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    Skip Weeks Personal History
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I am Skip Weeks. This is the nickname that my Father gave to me at my birth when he said that I, as his first son, was the “Skipper of his soul”. My legal name is Clyde Everett Weeks, III. I share this name with my Father and Grandfather. I was born on March 26th, 1949 in Provo, Utah at Utah Valley Hospital. My parents are Clyde Everett Weeks, Jr. and Helen Bunnell Weeks.

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MY MATERNAL GRANDMOTHER'S PARENTS

OCTOBER 1, 1898

Inga Augusta Himmerman & Christian Larsen family with Inga's two sons: Gustaf and Einer (forefront) Ostlund.



 

My Paternal Grandparents  -  Married November 8, 1924



 

My paternal Grandfather is Clyde Everett Weeks. He died of cancer in September 1979. We called him “Dad”, presumably because my parents did when we were young. He was a handsome man with pure white hair. He had an interesting life. I understand that his father was not particularly ambitious or much of a leader in his home and that my Grandfather left home in Lansing, Michigan when he was relatively young as he lied about his age of 16 in order to join the army. I believe that they let him in because he registered for the draft when he was only 16.

He soon found himself in Vladivostok, Siberia, in Russia during World War I. His career in the army continued through World War II. He was married in 1924 to Bertha Larsen. I never met her, but understand that she was a nurse. My Father has spoken fondly of her, but I really know little about her life, other than the fact that she was my Father’s Mother and that she also had two other children, Sharee and Michael.

This began a second life for my Grandfather. He became assistant manager of the Singer Sewing Machine center in Provo on Center street, where he worked for several years. He soon met Emily Gatiker at the Singer Sewing Center. He repaired her sewing machine. Emily was a lovely woman, who had suffered through a stressful divorce from her first husband, a Mr. Stoddard. Emily came to be known at Aunt Emily. We would often go to visit “Dad & Emily” on Sunday afternoons, during my youth. Emily brought with her four children from her previous marriage.

Their names are Myrna, Martin, Karen, and Glen. They also had one daughter, whom they named Jerri Susan. She was a year younger, than I. They lived on about 420 East 200 North in Provo. Emily worked at BYU in the Alumni Department. One day, she heard that there was an opening in the new BYU Development Fund Department at BYU. My Grandfather applied for the job and got became BYU’s Assistant Development Director. He ultimately ended up working there until his retirement. His responsibilities included negotiating with people and arranging for bequeathments and donations to the university. I remember going to his office in the administration building at the university, when I was a young man, to visit him. It seemed like a very nice place to work. He seemed to be very highly respected and enjoyed his work.

He had beautiful handwriting. I remember, that every birthday, I would receive a special birthday card from him with a crisp $1 dollar bill. I always looked forward to this kind thought. My Father’s Father grew up in Lansing, Michigan. The Weeks family originated in England. Originally, I understand that the name was Wicks. It is supposed to have changed after these people migrated to America. Perhaps it changed even before this. I guess I can check this out in my genealogy, which I will include at the end of this history. My Father’s Mother, Bertha Larsen grew up in Canada. Her family was from Denmark. She had two brothers named Grant and Wilford. There may have been other brothers but I don’t remember any sisters. I know little about her other than that she was a nurse and that she died of cancer when my Father was 16 years old.

My Maternal Grandparents  -  Married November 8, 1924



My maternal Grandfather is Thomas Joel Bunnell. He was born on October 21, 1887 in Provo, UT. He died on October 31, 1940. I never met him. He is buried in the Provo City Cemetary. He lived in Vineyard Utah. He served a mission in the Central States Mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was set apart as a missionary by Orson F. Whitney on 29 December 1907. He was a farmer as listed on the WWI draft registration information. He was medium height, medium build with blue eyes and dark hair. His father is Stephen Ithamer Bunnell Jr. born in 1858 and his mother is Mary Elizabeth Gammon, who was born in 1857. I never knew my maternal Grandfather, Thomas Joel Bunnell. I knew my step grandfather whose name was Earl Wall.

I knew my maternal Grandmother and I love her. Her name is Zelda Holdaway Bunnell. She lived in Orem on 1600 South and about 200 or 300 East. I remember her original home there. It was an old two story gray house. I particularly remember the smells of this old house. While Grandma lived there, she did so with her second husband Earl Wall. I remember that he smoked cigarettes and by the time I met him, he was getting pretty old and was pretty inactive. I remember that most of the time, he just sat in his rocking chair in the south end of the kitchen, smoking or in the dark, dingy living room watching the Friday night fights, smoking.

I also remember their space heater in the living room on the east wall. It was a dark brown unit that heated the entire room. The stairs to the upstairs bedrooms were wide and very steep. I wonder, now, how my Grandparents were able to climb up these steep stairs at their age. I guess that she wasn’t that old, when I knew her. I believe that she died at about the age of 76 or 77. I was eighteen at that the time, and remember going to her funeral. Before she died, Earl died and she and her children decided to tear down the old house and replace it with a new one. It was in this new home that she eventually died in her sleep, lying on her bed.

Somehow, I was fortunate enough to receive a nice pioneer vintage desk from my Grandmother’s estate. The desk has a roll top base with a slide-out work surface and a bookshelf top with two doors that open. Several years ago, I had a friend refinish the desk and add an oak crown molding around the top of the bookshelf. It is now in our daughter Amie’s home.

I remember finding pieces of stale spearmint doublemint gum in the west kitchen window sill. What a treat. Perhaps this is where I got my appetite for stale gum. Grandma would always cook home-made bread and spread butter and sprinkle sugar on it for us. Her kitchen smells made her home feel good. It was very different from our home, but I liked it, except for the cigarette smoke which hurt my eyes.

Grandma would also make her own lye soap by rendering tallow or fat from animal fat and adding lye and cooking the solution and pouring it into bars that would then be cut into large blocks, which they would use for cleaning their hands, showering, and their laundry. It always seemed weird that she would do this, when my Mother just went to the store and bought soap and the store soap smelled a lot better. The lye soap really had an odd smell to it. I guess that Grandma’s generation was probably the last one in our country that made their own soap.
While walking around her back yard, one day, I heard a hollow sound. I later found that this was where she had a buried cesspool. This meant that her home was not connected to the public sewer system. I remember fantasizing about what a scary, dark place this must be. It always made me uncomfortable to walk over this unusual place. I was always just a little worried, that it might cave in and cause me to fall in, never to be heard from again. Luckily, I never did fall in.

Grandma had very long grey hair. She would braid it and loop it around the top of her head, to keep it from getting in her way. She had a bunch of raspberry plants out in the back of her yard.

I think that Earl kept a horse out in the back yard, also. It seems like I remember Earl and my uncle Neal rode horses together. It seems like I remember hearing that they both went on some kind of endurance ride together, somewhere around Payson canyon. It was supposed to be some kind of grueling race. I don’t suppose either of them won the race. I got the impression that the race was some kind of annual affair. I don’t remember hearing of it since. I must have been very young.

My Grandma seemed to be my connection with the older generation and everything old. Her generation seemed to me to be almost contemporaries with the Mormon pioneers. It seemed like Grandma’s family was pretty close and held family reunions quite often each summer. I remember the endless conversations about genealogy that went on and on at these events, as my Mother would talk to other family members and want to identify where they tied into the family tree. She would get into these discussions with almost everyone she met, it seemed. I remember the feelings I felt when I realized that one of these discussions was beginning. Terror. I knew that it was going to be an eternity, before we could go on. It seemed that the most preferred relationships would be from the “Vineyard” area of Orem. The area along the Geneva road on the west side of the valley, just east of Utah lake, between about Center street and 1600 south. This is where the Holdaways and Bunnells were from. In all fairness, as I look back on these conversations, I understand now how normal these were. But as a child, I felt like they were never ending. I just didn’t have any interest at the time in these things. Now, as I meet people from areas where I have lived, I do the same thing. It’s interesting how we become our parents.

My maternal ancestors were Mormon pioneers. They were noble, honorable people that believed the story of Joseph Smith the Mormon prophet and made their way to Utah to live their religion. One of my ancestors on my Mother’s side was named Shadrack Holdaway. He was a member of the Mormon Battalion. That group of men was asked by President Brigham Young to travel to California to assist the federal government there and in exchange the government would provide desperately needed income to contribute to the migration effort of the church to the Utah area. When we lived in San Diego, I remember seeing his name at the Mormon Battalion Memorial exhibit, which is maintained by the church in the Old Town area of San Diego.

My mother's mother is Zelda Maud Holdaway. She was born on 17 January 1889 in Provo, Utah. She died on 2 August 1967. She is buried by her husband in the Provo Cemetary. Her father is Marion Haws Holdaway, born in 1855 and her mother is Prudence Eliza Peay, born in 1854.

This is her life sketch, as dictated to my mother, Helen Weeks:

“I was born in Provo, Utah on 17 January 1889, the sixth of seven children born to Marion Haws Holdaway and Prudence Eliza Peay. Brother brothers and sisters were Clara, Frank, Albert, Florence, Lida, and Jennie.

Our home was located in the middle of the block on First South, between 5th and 6th West in Provo. It was a white frame home just across the street from the Pioneer Park. I enjoyed playing ball games at the park and the band concerts that were held on Sunday. We had a large variety of fresh vegetables from our garden that Father planted each year. We lived there until I was ten years old and I went to the Franklin School. I started in the first grade and got whooping cough and had to stay out of school for a long time. We used slates to write on. They were about 10 inches by 12 inches and looked like a blackboard. We used chalk to write on them. We used coal-oil lamps for light.

We were alone most of the time for Father worked in the mine in Eureka. Mother, Jennie and I went up on the train to stay with him once. It must have been hard on him to work all day in the mine and then get his own supper. He worked for ten or twelve years in the mines. Father bought property for a farm in Vineyard within a mile east of Utah Lake. He transformed the sagebrush land into a bounteous farm of all kinds of fruits, berries and vegetables.

Father hired a rig from Victor Andersen to dig a well. Then he planted a beautiful hedge of lilacs along the lane in front of our home. Flowers of many varieties and grass surrounded the two-story house. South of the house was a beautiful grove of trees through which a creek flowed. Many native blue-racer snakes made their home there. There was a grape-arbor leading out South to the chicken-coop. It was a beautiful home with all the lovely flowers, green grass, tall trees and delicious fresh fruits and vegetables to enjoy. We had hard winters and we spent many hours of enjoyment skating on the nearby ponds.

Sometimes we would skate on Utah Lake and some of the Vineyard boys would skate all the way across the Lake. It was dangerous because of the huge cracks that were sometimes several feet across.

We attended school in a one-room building across the street east of where the Geneva Steel Plant is now located. We had to walk two miles to and from school and to Church which was across the street from the school.

In my courting days, I loved to dance and had many enjoyable times at the old Geneva Resort. Trips across the Lake on the launch on moonlit nights highlighted my courting days. We danced and sang and had lunch before our return trip. We enjoyed our family life together. Florence and I were particularly close. We used to sing together. She would sing lead and I would harmonize. We sang for many of our ward activities. Some of our favorite songs were: Moonlight and Roses, I'll take you Home again Kathleen, Carry Me back to Old Virginia, My Wild Irish Rose, and The Longest Way Round, is the Sweetest way Home.

There was no schooling beyond the eighth grade available near-by so I took the eighth grade over again. This gave me a good background in English Grammar, Spelling, and Mathematics that enabled me to help my children in later years.

One day, while visiting Aunt Rose, my Mother's sister in Benjamin, I met a handsome young man – James Earl Wall. He came to visit me several times in Vineyard. About the same time, one of the handsome young men in the Ward – Thomas Joe Bunnell started courting me. He came with his horse and buggy and we went for rides. What a sight it was to see him coming in his fancy yellow buggy with his price high stepping horse. We courted for four years off and on.

I went to Idaho Falls and worked in a candy store for a year. I lived with my sister Lida during this time. I stayed there about a year then I came home. Joel had been released from the Central States Mission on 12 March 1908 because of Rheumatism. He's had his tonsils out by slicing out a little at a time while he was in Texas on his mission. He was sick all the time and had to be released.

We were married about three months after I came home from Idaho. We went along by train to Salt Lake to be married in the Temple. We were married 5 October 1910. My wedding gown was white satin. I kept it for many years but somehow, it got lost when we moved up from Grandma's after Joel died in 1940. It was made in narrow, straight lines, with long sleeves and pleats around the bottom. The train stopped above Emma and Jim's where our friends put us in a buggy and shivareed us with tin cans. We stayed at Mother's that night. Joel's folks gave us a reception at their home. We lived with Joel's folks for a few months until we built our own home. My father and Joel, together with some friends, built our first home. It was located about ½ mile North of his parent's home up on the hill. It was just two rooms built of white brick. Joel's father died in July of 1911 with ulcers. Shortly after, we sold our home and moved in with Grandma. We lived together for a few months while Grandma's house was being built. We took possession 1 January 1915.

My first son was born 22 November 1911. We named him Joel Dean. He was born at Mother's house. Dr. Westwood came out from Provo on the train. My sister, Jennie met him with the horse and a little bobsled. My baby was born in the morning. I was in bed for about two weeks recuperating. He was such a pretty baby with dark curly hair and hazel eyes. He was as good baby. I had so much milk, Joel's cousin, Ellen Bunnel, asked me to feed her baby, Elwin, because she was unable to. They were both healthy babies and thrived on my milk. Grace was born 17 April 1913. She was born at the old house. Jesse Emery was born 3 February 1915 and Neal Eugene was born almost exactly two years later on 2 February 1917. Mary Eva was born on Christmas Eve on 24 December 1919. Lothield (later legally changed to Margie) was born 5 May 1922, Helen – 17 August 1926, and Dell LeRoy on 27 September 1928.

We all had to work very hard on our thirty-acre farm. It was difficult to do everything that had to be done. We had three or four cows most of the time. I had to separate the milk every morning. We raised our own pigs and chickens.

On the east part of the farm, the ground was rocky. We planted fruit trees and berries there. We had an orchard of Cherry trees for fifteen years and it never did bear fruit. The old grove of trees where Joel's father had his packing shed was dynamited out in about 1932. This gave us more land to plant berries on. There was a cold spring of water in the grove of trees. I used to keep my butter wrapped in a wet cloth near this cool water to keep it fresh. Our house was always cool because of the high ceilings and 52 trees Joel's father had planted around it. There were Ash, Maple, White Birch, and Tree of Heaven.

To keep the pork from spoiling, we would put the pork in a brine made of salt and water strong enough to float an egg. West of the house was rich, brown soil. Joel rotated crops to enrich the soil. We raised Tomatoes, Cantaloupe, Watermelon, Carrots, Potatoes – all good things for a garden; Corn, Cucumbers, Beets, Onions, String Beans, Peppers, Lettuce, Turnips, and Peaches, Pears, Plums, Apples, and Grapes. We worked so hard. Our day would start very early. During the berry season, we'd get up at 4:30 so as to get as much done as possible before the hot sun. It was so cold that early, with the cold canyon breeze, your hands would be too stiff to pick very quickly. But before long, the kids would be praying for rain to cool them off. One morning, Neal curled up in the middle of a wide row of Raspberries, pulled up his old brown coat over his ears and went back to sleep. It wasn't long until he came screaming to the house for someone had found his secret hiding place and doused him with water. After the fruit was all picked, Joel would begin loading the truck. He would take a couple of the children and head up the canyon for Heber, Park City or Kamas to peddle the fruit – house to house: “Would you like any nice fresh fruit today?”, the children would ask. For lunch, we'd buy sweet rolls, cheese, and milk. How delicious that would taste. We'd stay until the load was all gone.

I cooked on a coal range. It was big and black. We polished it with a stove blackening. Every so often the soot that collected under the oven would have to be burned out. We'd crumple a piece of newspaper up and push it into the hole under the oven, then set it afire. The soot would catch fire and go up the chimney in big chunks. The ashes would have to be taken out almost every day. Kindling and coal would have to be brought in and stacked by the stove each night. The fire died down at night and the house was cold. Designs of ice would be all over the windows in the morning. New fires would have to be made every morning.

We had an unusual farm because of the different soil of various types. The upper part, being rocky, was good to grow fruit and berries. Around the house, the soil was rich for garden vegetables. Down below was a sand hill where the hay completed with the sand burrs for survival. How the kids hated to ride the wagon and tromp the hay with all those sand burrs.

Grandma Bunnell used to say this hill, where all the sand burrs grew, was an old Indian Burial Ground. She used to watch the Indians in their ceremonial dances. Below the sand burrs was pastureland. At one time, Joel tried to drain it. He worked so hard putting in a drain down through that clay soil. He dug it about six feet deep. It worked pretty well. He was able to plant and raise some good celery there. He put a cement ditch all the way down south of the pasture to carry water to the young Peach trees he planted on the sand hill. They never seemed to get enough water to survive. They never did produce.

The children found many arrowheads on the sand hill. In our earlier years, we were quite well to do. We got our first car in 1911. It was the very first one in Vineyard. My, but Joel was proud. He was a very handsome young man. Always neat and clean – a real dandy. We worked very hard. We'd get up with the sun and go to bed early. We lived and worked the same hours as the chickens as it was expensive to stay up and use a lamp.

We had to pay $300 to get electricity to the house from Vicklunds. We had a radio when they first came out. Before that, we had an old Victorola record player. During the First World War, prices went up on sugar and flour very high. The depression years were hard. Even though we all worked very hard, sometimes we'd get an early frost that would take practically everything. We'd save our own cantaloupe seed and mellow seed to plant the next year. Frequently we'd have to borrow to buy seeds and plants for the coming year. For a short time, we were forced to accept welfare assistance, although we found this most difficult to do.

We helped make mattresses by going down to the old Vineyard school and pounded the cotton into the ticking, then sewed it up with heavy cord. To pay for the kid's lunches, we sent milk or gave potatoes for pay. Bit by bit, we began losing our farm. We sold a little slice off to Noal Ferry, then a little more and more, until the North property line was just twenty feed from the house.

Joel was in poor health at this time and was getting sicker. We traded what was left of the farm and the house to LaVon Vernon for the property where I live now. There was an old station house they had hauled in from Soldiers Summit. It was a miserable old house, cold, rickity and smelly. We moved in about 1938. It was still cold weather. It was about in March, Helen got pleurisy from the cold draught sleeping on the floor the first night. She sang the lead in the Jr. High School Operetta: “Lady of the Terrace”, the day we moved in. We tried planting tomatoes, but the cutworms ate them off as soon as we planted. The soil was run-down and poor.

Joel kept getting sicker. He filled up with water and had “Dropsy”. As the summer wore on, he got weaker and weaker. He died on 31st of October 1940. (In his 54th year.)

I went down to live with Mother. I worked for the school lunch for a while. Then I washed windows out at the steel plant. I made some wonderful friends. Then I sewed slipcovers for Dixon Taylor Russel in Provo.

Early in November 1942, I wrote this letter to my daughter Grace: “I can't tell you how surprised I was when Earl came to see me. My old sweetheart has come back. When I got home Saturday night, Earl was waiting to see me and Norma had asked him to stay Sunday, so he did. He said he was divorced a month ago. He got up and made both fires, took ashes out and dressed Kay and Ronald. Your mother is going to marry the most honorable man in the world. We would have been married today on Jess's and Grandma Holdaway's wedding day, but we'll have to wait five months. Well, it's Thanksgiving and my heart's so full of thankfulness it's about to burst.

There's one thing I'm thankful for, as bad as I want him that we couldn't get married. We'll have another test to prove our strength and when we do get married, we'll know we can trust each other to the end of the earth if need be. Another thing I'm thankful for is that he came while Grandma Bunnell was still here. I took him over last night and told her the most wonderful love story she had ever heard and someday maybe I'll tell it to the world. I told her Earl would love to call her mother if she would let him and we were going to do all we could to make her life the happiest she has ever known. She said she was glad I had come and talked to her and wants us to come as much as we can, which of course we'll do.

There's another thing I'm thankful for, and I guess you'll laugh at it, and that is that he came before my hair all turned gray. I guess you'll say to yourself: “What made her think he'd come?” Well, it's this: I always felt that if I lived a good, clean life and raised my family the same way, this happiness would come to me. And when we shook hands, we both knew it had, but he didn't even kiss me till the next day. He knew how I felt towards him. Then, when I was in his arms, for which I had waited so long, he kissed the tears away. When I danced with him the other night, I felt like I could dance through life with him. He's only been here a little over a week and we have been to two dances and to church. They hold church conjointly at the Scera and there was a man there who was the President of the European Mission at the outbreak of the war. He gave one of the most wonderful talks I have ever heard. He visits the camps where our boys are. One night, there was only one left in camp and he asked where the others were? He said they had gone to the other end of town for a night of revelry. “Why didn't you go?” the speaker asked. He said: “I have just received a letter from my dad telling how he believed in me and trusted me and do you think I could go after that?” He said how important it is that we write letters to the boys whether they belong to us or not.

We are going to church every Sunday and I am going to pay tithing. Then we are going to another honorable man, Bishop Gappmeyer, and ask for a recommend. How I wish that all of you could go through the temple with us. There'll be five months to prepare and I don't see why you can't. How thankful I am that I have been so my girls could come to me with their problems. There's no one in the world that has more to be thankful for that I have today. To think that I could go through life with two handsome men loving me and another good thing about it is that they resemble each other, having the same blue eyes. Grandma Bunnell said so last night. Sunday, Helen was combing my hair by the window and he had gone and gotten in the truck. As he drove by I said “Oh, Helen, Look!” He looked so much like Pop I had to cry.

I've made the footprints for you children to step in and I don't think you have missed many. If this letter will be the means of living so you can get a recommend, I will be the happiest person in the world. How I wish I had been more pleasant and given you the love you craved. I'm going to try to make up to my grandchildren what I didn't give my children. And whatever time and money I have, I'm going to use to try to make someone happy. I can't help but feel there has been a higher power than ours that has had a hand in shaping our lives.. . . Earl and I were married 10 May 1942.

We were happy together. We went on some nice trips together. One we went on was to the Northwest. Earl's children went with us. We went up the Columbia River. Saw beautiful country. Earl loved to fish. I learned to fish with him. Earl loved horses. He liked me to go riding with him. Earl died suddenly of a massive heart attack on 23 March 1961. Since then, I have been lost. Suddenly I was left alone. All my children were married and gone. I went into shock and depression after Earl left me.

The children arranged to have a new house built for me in place of the old one. I have tried to find something to interest me, something to do to make someone happy. I have always said, “If I can't do something for someone else, I don't want to live!” I'm all alone now, Grace Nuttal has been living with me for four years but she has gone to live in California now. I don't seem to have anything to live for. I don't know why I can't go! (Helen’s comments: Mama passed away apparently quietly in her sleep sometime the night of 3 August 1967. We all became alarmed when we couldn't get her by phone. Neal and Joe found her. She lived such a good life. She worked so hard always thinking of someone else instead of her own wants, needs or desires. She was completely unselfish. Her wants were little. She lived as the Savior taught: “For inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” May she be at peace and receive eternal joy and happiness which she so justly deserves. We all loved her so.... and cherish our sweet memories. . Her melodious voice. . . her smile . . . the twinkle in her eye as she watched her grandchildren toddle across the floor, or come running to her . . arms outstretched. God bless you Mama darling and keep you till we meet again. [History written by Helen B. Weeks as she told me (and posthumously to the best of my ability)]

 



Skip - Summer 1949




My Mother tells me that I was born at 10:49am in the morning. She tells me that her pregnancy with me was normal.

My weight at birth was 7lbs 6oz. I was 21 1/2” inches long when I was born. I was the second child of my parents. They were in their early twenties when I was born. I was delivered by Dr. Riley Clark at Utah Valley Hospital in Provo, Utah a citizen of the United States of America.




My Mother & Me - Summer 1949


 

My Mother My Mother’s maiden name is Helen Bunnell. She was born August 17, 1926. Her Mother was Zelda Holdaway and her Father was Joel Bunnell. My Mother is a physically beautiful and extremely creative and talented woman. She is the Mother of nine children.

She is very musical and has performed in numerous musical productions and operas as a leading lady singing soprano. I remember in my youth when she performed the leading female role in productions of Madame Butterfly and La Bohemme produced by the Utah Valley Opera Association. I fondly remember the songs from these operas and others, still. There is something really beautiful and unique about Puccini’s music. I remember a lot of music that my parents enjoyed in our home during my youth. When I was young, Rogers and Hammerstein and other musicals were at the height of their popularity. The music from these productions such as South Pacific, Oklahoma, Kismet, Music Man, West Side Story, The King and I, The Sound of Music, and others were an important part of my youth. My Mother and Father loved music, operas, musicals, and everything associated with these experiences. Music permeated our home.

My Mother sang at hundreds, if not thousands of events from weddings to funerals, to church meetings and private parties, especially during my youth. It seemed to me that she was continually singing or preparing to sing somewhere. I remember that sometime in the late fifties or early sixties she was asked to join a singing group called the Singing Mothers, to travel to England to perform as representatives of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, at various locations there. I remember that she took a silent movie camera with her and she still has these movies that we see on occasion. Later she joined the Tabernacle Choir and sang with that prestigious group for several years, during which time, she also traveled to a number of places around the world to perform with the Choir.

I remember my Mother as a very loving, nurturing and committed Mother. I have always felt her love and her devotion. She is an emotionally intense person with a very strong and dominant personality. You would never accuse her of being timid. She loved to perform and provided a very good example to her children to feel free to get up in front of large or small groups to perform without any kind of fear. We got lots of opportunities to do so in our family. I remember one period of time during my teenage years when my Mother decided to put together a small family production of The Sound of Music with my Mother playing the role of the governess, as played by Julie Andrews in the movie version. My Father played the role of the Father, Captain VonTrapp and each of us children would play the roles of the VonTrapp children. We took this little play around the community and performed it for various private parties and community events. I remember that I sang “I Am Sixteen Going On Seventeen” as a duet with my sister Melody in this production. We also sang a song called “Doe a Dear, A Female Dear”, and others.

My Mother always did things in a big way. When she cooked, she cooked in quantity. When she sewed, she sewed in quantity. When she sang, she did it in a big way. Everything with her was always pretty intense. No one that ever met her would ever forget her. She had a unique personality that was strong, passionate, and unmistakable. She was and is a committed Mother that is eternally and unconditionally bound to her children. She is loving and spiritually sensitive. She is drawn to the light, but has been frustrated in her search for it. She will ultimately find it. I love her.

When I was born, my family home was in Provo, Utah. I believe that the white sided home was located somewhere around 800-900 North and 100-200 West. It has since been demolished and replaced with large apartments for BYU students.


 

Shortly after I was born our family moved to Orem, where we lived on Center street at 146 East, just across the street from the city park.


 

We lived there, until I was about six years old, when my parents built the home in which they lived for the remainder of their lives at 383 East 100 North, Orem, Utah.


 

Blessing Certificate

This is the blessing certificate issued by the Church the day I was blessed by my grandfather May 21, 1949


 

 

My Dad & Me

 

My Father’s name is Clyde Everett Weeks, Jr. He was born in Manila, The Philippines on November 18,1925. His Father’s name is Clyde Everett Weeks and his Mother’s name is Bertha Margarita Larsen. The reason that my Father was born in the Philippines is that his Father was serving in the United States army at that time.

Shortly after my Father’s birth, his family moved to Utah where his Father was stationed at Fort Douglas, near the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. So, I guess that you could call my Dad an army brat. He tells us interesting stories of his life at Fort Douglas where he learned to catch trout with his bare hands and take hikes up on Red Butte, behind Fort Douglas.

His Mother died when he was just 16 and is buried in the Fort Douglas cemetery. Her grave is located in the north east corner of the cemetery, should you want to go there some time to see it. It is a small, peaceful place. You should go there sometime to see the place. My Dad tells a story of when he was an infant and still living in the Philippines. He was crawling around in the back yard when his nanny was babysitting him one day. A large python snake came over the fence and approached him. As he tells the story, the baby sitter saved him from death just in the nick of time. I’m glad he lived through that one.

My Father is a poet and a writer. He has written for newspapers for my entire life. He has written poems, even longer. He loves to write poems using iambic pentameter and you can always tell when he’s working on a new one, because he will be carrying a yellow legal pad of paper around with him and silently counting out the metre on the fingers of his hand. He has written poems on every conceivable subject you can imagine: from death, to marriage to Skippy Peanut Butter. That’s right, Skippy Peanut Butter. A year or two ago, he noted how much he enjoyed this brand of peanut butter and decided to write a poem about it. After he finished the poem, he liked it so much that he decided to send it to the company, so that they could enjoy it too. And you’ll never guess what happened. They sent him a letter thanking him for his kindness and included a lifetime supply of coupons for him to get free peanut butter.

Incidentally, I was called Skippy Peanut Butter during my youth. I hated it when my friends did this but I guess that I would have done the same, if they had been called “Skippy Weeks”. It would have been just too tempting.

He has always been a wonderful example to his family to never be afraid to promote yourself. He has used some pretty creative approaches throughout his life to promote himself and his family. He once ran for Mayor of Orem. He served on the Orem City Council, the SCERA Board of Directors and as the Postmaster of Orem for 40 years. While he was Postmaster, he ended up building two new Post Offices, as the city continually grew to outstrip each previous building. He retired a few years ago and has since then been free to spend more time with each of his children.

My Father served in the U.S. Marines in World War II. I don’t know much about his experience in this terrible conflict, other than that he was awarded the Purple Heart for acting with valor and being seriously wounded. His leg was permanently damaged by an exploding hand granade. The wound almost blew off his foot and the lower part of his leg. He never talks about it but bears it with courage. The wound destroyed the tendons and ligaments in the front of his lower leg, making it impossible for him to lift his foot up. For years he wore a spring-loaded brace on this foot that would keep his foot in the raised position so that he would not trip over it. Within the last few years he has stopped wearing the brace and seems to be able to walk without any noticeable difficulty. Perhaps the surrounding muscles have strengthened to enable him to avoid the brace. I can’t imagine what a sacrifice this must have caused him over the years. In spite of this serious handicap he has always been active and helpful in lots of physical things that needed to be done around the house. My hat’s off to you Dad for your courage!

He has written a column called originally “This Weeks’ Wit” or more recently “Under Timpanogos Green”. These articles chronicle his perspectives about life and his community. This creative outlet has been a gift of love from my Dad to his community. He has always loved Orem and I’m sure he always will. Dad is a loving Father. He has always been loyally committed to the health and well-being of his wife and each of his children. He has always worked hard to provide financially for his family and been a wonderful example of constancy, amid the uncertainty of the world around us. I love him.


 

FAMILY LOVE

Love in Family I was preceded by an older sister, April Melody. Being the oldest son in the family was interesting. I think that over time, I came to resent the large numbers of siblings that followed, but not deeply. I think that it just caused me to be more independent. I know that my younger brothers and sisters looked up to me and loved me, as much as brothers and sisters can love one another. I should probably explain this comment. There are all kinds of love within families. The strongest love exists from Mothers and Fathers to their children. I think probably the most powerful is that of Mother to child. This, because of the personal, physical sacrifice and nurturing that is unique to a Mother/child relationship. A different kind of love from parent->child love is husband/wife - wife-husband love. This may be stronger or weaker than parent->child love, depending upon the circumstances. It is, however, completely different in its nature. The least powerful bond in a family is that between sibling children, I think, because all children are ultimately competing for family resources of love and goods. Each child shares a common connection to the same parents but they may or may not share a common bond of love with each other. However, in ideal families they will, through active example and intervention by their parents. Love is a most interesting word. It means so many different things to each person that says it. In some ways I would prefer to not use this word, because of the potential for confusion. Almost any other word will more accurately communicate true meaning better than the word “love”. In its highest and best form, Agape, Chistlike, godly, selfless, unconditional, commitment, attraction, and devotion to another, love is the finest emotion and state of relationship that can exist. This is rarely what is experienced or meant by individuals when they say that they feel love for another.


My Brothers & Sisters

I have eight brothers and sisters. My parent’s family began with my older sister, April Melody. She was born on April 24, 1947. I was born next. I was followed by my younger sister Merrie Kristy, who was born on Christmas in 1951. She was followed by Sherrilee Marchelle who was born on March 24, 1952. After “Chelle” was born we got a brother, Skylar Desmond, who was born on August 13, 1953. Richard was next, then Rosanna Helen was born next on February 19, 1958. Finally, came Allyson Carolee and David Wilford.

One of my first memories with my brothers and sisters was sitting in our kitchen listening to the radio. I remember that our kitchen had yellow walls. I believe the radio program was about a character called “Sparky”. I don’t remember what it was about but vaguely remember this name. I remember my older sister went to school before I did. And I remember my Grandma teaching me to tie my shoes. I can still see in my mind’s eye the white of the toilet as I sat on it and heard the kind voice of my Grandmother as she demonstrated this important skill.

 


 

 

My Aunts & Uncles

 

My Aunts & Uncles - When I think of my aunts and uncles I remember my Father’s brother Michael and his sister Sharee. Mike was in the U.S. Air Force, as a pilot. He was married to a woman named Shirley. They later divorced, when Mike met a woman named Seija, I believe from Norway, in his travels. I remember visiting with Mike at Shirley’s parents home, when Mike was in town from his training or traveling. As of 2017, Mike lives in Florida with his wife, Donna.

Sharee is my Father’s sister. She had several children. She was married to a man named Keith Smith, who worked as a printer at the BYU print shop. He died several years ago. She had health many health problems. My memories of her in person are very positive. She was always very kind to me.

My Father’s Mother’s brother named Wilford Larsen was one of my favorite uncles or more accurately Great uncles. He was married to Edna Scorrup. This couple, Aunt Edna and Uncle Wilford were a lifelong example of what attentive, loving relatives should be. They always joined us every Christmas morning. We visited their home at least monthly. They lived on 1200 South Street in Orem and about 200 East. They had a big barn out back of their house, a tractor, and an orchard filled with bing cherries and a few tart cooking cherries.

I remember fondly, and sometimes not so fondly, picking cherries and working for Uncle Wilford. I had strong allergies which caused me to get a bad case of hay fever, each and every summer. I always loved the summertime, but it always meant that I would be sneezing. I also think that I was sometimes allergic to work, as well. I’m grateful for these experiences where I first learned to work at the hands of a loving and objective uncle.

My aunt Edna died first, which left uncle Wilford to live alone. He found a nice woman named, Ruby whom he later married. He sold his farm and moved across the street, where he lived until he died.

I remember that we were living in San Diego, when he died. We came up to Utah to visit a year or two before he died and I went over to visit him. He was out sweeping his driveway when I arrived and I was able to visit with him. As we talked I was able to thank him for his great example of love and concern over the years as I was growing up. I can still see the look on his face as his eyes filled with tears. I’m glad that I had the chance to tell him thank you for his love, before he died.

My Mother had brothers and sisters. Her sisters were Margie, Eva, and Grace. Her brothers were Jesse, Neal, and Dell. We were closest to the families of Eva, Neal and Dell because they lived closest to us. Jesse lived in Idaho Falls with his wife Carma. Grace and my Mother never seemed to be that close, so we didn’t spend much time there.

Dell was married to LaVerne and they had a son named Tommy, who was my age. He and I always had sleep-overs, where either I would sleep at his house for the week-end or he would sleep at my house. We had lots of fun. They lived in the Grandview area in north Provo, and we played all over that area. He had two younger brothers named Randy and Greg, and two or three sisters. Both Tommy and Greg committed suicide in their twenties. By the way, Neal and Norma also had a child named Kay who also committed suicide in his late forties or early fifties, and Eva and Jay had a son named Ronnie who died in the Colorado river. They found his body miles down shore a few days later. I remember Ronnie was honored for saving someone from a fire, as a Boy Scout in his early teens.

MAY OF 1953

GRAPE JUICE & HARD BOILED EGGS

One of the first memories that I recall, is sharing a picnic with a little friend of mine, named Eric Fielding. Eric and I asked my Mother to prepare a lunch for us, which included a quart jar of grape juice and hard- boiled eggs.

We took this lunch out on the front lawn, where we feasted together on a bright spring morning. I can remember the feel of the green grass under us and the warm blue sky above us. This was at our old house on Center Street.

I remember celebrating a birthday at this house where my Mother made me a Humpty Dumpty cake with chocolate frosting.

Another friend that I remember from this old house was a little girl named Ellen Fielding. She was blind. Her Father also worked at the Post Office with my Dad, as did Eric Fielding’s Dad. His name was David Fielding.

AUGUST 15, 1953

WHEN MY FIRST BABY BROTHER CAME HOME

I remember the day that my first little brother (Skylar) came home from the hospital. My parents pulled up to the front sidewalk. My Dad jumped out and opened the door for my Mother to get out of her side of the car. I think the car was a Kaiser (what a weird looking car). My Dad helped my Mother get out of the car with my new little brother, wrapped up in lots of blankets. I don’t remember why this impression has stayed with me but I remember it quite vividly. My parents must have tried to make it a special time for us. Bringing new babies home for the first time really is a special experience. Some of my best memories in life surround these events. They seem to always be peaceful, happy, and filled with love.

LOADING

1955

THE CHURCH IN MY FAMILY

My family was very active in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormon Church during my youth and today each of my brothers and sisters still actively practice this faith. My Mother’s family has always been members of the church since its inception in the early 1800s and my Father’s family was converted to the church after my paternal Grandfather moved to Utah. He later served as Bishop in Provo and in other positions of responsibility in the church. My Father also served as Bishop of a BYU ward.

I am grateful for my heritage. I know that my ancestors were noble people with many talents and skills that I have been blessed by. I only pray that I can add to the luster of this rich legacy, as I live my life. I hope that my descendants will look back to what I have done, as an example of how it should be done. I have tried to live my life true to my inner voice and principles of truth.

LOADING

JUNE 1955

PLUCKING A CHICKEN FOR DINNER WITH GRANDPA

One day my grandparents came over for dinner at the old house on Center street and brought a chicken that they had raised for dinner. The only problem was that it had not yet been plucked. All the feathers were still intact. Grampa took care of the bulk of the work but I remember seeing the chicken and being able to pull out a few of the feathers. I think that if we now had to go through this tedium every time we wanted to eat chicken, there wouldn’t be any chicken served. Isn’t automation and commercial food preparation great!

LOADING

OCTOBER 3, 2018

THOR'S WELL

Located at Cape Perpetua on the Oregon coast, this blow hole is amazing to watch up close at high tide. I stood in the surf for four hours to capture this shot just after sunset.

FEBRUARY 14, 2020

ICE CASTLES

LOADING

My Aunts & Uncles - When I think of my aunts and uncles I remember my Father’s brother Michael and his sister Sharee. Mike was in the U.S. Air Force, as a pilot. He was married to a woman named Shirley. They later divorced, when Mike met a woman named Seija, I believe from Norway, in his travels. I remember visiting with Mike at Shirley’s parents home, when Mike was in town from his training or traveling. As of 2017, Mike lives in Florida with his wife, Donna.

Sharee is my Father’s sister. She had several children. She was married to a man named Keith Smith, who worked as a printer at the BYU print shop. He died several years ago. She had health many health problems. My memories of her in person are very positive. She was always very kind to me.

My Father’s Mother’s brother named Wilford Larsen was one of my favorite uncles or more accurately Great uncles. He was married to Edna Scorrup. This couple, Aunt Edna and Uncle Wilford were a lifelong example of what attentive, loving relatives should be. They always joined us every Christmas morning. We visited their home at least monthly. They lived on 1200 South Street in Orem and about 200 East. They had a big barn out back of their house, a tractor, and an orchard filled with bing cherries and a few tart cooking cherries.

I remember fondly, and sometimes not so fondly, picking cherries and working for Uncle Wilford. I had strong allergies which caused me to get a bad case of hay fever, each and every summer. I always loved the summertime, but it always meant that I would be sneezing. I also think that I was sometimes allergic to work, as well. I’m grateful for these experiences where I first learned to work at the hands of a loving and objective uncle.

My aunt Edna died first, which left uncle Wilford to live alone. He found a nice woman named, Ruby whom he later married. He sold his farm and moved across the street, where he lived until he died.

I remember that we were living in San Diego, when he died. We came up to Utah to visit a year or two before he died and I went over to visit him. He was out sweeping his driveway when I arrived and I was able to visit with him. As we talked I was able to thank him for his great example of love and concern over the years as I was growing up. I can still see the look on his face as his eyes filled with tears. I’m glad that I had the chance to tell him thank you for his love, before he died.

My Mother had brothers and sisters. Her sisters were Margie, Eva, and Grace. Her brothers were Jesse, Neal, and Dell. We were closest to the families of Eva, Neal and Dell because they lived closest to us. Jesse lived in Idaho Falls with his wife Carma. Grace and my Mother never seemed to be that close, so we didn’t spend much time there.

Dell was married to LaVerne and they had a son named Tommy, who was my age. He and I always had sleep-overs, where either I would sleep at his house for the week-end or he would sleep at my house. We had lots of fun. They lived in the Grandview area in north Provo, and we played all over that area. He had two younger brothers named Randy and Greg, and two or three sisters. Both Tommy and Greg committed suicide in their twenties. By the way, Neal and Norma also had a child named Kay who also committed suicide in his late forties or early fifties, and Eva and Jay had a son named Ronnie who died in the Colorado river. They found his body miles down shore a few days later. I remember Ronnie was honored for saving someone from a fire, as a Boy Scout in his early teens.

MAY OF 1953

GRAPE JUICE & HARD BOILED EGGS

One of the first memories that I recall, is sharing a picnic with a little friend of mine, named Eric Fielding. Eric and I asked my Mother to prepare a lunch for us, which included a quart jar of grape juice and hard- boiled eggs.

We took this lunch out on the front lawn, where we feasted together on a bright spring morning. I can remember the feel of the green grass under us and the warm blue sky above us. This was at our old house on Center Street.

I remember celebrating a birthday at this house where my Mother made me a Humpty Dumpty cake with chocolate frosting.

Another friend that I remember from this old house was a little girl named Ellen Fielding. She was blind. Her Father also worked at the Post Office with my Dad, as did Eric Fielding’s Dad. His name was David Fielding.

AUGUST 15, 1953

WHEN MY FIRST BABY BROTHER CAME HOME

I remember the day that my first little brother (Skylar) came home from the hospital. My parents pulled up to the front sidewalk. My Dad jumped out and opened the door for my Mother to get out of her side of the car. I think the car was a Kaiser (what a weird looking car). My Dad helped my Mother get out of the car with my new little brother, wrapped up in lots of blankets. I don’t remember why this impression has stayed with me but I remember it quite vividly. My parents must have tried to make it a special time for us. Bringing new babies home for the first time really is a special experience. Some of my best memories in life surround these events. They seem to always be peaceful, happy, and filled with love.

LOADING

1955

THE CHURCH IN MY FAMILY

My family was very active in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormon Church during my youth and today each of my brothers and sisters still actively practice this faith. My Mother’s family has always been members of the church since its inception in the early 1800s and my Father’s family was converted to the church after my paternal Grandfather moved to Utah. He later served as Bishop in Provo and in other positions of responsibility in the church. My Father also served as Bishop of a BYU ward.

I am grateful for my heritage. I know that my ancestors were noble people with many talents and skills that I have been blessed by. I only pray that I can add to the luster of this rich legacy, as I live my life. I hope that my descendants will look back to what I have done, as an example of how it should be done. I have tried to live my life true to my inner voice and principles of truth.

LOADING

JUNE 1955

PLUCKING A CHICKEN FOR DINNER WITH GRANDPA

One day my grandparents came over for dinner at the old house on Center street and brought a chicken that they had raised for dinner. The only problem was that it had not yet been plucked. All the feathers were still intact. Grampa took care of the bulk of the work but I remember seeing the chicken and being able to pull out a few of the feathers. I think that if we now had to go through this tedium every time we wanted to eat chicken, there wouldn’t be any chicken served. Isn’t automation and commercial food preparation great!

LOADING

OCTOBER 3, 2018

THOR'S WELL

Located at Cape Perpetua on the Oregon coast, this blow hole is amazing to watch up close at high tide. I stood in the surf for four hours to capture this shot just after sunset.

FEBRUARY 14, 2020

ICE CASTLES

LOADING

My Aunts & Uncles - When I think of my aunts and uncles I remember my Father’s brother Michael and his sister Sharee. Mike was in the U.S. Air Force, as a pilot. He was married to a woman named Shirley. They later divorced, when Mike met a woman named Seija, I believe from Norway, in his travels. I remember visiting with Mike at Shirley’s parents home, when Mike was in town from his training or traveling. As of 2017, Mike lives in Florida with his wife, Donna.

Sharee is my Father’s sister. She had several children. She was married to a man named Keith Smith, who worked as a printer at the BYU print shop. He died several years ago. She had health many health problems. My memories of her in person are very positive. She was always very kind to me.

My Father’s Mother’s brother named Wilford Larsen was one of my favorite uncles or more accurately Great uncles. He was married to Edna Scorrup. This couple, Aunt Edna and Uncle Wilford were a lifelong example of what attentive, loving relatives should be. They always joined us every Christmas morning. We visited their home at least monthly. They lived on 1200 South Street in Orem and about 200 East. They had a big barn out back of their house, a tractor, and an orchard filled with bing cherries and a few tart cooking cherries.

I remember fondly, and sometimes not so fondly, picking cherries and working for Uncle Wilford. I had strong allergies which caused me to get a bad case of hay fever, each and every summer. I always loved the summertime, but it always meant that I would be sneezing. I also think that I was sometimes allergic to work, as well. I’m grateful for these experiences where I first learned to work at the hands of a loving and objective uncle.

My aunt Edna died first, which left uncle Wilford to live alone. He found a nice woman named, Ruby whom he later married. He sold his farm and moved across the street, where he lived until he died.

I remember that we were living in San Diego, when he died. We came up to Utah to visit a year or two before he died and I went over to visit him. He was out sweeping his driveway when I arrived and I was able to visit with him. As we talked I was able to thank him for his great example of love and concern over the years as I was growing up. I can still see the look on his face as his eyes filled with tears. I’m glad that I had the chance to tell him thank you for his love, before he died.

My Mother had brothers and sisters. Her sisters were Margie, Eva, and Grace. Her brothers were Jesse, Neal, and Dell. We were closest to the families of Eva, Neal and Dell because they lived closest to us. Jesse lived in Idaho Falls with his wife Carma. Grace and my Mother never seemed to be that close, so we didn’t spend much time there.

Dell was married to LaVerne and they had a son named Tommy, who was my age. He and I always had sleep-overs, where either I would sleep at his house for the week-end or he would sleep at my house. We had lots of fun. They lived in the Grandview area in north Provo, and we played all over that area. He had two younger brothers named Randy and Greg, and two or three sisters. Both Tommy and Greg committed suicide in their twenties. By the way, Neal and Norma also had a child named Kay who also committed suicide in his late forties or early fifties, and Eva and Jay had a son named Ronnie who died in the Colorado river. They found his body miles down shore a few days later. I remember Ronnie was honored for saving someone from a fire, as a Boy Scout in his early teens.




 
 

GRAPE JUICE & HARD BOILED EGGS

 
 

MAY 1953 - One of the first memories that I recall, is sharing a picnic with a little friend of mine, named Eric Fielding. Eric and I asked my Mother to prepare a lunch for us, which included a quart jar of grape juice and hard- boiled eggs.

We took this lunch out on the front lawn, where we feasted together on a bright spring morning. I can remember the feel of the green grass under us and the warm blue sky above us. This was at our old house on Center Street.

I remember celebrating a birthday at this house where my Mother made me a Humpty Dumpty cake with chocolate frosting.

Another friend that I remember from this old house was a little girl named Ellen Fielding. She was blind. Her Father also worked at the Post Office with my Dad, as did Eric Fielding’s Dad. His name was David Fielding.

 
 
 

 
 

WHEN MY FIRST BABY BROTHER CAME HOME

 
 

AUGUST 15, 1953 - I remember the day that my first little brother (Skylar) came home from the hospital. My parents pulled up to the front sidewalk. My Dad jumped out and opened the door for my Mother to get out of her side of the car. I think the car was a Kaiser (what a weird looking car). My Dad helped my Mother get out of the car with my new little brother, wrapped up in lots of blankets. I don’t remember why this impression has stayed with me but I remember it quite vividly. My parents must have tried to make it a special time for us. Bringing new babies home for the first time really is a special experience. Some of my best memories in life surround these events. They seem to always be peaceful, happy, and filled with love.
 
 

 
 
 

THE CHURCH IN MY FAMILY

 

My family was very active in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormon Church during my youth and today each of my brothers and sisters still actively practice this faith. My Mother’s family has always been members of the church since its inception in the early 1800s and my Father’s family was converted to the church after my paternal Grandfather moved to Utah. He later served as Bishop in Provo and in other positions of responsibility in the church. My Father also served as Bishop of a BYU ward.

I am grateful for my heritage. I know that my ancestors were noble people with many talents and skills that I have been blessed by. I only pray that I can add to the luster of this rich legacy, as I live my life. I hope that my descendants will look back to what I have done, as an example of how it should be done. I have tried to live my life true to my inner voice and principles of truth.

skipweeks.com/life/SaltLakeTem…

 

PLUCKING A CHICKEN FOR DINNER WITH GRANDPA

 

JULY 1955 - One day my grandparents came over for dinner at the old house on Center street and brought a chicken that they had raised for dinner. The only problem was that it had not yet been plucked. All the feathers were still intact. Grampa took care of the bulk of the work but I remember seeing the chicken and being able to pull out a few of the feathers. I think that if we now had to go through this tedium every time we wanted to eat chicken, there wouldn’t be any chicken served. Isn’t automation and commercial food preparation great!
 

 

 

 











































 
 

 
 
 
 
 

















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