In those days, in order to have farm kids able to drive for harvest, Idaho let us get daytime driving licenses at age 14. Dad had kept the 1949 Chevy he bought new as a car for Tom and then me to drive to school, etc. Tom and I used some of our money to modify it with spinner hubcaps, bull nose (replaced hood ornament with strip of metal, repaint it metallic green, drop the front and raise the back (“dagoed”) and install headers to split it into twin exhausts and add power, and put cherry bomb mufflers on it. It could be very loud if you gunned it. It was a fun little car. Well, Tom drove it too loud through town and lost his license. Because we both were going to Seminary now, and could not take the bus to school, he taught me how to drive and I got to stylishly drive him to school.
Seminary was a tremendous blessing to me. Even though I too often thought I was cute being a bit disruptive, I learned so much. We had to get up at 5:00 AM to get the milking and other chores done in time for Seminary, but it was worth it. Dad and Mom also made it clear that they could see no reason for us to have the Chevy unless it was required for Seminary. Clever, huh?
In the summers, we hauled our own hay, cleaned our ditches, worked in the garden, picked berries and fruit, and also hired out to do others hay and farm work. We kept busy. I loved being on a haying crew because they always fed us a huge, fabulous lunch.
Dad bought a water ski/fishing boat when I was 12 and we would often hurry and get our chores done and head for Lake Lowell, about 15 minutes away, to water ski. Mom would pack dinner. We were one of the first to have a water ski boat and became very good at it. Tom and I soon graduated from double skis to the single slalom ski and could start by jumping off the dock.
We had a family vacation each summer when we would get someone to milk our cows and we would take the boat, the dog and all to Deadwood Reservoir to camp and fish. We caught some wonderful large fish and had a very special time, usually with lots of singing around the camp fire of Boy Scout and other songs.
When I was 15 and started my sophomore year of high school and Tom started college at BYU. Because Jerry had incapacitating allergies to hay and grain dust, he could not help in the barn so it befell me to do all of the milking and feeding alone. At first, it did not seem an unreasonable burden, that’s what we did. So, I then had to get up at 4:30 AM to milk my cows and get to seminary for the early session at 6:30 so I could get to the early session at school, starting at 8:30 so I could be on the football team. Eventually, I got very tired and allowed myself to be very grumpy and to have some bitter feelings.
Fortunately, I went to a series of very special direct wire broadcast firesides presented by our beloved President David O. McKay to the youth of the Church. They were entitled “Dare to be Great”, Dare to be Different”, and others. I loved them and memorized a statement he made, “You are the master of your destiny. The thought in your mind, at this moment, is contributing, almost infinitesimally or imperceptibly, to the shaping of your sole, yea, even to the lineaments of your character.” That struck me and it seemed applicable to my present mood and concerns. So, I prayed about it and decided that I would do what was needed happily, no matter what. My plan included forcing myself to grin when I first woke up and then, when it cracked my lips, I would laugh at myself. (Of course, my children heard this story a few times and if they were grumpy, I would remind them to “crack their lips”. Sometimes, however, that just made them grumpier, something I never quite understood. 🙂
I also took my huge alarm clock (taken off an old commercial range) out of the drawer where it was wrapped in clothing to damper it, and let it go off full force. As an unexpected reward, it woke up the rooster next door who proceeded to crow. Now everyone joined me in “awakedess”. As I went to the barn, I would whistle to Buster, our donkey, who would then start braying back. We called him our desert nightingale. It was always good for a laugh. In short, by following the words of a beloved Prophet, I learned a life defining lesson to be happy, no matter what, and it , thereafter, blessed my life, and the life of my family through many times of trial. I also learned to find great joy in the beauty of sunrises and sunsets, and in the wonderful songs of birds, which has carried on though out my life. I even loved the animals more, as I cheerfully served them. True principles from the mouth of a Prophet are wonderful and they work, even some 60 years later.