This is an embarrassment of riches. That’s what I thought when I looked around my leaking and smallish camp trailer while reading the pioneer story pulled from a research stack I had brought into the woods. The experience that follows touched me deeply, and I wanted to write a Pioneer Day article about remembering and showing gratitude.
This experience made me ask the question:
“What would my pioneer ancestors say to me?”
As context, my little family drove to Glacier National Park, through such heavy rains we had to stop on the highway; we couldn’t see the road. When we set up camp, we discovered that the trailer’s roof was leaking all over our beds. Ugh. My husband took duct tape/bailing twine measures to stop drips that night, and we discussed whether we should repair and keep it, or repair and sell it when we got home. Either way, we’d have to sink some money, and either decision would be fine because it had cost very little originally and had loved it well. It didn’t owe us anything.
But as I did some pioneer research later in the week, I became immersed in the story below and all at once I saw my circumstances through an entirely different lens. Here is the story of Alice Ann Richards, who is not a part of my family but who I love just the same.
The Pioneer Story of Alice Ann Richards
Alice Ann Richards was born in a covered wagon parked on Main Street of Salt Lake City during a snowstorm in 1849. Her petite mother Nanny Lynn Longstroth was just 21 years old, and a wife to Willard Richards. As context for our Mormon friends, Willard Richards was a first cousin and good friend of Brigham Young. He served as church Historian and first Editor of the Deseret News and had been the private secretary to Joseph Smith. Richards was one of the men present in Cartahage Jail when Joseph Smith was shot.
Back to Alice Ann. At the time she was born, the family was so poor that her mother and mother’s sister Sarah had only one good dress and one good layette set to share between them. The two sisters alternated wearing the dress in public and using the layette set as needed, and were grateful for that much.
Why, you might ask, was little Alice Ann born in a covered wagon in a snowstorm? Because that was their home the winter after they arrived in the valley.
That’s right. They lived in a covered wagon for an entire Utah winter until better shelter could be built the following summer. They lived with only canvas between them and the elements for whatever time it took to build a dwelling. Nobody had homes when they arrived. No building materials were purchased from Home Depot. No groceries could be picked up. After months of crossing the plains, no warm bath or savory meal greeted them in the Salt Lake valley. They faced more hard labor to scratch an existence from the sagebrush.
Alice Ann’s story was not unique and I have ancestors who spent a winter living in a covered wagon in Ephraim, Utah and another set of ancestors spent the first year huddled in a dugout carved from the banks of the Bear River. Mud dripped on their heads every time it rained. I cannot begin to imagine.
There is more to Alice Ann’s story. As a girl, when Johnston’s Army was on the move, the entire Wasatch Front was evacuated and the homes were filled with sticks and straw, ready to be burned if soldiers entered the valley before an agreement was reached. Their trees had only begun to bear fruit, and here they faced leaving again. As the young Alice Ann gathered sticks as fuel to torch their home she said “My sticks will not burn, they are too wet with tears.”
Lot Smith became famous for being sent with a ragtag band of frontiersmen to harass the Army, thereby buying time for a settlement to be reached. They stalled the Army for a brutal Wyoming winter, war was averted, and tattered families returned to their homes the next spring. When Alice Ann came of age, she became a plural wife to Lot Smith.
Their union had wonderful promise, but not long into it they were sent by Brigham Young to settle in Arizona. Her girlish dreams faced an unforgiving landscape and the realities of being a plural wife.
My eyes filled with tears when I read this from her journal a few years later, “I was beginning to think my children were only born to die.” The family was living in a harsh part of Arizona (Sunset) where her husband had been asked to lead a settlement that was doomed to fail.
It was there that she buried four of her nine children. One boy drowned crossing the Little Colorado River, one toddler was scalded when he toppled the lye soap vat, and two died at about a year old. Childhood disease was a cruel thief in those days. By the time she was my age, Alice Ann got word that one of her sons had typhoid fever at college in Provo and wasn’t expected to make it. His roommate had already passed away so she grabbed her children and chased time to Utah. She had no money, but she happened to cross paths with her husband on the way. He had just sold some animals and had cash for her train fare. They parted, expecting her to return but she never did. The fates next brought a mix of blessings and heartaches.
First the blessings. Her son recovered and at the same time, her father’s estate was settled. This gave her enough money to purchase a farm of her own. She bought land and a small farm in Fielding, Utah sight unseen because she had brothers there. As a plural wife for twenty some years, living in a failed “United Order” experiment, she now had a real home of her own. She described that period as the happiest time of her entire life. Her husband made one visit but within a year was shot by a rogue Indian in Arizona, even though he had been good friends with the local tribe. Her youngest son Albert (Pinto) would never know his father.
By age 41 Alice Ann Richards had 9 children and buried 4 of them. She had been a plural wife for decades, and now lost her husband. The “happiest time of her life” was in the middle of establishing a homestead virtually from scratch and living in a home that her grandchildren described as having walls so thin the winter winds came right through. At least it wasn’t a covered wagon. Yet through the hardship, she was always considered a lady. She had received a top-notch education and had a keen intellect. She was a woman of faith and conversation and grit. One grandson described her as “the most loving person I had ever met,” although another grandchild added, “I never saw her smile.” I’d lose my smile too if I had to grieve six of my nine children. Only three outlived her own long life.
I read all of this while sitting on a memory-foam cushion atop a queen sized bed in our cozy trailer. The cabinets were stocked with hamburger buns and marshmallows. The fridge was full of bacon and apple juice. We had dishes, paper towels and soap that we purchased – not made from an enormous vat of lye and lard. A vat like the one that took Alice Ann’s little boy. Warm water streamed from the trailer’s tap on demand, a little toilet was right inside and it even had a little shower if we were so inclined. A propane-powered furnace kicked on if the temperature dropped, and if I needed power for my laptop, we just started the generator. Our truck had hauled us 700 miles for the sheer pleasure of vacation. And after the roof leaked, my husband drove into town the next day and purchased a roll of sticky vinyl to cover the roof, keeping us dry the rest of the trip. The engineering and quality of materials in our “economical” camp trailer was astounding.
What would the ancestors say?
Alice Ann, if we could visit together, what would you say to me? Would you scold me for being a spoiled brat? Or would you tell me to enjoy these blessings with my whole being? Would you remind me to clutch my baby? When I get cranky about my husband, would you tell me to stop being such a whiner and appreciate this man who does so much around the house? Maybe you’d say all of this at once.
An answer also whispered that Alice Ann and my own ancestors would tell me to look at my family and see, “these are your riches.”
We can’t know for sure what the dead would say, but on this Pioneer Day, I would like to tell Alice Ann and my own ancestors who laid the bricks for my comfortable life something:
“Thank you. Your stories remind me that I can do hard things. I am doing my best to remember, and I hope to honor your name.”
And in case you wonder if her own family honors her, enjoy this photo taken in her granddaughter’s home. It is the best genealogy chart I have ever seen for how personal it is. This chart has been up for decades, with only first names to make each ancestor more approachable, and with hand drawings. Enjoy!
Rhonda Lauritzen is the founder and an author at Evalogue.Life – Tell Your Story. Rhonda lives to hear and write about people’s lives, especially the uncanny moments. She and her husband Milan restored an 1890 Victorian in Ogden, Utah and work together in it, weaving family and business together. She especially enjoys unplugging in nature. Check out her latest book Remember When, the inspiring Norma and Jim Kier story.
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