Sunday, August 1, 2010

Grandma and the Rattlesnakes

Dear Tehya, Jacob, Jack, and Savannah,

Last Thursday was my birthday, and I wanted to make some grand gesture to prove that having birthdays at my older state in life could still be an adventure. Enlisting the support of my summer hiking buddy, sister Janet, I picked Grandeur Peak as my perfect mountain top destination. Janet promised to go slow and to not abandon me along the trail. We left my house a couple of hours before sunrise and started up the trail about 6:30. For awhile we walked next to a cheerful little mountain creek and then we started up a series of switchbacks that took us from the pine forest to a mountainside of scrub oak and wildflowers. Thankful for the whispy high clouds that blocked the morning sun we finally reached the top of the mountain with its airplane views of the Salt Lake Valley.

What is the first thing you want to do when you get to the top of a mountain? Well besides doing a little victory shuffle? You call people!!! (Thank you cell phone) I called your Grandpa Jones and then I called you. You all wished me a happy birthday and sang to me all the way from Virginia. Then we called my brother. Dave, because he has hiked that same mountain many times. After congratulating us, he casually said, "Did you know there are rattlesnakes up there?" We laughed. Stopped. Looked around the rocks. Walked more carefully around the top, thinking now was not the time for a close encounter with a rattlesnake.

A few minutes later another climber, a man from Sandy, joined us at the top. "Did you see the two rattlesnakes on the trail?" he asked. "No." "How long have you been here?" was his next question. We replied, "Oh, about 30 minutes." "That explains it then. They must not have been out yet." He went on to tell us that he usually hikes up the mountain earlier to avoid the snakes that like to come out and sun themselves on the south side of Grandeur Peak. Even though the mountain is 8,800 feet high, rattlesnakes still like living up there at the top, maybe it's a view thing. He had walked around one on the trail and watched the other four foot long one crawl back into its hole.

After telling us his snake observations, the man tried to explain to us where to look for the danger on the trail. I think he could tell that we had stopped listening after he said coiled snake. My heart pounded so loudly I couldn't hear, let alone make sense of what he was trying to say. So he hesitated and then asked if we were ready to go down. If we were ready, we could go down with him and he would help us get past the snakes. That was an offer we did not refuse.

The trail started straight down and then curved along the south slope of the mountain. Just before the trail turned to go along the eastern edge our guide stopped. There! Along the side of the trail was the coiled snake. I would like to think that we would have seen it, but I don't know. First of all, we had never even thought about snakes on the trail. I just worried about having enough air to take each step. And Heavenly Father had given us so many other things to see: clouds, flowers, trees, views, that watching the dirt trail for every step hadn't seemed that important.

Then.....Janet and I realized that this was the place we had lost the trail. We had been so careful climbing up. We never took shortcuts. We never bushwacked. We always followed the path that had been trod by hundreds of others. But not this time. Ahead of us was a big rock. To our right, a hillside of smaller rocks. It looked like people had picked a faint trail through the smaller rocks so we decided to go that way. About halfway up I looked to my left and saw the real trail. A big, smooth, curving trail. An unmistakable trail. Janet stood just a little ahead of me, and she noticed it too. For a moment we hesitated, choosing between the smooth path and our rocks. Choosing to meet up with the trail a little higher we scrambled up the rocks and kept going to the top.

So now we were standing with our helpful guide watching the coiled rattlesnake and wondering where the other one was hidden. We showed our hiker friend where we had scrambled through the rocks and we all went down the wrong part of the trail that now we knew was the right part of the trail. No snakes in sight. No rattling noises. No snake bites and emergency helicopter rides to the hospital. Just a long, long, long, hot climb down the mountain to the car.

Janet and I talked about this on the sunny slope of Grandeur Peak. I am happy I could climb a mountain on my birthday, but that is not what I will remember. I will remember the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father who caused a rattlesnake inhabited trail to become hidden from view, and who sent a watchful hiker to guide us past the unseen, unknown danger. Janet and I wondered what had caused him to hike up later than usual to the peak, but we knew that he was in the right place at the right time for us. Do guardian angels wear backpacks and hiking boots? Yes.

So, thank you Janet. And to my sweet grandchildren, pray every day that you may receive the tender mercies of a loving Heavenly Father just like we did on the top of a mountain in faraway Utah.

Love,
Grandma

Friday, May 14, 2010

Farm Stories

Dear Grandchildren,

Because you go to the farm every week in Virginia, I thought you would like to read some stories about my grandma's life growing up on the farm in Riverton, Utah. After listening to all the fun she had with her sisters and parents, I wanted to live on a farm too. I hope you like the stories.

Horses

We used to ask Grandma Poulson if she had horses on her farm. "They were not for fun," she would reply. "Farm horses had to do work." Tehya, would you like that? After hearing the following story, I do not think I would have ridden horses on their farm, either.

Aunt VaLoris, your great-grandma's sister, was riding a big farm horse back to the barn. He had been working in the fields all day and was very hungry. As they approached the open doorway to the barn, the big horse started to run. VaLoris held on tighter and tried to stop the horse before he entered the barn, because the door was too short for her to fit through while riding on the horse. Unfortunately,
VaLoris was very little, and the horse was very determined to go home. The horse did not stop at the low, open door. As he ran into the barn, VaLoris was knocked off the horse, and she landed in the dirt, crying. Her fall scared her Dad and sisters. VaLoris was not really hurt, just surprised. I don't know if she rode any more horses, but after that great-grandma decided to look at horses and not ride them.

Cats

When I was a little girl my family had a gray, pet cat called Pussy Willow. Carol, Janet and I loved that cat. My Mother never would admit to liking Pussy Willow, but she was very sad when the cat died of old age; she would never get another one. She had lots of cats on the farm in Riverton. One time she counted 26 cats! Imagine that. They were all wild cats, finding their own food and living in the barn. She remembered climbing up to the hay loft and looking for baby kittens. With all those cats, they always had baby kittens. Even though the mother cats would hiss at them, the three sisters would hold the tiny kittens and play with them. Times changed and Grandpa Webb had to sell the farm. The man who bought the farm saw all the cats and said that the first thing he would do was get rid of all the cats. He hated cats. Grandpa Webb just smiled and kept silent. Several months later the new farm owner called my Grandpa and asked him what he did to take care of all the mice on the farm. He complained about hundreds of mice running everywhere. Grandpa just laughed and said, "That's why I had all those cats." Do you think the man went out and found some cats? I think so.

More farm stories soon. Love,
Grandma Pat