--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Porter, Joseph J. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 27 number: 6 published: 1924-04 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Joseph J. Porter, ““Voice of the Intangible”,” *Improvement Era 27, no. 6 (April 1924)*: 530–534." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2706unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2706unse start_page: 530 end_page: 534 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1924-04) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2706unse publication_year: 1924 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1924, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # “Voice of the Intangible” "VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE" By Joseph J. Porter As a forest ranger I have had many experiences, in different way's while riding through the forest, listening to the twitter of the birds, as they fly through the branches of the tall pines, and studying nature as it has been created by that Great Being who stands at the head of the Universe. Never in my life, however, have I felt a heaviness of heart greater than when I refused to listen to the Voice of the Intangible. It is the custom of the forest ranger to have a working plan which acts as a time saver to him in his daily labors, and before retiring for the night he generally knows what is expected of him the following day. Sweetwater Ranger Station Powell, National Forest At the Sweetwater Ranger station located on the Powell National Forest, is a little four-room rustic house nestled beneath the tall pines and aspen, at the mouth of a cove which lies beneath the white ledges of limestone. On one occasion on retiring for the night with my wife and family at this station, I had thoroughly made up my mind as to what my labors would be the following day; namely, to go to the sawmills and look after the cutting areas. I told my wife what I intended to do, but during the night that spirit something, or the Voice of the Intangible, impressed me to change my mind, and told me I must visit the Barney sheep herd. I pondered over what I had experienced during "VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE" 531 the night and related the circumstances to my wife, Mollie. She said for me to go, for Wilford, the boy herding the sheep, would be glad to see me. I answered her, "All right," and also decided to take my little boy along who was but eight years of age. After breakfast the horses were brought from the pasture, saddled, and we were soon on our way. The route we took was very rough; lava beds and fallen timber were encountered all along the trail. On reaching some of the high points of the Table Cliff Plateau, we decided to view some of the scenery, as we had a good pair of mono- culars with us. This was great fun for my little boy who had never experienced anything like it before. We could see the Temple of the Gods, at Bryce Canyon, and the Kaiparowits Peaks — meaning the "Big Mountain's Brother," in the Indian language; also the Navajo and Henry mountains which predominate above all others. We could also follow the great gorge of the silvery Colorado, as it wended its way through the great mass of sandstone formation. Nestled beneath the great, high ledges and deep gorges lies a little green spot which, upon examination, proves to be the little town of Escalante with a population of approximately 1,200 inhabitants. As one looks out upon this great panorama, it brings to mind the time when the earth belched forth it's fury and the whole earth was covered with a sea of darkness, causing the valleys to sink and the mountains to rise, while great destruction was spread over the land. All during this time that spirit or something, was after me to hurry on to the Barney sheep herd. I kept putting it off and off, and finally decided that, as the trail was so rough and my little boy perhaps not able to handle his horse over such ground, I would return to the station, with the thought in mind that the herd would be off the top in a few more days. I turned back. My heart seemed heavy, as if I had not done my duty. Stopping, I looked back, when the little boy said, "I thought you were going to Wilford's herd." I still thought and pondered over what I had heard during the night but finally decided it must have been a dream. Wending our way down through the forest we finally came back to the little, white, rustic ranger station. My wife seemed disappointed when she found I had not completed my journey. All night and the next day my heart was heavy laden. I went upon the road the following day where I had a crew of men working. Suddenly a runner came riding up to me with his horse covered with foam and sweat, saying that Wilford Griffin had been accidentally shot, at the sheep herd, and had been found by Mr. Scott Barney who had happened that way, and who had brought the news to the ranger station. The Voice of the Intangible said to me, "Will you never learn to listen?" It seemed to me as if my heart had refused to act any 532 IMPROVEMENT ERA longer, and the feeling of weakness — that came over my very soul is indescribable, while the lesson I had learned was worth more than gold to me. Yet the thought of the pain and suffering I could have saved that poor boy in his trying ordeal, made me tremble. Collecting my thoughts, I told Mr. Walter Roundy, who had brought the message, to hurry back to the station, tell my wife to phone for the nearest help, and get a doctor. I then requested him to get bandages, antiseptics, and anything that would be of use in doing up the wound, while the road crew and I would start for the scene of the accident. It was about six miles distant but no time was lost in reaching the place. On arriving we found Mr. Griffin's brother, O. H. Griffin, a forest ranger on another division, present. He had been notified by my wife and in less than two hours he, with twenty other men, had arrived at the scene. I have been a forest ranger for almost twenty years, but never in all my experiences have I witnessed a sight that looked as pitiful as did Mr. Griffin lying there in that bed of blood where he had been for forty-two hours, his pale cheeks and sunken eyes denoting pain and distress . He had tried to stop the blood in an effort to save his life and had smeered it over his hands and face making him look even more pitiful. He arose without a smile. We washed his hands and face and then examined the wound which was just below the hip. The ball had passed straight through, but the wound had stopped bleeding. The wound was a bad one but we encouraged Mr. Griffin and told him we did not think it was as bad as he thought; then the first smile came across his face, and he began to take on new courage. Mr. Roundy had now arrived with the bandages and everything imaginable with which to do up a wound, my wife having sent them. I also had a "first aid kit" which I always carried with me. We washed our hands, and did up the wound with materials of the "first aid kit." We then took long strips of cloth and bandaged the wounded leg to the other so he could be handled without so much pain. A change of clothes was soon procured from among the crowd; a shirt here, and a pair of trousers there, until Mr. Griffin looked like a new boy. A litter was soon made from aspen poles and a wool sack. Mr. Griffin was then laid on the litter and soon made ready for the long hike several miles across lava beds and fallen timber to where he could be reached with a rig. The following is Mr. Griffin's story as he has related it many times, with the exception that he has stated to me that he felt as if he would be found by Ranger Porter. When I related my experiences to him he said, "well that accounts for it then." Here is his story: On the 10th day of July, 1913, when the sun was sinking in the west, I took my gun and left the tent to round in the sheep for the night. I got within a quarter of a mile of camp on my way back, when the accident occurred. "Voice of the intangible" 533 An old ewe, with her lamb, had stopped behind. I went down tne hill to start her towards camp when she ran past me. Having hold of the barrel of the gun, I struck at her with the stock, not intending to hit but only to frighten her. When I came to myself, I found that I was a bird with a broken wing and had no way of getting to my cage except by crawling. As I lay upon the ground bleeding, I heard a little voice whispering to me to take courage. So I did, and began crawling on my hands and one knee, dragging my wounded leg. I had crawled about four hundred yards up the hill, when, as I lay down on the grass to rest, a fear came over me which makes me shudder, as I reflect upon the scene of that night. I was sure I would die alone with- out a word of farewell to anyone. I took from my pocket-book a leaf of paper and a pencil, and wrote a note to whomsoever it might concern, saying that I had shot myself ac- cidentally through the leg, just below the hip. Taking new courage I bade farewell to my relatives and friends: yes, even to this dear old world. How I trembled and shook as I finished writing! I could feel cold chills running down my back. There remained a distance of about five or six hundred yards, all up- hill traveling. I could crawl only a few feet at a time. Gritting my teeth and groaning I made my way slowly towards camp. My little puppy, whining to show his sympathy for me, was my only comforter in the long night's journey. The top of that hill I thought I would never reach; but as the clock struck three in the morning I struggled into camp completely exhausted. You can imagine my feelings on approaching the lonely tent, knowing I had to be my own doctor, nurse, and consoler. How I longed for my mother to be at my side and nurse me as she had done in my childhood days. I longed, as I had never longed before, to see a human face and hear a human voice. How I strained my ears for ap- proaching footsteps, but all in vain. One long day was spent in thinking what my past life had been, wondering if I had benefited humanity in any way, and if I would live to tell the story to dear ones at home. The night was passed in the same way, only that I tried to sleep, but was roused and startled by a hoot owl in the distance. , , At last morning came, and the fear of darkness was driven away by the songs of the birds. One dread fantasy after another crowded its way in and out of my fevered brain until I was almost driven wild; but at last, after forty-two hours of fearful foreboding I was startled, like a deer from his hiding place, at the sound of a horseman coming along the trail towards my tent. If I had had two good legs, no doubt I would have run to bid him welcome, but being overpowered with joy and too weak to shout, I had to hold my peace and look as pleasant as possible. How thankful I am, still, that he came when he did. The water I had was almost gone — how lucky I was to have it. It was not my custom to get water at night before rounding the sheep; but fortune had favored me so far. I had brought in a bucket of water, never dreaming it would be the means of saving my life, as the doctor told me afterwards it was. Five miles I was carried through a trail in the forest and down over lava beds. How cautiously those fellows stepped from rock to rock and over fallen timber! Each jerk and twist they gave me felt as if my leg were being pulled off. After hours traveling we arrived at the buggy which was waiting for us. There the doctor made a slight examination and wanted to know what had been done. I told him how my friends had bandaged up the wound and he said it was as well as he himself could have done, it was decided best to take me home and a soft bed was made for me in the back of the buggy. 534 IMPROVEMENT ERA Everything in readiness, we started for home leaving behind us the scene of the accident, but by no means leaving the suffering. After spending ten weeks in the hospital in Salt Lake City, under the care of the doctor, and the remainder of the year hobbling around on crutches, doing practically no work, I am too thankful for the privilege of en- joying life to complain of the results of the accident. Let us rejoice, fellow comrades, even though misfortune comes our way; and let us take advantage of this lesson from the experience of a cripple. One minute of uncontrolled anger may bring sorrow and pain the remainder of our lives." These are Mr. Griffin's words as nearly as I can remember them. I shall never forget that scene as the buggy began winding its way down the road along the mountain side. As the rig disappeared, I sighed and reined my horse down the mountain, in the opposite direction towards the little, white, rustic ranger station in the cove. With the thought in mind that I had learned a great lesson, I made a vow with myself that I would always, from then on, give heed to that spirit something, or the Voice of the Intangible. Escalante, Utah. Boy Beautiful Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, O, come to mother's arms I hold you close, for Oh! In child-like trust so dutiful A mother's vigil dutiful How manifold your charms! With love-light all aglow! So precious is your love to me, Once in a season bleak and wild, Made dearer every hour, When perished lay the flowers, My heart's divinest symphony Kind heaven kept you here, my child, My life's supremest flower. To cheer the vacant hours. Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, Your steps are young and glad — The smile upon your face May life's stern pathway dutiful Brings back his image lovable, Ne'er make them worn and sad; Who lives in angel grace. All day they patter eagerly, My heart has grown so worshipful, To joyous life they tread, I follow where you lead Then comes the night, and gleefully 'Mid springtime flowers magical They scamper off to bed. That freshen all the mead. Boy Beautiful, Boy Beautiful, How sweet is life's fair dawn! A Mother's watch-care dutiful Gives cheer to journey on! By night, by day, my heart's fond plea, My sum of hopes — but one — God grant my boy shall ever be A true and worthy son. Salem, Utah, MINNIE IVERSON HODAPP.