Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 13, 1981 - Sanpete County

ANOTHER ONE FOR RIPLEY
,Halbert S. Greaves,
1904 Herbert Avenue,
Salt Lake City, Utah 84108
Professional Division,First Place Anecdote
Believe it or not, I tipped right-side-up a truck that was upside-down. Incredible? Not when you realize
that it was a lightweight Model-T pickup, vintage 1921. And I had some unusual help, extra adrenalin. I don't
know how much that puddle-jumper weighed, with four small cylinders, no cab, nor other non-essentials.
Certainly nothing like the trucks of today.
In early April, 1925, when I was seventeen, our cow strayed from our farm on Little Lane, west of
Ephraim. I took the Model-T to look for her. I drove north to Big Lane, not because it was a logical place to
search, but because I liked the sweet, fresh smell of springtime water flowing under the Big Lane bridges of
the Sanpitch River. During springtime thaw, deep ruts had been worn in the dirt road, and the truck's steering
wheel had about five inches of "play," making it tricky to steer, with its pronounced wobble.
At seventeen I wasn't a particularly careful driver; the truck got going too fast for the combination of ruts and
wobble, jumped out of control—and ruts—and flipped over. I landed under the truck bed, unhurt! I crawled
out, looked things over, and decided I could not leave the truck there blocking the road.
No doubt my adrenalin was flowing double, and the rounded grade of the road favored me, for I
gripped the frame and, with a mighty heave, tipped the wreck right-side-up and off the road. I walked to our
farm, bridled a pony, rode home and told my brother, with whom I lived, what had happened. After checking
the ruin, he traded it for another cow, although we found the stray. I remember thinking that he made a good
trade, even if I had to milk two cows instead of one.
THE END OF AN IMPERFECT DAY
Dorothy J. Buchanan
267 East Third North
Richfield, Utah 84701
Professional Division, Second Place Anecdote
My grandfather ran his sheep in the East Mountains, near Scofield, for many years. In the early
twenties, several of us younger members of the family liked to ride from our homes in Mt. Pleasant, up
Fairview Canyon, across scenic mountain land to the sheep camp known as Rock Springs. Grandfather and his
herders slept in a one room log cabin, so it fell to our lot to sleep in the wide bunk bed at the window end of
the sheep wagon, which we regarded as high adventure.
A feature that especially pleased us was grandfather's sourdough biscuits. He kept his precious "start"
in a crockery jar that stood on a low shelf near the door of the sheep wagon. Just before mealtime, all eyes
were upon grandfather while he carefully poured a certain amount of the "start" into the top of his sack of
flour and deftly mixed the dough, shaped it into biscuits, and baked it in the small camp stove.
We ate the biscuits oven hot, along with sizzling fried mutton, canned tomatoes, store canned jam, and
sometimes rice and condensed milk.
11