The Pioneer Mother

THE PIONEER MOTHER By C. N. Lund One of the holiest memories of a lifetime is that of a pioneer mother who lived and loved, who labored and died in the far-away- days when all the great West was in its swaddling clothes. Con- sidering the times, the conditions and the circumstances, she played her part wonderfully well, and with fine courage and sublime faith did she perform the arduous duties that devolved upon her. She loved the life of her time, poor and homely though it seemed, and all the heartbeats of her existence were for home and husband and children. For these she gave the full measure of her womanly strength and de- votion, and for them she bore without a murmur all the burdens that were laid upon her. Very early did she finish her mission, going down in the grim struggle for existence even as a beautiful and fragile flower of the field goes down before a strong wind. This pioneer mother came from one of the old countries overseas, where all was familiar and friendly, and where life was ripe with a thousand years of civilization, to settle and live in the mountain- walled valleys of Utah, where all was strange and new and where the desolation of the ages awaited the life-giving touch of men and women who were willing to apply the, magic wand of incessant toil. Arriving at the capital city, she walked from there behind an ox team most all the way of a hundred-mile journey in order to get to the little com- munity where her humble lot was to be cast. Her first home in Utah was a dugout in a little hillside, with three walls of earth and a front and a roof of very rough lumber. Her next home, where she brought forth her first-born, was a one-room house with a thatched roof which served as ceiling; one door opened to the great outside and one small window pane let in the light of day. Therein, with a joy that is stranger to the habitues of the palace, she lovingly bent over her cooing babe in its cradle, and there in the silences of the lonely days she crooned her lullabies and was the while as happy as any queen who lolls in the velvet of her downy couch. When to this one room was added two more rooms, the home, to her, became a palace and its walls seemed like they had been done in alabaster. Other children were born there, and it was there that the good woman sank beneath life's burden and went to her last, long sleep. If there is not immortality for the soul of her, then is the God of heaven unjust and unfair. But there is immortal life, and God is fair and just. Compared with what life affords today, the pioneer mother had practically nothing. She was denied almost everything which we of today think makes life worth living. The furniture and furnishings of the home were of the simplest and crudest kind, home-made, and by no means pleasant to look upon. She never had a sewing machine,

THE PIONEER MOTHER 583 a sweeper, a washer, an electric iron, nor any of the labor-saving devices of our own time. The candle and the coal-oil lamp gave her light, and to the muddy creek across the street she went for water. She never saw any pavements, electric light or power, water works, tele- phone, piano, phonograph, motion picture, automobile, radio or aero- plane. At first there wasn't a single newspaper and there never were any magazines. About the only book she saw was the old family bible. She knew nothing of art or literature. She never heard any music or singing save her own little snatches of song and Sunday sing- ing in the community church. Always it was toil, toil, toil! It was sacrifice; it was skimping and saving, and watching, and worrying, sometimes weeping, throughout all the sombre days; and often at night it was the caring for and keeping vigil over the sick and the suffering. But in spite of all this her life was rich in very deed* — rich in the things that are really worthwhile, — rich in virtue, love, faith, service, kindness, patience, forbearance and long suffering. She placed more stress on the character than on the changing fashions; she set her heart more on loving service than on worldly pleasure, and more on real religion than on the fickle standards of vain society. Could a truthful picture be painted of what the pioneer mother endured; how she was broken by toil; how she sacrificed; how many of her cherished dreams fell away; how she buried in the desert dust many of her brightest hopes and highest aspirations, it would be one of the most pretentious and inspiring in all the annals of art. Her life was such that it should inspire to emulation. She was God-fearing, she was brave; she was patient, loving and tender; she was true in every particular to the great trusts laid upon her. She was like unto a choice and sweet-blooming flower planted in the wilderness, unseen and unnoticed by the world, but her sweetness was by no means wasted on the desert air; she diffused it all about her and verily it refreshed and refined wherever it touched. To many of us, even today, it is a healing balm wafted on the wings of memory. God rest and bless the soul of the pioneer mother, and keep her safe forever in the fathomless folds of his holy love! Mother's Day Stand at salute! 'Tis Mother's Day! A guide-post of eternal love, Give honor where it's due. A rose 'mongst earthly flowers. If but in memory, hold the hand Transplanted from a heavenly land Of one so good and true. To grace this world of ours. Her loving care in childhood days, Hold to her hand the world's best, The morning of each life, Thus cherished 'twill repay A kindly light in every storm, One Jewel with a heart of gold. An angel and a wife. Hats off! 'Tis Mother's Day! Layton, R. D. BEN T. SlNCLAIRE