jens Peter Christensen Winter lived to be ninety-four years of age. He died on August 17, 1926.Jens’s daughter Mary Winter Madsen wrote memories of her father and his granddaughter, Eliza Winter Halls included information about her grandparents in her autobiography.

Memories of Father Jens P. C. Winter

By Mary Madsen, his daughter

My father, Jens Peter Christensen Winter, was born in Haest, Denmark, August 5, 1832. My earliest recollection of him was when I was five years old. We lived on his homestead in a house he had built of either brick or dobby. I think he made them himself as I remember seeing a wooden form to shape them in using clay and sand.
Dad was stern in his way; we had to be obedient to his orders. He never laid a hand on us but we knew when he spoke to us we had to get going and carry out the orders. When he wrote letters to his friends over seas, we had to be very quiet. Occasionally when we forgot and got noisy, we would hear, “Now you must be still”.

Father loved children. The neighbor’s children were always welcome at our home, but we were very seldom allowed to go to their home except on special occasions, such as birthdays. We had to be home at night, as he wanted to know where we were.

Very little do I know about his life in Denmark. He didn’t speak much about his life there. One day as we were talking about it, he said we had descended from honest and upright forebears. He believed and was honest in fair dealings with people.

At the age of eight he commenced school and graduated at fourteen. At that age children were confirmed in the Lutheran Church. His parents died the last year of his school. After their death, he supported himself by working for farmers for three years, such as herding and taking care of cattle.

The next three years he was apprenticed to a tailor and learned that trade which he followed and by which he earned his living. He became acquainted with Ane Pedersen whom he courted and they were married in 1859. She would go with her husband and help him in sewing. He worked in this trade for fifteen years. He related how he would sit on the table with his work, with his tobacco box beside him and every once in a while a drink of “Koffa Punch”. I think this drink had brandy mixed with it.

He met the Latter-Day Saint Missionaries and was converted to their religion. He joined them in 1869. On account of the bitterness towards the so-called “Mormons” they were not baptized until they were ready to leave Denmark and immigrate to Utah.

When the Elders came to baptize them, Ane thought they were rather abrupt and said, “You are not going to baptize me”. But evidently Dad persuaded her to be baptized. They arrived in Ogden to a stop called Taylor’s Switch.

Dad had ten dollars when he arrived in Utah for which he bought a shovel and a sack of flour. He had wanted to have a store in Ogden, but some friends in Huntsville persuaded him to come there. He made it his home and lived there until his death.

Three of four children were born to them in Denmark, two boys and a girl or maybe two girls. The oldest boy died there. Jens, the second boy, turned four a few days after their arrival in Huntsville, Utah. The baby girl, Maren, died sometime later.

They worked at odd jobs that were available at that time until they were able to get a farm and made farming his life’s work. Sometimes he had a difficult time getting his pay. And took flour and produce for pay. They didn’t like the country at first, and I can easily see why as coming to this barren place after having lived in a lovely green country. After becoming adjusted to it, Dad never regretted coming.

Father’s first home was a shanty with a dirt roof. This roof caved in Christmas Eve. That was a discouragement to them. They had eight children born to them. All but two died in infancy. Jens and Sine (Jensine Christensen Winter) lived to a ripe old age, (Jens passing away at the age of ninety-one and Sine at this writing February 4, 1967, was still living with a daughter in Pocatello, Idaho. She died in 1968). Ane couldn’t nurse her babies and perhaps didn’t understand how to dilute cow’s milk at that time.

The Latter-day Saint leaders advocated plural marriage. Dad paid passage fare for a lady friend in Denmark with the understanding of plural marriage. I was told after her arrival she married another gentleman who won her away from father. So father tried again, paid fare for a lady and she became his second wife and had three children with this union. Two daughters and one son, namely, Anna, Peter, and Mette Marie (known as Mary). This wife died after the birth of Mary. After her death, Ane (the first wife) raised the three children to maturity. Both families lived in the same house peacefully in plural marriage.

During the time of polygamy, the Saints were hounded from house to house. The U. S. of America passed laws forbidding it. Utah was not accepted to become a state or admitted to the Union as long as they practiced polygamy. The church claimed it their right to their beliefs and religious freedom. The United States Government said, “We’ll have no plural marriages in our country”. So laws were passed forbidding it.Father was arrested Friday, June 28, 1887. He was brought to Ogden, placed under bond for the so-called unlawful co-habitation. He was sentenced to the penitentiary for six months and a fine of $300.00. He was released Wednesday, December 21, 1887. That must have been a happy day for the family at that Christmas time.
Father bought or acquired a farm of about 35 acres south of town. He cleared this ground of brush and willows. The willow being hauled home to be used for firewood. To get to this farm we had to cross two streams of water that were called the first and second rivers which united at the head of Ogden Canyon to form part of the Ogden River.

When Congress passed the Homestead Act, Dad was one of the first here in Ogden Valley to file for a homestead. He and a neighbor went to Salt Lake City and filed for a quarter section. Their sections joined each other. Others followed after them also. People had to live on and improve this property to get title to it. Father built a three-room house of brick or dobby. Also barns and coops. Some of these roofs were thatched with straw. For fences around his section, he cut trees for poles. That must have been a job. He got water from a spring which was used to water his garden in front of the house. I do not know how he got the right to use this water as he had to make a ditch across a part of another man’s property, but I believed he made some arrangement with said owner as Dad was fair in his dealings. Once in a while his ditch was torn out. Trees and small fruits were planted. He really had a fruitful place. Dad was the first to dry farm in Huntsville. He raised rye, wheat, and alfalfa. The grain and hay was cut with a scythe, mother would follow after with a rake and tie the grain into bundles. It was a homemade rake; the tie was made with a whisp of straw from the grain. After the event of mowers, reapers, and binders, this method was abandoned. We children thought this surely was a miracle. We would follow behind the machines and shock the grain bundles. It made it easier for mother. The homestead was infested with rattlesnakes. Dad told us to kill them if we saw them. We used rocks and clubs, but we were told to be careful and not get too close to them. There were foxes and coyotes around. Once in a while one would catch a chicken. We had a black dog named “Nig” who would chase them but as soon as the dog turned back towards home, the coyotes would follow him, so the chase would start over again.

Occasionally, the Indians would call at the house. I remember one-day brother Peter and I were left alone while mother and dad had gone to town for supplies. We saw two Indians on horseback coming down the ridge. We climbed into the loft and kept very quiet. The Indians stopped in front of the house but as no one was at home they left. They didn’t molest anything.

After the town decided to sell the herd range to Nelson and Hall Brothers, Dad traded his homestead to them for another section adjoining his farm. People who had to travel through his property would often leave the gates open so there was a spat once in a while. 

I remember one day while father was driving his hay rack trying to get the neighbors cattle out, calling at them, the team got frightened and started up hill which tipped the wagon over with dad on it. His leg got caught on a wire of the rack and he was dragged along. But he was lucky he got loose just before the wagon hit the gate and stopped the horses. Mother was frightened and we were afraid Dad would be killed.

One dark rainy night while living at the homestead there was a knock on the door. A family by the name of Sam Halverson had come over the divide from Weber Valley, asked dad for help as something had broken on his wagon. Dad and Mother put them up for the night and helped them on their way the next morning. It turned out many years later Halverson’s daughter, Helen, married dad’s grandson. When Halverson discovered dad was the person who had helped him that stormy night, he couldn’t do enough for us. We became friends.

Mother Ane worked side by side with father. She took care of the milking; I can see the rows of milk pans standing in the cellar to cool. When cool, she would skim the cream off for butter. Sometimes she would leave some of the cream on the milk and we youngsters were allowed to have it. That was a treat. Once a week butter and eggs were taken to the store.

On washdays in the summer, when wash water was heated in the large copper kettle outside, potatoes were baked in the hot ashes. Sweet cream was used for gravy and it was very delicious.
I know very little of dad’s wives lives while in Denmark. Both accepted the L.D.S. religion. Done their share of the work; Ane was a Relief Society visiting teacher for many years. When Mette Marie, the second wife, passed away, Ane raised the three children. Then when her son Jen’s wife (Mary Margaret Peterson) died she took her four children and cared for them until her death June 2, 1903.  

Father and Ane and Mette Marie always paid their tithing and fast offerings. In earlier days this was done by produce such as eggs, butter, hay and grain. I remember mother Anne taking the butter to the Bishop’s storehouse.

Father was a reader of the Bible. He read in the scriptures that in the last days he would be flying like doves to our windows. He could not understand how that could be done. This was before the days of the airplane. He lived to see this come to pass. When Lt. Russell Maughan flew from the Atlantic coast to the Pacific coast from dawn to dusk, he went out of his way to fly over his sister’s home in Huntsville, (Ione Wansgaard). Dad saw his plane as the Lt. Was flying low. I had been to Ogden that day as United States President Wilson had been in Ogden and was in a parade. When I got home Dad told me what he had seen. He was so thrilled about it and said; “Now I will believe all things!” At the time of his conversion to Mormonism he stopped using tea, coffee, tobacco, and alcoholic beverages. He was a strong adherent to the Word of Wisdom. This was hard for mother to do, as dad would not allow these things in his home. Mother would occasionally go to a neighbor and get a cup of coffee. All three remained faithful to their belief until their demise. Dad lived to a ripe old age of ninety-four. He died August 17, 1926. Mother Ane was a kind and wonderful mother to the children in her care.

While father was in prison he composed a song; his granddaughters told me of this.

My Life with my Grandparents

by granddaughter, Eliza Winter Halls

[At the time of my birth] Mother and Father [Jens N.C. and Mary Margaret Petersen Winter] were living in Grandfather Winter’s house which Dad had helped build at the age of ten. They built it by mixing the adobes by hand. The adobes were made of red sand and lime mixed together and dried in the summer sun. The house was built on the top of a hill at the south edge of Huntsville.

Grandfather Winter lived at the homestead on Hawkins Southwest Creek. In those days, they would go out and file on what they called a homestead. They had to live on it three months each year for three years, and then it belonged to them. I remember being told that Aunt Sine [Jensine Christensen Winter], my father’s younger and only surviving sister, stayed with my parents in the winter to go to school. My father was the second child. My grandparents lost six children at birth or shortly after.

Somewhere between 1893 and 1898 we moved down the road to the house that Dad built. He had cleared the ground of willows and built a two-room adobe house. Dad and Mother planted trees, and until the advent of the Pine View Dam, it was known as Winter’s Grove.

On January 25, 1896, Dora Estelle was born with red, curly hair. She was the third child and I was the second. Our older sister, Margaret Rozina was born on August 14, 1891 and had blond hair. I do not remember moving, but I do remember the building addition of the kitchen and pantry. Mary and Pete, Grandpa’s children, and Margaret used to play on the floor joists. I was afraid of falling through. We were living in this house when Elmer Jens, my only brother and last child of my mother, was born December, 21, 1899. I was just six years old. I remember Mrs. Hislop, the midwife, coming and going, telling me to keep Dora, age three, busy and not let her in the other room. Margaret was nowhere around. This baby boy I fetched and cared for, and I also cared for Mother. I remember that I must have asked over and over, “Is a couple two?” because Mother got impatient with me. (Well, I still cannot remember more than five minutes). 

We were a happy family. Some evenings when Dad came home he would pretend to make a big issue of Margaret and me helping to pull off his boots. At times we would get on his knees and he would jiggle and sing to us while waiting for supper. In the summer we played on the river’s edge which ran a short distance from the house and was never very deep. I do not remember ever falling in, but I have a faint memory of being pulled out of a ditch of water by the pond and of backing up into a bucket of water that had been carried by Dad for washing clothes, etc. On wash days he would carry the water from the river and fill all the buckets, tubs, and boilers before going to work. He bought one of the first washers out. It operated with two curved washboards (like boards) that ran opposite directions, the top one inside the other, the clothes in between.

In the fall when school days came, to put shoes and stockings on was pure torture. We walked to school in good weather. We would go to Grandpa Winter’s and wait for Mary, and walk together from there three blocks, a distance of one mile in all.

Anne, Mary, and Pete were the children of Grandpa Winter and his second wife, Mette Marie Pedersen Winter, but this wife had died when Mary was born. For lunch we walked three blocks to Grandpa’s and back. My legs were short, and it was hard to keep up with Mary and Margaret. It was hurry, hurry, hurry. I saw others at school who took their lunch, having time for play at noon. I thought how nice it would be to take my lunch, but I had to have an excuse, for I was afraid the plain truth would not be good enough; so I came up with the excuse that Mary wouldn’t give me enough time to eat. There may have been some truth in that as I have always been a slow eater. Even then my teeth were poor. I remember having a toothache at the age of five, sitting by the stove and holding hot packs to my face. Anyhow, one morning we appeared at Grandpa’s with our lunch buckets and, of course, Grandpa wanted to know why. I told him the same story. We got a real Danish Scotch blessing, a good bawling out. I could not understand a word he said, but the tone I heard. It may have been directed at Mary as much as me for she understood and she wouldn’t walk to school with us that morning. We tagged along behind, and I bet Grandpa hotfooted it down home to get the straight of things. Well it was fun while it lasted, and it was not long before we were back at Grandpa’s for lunch, no more foolishness.

In the autumn of 1899, Uncle Laurits and Aunt Hannah Petersen from Provo came to visit us. He was my mother’s brother, a handsome man with black hair and short black whiskers on his face. He frightened me a little. He and his family had been sick and their oldest boy was left with a weak heart from rheumatic fever and died at the age of fifteen. As no one else was sick, I presume we got the germ from them. We all got sick, Dad and Mother first, then the rest of the family. Dad was the first to recover and nursed the rest of us. I remember I had a big pus bag under my left ear. I can remember the bed quilts raising and rolling from the foot of the bed to the head, also the walls from the top to the bottom, but I guess I was too sick to care. Dora and Elmer had festers around their fingernails and toe nails. Dad would pick these pus bags with a needle to drain them. I guess the poison came to the outside of us and that is why we survived. Mother was sick in a different way. She was down for so long, but at last she was up and around once more. However, she had lost her voice.

Grandpa Petersen, her father, came to see us one day while we were sick and they talked for a long time. He sat in the kitchen and Mother stood in the bedroom door. As far as I remember, he was our only visitor. At one point, Dad had a doctor come from Ogden because there were no doctors in Huntsville. He gave Mother a bottle of medicine and told her to scrape her tongue. He pronounced it diphtheria.

On January 10, 1901, early in the morning, Dad said to us, “Don’t disturb your mother, she is sleeping.” I can see her now laying in bed. “And don’t let Elmer get in bed with her.” He was in the cradle. “I have to go see Grandma.” We slept on, as did Elmer. Mother had passed away in her sleep. The poison of the disease had gone inwards, and too, she was five months pregnant according to Aunt Mary Petersen. The funeral was small. Very few came to the house as people were afraid. I stood by Mother’s casket and looked at her until someone pulled me away. We children did not go to the funeral. Grandma Winter stayed with us.

Uncle Joe Petersen said of my mother’s death, “My sister Mary died suddenly, supposedly of heart failure, January 10, 1901. At six o’clock in the morning, she raised up and asked her husband if the baby was covered, and, on lying down again, gave a couple of gasps and was gone. She died with a smile on her face, and looked very beautiful. The funeral was held the following Tuesday, January 15, in the Huntsville meeting house, but was poorly attended, probably because it was reported that she had been suffering from diphtheria. My cousin, Henry Petersen, gave the funeral sermon, a very excellent one. Brother David McKay dedicated the grave.”

When they thought we were safely well we moved, lock, stock, and barrel, along with beds and washer, to Grandpa Winter’s. I was only seven years old at this time, but I immediately adopted Elmer, age one. He was my little boy. Peter Winter told me in later years how I really took good care of that little boy. Poor Grandma, then about sixty-seven years old, now had a third family to care for. She was raising the children of Grandfather’s second wife, Mette, who died giving birth to Mary. Anne and Mary took the disease and were real sick for weeks.

In the morning when the milking and other chores were done and all were gathered for breakfast, we would have family prayer, always. We would place our chairs in a circle and all kneel for family prayer. Grandpa always said the prayer. It was said in Danish, of which I never understood a word, but I knew what it was all about.

Because one of Grandpa’s children was named Anne, the name I was called was changed to my middle name, Eliza, shortened to Liza or Lize. Grandma Petersen wanted to take two of us, but Dad would not separate the family. The adjustment must have been hard. Although they were not strangers to us, all was different.

Some weeks later, I had a strange dream which I remember very well. I saw the Devil standing in the bedroom door. He was dressed in black and red. He had two horns and a two-tined pitchfork. I must have seen his picture somewhere. I must have cried out in my sleep. Anne said I had had a bad dream, to go back to sleep. So I went to sleep, I guess, and then I saw Mother very plainly standing in the door. She was holding a baby in her arms. I saw these things just as plain as if I had been awake. Seeing Mother was very comforting. I guess a little girl was a bit lonesome.

Things were different, but gradually we got used to things. Mary would not give up her place by Grandma at the table. She would have been eleven years old. She could have been sort of spoiled and jealous of our intrusion. Gradually we all got used to the change. Dad, when he came to see us in the evening, would sometimes bring his violin with him and play for us. Grandma loved to hear him play her Danish songs. He played by ear. As time went on and we grew older, his visits came less often. We became sort of separated, and our relationship to him was never as it should have been.

Grandpa made all of his furniture. His table was a bit small with his son’s family there. He sat at the head of the table, Grandma at his right, Dora at his left on a bench next to Elmer, then Peter, Anne and I set at the end. Margaret was next to Mary. I sat far enough away from Grandpa that I could get away with putting my crust of bread under my plate. I had always had trouble with bad teeth. I remember sitting by the stove with hot packs on my face. Grandma set a good table, but there was one thing Dora could not eat, the fat part of the meat. Grandpa thought she was just being fussy, I guess, wasting all that meat, and made her eat it. It didn’t stay down long. She didn’t even get away from the table. Margaret did not like kenmilk velling (soup made of rice cooked in buttermilk) that would be our noon lunch. Margaret would eat her bread and butter, but that was all.

Sometimes in winter, after supper, with table cleared and dishes put away, Grandpa would let us all play hide-and-seek or blindman’s bluff for awhile, then it was down to school lessons. He would read his paper. When doughnuts were made we would play even or uneven with the cooked middles. We young ones always lost, then they were divided up and eaten. Other times we would play cards. I think Grandpa thought we needed a bit of fun.

Always we had bread and milk for breakfast, skim milk, cold in summer, hot on winter mornings. On Sunday, we had what was supposed to be a treat, bread and milk, fresh and warm from the cow. I did not like it, but of course, I ate it. When they got a separator, and Grandpa was not in, we would take our bowl and catch a bit of cream. Peter did not care; I think he did it first.

In winter, we would sleigh ride on a hill just out from the gate. In summer, we would play the games outside. Blindman’s bluff would be played in the shadows of the barn on moonlit nights, also kick-the-can, duck-off, and-hide-and-seek. I was afraid to go hunting the others in the dark, so I kept well hidden until the first one was caught, so as not to be it.

During the grazing season, it was my job to go with Mary to the hills after the cows. If they were not at the gate, or if one was missing, we hiked over the hills until they were found. Sometimes, but not often, we came home without one. Usually it was one with a new calf. I remember coming from school, changing my dress, peeling potatoes for supper, and down the road we would go, with a big raw potato to eat on the way, or a big hunk of bread and butter. Sometimes we took turns churning butter instead of peeling potatoes. We all had work to do after school. There was wood and water to be carried, milking to be done, supper and dishes. We each had our own job to do. We would also pick chokecherries and service berries which Grandma dried in the attic. She would use them for a drink by boiling them, draining, and using the juice. Grandpa had a large pea patch by the river. We would pick peas, eat peas, and swim in the river. Grandpa had a few sheep and I liked to watch Grandma card the wool into little white fluffs. These fluffs she would stretch and twist into yarn and wind around a spindle on a spinning wheel, after which it would be dyed black, and she would make stockings for all of us. I also liked to watch her needles fly. These warm black stockings would itch for two weeks.

Every summer a group of Indians would camp for a month or so across the road from our gate. They would go begging around town asking for bread and sugar. They would catch squirrels to eat and would dry the hides. They made bead things to sell. When they had gone, we would always go out and see if we could find any of the little blue beads. We would find only one or two. One day Grandmother, with Elmer who was only two, and an Indian mother with her little girl about the same age, were talking out in the yard. Of course I was there. Elmer always played with a sawed-off broomstick which he was holding onto that day. All at once, wham! He struck that little Indian girl over the head. I was afraid of what that Indian woman would do, but she seemed to take it all right.

I remember Christmas. I must have been nine years old, the doubtful age. “Was there or was there not a Santa Claus?” I guess I wanted to believe there was, so Dora, Elmer, and I hung our stockings. Next morning at daylight, Dora and I were up. We slept together. We got one of Grandma’s freckadels, a ten-page story book, and a few pieces of candy. We ate the freckadels and candy, looked at our book, and crawled back down under the covers. Goodbye Santa.

Life moves on. In the winter of 1902-03 Grandma slipped on the ice and cracked her shin on the edge of the rock step, leaving an open sore. I remember watching her rub mutton tallow on it and wrapping it up. It did not heal. We think it was blood poisoning. Grandpa had phoned to an Ogden doctor who sent some medicine. It was so nasty tasting that Grandpa would not give it to her. She passed away June 2, 1903 at the age of sixty-nine. She had been born August 31, 1833 in Tilst, Aarhus, Denmark. Again I stood by the casket looking at Grandma until I was pulled away to make room for others. I was nine at that time.

Fast day came, and as usual we fasted. Grandpa said, “Why are you fasting today? Why didn’t you fast last Sunday?” Poor Grandpa, he and Grandma had been through so much together. Grandpa was crippled in one leg. He had fallen off a roof into a cellar they were digging, and had to use a cane.

Anne, age nineteen, took over. As we grew older, we all had our work to do. Margaret and I scrubbed the kitchen floor’s bare boards with soap and water every Saturday, also the chairs. These we would clean outside in summer. Anne and Mary did the big front room. The whole house was scrubbed every spring. In the fall, the bed ticks were taken out, emptied, washed and filled with new straw. It was so soft and smelled so fresh.

Each night, winter and summer, we filled the wood boxes. Up the little hill we carried the wood that Grandpa had sawed by hand during the day. It took many trips as we burned only wood. We had two stoves in winter, as Grandpa liked a warm house. He would open the oven of the one in the front room and put in his feet, still wearing his clogs, to warm them on winter nights. We also helped to carry water up the hill which was drawn out of a well, and learned how to milk cows. Dora and I, in summer when we were out of school, and with our work all done, would have to sew carpet rags one half hour each afternoon, then we could go play.

Anne sewed our clothes from the skin out. We each had two sets of underwear, one Sunday dress, and two school dresses. We wore one to school all week, then after school the next week. Then on Friday, the dirty one would be washed and made ready for the next week. When our Sunday dress got soiled a bit, we sometimes wore it to school for a few days. Bath was on Saturday night in a round tub, with water heated in a wash boiler on the stove. There were many things to be done. We all worked, although sometimes it took a box on the ear to get me started.

One morning we were out enjoying the early sun. Anne was talking to someone, and Dora was on the porch just above the rock step. I was on the other side of it holding my china doll, the only one I ever remember. It had a china head with blue eyes, and hair and eyebrows painted black. Dora begged to hold it. I gave it to her. She dropped it on the rock and splattered its head. I remember shouting to her, “Now you broke it.” I think she did it on purpose. Recently I asked her if she had one also. She said she had left hers on the platform by the attic door, and one of the neighbor boys had shot at it and shattered the head. We had a neighbor like that, just a bit older than I. So what kind of dolls did we play with? We got long, stitched, tied strips of cloth, with tied strips around the top for hair. This could be braided before playing that we sent them to school.

One summer, Dora and I were allowed to go with Anne to Ogden to pick out cloth for our Fourth of July dresses, material that had tiny pink flowers and green leaves on it. Dad must have taken us as that was the only way we could get there. It was a big day for Dora and me. It was the first time we had been to Ogden.

Life was good, but changes came. Dad, after four years alone, married again. Jens Niels Christensen Winter and Mamie Emma Tribe were married November 18, 1904, when I was eleven years old. We had seen her but once when Dad brought her to look us over. They came for us one Saturday morning, lock, stock, and organ. I wouldn’t go and leave Anne and Mary with all that work. I scrubbed the kitchen floor and the chairs, filled the wood box to the limit, carried water, and bawled all day. When all was done, about four o’clock in the afternoon, I walked down the road and took up a new life. Elmer recently told me that he kept going out to the gate to see if I was coming. He was afraid I wouldn’t. He was then almost five years old.