Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 13, 1981 - Sanpete County

necks.
When there was no water in the canal we walked barefoot over the polished pebbles and waded in the
little pools left standing in low spots. And, of course, we always planted lots of willows. We'd break one off,
stick it in the sand, and it never failed to grow.
The wild roses on each side of the canal leaned over the stream making a sort of tunnel. Water on our
feet and a bower of wild roses overhead was a sweet, cool, fragrant experience to be savored again and again.
In the fall we picked the red and yellow hips left by the roses, threaded them for necklaces and made
ear bobs to hang over our ears.
We didn't ever have any "store-bought" gum, but kept a supply of pine gum picked from the pinion
trees. The small round smooth balls made the best kind for chewing.
We watched the robins build their nests in the low branches of the cedar trees, waited patiently for the
turquoise eggs to hatch and carefully fondled the tiny birds until they left their nests and flew away. Naturally,
the parent birds protested vehemently with flapping wings and angry loud chirps, all of which we ignored.
For special times, we gathered sagebrush all day long and piled it as high as we could throw it. When
dusk settled upon us, we ran up the hill and set the brush on fire. The sky lit up as far as we could see, and our
hill glowed in the darkness.
"Hide-and-seek" and "Run-sheepy-run" were favorite games to play until the fire died down and only
red ash remained. Then came the most fun of all...sitting and talking by the last faint glow of the embers.
Finally, it was off to the house to make honey candy or pop corn and play indoor games until Papa shooed us
off to bed.
In the winter we sleighed down our hill and through the orchard using a dishpan or any old piece of tin
we could lay our hands on. Sometimes we even tried our luck on a pair of old skis.
All winter long and into early spring, the hill continued to shower its pleasures upon us until, at last, the
snows melted.
Then it was spring and time, once again, to begin picking the wild flowers on our beloved hill.
Source: Personal recollections of the author.
AN OLD-FASHIONED FOURTH
Mae Paulsen
Box 418
Ephraim, Utah 84627
Non-Professional Division, Second Place Personal Recollection
Next to Christmas, no holiday was more eagerly anticipated than our gala Fourth of July with its
bellowing cannons and marching bands.
As soon as school let out and June was here, we started counting down the days. Among us girls,
conversation centered on the new dress each of us would get. Would it be pink or yellow or blue? Would it be
organdy or voile? Would it be trimmed with ribbon and lace? Or else, what pretty young woman would be
chosen for the coveted title of Goddess of Liberty? Who would be her attendants, Miss Columbia and Miss
Utah? We argued for our personal favorites.
How we looked forward to this great day? This year proved no exception.
On the night of July 3, neighbors stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning putting the finishing touches on
floats. My older brothers had gone to town and were permitted to stay up all night. My sister Lola and I got to
sleep out on the back lawn. We gazed up into the heavens and watched the twinkling stars, sleeplessly
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