Alma Pederson Stark, written by himself
I, Alma Pederson Stark, was born in Spanish Fork, Utah, December 19, 1874. This is a history of my life as far back as I can remember. My father and mother were born in Denmark. My father, Soren Pederson Stark was born in Reesdalshede, Serup, Sogn, Vilborg on September 5, 1829. My mother was born in Denmark at the town of Shelland, January 5, 1839. Her maiden name was Ann Sophia Peterson. Father died May 15, 1881 in Spanish Fork, Utah. Mother died February 28, 1912 at Leland, Utah..
They sailed for America April 15, 1862, on the sail ship Franklin. They married April 16, 1862 on board the ship. They landed in New York City May 31, 1862..
I cannot remember much about my father, being less than seven years old when he died. I do remember that I rode a borrowed horse when he cultivated the corn and sugar cane, also when he cut my hair, he said for me to sit still so he could make a good close job, so my mother could not pull my hair. He said I sat and kept my head very still for the job. We only had an ox team at the time. We had a home in town which he sold. We then moved on to a homestead, located on the northeast side of Spanish Fork, Utah. I well remember the first night we stayed on the homestead. We only had a covered wagon to live in at first. I cried and said to mother, “let’s go home”. She said that this was our home. Father was out in the canyon getting logs for our new house. He built a one room log cabin, which was an old landmark for many years. There we were raised on the old homestead, which we loved, located at the foot of a hill and right on the main road to Springville, Utah. Forty acres of the homestead were in the city..
My brother, Moroni was bitten by the first dog, on the arm. I can see the dog now and how we were playing with a hoop, rolling it around. It struck the dog. It grabbed Moroni just above the wrist and kept chewing until it reached his elbow. Father got the old musket gun. I well remember him taking a rest shot, on one knee, at the vicious brute. He took some of the warm dog flesh and put it on the wound..
I remember father came home one evening with logs for the barn. He unhitched the team of oxen and let them loose. One of the oxen picked my brother Nephi up with his harness and threw him over the stock yard fence. He was not hurt, as luck would have it. Father yelled to us to get out of the way. I remember my father milking the cows. They were white ones. I don’t remember how many cows we had then, but we had some white cows in the herd for many years. He brought home a wagon load of sheep. I saw him taking them out of the wagon by hand, one at a time..
I remember father and James Higginson bought a molasses mill, which they set up on the west side of the road from our home. We kids were delighted with the mill and would spend lots of our time there playing and watching the building of the mill, where we played many happy hours away, night and day, making molasses candy and watching the hauling in of the sugar cane and the grinding-watching the juice run into the tank. We watched the juice boil being made into fine golden molasses. They took the skimming and made it into molasses candy. My sister Inger, was in charge of the candy making, and she was the best molasses maker in the land. My brother, Moroni was the boss of the feeding of the cane into the mill. I was in charge of taking the rejects away. The molasses making time was about the happiest time of our lives. People would bring in their sugar cane for miles around to get it made into molasses. We also raised a lot of sugar cane ourselves on our lands. I worked in the cane fields a far back as I can remember, planting, stripping the leaves off the cane, cutting, piling and hauling to the mill. We had lots of company then. Kids from all over the country would be there for molasses candy and to play with us..
Father did not live to enjoy the fruits of his toil, too much exposure. He died a young man at the age of 52. Just in the prime of life. He was in his sick bed for a year or more. My father was the first person that I had ever seen dead. The family all stood by his bed when he passed away. Nephi and I said that he was asleep. We tried to wake him, but he slept on . I remember the funeral. It was the first funeral I had ever attended. It was a sad time for mother, out on a farm so far from neighbors, with four small children, the oldest being eleven. Every night when we would gather around the table for the evening meal, for a long time, she could not keep back the tears of her great sorrow for the loss of her beloved companion, husband and father. I was too young to realize just what it meant for a father to die, to be called away, but mother and the two older brothers and sister were heart broken, which time alone can heal..
I remember well when we got our first horse team. We traced our oxen team for them. I don’t think children today would be more delighted for a new auto than we were for the new horse team. One of them we could ride. We called him Billy. I was on him from morning until night. I had many a fall until I mustered the art of horseback riding. I finally became quite an expert, especially on one occasion when my life was no doubt saved in a race with a mountain lion..
(This is as far as Alma Pederson Stark wrote about his own life) |
1874 - 1960 (85 år)
