I really enjoyed reading the following account of my maternal great-grandmother, Rebecca Frost, that my dad sent me:
Memories of Rebecca Jorgensen Frost (My mother's mother)
Now at the age of sixty-six years I am about to put into effect the thought that has prompted me for many years — namely, to write some of my experiences and also some of the things that have come to my observation during my life thus far.
Before I go any farther, I want to confess my mistake and hope none of my posterity shall do as I have — that is, neglected to keep a diary, and therefore have forgotten many things that might have served as faith promoting to others. I must now trust to my memory, prompted by the Holy Ghost which leads into all truth and brings to the memory things of the past.
I can say, as Nephi of old, that "I was born of goodly parents," on the sixth of March, 1865, in Brigham City, Boxelder County, Utah. I am the sixth child of eight — three girls and five boys. Their names according to age are: Jacob, Isaac, Abraham, Anna Maria, Mary Christina, Hansine Rebecca, Joseph Christian, and Moses Peter Jorgensen.
When I was six weeks old the family moved to Logan, Cache County, Utah. My mother took her turn at driving the loose cattle, leaving my sister and me asleep in the wagon. Once on coming to the wagon, she found my sister lying across my face, nearly smothering me.
They located in Logan, being among the earliest settlers in Cache County. Here Father assisted in making canals, building bridges and meeting houses and other improvements required to convert a desert into a fit abode for a progressive community. It was here that my infancy and childhood were spent.
One of my first recollections was the iron pot in which our food was cooked hanging in the fireplace and the Dutch oven in which our bread was baked. I remember the cheerful fire which furnished both warmth and light. My Father always liked a good fire so he furnished plenty of good dry wood chopped in large pieces. Another thing that fastened itself on my memory was the clicking of Mother’s knitting needles at night or before light in the morning when I would awake in my little trundle bed.
Perhaps some would ask what a trundle bed is. Well, it was a small box-like affair that could be hid under a large bed during the day by means of a curtain hung around it, for every space of the two rooms had to be utilized.
Our home seemed to be a place where the children of the neighborhood collected and sometimes after we had frolicked abut the yard, we were allowed to play games in the house, such as "Drop the Handkerchief," "Ring around the Roses," "King Williams," "Jolly Butcher Boys," and others. Other times we would sing songs, such as: "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," "This Night We’ll Join the Revelry," "I Wish I Was an Apple," "The Drunkard’s Dream," and others.
When Mother’s turn came to entertain, she usually had a Bible story for us. I always enjoyed them — the story of the creation, stories of Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph who was sold into Egypt, the Israelites, the kings, and the dividing of the Kingdom after the death of Solomon. She could tell us in story form the contents of the Bible from Genesis to the book of revelation.
Later in our lives we children always knew who to call on when we needed assistance in finding certain passages on any subjects from the Bible.
Father was very entertaining and kept up on present happenings. He always took a paper which was published in Omaha, Nebraska (The Pioneer) in which he was able to keep posted not only on current news, but also news of happenings in Denmark. He could also keep our attention by relating his early experiences in his homeland and also as a pioneer in Utah. Father took pleasure in singing Danish songs and had a very good voice. Mother’s lullaby songs had a charm for me, although she could not carry a tune. She often recited love longs.
About 1870 my parents decided they hadn’t enough land for their five sons and there was land across Bear River that could be homesteaded. So they ventured out, although they knew there would be many difficulties to encounter. I well remember the first time I was taken out to the new claim. We arrived in the evening. On awaking that beautiful morning in May, I could see the rays of sun pouring through the cracks of the door of our little shanty. We youngsters soon dressed and went out to survey the surroundings.
The first thing that took our attention were the pretty flowers raising their heads above or nestling among the tall bluegrass that had been left to grow and dry out in the fall without being disturbed for centuries perhaps, although there were some wild Texas cattle there. We wandered on for about a quarter of a mile along the hill until we reached a clump of trees in a cozy nook in the bend of the hill. This drew our attention at once to the haw berries, choke cherries, service berries, and other wild berries that interested us. At the foot of the hill ran a clear, sparkling stream. Here we later spent much of our leisure time, hunting birds nests, making playhouses, and so far.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
when fond recollection presents them to view:
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
and every loved spot that my infancy knew.
[The document written by Hansine Rebecca ended abruptly at this point and I don’t KNOW where the rest of her story is. I found this while searching through my files for something else so please Help me find the remainder!
