Adventures in Paradise Volume 2 #18

Kia ora! Our excellent adventure continues with some thoughts centered on those who have come before us.  Earlier this week, someone shared a message that I have not forgotten. In fact, I have spent the better part of my free time considering the ramifications of two very insightful little lines.

“We drink from a well others have dug

We warm ourselves by a fire that others have kindled.”

All week I have been pondering on that short reminder. We, who have so much, should be so grateful for those who made it all possible. Naturally, I first thought of my own parents and how they sacrificed to give our family a good life. My father worked two jobs to support us and my mother used great creativity while making do with less. I love them and I miss then. They kindled the fires in our family and I am beyond grateful.

My grandparents lived through a depression and taught us all through example how to be frugal and careful with money and resources. My Grandpa Martin, while out of work in the 1940’s, put on a suit and tie every day and went down to his basement “office”. There he spent an entire work day writing resumes, making phone calls and sending out letters of introduction in hopes of finding a job. His job for that period of time was to find a job. It was that simple. Every day he dressed up as if he were going off to the office, although his reality was only the basement. I have been so impressed by his dedication to do whatever needed to be done in order to support his family. There isn’t a day when I am home (living in the home he built) that upon entering that basement room, I do not have a mental image of him sitting at his desk working at finding work. He kindled the fire of determination and hard work in his descendents and we are grateful.

My great grandma Martin was a seamstress. By the time she was fifteen, she no longer lived at home. She would be hired to spend a period of three to four months living with strangers while fashioning all of the clothing for the women in the family. Having completed that task, she would then move on to the next house full of strangers and begin all over again. I have often thought of what a hardship that must have been for her, but she did it. And she continued that work until she was married. I learned to sew on my great grandma Matins treadle sewing machine. Her early encouragement turned into a life long vocation and avocation for me. When she died at 96, she left me her treadle sewing machine. Others thought it an odd bequest for a sixteen-year-old, but I was thrilled. I still have that machine, and although I have upgraded a tad, where I go, that old Singer goes as well. My great grandmother kindled my creative fire and I am grateful.

My great, great grandfather James Peacock was born in Nauvoo and traveled across the plains as a small child. Most of us are aware of the hardships those early saints faced as they made their trek westward. It was hot, it was cold, it was dusty, it was wet, it was snowy, and it was often miserable, but they did it. I cherish the little hat that young James wore on that journey and can’t help but think of the young mother who made certain that he wore it every day to protect his baby face from the sun. James grew up in the Salt Lake Valley, on the Avenues near City Creek Canyon. Thinking of wells that others had dug made me smile as James Peacock became a member of the very first fire department in the valley. That firehouse still stands in City Creek Canyon, and should you like to have a look at my great, great granddad, please go to the DUP museum at the top of State Street. After wandering through the endless fascinating pioneer exhibits, find your way back to the room dedicated to the first fire department. There you will see his uniform, his hat and his photo. He is the handsome man in the white moustash, who bears a very strong resemblance to Teddy Roosevelt! Although not technically drinking from a well that he dug, many early residents were grateful for the water he supplied as fires were fought and homes were saved. The water he shared was life saving and we are grateful and proud as well for his service.

If I am to be truthful, and I always try to be, this blog started out to be something very different from the one you are reading. Last month, we discovered a tiny little grave in a remote cemetery out in the country. Two-year old Sarah Jane Paxman is buried in that grave, which is protected by a little white picket fence. It was her story that I was going to share when speaking of those who have gone before. It is the story of sacrifice and it seemed to fit perfectly with the two lines that I quoted at the beginning of this blog. Somehow, as it often does, my blog took on a life of its own and the result was an homage to a few of my family members. Offering no apologies for my moving off course, I will give my readers the opportunity to do a little research before my next blog. Look up the name Sarah Jane Paxman and see what you find……………..

As always, we are happy and trying to work hard. We are profoundly grateful for those who have dug our wells and kindled our fires. We hope that were they here, they would not be disappointed with the results of their labors as it relates to the lives that we choose to live. We appreciate also, the examples that you have set for us and the many ways that you have enhanced our lives by being the people that you are. You have nourished us and kept us warm in more ways that we can name. Thank you!

Love, Ward and Susan    Elder and Sister Belliston, serving in Gisborne, New Zealand

 

After finishing this blog, it occurred to me that we had no family photos with us here in New Zealand. We are grateful that Wards daughter, Teresa sent us a beautiful calendar for Christmas. This photo of our home was on the last page. For thirty-two years I have been grateful for the opportunity to live in the home my grandparents built. It has served as a connector between me and those who went before. My mothers bedroom is behind that window partially obscured by the tree. My grandparents planned and saved a very long time to be able to build this house. I am grateful. Ward, I believe is equally indebted to Henry Ford!