Today is July 24th and we commemorate the arrival of the saints in the valley after their long, arduous journey. Elder Ballard wrote in 2013, 

"We owe much to the pioneers and must never forget that the success of today is built upon the shoulders and courage of the humble giants of the past. 

 

Even though the wilderness we have been given to conquer is decidedly different from the rough and rocky trail to Utah and the barren landscape that our pioneer forebears encountered, it is no less challenging and trying for us than it was for them. Avoiding the temptations and evils of the world requires the faith and fortitude of a real modern-day pioneer.

 

When we truly believe, we don't ask, "What do I have to do?" but rather, "What more can I do?"

 

("Pioneer Faith and Fortitude Then and Now, July 2013, Ensign)

 

This year marks the 401st anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims. We give thanks for these seven legacies of America’s Pilgrim heritage. 

1. A legacy of self-government. When the Pilgrims and their fellow travelers on the Mayflower realized they were landing outside the Colony of Virginia, and therefore its English laws, they entered into the Mayflower Compact to “covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil Body Politick.”In the Mayflower Compact, the seeds of American independence, liberty and constitutionalism first took root. 

2. A legacy of family life. Industry and cooperation were hallmarks of Pilgrim communities, as fathers and mothers desperately worked to create homes for their children.

3. A legacy of obedience to conscience. 

4. A legacy of charitable service. William Bradford’s historical account records that as devastating sickness spread among them, the few who remained healthy “spared no pains night or day, but with great toil and at the risk of their own health … did all the homely and necessary services for them; and all this they did willingly and cheerfully without the least grudging, showing their love to their friends and brethren.” They also cared for the Mayflower sailors, many of whom had been contemptuous of the religious fervor of the Separatist pilgrims. As one particularly abusive sailor confessed to his caretakers, “You, I see now, show your love like Christians indeed to one another; but we let one another lie and die like dogs.”

5. A legacy of individual responsibility. 

6. A legacy of consecrating for posterity. Unlike a host of other Europeans who came to the Americas seeking worldly fortune, the Pilgrims came seeking hope for a better future. They sacrificed the familiarity and comforts of their homelands to create a new way of life for their children and for the generations to come, knowing that the fruits of their labors would not be realized in this life.

7. A legacy of Thanksgiving. After reaching landfall, the Pilgrims “fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof.” Even as half their number died during the first winter, they continued to recognize a divine providence, including in the life-saving assistance of Tisquantum (or Squanto) who taught them how to cultivate native crops and where to hunt and fish. As every school child learns, the Pilgrims celebrated the blessings of their bounteous first harvest in a feast with the neighboring Wampanoag tribe. Their humble expressions of gratitude have inspired generations to reflect upon the blessings of God to His children and to give Him thanks. 

(https://www.deseret.com/opinion/2020/11/28/21719479/guest-opinion-pilgrims-thanksgiving-heritage-mayflower-self-government-responsibility-posterity-1620, Jenet and Michael Erickson)

On this, the 24th of July, I would like to share a poem written by a friend, Elaine Wright Christensen titled "At Journey's End." This poem was featured in the July 2002 Ensign magazine.

For the last time our captain blows the 5:00 a.m. whistle.
For the last time we roll our bedclohtes
damp with dew,
to stow them and our five-man tent
in the two-wheeled cart that's become our home.
The Dutch oven filled with last night's coals
hangs still warm beneath the oaken bed,
and one last time
we hear the call to circle up for prayer,
a rousing song, and the day's instructions.

Twelve miles, that's all that's left to go.

We wash our faces in the numbing creek,
scrub our sunburned arms and necks with pieces of soap
saved from the old country for this very day.
The men take time to shave
and beat their hats till dust motes dance
in the early sun pulling itself up over Little Mountain,
the one we climbed yesterday.

The girls braid their hair, slick with sugar water,
then tie clean aprons around their waists,
washed last evening and left to dry in moonlight.
Many walked the trail barefoot, the Olsen girls,
young Jimmy Jensen, yet today
they put on their holiday shoes
for maybe we'll shake Brother Brigham's hand,
drink well water
and slake our thirst at last
with fruit and a glimpse of that salt sea
that's ebbed and flowed,
one more step, just one more step,
ahead of us, day after day,
like some desert mirage.

Shadows along Emigration Creek,
lined with rough and rangy cottonwoods,
point out the last stretch of road to Zion.
Every morning the shadows have shown us the way.
Today, at journey's end,
we'll hear the Nauvoo band play
and we'll walk, one last time
with our hand-worn friend,
the streets we've sung about so many nights
camped on strangely named river banks--
the Platte, loup Fork, Wood River,
where Sister Sorensen hid herself among the willows
and gave birth to a baby girl.

Thirteen times we crossed the Platte.
Indians carried us on their backs,
while the men ferried our goods across 
and floated the emptied carts.

How we pled for the waters to part.

Now we kneel here in the sand, grateful
for every unanswered plea
     that proved us.

Faith is the mountain that does not flee,
     the water that does not part,
     the rock that won't turn into bread--
instead, marks our dead.
They walk the desert with us today.
Our faith and theirs, wrung drop by drop, blossoms--
red as the promised rose.

For the last time we lift the prop stick
from beneath the cart's handle.
For the last time we grease the wheels with tallow
and take our accustomed spots, right and left,
front and back,
to push and pull for the very last time,
all that we own,
all that we are,
all that we've become
on our wooden crosses of a handcart.
We're tempted to let it have its way at the end,
to hurtle down the hill, an unbridled horse
heading for home.
Yet happy to hold it back one last time
on its steep descent to the valley,
we sing,
our hearts in our mouths,
our hopes before us,
Oh, how we sing
every last one of the songs,
the mighty Redeemer's songs
that led us to Zion.

I will tell you about a hero of mine, Mary Fielding Smith.  

Hyrum Smith was first married to Jerusha and they had six children before Jerusha passed away.  Mary Fielding was born in England and later moved to Canada to be by her brother and sister.  She was baptized in Canada by Parley Pratt and moved to Kirtland, Ohio.  The next year she married Hyrum Smith and cared for his then five living children.  Mary had two children of her own: Joseph F. Smith and Martha.The death of Hyrum was a sad blow to Mary and the children, but they carried on.  

Mary was determined to travel west with the Saints and she obtained oxen and supplies. Once when her oxen wandered off, her son remembers seeing his mother on her knees praying for help to find the lost oxen.  She did find the lost oxen and brought them back.  Another time she tied two wagons up to one team of oxen and attempted to make progress.  When a company captain saw her with all of the children and struggling with the oxen, he told her he did not want her in the company because she would slow the company down and he would have to help her.  She was insistent on progressing and retorted to the captain that she would not ask of his help and would beat him to the valley.

When her oxen became ill en route to the Salt Lake valley, she obtained some consecrated oil, found two men who held the priesthood and asked them to administer to the sick oxen.  They told her they had never blessed animals before, but she told them she had faith in the power of the priesthood.  After the blessing, the sick oxen rose up and walked.  This happened three times on the journey.

I don't know all of the details of how this happened, but it is recorded that Mary entered the valley a day before the captain and company.

The first winter after arriving in the Salt Lake valley was very difficult for Mary and her family.  The next summer when they were finally gathering vegetables from their garden, Mary chose some of the best potatoes and took them to the tithing office in order to pay her tithing.  The clerk wondered aloud whether she should pay her tithing as she and her family were so poor.  She told the clerk that she did not want to be denied the blessings that come from paying tithing.

What a strong and saintly woman!  I love her determination and fortitude.

"Against the Sky" by Robert Reid

"It is good to look to the past to gain appreciation for the present and perspective for the future.  It is good to look upon the virtues of those who have gone before, to gain strength for whatever lies ahead.  It is good to reflect upon the work of those who labored so hard and gained so little in this world, but out of whose dreams and early plans, so well nurtured, has come a great harvest of which we are the beneficiaries.  Their tremendous example can become a compelling motivation for us all, for each of us is a pioneer in his own life. We are still pioneering.  We have never ceased pioneering."
Gordon B. HInckley, Teachings of Presidents of the Church, pg. 89

Today in Sunday School we talked about the saints who came into the Salt Lake Valley.  The first couple of years were terribly hard for them and they almost starved, but they persevered.  They searched the valley and surrounding areas for natural resources,  plowed and planted,  built structures,  fought off crickets and welcomed seagulls, interacted with Indians, and donated money to other people who wanted to travel to join the body of the Church.  They were extremely industrious and worked together to build up the community.  Missionaries were called to leave behind their families and unfinished tasks.  Other families were called to leave the main body and colonize a distant area.  These faithful saints obeyed the prophet and heeded the calls to serve.  Charles Lowell Walker, who was called to settle in Southern Utah wrote,

"Here I learned a principle that I shall not forget in awhile.  It showed to me that obedience was a great principle in heaven and on earth.  Well, here I have worked for the last seven years through heat and cold, hunger and adverse circumstances, and at last have got me a home, a lot with fruit trees just beginning to bear and look pretty.  Well, I must leave it and go and do the will of my Father in Heaven, who overrules all for the good of them that love and fear him.  I pray God to give me strength to accomplish that which is required of me in an acceptable manner before him."

I stand in awe of these marvelous people.

The building of this intermountain empire was not done in corner by a select few but by this vast multitude flowing in from many nations, who came and labored and wrought, faithfully following their divinely called leaders.  So to these humble but great souls, I humbly render my love, my respect, my reverent homage.
J. Reuben Clark, Jr., October 1947 General Conference

I have listened to this song repeatedly this week and I do not tire of it.  Here is a version of "Come, Come Ye Saints" sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

In the early days of this country, a special breed of men and women came from all over the world, seeking not only opportunity, but freedom.  They were strong, proud, and fiercely independent.  They believed that the surest helping hand was at the end of their own sleeves.  They shared one thing in common--an unshakable faith in God and in themselves.  As the nation developed, out of this same mold came a special group, who, in a dramatic exodus, pushed the frontier of America from the banks of the Mississippi to the valleys of these magnificent mountains.  They were the Mormon pioneers...The world knows that the Mormon pioneers were led here by Brigham Young; but the Mormon pioneers knew that they were led here by the hand of Almighty God.

(Ezra Taft Benson, Teachings of Ezra Taft Benson, pg. 416)

Victims of mobobcracy, driven from their homes and from state to state, they had to choose whether they would give up what they held sacred to live near a people bent on their destruction, or choose to leave so they could obey the Lord's commands and follow paths that would lead to eternal life.  

On this July 24, 169 years after the first trail-weary pioneers set foot in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake in 1847, we celebrate their arrival and legacy, as have generations before us and as will generations yet to come.
(Some wording taken from a Church News Article, July 22, 1995)

Today I sat in the cold for eight hours watching a frisbee tournament.  I had on warm boots and thermals and I used an oversized umbrella.  Even though I was cold and shivering, I did not feel sorry for myself because I had a car to get into at the end of the day and I had food and a warm house to come home to.  Ever since I read the book The Price We Paid, I have thought often of the pioneers, especially those in the Willie and Martin Handcart Pioneers. I thought today how the pioneers would have loved my pair of boots and thermals. They would have loved to have a place to come into at the end of each day and they would have loved a cupboard full of food.  I am so fortunate.  I live a very comfortable life.  My physical needs are met and I do not worry about many of the things they worried about.

I live in a different time than they did with a different set of challenges and yet somehow, I must prove faithful, just as they did.

(I would highly recommend this book)

My name is Mary Goble Pay.  I am the grandmother of President Hinckley's wife--Marjorie.  
I spent my childhood in the delightful city of Brighton on the south coast of England where the soft green hills of Sussex roll down to the sea.
It was there that my family was baptized.  
It was not hard for us to accept the gospel because the Spirit whispered in our hearts that it was true.
But there were critical relatives and neighbors and even mobs to deride and inflame others against us.
It took courage to stand up and be counted, to be baptized and recognized as a Mormon.

My family traveled to Liverpool, where with some 900 others we boarded the sailing vessel Horizon.  
As the wind caught the sails, we sang, "Farewell, My Native Land, Farewell."  
After six weeks at sea we landed at Boston and then traveled by steam train to Iowa City for fitting out.

I was 13 years old when my family started their trek across the plains.
We purchased two yoke of oxen, one yoke of cows, a wagon, and a tent.  
We were assigned to travel with and assist one of the handcart companies.

Here in Iowa City we experienced our first tragedy.  
The youngest child in my family, less than two years of age, suffering from exposure, died and was buried there.

We traveled from 15 to 25 miles a day until we got to the Platte River.  
We caught up with the hand cart companies that day.
We watched them cross the river.
There were great lumps of ice floating down the river. 
It was bitter cold. 
We went back to the camp and went to prayers and sang, "Come, Come, Ye Saints".
I wondered what made my mother cry that night.
The next morning my little sister was born.
It was the 23rd of September.
We named her Edith.
She lived six weeks and died.
She was buried at the last crossing of the Sweetwater.

We ran into heavy snow.
I became lost in the snow.
My feet and legs were frozen.
The men rubbed me with snow.
They put my feet in a bucket of water.
The pain was terrible.

When we arrived at Devils Gate it was bitter cold.  
We left lots of our things there.
My brother James was as well as he ever was when he went to bed that night.
In the morning he was dead.

My feet were frozen; also my brother Edwin and my sister Caroline had their feet frozen.
It was nothing but snow, snow everywhere and the bitter Wyoming wind.
We could not drive the pegs in our tents.
We did not know what would become of us.

Then one night a man came to our camp and told us that Brigham Young had sent men and teams to help us.
We sang songs, some danced and some cried.

My mother never got well.
She died between the little and big mountains.
She was 43 years old.

We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o'clock at night the 11th of December 1856.  
Three out of four that were living were frozen.  
My mother was dead in the wagon.
Early next morning  Brigham Young came.
When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks.

The doctor amputated my toes while the sisters were dressing my mother for her grave. 
When my feet were fixed they carried us in to see our mother for the last time.  
Oh how did we stand it.
That afternoon she was buried.

I have though often of my mother's words before we left England.
"I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ for I know this is the true Church."


Blessed, honored Pioneer!

A few lessons that I learned on pioneer trek:

1.  Young people can do hard things.  They performed better than I thought they would.  The leaders of our stake planned a rigorous trek, and some people thought it would be too hard and too taxing, but the youth performed admirably.

2.  Trek, as in life, is better organized in families, where a ma and pa are over a group of children.

3. Attitude is important, a willingness to work is important, water is important, and sunscreen is important.

4.  When you have youth push a handcart for 12.8 miles in one day, you will have no problem getting them to bed that night.

5.  An activity or experience is best when you have a mix of fun, social opportunities, physical activity, variety, and of course, a spiritual component.  This pioneer trek had all of these things and it was successful.

6.  When you step away from your "normal" world, even if only for a few days, your vision becomes clearer as to what is really important in life.

7.  Youth will jump up to meet high expectations.

8.  Our stake "Trail Boss" was a wonderful leader named Jim Nordquist.  Jim was highly organized, he never yelled or seemed frustrated, he made a detailed plan and followed it but he was flexible when obstacles which were out of his control came up, and he led in firmness and love.

9.  A big activity takes a lot of people helping in different ways.  Oh, how I love a sense of teamwork.

10.  I liked walking hand in hand with my husband.

11.  I felt a sacred feeling as I passed the pioneer graves on the trail.  I love and admire the pioneers.

12.  Many prayers were said and many petitions were sent upwards for safety and protection and our prayers were answered.  I am grateful to the Lord for watching over this trek.

When I was on our Stake Pioneer Trek this week, I took a picture of Lincoln being pulled by two of the members of his family.  Lincoln walked whenever he could, and his determination was evident, but to keep the caravan moving his willing brothers pulled him.  This was a touching scene to me, repeatedly, throughout the trek.

Pioneer Post--Part II
Remembering the rescue that was happening 158 years ago...

October 27, 1856--Martin Handcart Company Daily Account, Elizabeth Horrocks Jackson Kingsford
It will be readily perceived that under such adverse circumstances I had become despondent.  I was six or seven thousand miles form my native land, in a wild, rocky, mountain country, in a destitute condition, the ground covered with snow, the waters covered with ice, and I with three fatherless children with scarcely nothing to protect them from the merciless storms.  When I retired to bed that night, being the 27th of Oct., I had a stunning revelation.  In my dream, my husband stood by me and said--"Cheer up, Elizabeth, deliverance is at hand."  The dream was fulfilled.

October 28, 1856--Hodgett Wagon Company, John Bond
Joseph A. Young, Daniel W. Jones, and Abraham Garr came into camp with a small dun colored pack mule packed with supplies which caused much rejoicing throughout the camp with Hurrah! Hurrah!  Hurrah! again and again.  The broken hearted mothers ran, clasping their emaciated arms around the necks of the relief party, kissing them time and time again as do the brethren also, rushing up in groups to fall on their necks, the tears falling from their eyes in profusion.  "God bless Brigham Young and the rescuing parties sent out to help all to the valleys over the snowclad Rocky  mountains," was heard all over the camp.

Joseph A. Young's Report given in the Taberncale
A condition of distress here met my eyes that I never saw before or since.  The train was strung out for 3 or 4 miles.  There were old men pulling and tugging their carts, sometimes loaded with a sick wife or children--women pulling along sick husband--little children six to eight years old struggling through the mud and snow.  As night came on the mud would freeze on their clothes and feet.  There were two of us and hundreds needing help.  What could we do?  We gathered on to some of the most helpless and helped as many as we could into camp.

Ephraim Hanks in the Improvement Era
I killed many buffaloes, and distributed the meat among the hungry Saints.  The most remarkable thing about it was that I had traveled that road more than fifty times, and never before saw so many buffaloes in that part of the country.

Since reading a couple of pioneer books that included specific timelines and daily journals, this time of year brings pioneer stories to mind.   When the leaves are falling, I remember the horrible suffering the handcart companies were going through and then I think of the rescue and the joy that filled the hearts of the pioneers as they saw men that were sent to help them.  The journey had not yet ended for them, as there were still hundreds of miles to go, but their hope was restored.

158 years ago,  the Martin and Willey Handcart Companies were struggling along the trail headed for Salt Lake City.  At October General Conference in 1856, Brigham Young challenged the saints in Salt Lake City to "save the people" on the plains.  Rescue supplies were quickly gathered and wagons with capable drivers departed in search of the companies.  I would like to highlight what was happening during a couple of weeks in October in 1856, when the saints in the companies were in dire circumstances and the rescuers had not yet arrived yet.

Travelled about 12 1/4 miles and camped; the road was hilly.  

Several of our cows gave out that were hauling wagons; 

one died on the road or was killed by wolves.  

Willie Company Journal October 11, 1856

Up to this time the daily pound of flour ration had been regularly served out, 

but it was never enough to stay the stomachs of the emigrants, and the longer they were on the plains and in the mountains the hungrier they grew. It was an appetite that could not be satisfied.  At last that was the experience of the handcart people.  You felt as if you could almost eat a rusty nail or gnaw a file.  Eating was the grand passion of the pedestrian on the plains, an insatiable passion, for he never got enough to eat.  As the necessities of man and beast increased, their daily food diminished.  The fourth pound of flour alloted each day was used by many people in the making of gruel.

 Martin Handcart Company, John Jaques, October 9, 1856

Owing to the growing weakness of emigrants and teams, the baggage including bedding an dcooking utensils, was reduced to 10 pounds per head, children under 8 years, 5 pounds.  Good blankets and other bedding and clothing were burned as they could nto be carried further, though needed more badly than ever, for there was yet 400 miles of winter to go through.

Martin Handcart Company,John Jaques, October 17, 1856

The outlook was certainly not encouraging, but it need not be supposed that the company was in despair, notwithstanding the situation was rather desperate.  Oh!  No!  A hopeful and cheerful spirit pervaded the camp, and the "Songs of Zion" were frequently heard at this time, though the company was in the very depths of privation.  Though the bodies of the people were worn down, their spirits were bouyant, while at the same time they had become so accustomed to looking death in the face that they seemed to have no fear of it.

Martin Handcart Company, John Jaques, October 22, 1856