Hard Rock Poetry and Songs

On Exploring

2010-03-19T07:35:00.000-07:00

--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

2010-02-25T09:07:00.000-08:00

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.

MARY ANNE

2010-02-03T11:25:00.000-08:00

By Mildred Bayles Palmer
Mary Ann was my great grandmother Mary Anne Durham Bayles who died in childbirth

South of here on a rocky bluff,
There is a grave.
It is not a lonely grave,
There are others there.

A lovely girl came to a lonely, barren place,
To make a home for the man she loved.
To follow the destiny of mother, wife.

She bore four children,
I wonder if she ever spoke of pain.
One day when her only son was five,
In childbirth she died.

Her grave is sand and rock,
A marble marker placed with love is there.
Even so, I wish she could be
By the one she loved
Where it is cool and green.

(The son was my grandfather Hanson D.Bayles Her husband is buried in the Blanding cemetery.

Song of Sorrow

2010-02-02T20:56:00.000-08:00

By Mikki Bayles Palmer
Dedicated to the James Bean and Anna Maria Mickelsen Decker Family
Published 1980 in San Juan County Centennial Sampler

Decker story

Bluff December 15, 1901

My beloved husband died today.
The sickness is throughout the house.
My small young son lies pale and still.
He too is dead; he is only five.
Weariness and sorrow weigh me down.

Dec. 16, 1901

Today again a life is stilled.
My darling Mary, just approaching womanhood.
The sounds of carpentry fill the night.
Three coffins must be made for burials
In cold and frozen ground.

January 25, 1902
Did we have Christmas?
I remember not.
The cabin smells again of suffering and death.
My stalwart son of seventeen lies quiet now,
His song of life cut short.
The winter wind blows,
Echoing the sorrow in my heart.

January 26, 1902

My own dear son is gone.
The softness of his laughter stilled.
He was just past ten, awakened not,
After the long dark night.
Friends come to wash and dress my dead.
The sound of hammers once more fill the night.

The men must carry the coffins
Up the steep and twisting trail.
The open graves are waiting.
Here my loved ones shall lie side by side,
On this barren windswept hill.

Below me in the valley I can see
The tall white house newly finished,
Stark and lonely in the winter morn.
I shall never live there now.

A song of sorrow fills the air
As friends and family gather round.
A prayer of comfort quietly is said.
I turn, blinded by my tears and blowing snow.
Retrace my steps a second time
To the still empty cabin
at the foot of the hill.

Note: This poem is based upon the tragic events which befell the James Bean and Anna Maria Mickelsen Decker family during the winter of 1901-1902 when five members of the family died of diphtheria.

These Came Through the Hole-in-The-Rock

2010-02-02T11:45:00.000-08:00

By Marian Gardner Nielson
Published in Saga of San Juan 1968,

They came from the green hamlets and the secure villages,
These dedicated pioneers.
Who were plodding along the lonely trail of their beliefs.
The mocking mirages faded before them in the desert;
The icy pinnacles of stony mountains glared at them,
As they wallowed through the sandy washes
And rock-bedeviled canyons below.

Lack of food painted blue smudges on the faces of the hardy ones.

There was one patriarch in the company
With poor crooked feet--frozen on other starvation treks--
Who led the train with homely prayer and practical advice.
The dreamer saw spired cities and green ranches
Spread-eagled over the mesa and into the box canyons.
The explorer who came in late at night
Exhausted in body and spirit, huddled around the cow-chip campfire
And ate his cold flapjack
Alone.

The main body, virile in its youth,
Crawled along the canyon rim.
Young zealots with heads high, constantly checking
for lagging feet of barefoot children,
Or eyes straying in torment to a swaying wagon where illness lay,
Searching the buttes for a through break,
the muddy waters for a fording place,
Confident in their manhood and the integrity of their quest
These pioneers prayed fervently,
And square danced as fervidly on the rocks at night camp.

These came through the Hole-in-the-Rock

Heritage and Horizons

2010-02-01T16:33:00.000-08:00

By La Raine Redd
Published in Heritage and Horizons in San Juan 1975

Pioneer stalwarts struggled hard
To find this land where they could rest
And do the biddings of their Lord
Without fear of death or false arrest.

Through Hole-in-the-Rock the small group came;
They crossed deep gorges and sandstone buttes.
Meeting hardships of rough terrain,
They arrived in Bluff to face Navajos and Utes.

Since early times in San Juan's story
The Church has grown and the people prospered.
For a hundred years they've pushed to glory
And made this vineyard bloom, preferred.

What of horizons that before them lay--
The progress, achievements, the promises held?
It's up to us, their burdens fray
And build this land and make it yield.
Our future, as theirs, before us lies--
A responsibility to this heritage--
To grow, to build, to amplify--
Our hearts to praise and give patronage.

Pioneer

2010-02-01T12:21:00.000-08:00

By Sylvia Chamberlain
Published in Discovery 77, Blanding, Utah

Faith in our Heavenly Father,
The giver of all that's good,
Calls a challenge to reach upward
Beyond our self content and
Pleasures of the day.
So with happy anticipation of new ventures
And dreams of things yet to come,
We bow in humble supplication
And say, "Thy will be done."

Dedication and Desire

2010-01-31T16:51:00.000-08:00

Bluff Fort, October 24, 2009
By Janet Wilcox

Standing on the shoulders of those who came before

A new San Juan Hill has been summitted.

With Herculean effort

families have united to share

legacies and lore,

truths and treasures

heritage and heroics.

Like parachutes of dandelion fluff

scattered by the winds of change,

Bluff’s legacy spread afar for 120 years,

nurtured in descendant’s hearts,

Until a dream began to grow.

Outdistancing the clouds of doubt

And storms of failure

Leaders called forth with hope and vision

And new pioneers rallied to recreate the past.

A modern gathering of clans and cabins converged,

reminding us how undaunted courage

and stick-it-atoo-ity can accomplish the impossible.

New generations

Recognizing the value of history

Have reclaimed the mission of San Juan,

Rebuild the fort

and shown us with loving reminders

its new purpose under heaven.

May we ever remember

the trail, tears, and travails

leading to this sacred ground in Bluff.

The Old Swing Tree

2010-01-31T16:47:00.000-08:00

By Hilda Perkins

There's a cottonwood tree by the river

Whose branches reached both high and wide

Its memories still set hearts a quiver

Tho they're scattered, and many have died.

If the old swing tree by the river

Could tell all the stories it knows,

Of love, and of fears; of heartaches and tears,

Of happiness, sorrows and woes:

It could tell how its branches protected

The settlers who came there to pray,

And many a young maid was courted

In its swing, built for two in her day.

Its branches protected the people

Who settled the Valley with hope,

Where the river wound gracefully onward

And the red cliffs with past echoes spoke.

The river has taken the swing tree.

The memories of it linger on

With past generations of lovers

Who remember it clearly and strong.

Photo courtesy Images of America Early San Juan County, LaVerne Tate

Coming Home

2010-01-31T15:05:00.000-08:00

By Jean Nielson Bayles
Published in San Juan Centennial Sampler 1980

What is this, but rocks and earth and air?
This place where wind drinks dry the ground,
Where sand will swirl and settle and wait--
Silent--to be stirred up again?

Here sun beats down on rocks and sand
Too hot to touch or rough to rest;
Where feet are bare, and then --there is the quiet.
It shutters every door and window of this place.

How sweet the seldom green and cooling shade
That must be searched for here.
What is it then--but rocks and earth and air?
What? This--a silent voice will tell.

"Tis bed and hearth and home for some
Whose time preceded mine,
Whose unknown faces fill my dreams,
Whose hands I see, have shaped my past.

It is the rocks which mark in grooves
The memory of wagon after wagon
Laden with life's substance.
For only heavy burdens etched their way.

Rocks, where hide the secret, shadowed caves
Where many came to rest, weary;
Or to dance with the dancing bonfires flames;
Or only to find, in solitude, the strength
to descent to the sand again.

This place is air--the early
Morning river scent from that
Temperamental river which
They fought--and which they loved.

And evening smells of dusk and tiny
Purple blossoms--south in cracks and corners
Of the cliffs-a precious, simple
Beauty they found to fill their homes.

And here is earth. They walked its lonely paths
They plowed its empty fields,
Up from it they built their homes, their town
To mark their presence in this place.

They brushed its endless dust
From off their chairs and pantry shelf
They swept it hard and smooth outside their door--
To make it clean, this earth.

And here they came to lay at last
Among the rocks and earth and air.

What is this place? It is the whispers
of their words, the echoes of their footsteps.
And listening, listening, I can hear my name.
The voice of what I was and why I am.

This is coming home.

Reflections On Journal Keeping

2010-01-30T20:12:00.000-08:00

by Janet Wilcox,
Written in 1980, 100 years after Hole-in-the-Rock
Whose are these names, the book recounts,
Who first journeyed through the "hole?"
I never knew so many came,
Why 250's on the roll!

A few familiar names I read like Nielson, Lyman, Redd.
Of Bayles, Perkins, Butt, and Jones, at least there's something said.
How come I've never heard the rest? Their names are new to me.
Where is their story written down for their posterity?

Were they as brave and valient as others read about?
Did their families work and toil along that famous route?
Who are these unfamiliar souls, their story 'ner told 'round?
Why they're the ones "too busy" they never wrote it down.　

Hole in the Rock Fun song, by Terri Winder

2010-01-30T10:12:00.000-08:00

Hole-in-the-Rock Haikus

2010-01-29T21:50:00.000-08:00

Published in Heritage and Horizon
in San Juan
by Heritage Arts Festival April 26, 1975

    Hole-in-the-Rock travelers
Twisting, steep switchbacks reveal
   Slow, rolling wagons.

   by Virginia Blake
   =========

   Our Prophet calls us
From family, home, and friends
   Chosen ones to teach.

   by Kay Bayles
-------------------------------------

Children's poetry from 1980 San Juan Centennial Sampler

(Couplets, Haikus, Cinquains)

The Founding of San Juan County
By Lynette Black (6th-8th grade category)

S is the place where we will start
     to learn about the San Juan parts
A is for the great accomplishment
    that our forefathers severely spent
N is for the number of sacrifices borne
    once, twice, and many times more.
J is the joy they spent in waiting
    on catching up, and never debating.
U is the unaccountable times they shared
    which they loved and really cared,
A is for their attitude rugged and strong,
    for that is what kept them rolling along.
N is for Nature who showed them her worst
     but they made it through all in spite of her curse.
C is for the children who didn't much play
     but they trudged along and were happy and gay.
O is for the oxen who pulled heavy loads
     down the long, rough, and weary roads.
U is for the ups and downs which they had,
   sometimes they were glad, and other times sad.
N is for the necessary thing that they used
     to make life for them easy and for us, too.
T is the thakfulness we should have for our country,
    and for the hardships our forefathers had settling this country.
Y is for the few years we've got left to spend
    to make good use of life, before times come to an end.

* * *

The Hole-in-the Rockers

by Nathan Wilcox 2nd grade

Pioneers,

Hardworking, brave

Covered wagon travelers

finding a new home

Trail blazers.

Hole-in-the Rock
by Jonas Manheimer, 2nd grade

Hole-in-the Rock
Slick, Rocky
Bumpy, hard, dustry
San Juan River
Cliff

* * *
Hole
by Krissa L. Shumway 2nd grade

Hole
White, brown
worked, built, camped
They took the wagon a part
Rocks

* * *
Pioneers
by Sheila Oshley

Pioneers
Blue, Black,
Work, walked, dug
They made a hole,
People

* * *
Clay Hill
By Kevin Palmer 2nd grade

Clay Hill
bumpy, rocky
slick, dusty, steep
Pioneers walked many miles
Cliff
* * *

Hole in the Rock
by Jerria Redd

Hole
Happy, pretty,
Worked, sang, danced
They walked really far to Bluff.
Travelers

* * *
The Pioneers of San Juan County
by Chad McDaniels, 4th grade

Journey
Scary, difficult
Blasted, worked, prayed;
It was a hard journey for the
Pioneers of San Juan County.

Travel
Oxen, horses, covered wagons,
Hard, bumpy, dusty and dirty;
It was hard travel
For Pioneers of San Juan

Trip
Hungry, long,
Cold, tired, hardships;
It was a hard journey
For the pioneers.

* * *

The Man of San Juan

2010-01-29T14:40:00.000-08:00

By John Mitchell Redd, 12th grade
Published in Heritage and Horizon in San Juan @1975
Painting by Kelly Pugh

April 6, 1880-April 22-1906

A pale sandstone column
Rising from a cobblestone knoll
Overshadowing the San Juan river
Is the resting place for a giant of a man
"Kagooche".

From the little island of Laaland
In the tiny Kingdom of Denmark,
His religion took him across
Vast oceans, and three-fourths of this continent.
Pushing an pulling a primitive handcart
Across the Great Plains and
Over the Rocky Mountains in biting bitter cold
In his pilgrimage to Utah

The trek maimed him for life;
Froze his hands and feet.
He carried his right foot at
A right angle to his left for 50 years,
As a reminder of his sacrifice
For Zion.

At age 59, when most men settle
In the comfort of wealth that they've gathered,
He left his home to colonize
The desolate Navajo country
Of the San Juan --
His sixth move;
His sixth home in Utah,
All in response to calls from God.

Courage, faith, and wisdom
All describe this man.
But his own Anglo-Danish motto
Describes him best:
"Stickity-to-ituy"
Hole-in-the-Rocker,
Bishop of Bluff.
A life dedicated to others--
A noble example--
A great heritage for San Juan.
--Jens Nielson.--

A Saga of San Juan

2010-01-29T14:16:00.000-08:00

By Jeralyn Smith 12th grade
Published in Heritage and Horizon in San Juan
Heritage Arts Festival writing contest 1975

Silas Smith was called by Brigham Young
To lead eighty families to San Juan.
They left new homes just barely built,
To cross desert, canyons, and sage.
The task was hard and troublesome,
To those who knew Cedar as home.

The wagons were fixed and sturdy made
to come to San Juan.
This unknown road was not a trail,
But to their home it could not fail.
Jens Nielson had courage to build a road
Where none but mountain sheep would go.

They caught the goal and used some blasts
To build a road where brave could pass.
The "Hole" was narrow rough and steep
But pioneers found land to keep.
It wasn't bush but barred and dry in San Juan

The families settled by and by.
No one complained, lost hope, or died.
The pioneers built many things:
A fort, a meeting house, a swing.
Again log cabins had been built
New blankets sewn made ready to quilt.

Their mission hard, was there to do
Befriend the Lamanites it's true.
They fed and huumored any Ute,
Although his manners weren't to suit.
Roving bands were hard to like
When they're fierce and come by night.
The natives soon found that
They could trust the Mormons in San Juan.

Milk cows and horses stolen were
So Haskell came to calm the stir.
He told them that they might die,
Some did and quilt their raids they'd try.
White criminals were also close
Which seemed to be a double dose.
But people lived amongst this fear in San Juan.

Small "cribs" were built to irrigate
With these, the folks could cultivate.
Joe Barton started running freight.
Platte Lyman, a store to accommodate.
But floods destroyed some parts of town.
While mail began some fears to drown.
Some families moved, but most stayed in San Juan.

As Fredric Jones built Monticello
Carlisle cowboys felt the blow.
They planned for bad but never would
Unnerve or kill this neighborhood.

Albert R. Lyman and his wife
Began Banding to start a new life.
But due to inspiration's help
They're safe in San Juan.

These pioneers showed lots of faith,
Determination, and a smiling face.
They conquered nature. Suffered through,
So we might live beneath the Blues.

Our Fathers had great courage, too.
They fought and died for us it's true.
They had "stick-to-it-ness"
Do you?

A San Juan Pioneer, Kumen Jones

2010-01-29T10:39:00.000-08:00

By Josephine Bayles

We've heard about the Pilgrims
  who came across the sea,
And the Pioneers and the traders
  and the men of victory.
But the man I want to mention
  (Though the words I use are rough.)
Is a man who helped to settle,
  the little town of Bluff.

His years were not so many,
  when he first received his call,
To go into the great Southwest
  where he must give his all.,
To pioneer this country,
  and help the Indians too
And there were just a core of things
  he had to help to do.

I guess he didn't falter when there were no roads at all,
And they left their homes of comfort sometime in the fall
To make a home out in the rocks where thieves and bandits stayed
And some lawless wandering renegades just never had obeyed.,

With the others of his party
He helped establish Bluff,
And the way in which he did it,
Just can't be praised enough.
The Navajos learned to love him
For he was good and kind,
And in his home, the stranger,
Was sure a friend to find.

Down through the years he's traveled, he's been a real success
He's helped to steady others with his life of usefulness.
He's had his trials and troubles, and ordeals hard to bear,
But they come to all us mortals in this world of toil and care.

Well, now he's over eighty, and his step is rather slow,
But he's taught just dozens of us the best way we can go.
I hope when life is over and I have met my doom,
That I can just be somewhere near to dear old Uncle Kum!

The Passing of an Age

2010-01-28T23:13:00.000-08:00

Tribute to Albert R. Lyman

First settler of Blanding, written on his death Nov. 1973

by Janet Wilcox

Our link with other days and times

has left us now...

Stalwart yet singular he stood,

Like the rough hewn monoliths

of San Juan

A sentinel for all.

Patriarch, Father, Sage, Saint.

“The Old Settler”

Clung tenaciously to life

in disciplined steadfastness,

Until chill November winds

In kindly consequence,

Blew steadily

And the last leaf let loose its hold

And fell,

The passing of an age.

Edge of the Cedars

2010-01-28T21:48:00.000-08:00

By Ruby Bronson
Tribute to Walter C. Lyman and Albert R. Lyman

A young man, tired from riding,
Lay down on a warm day to rest.
He dreamed of a city abiding
In this beautiful part of the west.

While he later was hunting his horses
He climbed to the Mesa above
And there at the Edge of the Cedars
Envisioned the city he loved.

His dream lead him up to the mountain,
The mission of faith to fulfill;
He surveyed a ditch, as a fountain
Of water, White Mesa to till.

He inspired his nephew to move there,
Make friends with the Indians, and give
Of his talents as teacher and leader,
At the Edge of the Cedars to live.

And now at the Edge of the Cedars
A city has blossomed and grown,
And many an Indian and traveler
Now call this city their home.

Here the people are teaching the Indians
Their mission in life to fulfill.
We live now in peace with our brothers
Enjoying the fruits of God's will

Monument Valley

2010-01-28T16:24:00.000-08:00

By Terri Winder

The color of evening
Splashed across the sandstone monuments,
A fuel to be ignited
By the fire of a setting sun.

I watch enchanted with the glory
Before and on me.
I am rooted to the desert floor.
The sand presses my feet to hold me
As it has held the millennial rock.

The still air carries no sound to hurry time.
The Ancient Ones are gone.
The Spanish Conquerors are gone.
The Pioneer Wagon wheel tracks of yester-year
Are erased by the wind
As surely as yesterday tracks
of horse and sheep hooves.

Closing my eyes, the images dance
Against my eyelids
Then fade into darkness
As night creeps across the desert.

Trails Across the Desert

2010-01-28T15:34:00.000-08:00

Map courtesy Hole in the Rock Foundation

By Josephine Bayles
Published in San Juan Centennial Sampler 1980

Foreword: The following are words written when the horse back trip was taken to the Hole-in-the-Rock in September 1940. I wrote the first verse, but several of us, including Casse Monson, wrote the 2nd verse.
It goes to the tune: Covered Wagon Trails

There are trails across the desert,
There are trails across the sand,
There are trails the Piutes used to travel
As they traveled in a warrior band.
When the trails of Indians and of Mormons
Came together in this dreary place,
They made history in this San Juan County,
"Tis their trail that we came to trace.

Covered wagons furnished transportation,
Weary horses plodded through the dust;
They came willingly because they must--
Weariness and troubles oft beset them,
Of their praise we love to sing and talk;
'Tis of them we're thinking as we travel
Down their trail to the Hole-in-the-Rock.
Riding down trails made long, long ago
By our forefathers all,
Who had answered, as we know
Their own dear leaders' call.

Chorus:
Down a covered wagon trail,
Not a brave heart dared to fail,
Over bush and rock they rode
Each with an enormous load.
Though they're nearly all gone now,
To their memory we bow;
Now our voices let's raise,
As we sing to their praise
Down this old time wagon trail.

Comb Ridge Struggle

2010-01-28T15:21:00.000-08:00

by Janet Wilcox

Stumbling through
the throny brush
and sandstone slopes,
I reach the brink
of rocky doubt.

Far below my goals
of hope and home
lie hidden by hazy mists
and forgotten promises.

Like a bright banner
the road waves bold and true,
a ribbon of hope marching
on to distant goals.

Satanic switchbacks
and cunning crevices
entice me to the edge.
I tilt and twist,
almost tumbling
onto the shattered rocks below.

Poised precariously
I descend.
Tentative, yet sure,
I seek a trail,
a guide,
a handhold on
the Rock of my Salvation.

The Old Swing Tree

2010-01-28T14:51:00.000-08:00

By Mary Kisten Adams Perkins
Published in San Juan Centennial Sampler 1980

Foreword: When the pioneers arrived at what became Bluff and before they had time to build "The Bowery" (a shed of cottonwood limbs), they organized a Sunday School and held meetings under the "Old Swing Tree" For years, it was the favorite place to stage social parties and pleasant meetings. Lovers met there, and people in sorrow came to the tree to think and ponder.
This tree became part of the fence in Bishop Nielson's field and with its lofty spread of protecting limbs and rugged strength in meeting the wind and the storms, it symbolized Bishop Nielson's unremitting vigil in his long fight to maintain the little settlement of Bluff.

(Photo from Frank Wright Collection, San Juan Historical Commission)

Yes, I remember the "Old Swing Tree"

Its sturdy roots and gnarled limbs.

Nature built you for a swing.

The tallest I have ever seen.

Were you lonely in fields of corn and alfalfa?

No, there were children's patter and laughter.

Speak out old tree and tell us

When everyone came to Sunday School,

How the singing filled the air.

With thankful hearts for his loving care,

The pioneers met to workshop God

Under the branches of the Old Swing Tree"

AN AFTERTHOUGHT

First, through lover's lane they came,

Young and old romances began

There were Lillie, Henry, Jennie, Arthur, George, Annie

Albert, Lell, Fletch and Hanna, Frank and Hattie and many more.

Tell us your secrets, Old Tree, if you can

No, you cannot -- through the ravages of floods, you are gone.

Where are the lovers? Just memories.

"Shortcut to San Juan through Hole in the Rock"

2010-01-28T11:59:00.001-08:00

Shortcut to San Juan

Favorite poem of Kumen Jones

2010-01-28T11:53:00.000-08:00

"OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS"
Arthur Chapman © 1917-1918

Out where the handclasp's a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That's where the West begins;
Where there's more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there's more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying,
That's where the West begins.
Out where the mountains are a little higher,
Out where the climate is a little drier,
That's where the West begins,
Where most all folks are neighbors,
Take interest in each other's labor,
And each thot with sympathy savors,
Out where the West begins.
Out where the sun shines brighter,
The air you breathe is lighter,
That's where the West begins.

DESERT DELIVERANCE

2010-01-27T20:31:00.000-08:00

By Janet Wilcox

Written 1980,
San Juan County Centennial

On December 29, 1879, James and Mary Davis were called on a mission by the Mormon church to build settlements in Arizona/ Utah. This came as a surprise because of the poor health of Sister Davis, who was seldom well. Though saddened by the prospects of leaving their comfortable home, they determined to magnify their calling. At some point prior to their departure on April 13, 1879, Mary was given a blessing by Bishop C. J. Arthur promising her that if she would do her part, her health would be restored and she would never lose another child. On August 2, Ethel Olive Davis, first child of the San Juan Mission, was born. (Scriptural text is from Psalms) More about this family

APRIL 1879

The vanguard caravan inches slowly southward.
Guided by men grown somber by sifting sands and desert travel
seeking a route to the San Juan.
Though accepting the call, I question now, my faith, my strength, my courage
But I must drive the team.

"Hear my prayer, 0 Lord,
And give ear unto my cry;

Hold not thy peace at my tears:

For I am weak and faulter.

O spare me, that I may recover strength,
Before I go hence.. "

Remember Lord my blessing.
Four children behind me in the wagon box
Fearless. trusting, so young and while they sing.
I weep for my other four--
¬The ones now buried and left behind.

Can bear to leave.
or to lose another?
Remember, Lord. my blessing, For life within me stirs again.
My heart weighs heavy with this burden.
No home nor friends await this birth
in the isolated canyons of the San Juan.

"Turn Thou unto me,

For I am desolate and afflicted.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged:

O, bring Thou, me out of my distress."

Onward through cactus and cedar knolls
The dusty wagons creak. Spring's warmth renews
the promise of future harvest.
Fading desert flowers color the endless rise and fall of desert horizons.
Hope wells anew.

"The Lord is my strength and my shield:

My heart trusted in him, and I am helped:

Therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth:

And with song will I praise him."

Out of the riverts gorge, Up over the "backbone",
Horses and wagons strain.
Expectant children climb the crest of the hill,
only to see dusty horizons,
sifting sands
caked lands of alkali water and thirst.
Dry camp again.

Long stretches between
bitter springs and rest.
Coated tongues and dry hard tack.
Animals and men trudge dusty miles.

No water and more miles to go.

"My strength is dried up like a potsherd,

And my tongue cleaveth unto my jaws,

And thou hast brought me into The dust of death.

My heart is smitten and withereth like grass.

O Lord where is thy pavillion."

Dying cattle mark the desert trail
Choking teams plod past
Solitary Navajo shepherds guarding stagnant pools.
Then finally, halfway.
"Moan Copy" I am so tired:
of thirsty miles,
   jolting wagons,
     jaded teams,
           and dust.

I must rest and here there is water.

MAY 1879

Dry mesas and ghostly sandhills
glisten in the summer sun,
desolate landmarks for volunteer scouts.
Steadily northeastward
the Bilagaana etch their sandy trail
Safe passage assured
by precious gifts of water:
Holes dug by desperate, determined men
bereft of Moses' staff:
Red Lake
      Lost Springs
          Alkali Gulch
               Marsh pass

Always the search for Water

JUNE 1879

Weeks of waiting stretch Into final months of anxiety.
Where will this child of exile be born?
As pilgrims must we wander more,
seeking among the rising towers
a holy shrine to sanctify our
firm allegience?

"Make haste Lord to deliver me.

Make haste to help me, a Lord.

How shall I be delivered?

Where shall be my refuge?"

Burnt and weathered by hot blaze of summer
The scouts return promising safe passage.
"Come children, only a few days more
and we'll be home. . ."
No house, no bricks, no logs,
but home.

"Ye that fear the Lord, trust in the Lord;

He is their help and their shield.

The Lord has been mindful of us;

He will bless us, both great and small."

July 1879

Latter-day nomads staggle onward,
waterhole to waterhole,
along the homeward stretch,
Withered horses plod,
Hooves dig deeper
for water
to quench parched throats,
Fourteen more days through
parched Arizona deserets,
Indian threats, anxiety and thirst
But finally, the river, and Montezuma's haven.

"O, give thanks unto the Lord,

We wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way;

We found no city to dwell in.

Hungry and thirsty, our souls fainted.

We cried unto the Lord in our trouble and

He delivered us out of our distresses

Into a land of our salvation."

AUGUST 2, 1879

Nobel child of the deseret
Resting peacefully in my arms
How patiently you waited through my travail,
tears,
testing,
'til we reached home.

Home, a half-completed cabin on the San Juan
But more than Montezuma is your inheritance my child,
For I too, have been delivered,
And we shall be preserved.

A Tribute to James J. Adams

2010-01-25T20:15:00.000-08:00

By Elenor G. Bruhn

The portals of heaven have opened again,
To let Brother James J. Adams in,
A stalwart student and God fearing too
A wise upright father ever were you,

A man who lived faithful to what he thought right
Serving his God with all his might,
An example was he, no matter what came,
He loved God and glorified ever his name.

His life was the gospel he would preach,
His life was the lessons he would teach
In every day walk the gospel he taught
In words, in manner, in deed and in thought.

A pioneer boy in our Parowan town
He lived in the days when the wall went around
He pastured the cattle in our very first field
Helped plow the ground to make its first yield.

He lived in the days when the Indians wild
Brought sorrow and fear to man, women and child
When wool was washed and spun to yarn
And children were taught to knit and to darn

When Saints lived for God and not for gold
Their lives are all stories; the best ever told
He grew to a man, in time he was wed
To a noble woman, Caroline Redd.
Yes, a noble woman, a God fearing saint
Evil and sin her life did not taint
Eight precious babies came to their home
Her mission was ended, she left them alone,

Alone did I say-no the father was spared
To pilot through childhood and have them prepared
For their mission, to live right, and teach them God’s will
That noble lives on earth they might fill.

He’s gone to join her, the wife and the mother
Happy they’ll be to meet one another
He said, of the years that he spent with his wife
“They were fifteen years of Paradise”

Now on to perfection the good couple go
We can’t even dream of the joy they will know
There wasn’t a thing they left undone
To prepare for the future, the life that’s to come.
And you dear children who are left to mourn
Thank God, to such parents you were born
Forget not the lessons they taught while here
Try to grow like them, each day and each year.

Prepare for the time when we’ll all meet again
Where we shall never know sorrow or pain
Today we feel sad-let’s not hope for the morrow
When we shall have joy and feel no more sorrow.

To Settle San Juan

2010-01-15T22:40:00.000-08:00

By Afton Hurst Grover

In poetry let's go back through the pages of time to 1879,
When a struggling group of pioneers came to these untamed lands.
To San Juan County, Utah, where there was room to grow.
One-fourth of the "Four Corners", Home of Paiute and Navajo.

As the call came from John Taylor, third President of the Church,
They knew it was important, they couldn't leave him in the lurch.
They loaded provisions on their wagons, traveled eastward with their kin.
Doing their part to settle the west, a task requiring stalwart men.

With courageous women by their side, braving the unknown place,
Where they met so many hardships but the journey they had to face.
They'd build new homes, till the soil and plant the seeds to grow,
'Be missionaries to the Indians; but their friendship first must show.

"God works in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform"
He alone knows the time the place, the mountains, and the storm
They worked hard on the roads,

and trudged through desert sand
They were obedient to the call,

each effort building up a man.

Twenty-six men; two with wives
and kids started on the southern route
Over red-rock hills, sandy deserts,
water shortages-- burdens without doubt.
Except at the Colorado and Lee's Ferry
where the pioneers crossed first.
From there to Montezuma Creek,
the traveling became much worse.

They reached their destination, scouted the country far and wide
Built cabins for the families, and welcomed the birth of the first child.
They soon found the San Juan River
washed away all the dams they made.
The winds blew the whirling dust
and in summer there was no shade.

They returned to Parowan and Cedar City
over the Spanish Trail
From Fort Montezuma north they trekked,
they knew they could not fail.
Some of the Scouts returned to families,
then loaded up wagons and supplies
Others thought the "mission" in the rough, wild land
held too much of a surprise.

April to September, five months to make the long 'round trip.
But in five more weeks, the Scouts were ready,
never letting their spirits slip.
To return by a direct and central route
they were ready with other believing men
Through a 'Hole-in-the-Rock a long steep craig, back to San Juan again.