Bayles History in a Nutshell

By Josephine Bayles Harris
Contributed by ggg granddaughter Lisa Rarick

"Ride 'er Careful, Joe"

By Joleen Kartchner

Published in Utah Heritage Remembered in 1996

by the two Blanding Stake Relief Societies for the State Centennial

The year of our Lord was 1905,

His job was to carry the mail.

At age 15 he had yet to learn fear

He’d been down more than one dusty trail.

He would leave Cortez at 4 AM

And at 6 he would ride into Bluff.

For this long ride of 14 hours,

A dollar would be payment enough.

Tying a bundle onto the saddle,

The young man was ready to go.

Jess Majors, the Boss, tipped his hat and said, 

“Ride ‘er careful, Joe.”

The Trail was long and tiresome,

The raven’s cry would set his mind adrift.

A windstorm to break the monotony

Gave the boy’s youthful spirit a lift.

Thunder and lightning were his favorite,

He’d holler while the rains pelted down.

After one such storm, folks heard him say

“If it weren’t for my hat, I’d have drowned.”

From the top of the cliff there were switchbacks

Leading down to the valley below.

If you choose to stay in the saddle,

“Ride ‘er careful, Joe.”

A fiery buckskin was saddled,

Stamping the ground while her eyes followed him.

She loved to bite and would bolt and run

Whenever her mind got the whim.

She was spooked by lizards and blowing leaves

And spirits inside of her head.

Her craziness nearly cost him his life

So he ran her until she was dead.

If we were to walk through those Pearly Gates

And watch a Spirit Rodeo,

You can bet we’d hear the angels say,

“Rider ‘er careful, Joe.”

When the trails seem rough and rocky

I must travel along on my way,

When I cannot see the goodness

Amid the wickedness of the day.

When I feel my burden is heavy,

The weight too heavy for me to bear,

When I seek for help and knowledge’

And someone who’ll love me and care.

My answer comes in a whisper,

A spirit from long, long ago.

“Go to the Lord in fervent prayer,

And ride ‘er careful, Jo.”

-SAN JUAN MISSION TODAY-

 -SAN JUAN MISSION TODAY- 

by Mark B. Bradford

As Stalwart pioneers gathered together, the “San Juan Mission” was their call,

Selected families organized to get going, before summer changed into fall.

Bringing together belongings, loading up wagons with needed supplies,

Simple was their strong faith in church council,
seeing their unified effort through spiritual eyes.

Bringing animals and livestock; horses, chickens, and cows,

The journey laid before them, constituting uncharted and eventful miles.

They traveled together very wisely and were willing to help carry each other’s loads

All persisted in staying humbly happy, for these pioneers had a call to build new roads.

Willingly they prayed daily, for the guidance to protect and defend

Their families, tasks, and belongings, even for their new found friends.

Adults constantly taught children lessons, of learning in all of their new chores,

Blessings or miracles attended them often, through travels, from heavens open doors.

Some nights called for long reflections; on all the daily sacrifices, efforts, and pain

Of their treading through relentless elements of hot sun, harsh winds or soaking rain.

Encountering the roughest of elements, might cause blisters in minds, bodies, and hands,

But properly enduring trials or tribulations, earns intelligence which continually expands.

Their opportunities, trials or blessed outcomes, became the history we tell of their past,

Repeated for generations with reverence, something that will infinitely last.

The Ute, Navajos and Anglo learned to tolerate, then lean on each other more and more,

Accepting and then trusting each other’s efforts, as common goals became sure.

Now to sustain ongoing education, share language changes or religious beliefs,

We have to break down borders, boundaries and fences, and heed counsel from wise chiefs.

Regardless of our culture, living does matter, to self, God and mankind.

Today’s posterity of the Four Corner’s Region, receive refinement in their own due time.

Living is not just to make life easy, in comfortable choices of the best,

But is to build up and refine our testimonies, centered in our souls and firm in our chests.

Today’s San Juan people, battle the same elements of living with evil temptations or pain,

As we respect our lands we’ve always lived on, in making our livings and our gain.

A power hungry and distant people, trying to mandate for the rest of us all,

Seems to forget who pays the ongoing price, they lack legal respect or historical recall.

If we all look at the bigger picture, of who gets stepped on the most,

It’s the local common folks trying to scratch out a living, with no hidden agendas to boast.

Communities filled with multicultural neighbors, getting rejected causes bitterness and pain,

We all watch our own ancestor’s efforts being trampled on and be washed down the political drain.

With efforts going out to individuals and families, to unite through signatures or signs 
To protect our sacred lands and homesteads, we can make a political dent in our side of the line.

Those who fight 'Ol Scratch's battles, often scream loud as they profoundly boast,

But during the process we stay focused, on how lands brings us blessings, even from outside hosts.

Our mission from that first day to now, impeccably is still the same

We honor, respect, and protect our lands and heritages; with our souls, minds, and names.

With efforts going out to individuals and families, to unite through signatures or signs 

To protect our sacred lands and homesteads, we can make a political dent in our side of the line.

Our mission from that first day to now, impeccably is still the same 

We honor, respect, and protect our lands and heritages; with our souls, minds, and names.

Mark B. Bradford    8-16-2016

Antiquity

by Patricia Black Shumway

Published in Utah Heritage Remembered in 1996

by the two Blanding Stake Relief Societies

for the State Centennial

The Ancient cliff squatted heavily

in the burning sun

Gently cradling the rocky ruin 

in its thick tired arms.

Stiff canyon walls stand as sentinels

Guarding the steps of all who enter their domain.

Tumbled walls with smoke dimmed pictures

Soundlessly whisper an eloquent story

Recorded by an unnamed author.

Where are those who's

Quiet remains display

An unremembered glory?

Questioning eyes watch

As changing shadows once again people

the abandoned rooms.

Mute answers echo in melancholy stillness

Sounds of vanished loves unheard.

Emptiness seems a haven for time

Holding forever all that has happened

In the old ruin.

Heritage

By Susan Dyer

Published in Utah Heritage Remembered in 1996

by the Blanding Stakes Relief Societies

for the State Centennial

Mother tramped through hot sand

in a nearly deserted land.

She climbed red rocks

without shoes or socks.

She searched for pottery and arrowheads

in unearthed Anasazi bed.

Played under the blazing sun,

says she's never had such fun.

When hot, she swam in a deep pool

to keep herself fresh and cool.

Mother had a young and free spirit

I hope to inherit. 

The Trek to Bluff

by Mildred Bayles Palmer 

Published in Utah Heritage Remembered by the Blanding Stakes Relief Societies

in 1996 for the State Centennial

The wagons move slowly across the wilderness.

Eyes are reddened from sun and wind.

How much further must we go?

Day after day go by, blurred and dimmed with weariness.

Thirst and hunger always present.

The children suffer most.

Go on, we must; one step and then another , mile after mile.

Are we almost there?

Days grow shorter -- nights are cooler.

We must hurry onward.  Prayers are offered in supplication for guidance and survival.

Down the impossible treacherous rock hill

the wagons are lowered slowly.

Then out across the hills of desert sand.

The way seems easier now.

What shall we find there?

Will we survive there?

How many souls will die there?

A valley lies ahead.

Walls of ancient sandstone guard it well.

A river slices snakelike through the valley;

Along the southern cliffs,

Prayers of thankfulness are offered.

Here we will build our homes.

Live out our lives and spread the word of God.

Walter C. Lyman, A Man of Vision

by Albert R. Lyman

A youth heard a voice from the wilderness
And he thrilled with what it said,
for it sang of work for him to do
In the wondrous times ahead.

And ever he looked and listened
Through changes of trying years
Nor paused from his cherished purpose
to nurse futile tears.

Then the voice called, "come hither,
and build in the wilderness,
A place where saints may gather
From poverty and distress."

He forsook all else and journeyed
Away to a wild dry place,
And spread thee a verdant City
On the desert's arid face.

He had answered the voice that called him,
Yet of wealth he had gathered none,
And he put him down in a borrowed home
When his work was done.

(This led to the settlement of Blanding in 1905)

Ride the San Juan

by Janet Keeler Wilcox

1st place winner, BYU Charles Redd Writing competition 2013

 

Lead me down your snaky trails
of twisting paths and flinty glaze
to ocher canyons etched in fire
by sunlight's lofty rays.

Ride me o'er your slate blue riffs

As canyon shadows fall,
Where night birds dance above the lake
And lonely eagles call.

Toss me high on rugged waves

Douse me 'til I'm blue,
Bounce me through the rocky course where voyagers are few.

Swirl me past your eddies

Etched by frothy hue.
Take me to your glens and coves
that Anasazi knew.

Wind me 'round your sandstone fjords

Of sandwiched mauves and grey,
Circle me with stony walls
That time has worn away.

Spray me down your waterfalls

Sooth me in your pools.
Shower me o'er your coral ridge
Where sandstone calmness rules.

Hide me in your tombs of jade 

Where elusive peace lies still,
And mirrored reflections tranquilize the agitated will.

 
Guide me to the journey's end

To canyons sprayed with gold
Where calm respite is heaven sent
And river tales are told.

On Exploring

--by Thales Hastings Haskell

[Included in the Journal of Thales H. Haskell prepared for publication by Juanita Brooks, printed in Utah Historical Quarterly Vol. XII January-April, 1944.  This song was written by Thales H. Haskell and was sung often among the pioneers. I have never seen the music written but have heard the song many times--J. B.]

We bid farewell to Gould's place-- Exploring we were bound

Instead of taking a straight course--We circle round and round

The rocks they are so high--The hills they are so steep

We can hardly find a level place--To lie us down to sleep.

When we find a level place--In rains so like sin

You might as well be in the creek--At least up to your chin

And when the rain is over--There comes the deuced guard

Who calls you out to duty--I think its rather hard.

This thing they call exploring--Looks pretty in a book

But if you follow it up boys--You'll wear a disappointed look

For the country is wilderness, There are no Indian signs

We have no trail nor guide, boys--We have to go it blind.

We've clambered up the clay hills--The compass we have boxed

We have traveled over mountains--And canyons full of rocks

This trip would try a Quaker--It cannot be denied

For the old gray horse of Pocketville--Has tumbled down and died.

Our bugler found a hornet's nest--Which caused him to retreat

But everyone acknowledged--He performed a quite a feat

For like a broncho rider--The sadlle he did stick

While the mule was whirling off with him--And seemed inclined to kick.

We have crowded thru the quaking asp--And over fallen pine

We have bursted up our cracker sacks--And strewed our flour behind

Our animals got off the track--The boys politely swore

That they never drove a pack mule--In such a place before.

When we got to Cedar--The Bishop took us in

And gave us all our supper--And bid us call again

But when we got to Parowan--The Bishop gave a bow

And said its not convenient--To entertain you now.

I wish I had a clean shirt--I wish I had some shoes

I wish my old mule was fat--And I didn't have the blues

If ever I get home again--Contented I'll remain

And never go exploring--Till called upon again.

—Thales H. Haskell--1865

[And of course, he was called upon again and again, and never said "No."]

LOOKING BACKWARD, ALSO FORWARD

Photo shows Kumen in the center, honored as the last surviving "adult" who came through Hole-in-the-Rock.  He is surrounded by others, who were children when they came through.

A Tribute written by Kumen Jones

Written about his mother: "SAGE TREHARNE JONES and his brother Lehi. His mother had no schooling. She was born Nov. 27th, 1832, Llanelly, Glamorganshire, South Wales, and died at Cedar City, Utah, March 20, 1897. She joined the L. D. S. Church with her family, both parents, three sisters: Mary, Jane and Sarah, and brother William. [She] emigrated in the year 1848 [with] all the family.

Mother lived to see all of her sons and her only daughter get married, and she felt pleased with the choice that each one had made. She saw all her sons chosen for responsible positions in the Church and state which repaid her, at least in part, for her sacrifices. When the time comes when the One Just Judge rewards His children for their loyalty to Him and to His earthly authority, we know that our faithful, devoted mother will be rewarded in full. May our Heavenly Father help all her posterity to so live that we may be worthy of our noble parentage when we all meet again."
"  MY BROTHER LEHI, born November 1854 at Cedar City, Utah, was 5 feet, 9 inches in height and was very light in complexion, followed farming, stock raising and general business. By strict economy, thrift and industry, he made his way up to a good success. Being the oldest son to live, he took very early in life the responsibility of the care of the family, in which he took a noble and intelligent part."

===============
A Tribute

Had I my life to live again,

  when this good life is through,

Retaining all the best of this

   and adding to the new,

I'd start by being kinder to our good mother, left alone

With six small kiddies, under eight,

   and the work of home;

Left almost penniless too,

  with broken health and nerve,

The only asset left her

   was the iron will to serve.

Through this short, cruel story

  there is history sublime

Reaching up towards heaven

   to realms of the divine.

She drew much needed courage

  from the servants of the Lord,

In material help and counsel,

  from fathers of Cedar Ward,

Who always gave a kindly hand,

  a friendly word and smile.

Ye public servants keep this up, '

   Twill help us out the while;

There's one more family item

  that should be noted too,

To round the story out

   and make it full and true,

It is of a child turned man

   almost overnight,

Turned into a princely man

   and made a noble fight,

'Twas our brother Lehi

   made that character summersault,

Turned from childhood to manhood

  without one serious fault.

Though eighty-three he still plods on,

  in a slightly lower gear,

With wise and friendly counsel

  his life work has made clear.

I wish all men had brothers,

  just like this pal of mine,

'Twould make this a wiser world,

  much better and sublime.