Now that I'm getting into the "swing of things" with my iMovie program, I'm finding it a little easier to dig into the family history videos that we took in the summer of 2010, just before dad died. During the interview and filming process we asked dad, once again, to tell us about that old fashioned Christmas we enjoyed at the cabin. Take it away dad...
Dad wrote a story about about this family experience and mailed it off to Reader's Digest for publication, but they returned it unpublished...too bad. I think dad had a talent for writing. You can judge for yourself someday by reading his article and learning more about this old fashioned Christmas. And just in case you don't have your very own copy of one of dad's favorite Christmas stories, you can find Twas de Night Befurr Chreesmas here.
These are memories of Bill Gardner ... A recounting his life and times as seen through the eyes of his immediate family and descendants.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Notes on the Passing of My Grandfather, Thurman Ahlstrom Gardner
After dad died I had the chance to write down some of my feelings and observations surrounding his passing (See posts from April 2011). While talking with dad at High Haven last year, we spoke about the passing of his father, Thurman Ahlstrom Gardner. I'll let dad and mom tell you about this themselves. Dad was an eyewitness to the event and you can still hear the tenderness in his voice as his speaks about these sacred family moments ....
The music accompanying this video was composed and played by Robert M. Gardner, grandson to Bill and great grandson of Thurman. Thanks Bob!
The Cabin at High haven
Those of us who were acquainted with the cabin and its construction have soft spots in our hearts for a place we called "High Haven." It was a 1 acre parcel of forest land lying in the shadows of Brian Head peak (11,300 ft). At about 9,100 ft the high mountain air, wind whispering through the pines and quaking aspens, verdant forest hues, and cool bubbling springs made this place a piece of heaven on earth. Grandpa Thurman A. Gardner purchased the land from Kerry Mitchell, his brother-in-law. Uncle Kerry, as we called him, also had a place about a mile from High Haven that was called "Jinneybeck."
Perhaps it is best to let dad describe how the cabin at High Haven was built. Watch the video and discover for yourselves...
We knew the mountain forests and meadows surrounding High Haven like the backs of our hands. There was lava country, where Angie our big brown standard poodle almost got a nose full of porcupine quills, the big rock, a favorite picnic site perched atop a splendid lookout over the valley, and secret valley, a wondrous mountain meadow surrounded by a dense stand of trees. One of the great things about all of these places was that our parents accompanied us often on our exploratory excursions and it was during these times that we heard about the lives and times of our ancestors as they experienced the mountain.
One of the things that became a ritual for the guys was to hunt arrowheads. We followed dry stream beds, burbling brooks, or walk through other likely places where the former Indian inhabitants of the mountain would have spent their summer hours chipping and shaping pieces of obsidian into the black arrow tips. We almost always found something, a chip, a tip, sometimes an intact arrowhead. Dad found a beautifully made spear tip during one excursion. I wish I knew where all of those arrowhead and spear tip pieces ended up. The following pictures are representative of the things we found:
Last year in our trip to High Haven to shoot mom and dad's family history videos, I performed the ritual once again. I followed in the footsteps of searches long since passed but found nothing. No pieces of obsidian. No pieces of flint that had even the vaguest notion of being intentionally chipped. New construction, increased population, and changes to the landscape seem to have removed all evidence of the former Indian inhabitants... a foreshadowing perhaps of our involvement with these beautiful mountains.
Perhaps it is best to let dad describe how the cabin at High Haven was built. Watch the video and discover for yourselves...
We knew the mountain forests and meadows surrounding High Haven like the backs of our hands. There was lava country, where Angie our big brown standard poodle almost got a nose full of porcupine quills, the big rock, a favorite picnic site perched atop a splendid lookout over the valley, and secret valley, a wondrous mountain meadow surrounded by a dense stand of trees. One of the great things about all of these places was that our parents accompanied us often on our exploratory excursions and it was during these times that we heard about the lives and times of our ancestors as they experienced the mountain.
One of the things that became a ritual for the guys was to hunt arrowheads. We followed dry stream beds, burbling brooks, or walk through other likely places where the former Indian inhabitants of the mountain would have spent their summer hours chipping and shaping pieces of obsidian into the black arrow tips. We almost always found something, a chip, a tip, sometimes an intact arrowhead. Dad found a beautifully made spear tip during one excursion. I wish I knew where all of those arrowhead and spear tip pieces ended up. The following pictures are representative of the things we found:
Last year in our trip to High Haven to shoot mom and dad's family history videos, I performed the ritual once again. I followed in the footsteps of searches long since passed but found nothing. No pieces of obsidian. No pieces of flint that had even the vaguest notion of being intentionally chipped. New construction, increased population, and changes to the landscape seem to have removed all evidence of the former Indian inhabitants... a foreshadowing perhaps of our involvement with these beautiful mountains.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Communing
If I look back far enough into the shadowy recesses of my childhood memories I can see Dad teaching us, by example, how to live our lives close to God. He showed us that a day begins with prayer.
Dad worked at Hill AFB at the time (1970's) and needed to leave home early so that he could make the 45 minute drive to work and get there by 07:30 a.m. For us kids, that meant sleeping in was just a dream because when 06:00 a.m. rolled around, we were rousted out of bed with calls to come to family prayer. No one was exempt from this ritual. We all stumbled out of bed and trudged our way to the family room and the couch, even our dog Angie was there! Those arriving first, knelt down by the side of the couch and tried to catch a few more zzzzz's before the rest arrived. We were generally sloppily dressed in our wrinkled pajamas, a stark contrast to dad's suit and tie and manager's attire.
I think Norman Rockwell would have appreciated the appearance of this daily ritual and made it the subject of one of his paintings. Dad and mom kneeling, heads bowed, sober faces, dad lifting his voice in prayer. Four kids, half kneeling, half slumping, eyes closed, half asleep ... a dog lying on the floor with head resting upon the leg of one of the kids. I can see it in my own mind's eye ... can't you?
In our home, dad was the principle voice for morning prayer. Sometimes he'd call on one of us kids, but I think our sleepiness and desire to get the prayer over with so that we could go back to bed detracted from the spirit and intent of the morning prayer. Communion with God required a more awake and attentive mind, so he prayed most of the time with mom stepping in to pray upon invitation.
Now some of us kids could really expedite a morning prayer (Millie was the best), but lest one think that this was a reflection upon the example of my dad, it most certainly was not. Dad was deliberate in his prayers and often eloquent. He was mindful to approach Diety with humility and respect, always thanking him for the restored gospel, living prophets, scriptures to guide us, and for the sacrifice of His son, Jesus Christ, on our behalf. I didn't understand the full significance of dad's feelings about these topics then, but I'm coming closer to understanding them now. When things were tough, i.e. dad was without a job for an extended period of time, prayers were longer and filled with emotion. He always prayed for us...without exception.
As I got older, I began paying more attention to my father as he prayed. I found myself repeating similar phrases, being thankful for the same things, and praying just as earnestly and with equal emotion for my own family and situation. Now that dad is gone, I find that one of the things I miss is the sound of his voice, lifted in supplication to God. As he got older, his prayers, although still filled with many of the familiar phrases that I had heard all my life, seemed to me to be filled with deeper sincerity, humility, and intent. I suppose this is a natural consequence of aging and moving into the twilight years of life. Although still respectul, his conversations with the Lord, seemed to take on a more intimate feel and I felt blessed for having silently witnessed a genuine conversation with God.
Thanks dad for showing us how to pray with all of our heart, might, mind, and strength.
Dad worked at Hill AFB at the time (1970's) and needed to leave home early so that he could make the 45 minute drive to work and get there by 07:30 a.m. For us kids, that meant sleeping in was just a dream because when 06:00 a.m. rolled around, we were rousted out of bed with calls to come to family prayer. No one was exempt from this ritual. We all stumbled out of bed and trudged our way to the family room and the couch, even our dog Angie was there! Those arriving first, knelt down by the side of the couch and tried to catch a few more zzzzz's before the rest arrived. We were generally sloppily dressed in our wrinkled pajamas, a stark contrast to dad's suit and tie and manager's attire.
I think Norman Rockwell would have appreciated the appearance of this daily ritual and made it the subject of one of his paintings. Dad and mom kneeling, heads bowed, sober faces, dad lifting his voice in prayer. Four kids, half kneeling, half slumping, eyes closed, half asleep ... a dog lying on the floor with head resting upon the leg of one of the kids. I can see it in my own mind's eye ... can't you?
In our home, dad was the principle voice for morning prayer. Sometimes he'd call on one of us kids, but I think our sleepiness and desire to get the prayer over with so that we could go back to bed detracted from the spirit and intent of the morning prayer. Communion with God required a more awake and attentive mind, so he prayed most of the time with mom stepping in to pray upon invitation.
Now some of us kids could really expedite a morning prayer (Millie was the best), but lest one think that this was a reflection upon the example of my dad, it most certainly was not. Dad was deliberate in his prayers and often eloquent. He was mindful to approach Diety with humility and respect, always thanking him for the restored gospel, living prophets, scriptures to guide us, and for the sacrifice of His son, Jesus Christ, on our behalf. I didn't understand the full significance of dad's feelings about these topics then, but I'm coming closer to understanding them now. When things were tough, i.e. dad was without a job for an extended period of time, prayers were longer and filled with emotion. He always prayed for us...without exception.
As I got older, I began paying more attention to my father as he prayed. I found myself repeating similar phrases, being thankful for the same things, and praying just as earnestly and with equal emotion for my own family and situation. Now that dad is gone, I find that one of the things I miss is the sound of his voice, lifted in supplication to God. As he got older, his prayers, although still filled with many of the familiar phrases that I had heard all my life, seemed to me to be filled with deeper sincerity, humility, and intent. I suppose this is a natural consequence of aging and moving into the twilight years of life. Although still respectul, his conversations with the Lord, seemed to take on a more intimate feel and I felt blessed for having silently witnessed a genuine conversation with God.
Thanks dad for showing us how to pray with all of our heart, might, mind, and strength.
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