In Honor of H.C. Jackson

Grandpa you have lived to see the ripe old age of 83.
In noble deeds these years have been spent.
As through life’s battles you’ve bravely went.
A man of peace you’ve surely been,
To inspire love and banquish .
And, now you’re race is nearly run.
When you go to your heavenly home
Please prepare a place for us;
That we may dwell with you
Throughout all eternity
(Given at a family reunion in 1902 in honor of H.C. Jackson on his 83rd birthday at
Parker, Fremont,Idaho. Given by granddaughter Esther Jackson(Rudd) 12 years of age.
Compose by her eldest brother Henry S. Jackson)

Roberta Ann Schade Bullock

Roberta grew up in the large city of Los Angeles, California, and lived in the same
house all of her childhood. She was the youngest of four daughters of Marlon and Nell
Jackson Schade. During her childhood, her favorite activities were roller-skating on
the sidewalk in front of her home and climbing the big tree that stood by the sidewalk.
At about the age of 8, she started piano lessons which lasted 5 years and prepared her
for many opportunities to serve as an accompanist for choirs and other singing groups
and as a organist for Jr. Sunday School and Sunday School.
While at Hollywood High School, she was very active in student affairs. She held many
offices, including that of Student Body Vice President and Cheer Leader. There were
about 10 LDS in her high school of 2000.
At 17, she left home to attend Brigham Young University. The 2 ½ years she spent living
with and associating with mostly LDS, were very happy years for her. She loved the
testimony meetings at the student wards and her young testimony grew stronger. During
the 3rd year at BYU she met Burt Warren Bullock, a football player from Wyoming, who
was also attending the “Y”. They fell in loved and were married 16 February 1961, in
the Los Angeles Temple.
Roberta was anxious, as a new bride, to establish a new patterned in many ways after
the home of her parents where there was much loved and affection shown for each other.
Her goal was to have a loarge family and to each them the gospel and to love the Lord,
as her mother had taught her. To date, Roberta and Burt ahd 9 children and loves her
role as a mother, wife, and servant of her Heavenly Father.
Roberta and Burt have moved several times in their years of marriage. Their homes have
included: Rawlins, Wyoming; Hollywood,Califonia; Northridge, California; Arcadia,
California; Saratoga, California; Lake Oswego, Oregon. Each time the family moved, it
was for business opportunites for Burt.
Each ward they have lived in has blessed their lives. Roberta has worked in all the
organizations of the church and has considered each calling a choice opportunity for
growth and service. She has loved doing genealogy work too.
Her greatest goal is to stay close to the church and to help each of her children to
gain a strong testimony of the gospel that they might all be found worthy to return to
the Celestial Kingdom with their Father in Heaven.
Written 5 June 1979……….

Poem Composed by Alvin S Jackson

Yes, its been years, a score or more,
Since a lad stood by a Blacksmith’s door,
Watching the sinders from his anvil fall
And counting their number large and small,
When the good kind smith from his work did turn;
“Kepp back me lad, those sparks will burn.”
Oh I learned to love him then
Because he was one of God’s noblemen.
Because he was gentle, kind and true.
‘twas for this I learned to love him too.
Yes, I see him with his bended back
Shoeing a horse or an ox in the rack
Or molding in shape the plow share
And sweat twinkling from his silvery hair.

Yet he was always pleased the children to see
And would oft take them upon his knee.
Good counsel and kind words he would give
“Be true to your parents and long you will live.”
Oh, those days when I stop and ponder
Just seem a little way over yonder.
The childrens laughter and birds a singing,
The roaring bellows and anvil ringing.
But this was only a childhood day
When oft from my mother I would run away.
For I was always happy and content
When at Grandpa’s home my time was spent.

As time rolled on I grew harder to rule,
When father said we will send him to school,
So at Grandpa’s home I was sent to stay
Where I could attend my school in a better way.
‘Twas there I learned that God’s ways were best
By living pure lives and putting him to the test.
For oft we would hear of an officer in town
Taking men who were on the underground.
How oft my heart would beat
When I would see them coming up the street,
For I would fear my Grandpa they would take
And place in jail for the Gospel Sake.

But he would always stay at work in the shop
Where these men would drive and be sure to stop.
“Put up your team and take dinner with me.”
Was the words from Grandpa so free.
“ The old man we will leave him alone
We wil always find him right at home.”
Was stated by those men with the laws
Trying to over throw God’s own righteous cause.
As I sit and think of things that are past.
Me thinks I see Grandpa there in the Glass
With that noble face and silvery hair.

And hear his words ring on the air,
“Be honest my boy, be noble and true,
For God has in store great blessing for you.
Honor the Priesthood and those that are in power
And on your head great blessings will shower.”
But, alas, he has gone, God took him away
For the good he done, He is happier than they.
Composed By Alvin S Jackson

FOR YE KNOW NEITHER THE DAY NOT THE HOUR

The late afternoon sun shining through the living room window made a hallow around the
gray hair of Margaret Brown. A smile played around her lips as thoughts wandered away
from the yarn running slowly through her fingers. She was thinking of a letter received
that morning from her daughter, carol, and Carol had gone into raptures over the lace
table cover she had sent her for her birthday. My, it was nice to make things for
people who appreciated your hours of labor.
The ringing of the telephone brought her thought up with a start.
“ That you, Margaret?” cane the voice of her husband
“Yes, of course”
“Be right home”
“Better bring some….” But the click on the other end of the wire told her Charles had
hung up.
What had happened to cause her husband to speak like that—so excited you could feel it
over the wire! She went to the kitchen to see how dinner was progressing and set the
table on a screen in porch, all the while wondering what was the matter. Margaret was
out cutting roses for the table when her husband arrived home; but he didn’t admire the
flowers she held up, just motioned her to hurry in.
“What in the world is the matter, Charles?” but Charles looked pale and worried. He
held out a letter for Margaret to read.
“Dear Brother Charles: This is to invite you to meet the Savior at the temple the
first session on Tuesday morning. Be sure and be on time, as great crowds will be going
every day to each session. I was given the privilege of bringing one and I chose you. I
think it would please mother for us to go together.”
Margaret stopped in amazement.
“I think it’s wonderful. I wish they would invite the sisters.”
But Charles only said, with tears in his eyes, “Read the Postscript.”
Margaret Read. “Please bring your recommend and all your temple things, white suit and
shirt and Temple robes as you won’t be able to obtain the here. We haven’t been able to
hire them for some time.”
The full significance of the postscript burst upon Margaret, why, Charles didn’t own
one article that goes to make up the temple apparel. Today was Monday and fast drawing
to a close. Charles couldn’t possibly get ready. What could they do at this late hour?
She looked at her husband to see if he could answer these questions and saw only
disappointment and failure written on his face. How blind they both had been to let the
years slip by with no preparation. She had not cared for temple work and Charles had
thought he was too busy. Truly they had procrastinated the Day of the Lord.
“Charles you can get the things from Aunt Polly. She always had so many things on
hand,” Margaret’s face beamed. Why, here was the solution to the whole thing. But
Charles face refused to brighten.
“I’ve already been there—went first thing, and Aunt Polly is gone.” It seemed only
yesterday when Aunt Poly had jokingly remarked “Do I have to wait until you’re gone
before you’ll make your temple clothes?” if the dead won’t bother me, I won’t bother
them, had been his motto.
And now, after years of success in everything he had undertaken, he felt like he would
have exchanged it all for the privilege of meeting with the Savior. If the Savior only
smiled at him he would ask nothing more.
Margaret stood still with letter in hand. How she blamed herself. If she had insisted
they would have been going to the temple right along. But when she didn’t care for the
work and was always getting something wrong in the temple, and she really didn’t have
the time, and there were so many things she would rather do, the parties and church
duties were conflicting, and she didn’t know a thing about her ancestors.
The excuses were piling up fast—almost a salve over her conscience but her conscience
wouldn’t be still.
“Didn’t have time,” it seemed to say. Why everything in the room belied the statement.
She turned away, sick at heart, and sat down by her husband, wishing she could comfort
him. Forgotten was the dinner, the flowers lay wilting on the table.
Then the words of the Savior came to them:
“Then shall the Kingdom of Heaven be likened unto Ten Virgins, which took their lamps
and went forth to meet the Bridegroom, and five were wise and five were foolish. They
that were foolish took their lamps and took no oil with them. But the wise took oil in
their vessels with their lamps. While the bridegroom tarrie, they all slumbered and
slept. And at midnight there was a cry made ‘Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye to
meet him’ then shall all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish
said unto the wise, “Give us of you oil, for our lamps are gone out’ but the wise
answered saying, ‘Not so, lest there be not enough for us and you, but go ye to them
that sell and buy for yourselves’ and while they went to buy, the bridegroom came and
they that were ready went in to him to the marriage and the door was shut. Afterwards
came also the other virgins saying “Lord, Lord, open unto us.’ But he answered and
said. ‘Verily, I say unto you, I know you not.’ Watch therefore, for ye know neither
the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh.
This was given to Henry Jackson at the Logan Temple by Brother Christensen

Christmas 1884- Vernessa Miller Nagle

Mother found that first Christmas in the upper valley of the Snake River very different. There had been a comfortable home in Davis County, Utah. But this one-how primitive, how formidable, it seemed. But home it was to be, and there was no turning back, so stated Grandfather whenever he observed a half-wistful, half-longing expression on the face of any one of the children old enough to make comparisons from poignant memories of another home.
The snow had come unusually early that year, the November rains turning to frost with snowdrifts piled high about the few dirt-roofed log cabins that hugged the frozen ground. The mad Snake had gouged its brush lined banks, the frozen slush spreading out into the valley inundated all signs of vegetation.
From various points south, the early colonizers had trekked into the valley, crossing the Oregon Trail at Fort Hall, plowing their way on northward, thirteen days from Farmington, Utah to Egin Bench, a distance of approximately two hundred sixty miles-a record trip. They had used a span of splendid horses on wheel with mules on the lead pulling a lead wagon. Resting the horses at intervals of two or three hundred feet, the women and children had often walked to lighten the load. Over Anderson’s toll bridge at Eagle Rick, the trail led, then followed the Corrine-Butte freighting road to Market Lake, on across the sands and lavas to journey’s end.
And now Christmas Eve. A few homemade candles threw questioning shadows about the dark corners of the mud-chinked wall logs and played about the rough puncheon floors. A huge kitchen stove sputtered rebelliously, coughing and hissing as pale flames bravely attempted to eat their way into foot lengths of semi-dry sapling boughs. Mingled odors of foods in preparation for the Christmas dinner permeated the room, foods that would do justice to the occasion. Water barrels but recently filled with icy water from the river bottoms of the Snake had been placed in their respective corners of the kitchen. An uncrated wooden hogshead placed near the washstand was evidence of a recent addition to the family supply of staples, hauled by sleigh outfit from Market Lake, a distance of about thirty miles. Contents? Frozen potatoes shipped by friends from old home in Utah. On the morrow they must be placed out of doors to prevent thawing.
A hewn log work table near the stove was piled high with the ordinary and unusual specimens of culinary achievement. This dinner was to be the highlight of the first winter in the valley. Baked venison, headcheese, finale of the lone porker brought into the valley with the personal belongings; vinegar pie in tallow pie crust; steamed “Lumpy Dick” frozen potatoes with crackling gravy; home-bleached hominy grits, and cornbread constituted that well-planned menu.
Several beds had been spread down on the well scrubbed floor, with the smaller children clambering for the feather tick. From nails conveniently pounded into wall logs, knitted stockings had been suspended, their grotesque contours suggesting the contents; popcorn balls, molasses taffy, hand carved wooden toys, and rag stuffed Punch and Judy dolls.
As the fire burned low, the contracting wall logs loomed ominously through the night as though to register the rapidly descending temperature without.
A lone coyote call hurtled across the frozen stillness and, reverberating, was picked up and mingled with discordant yelps and howls of approaching band as they slunk across the frozen drifts of buck-brush-studded sand dunes. Father and Mother exchanged knowing glances, and the former looked hurriedly toward his rifle.
Then all was silent; the few gutted candles burned low. A dark shadow cast by the moon, stalling momentarily behind a low cloud, enveloped the valley for a brief second, then all was bright again. Stars flashed beacon-like across the sky. Far across the junipers one star stood out brighter than the rest. A new land, a new home, new friends, yet the same bright star looked down in benign benediction to light man’s way.

Singing Mothers

In 1923 a new department was added to the Relief Society organizations. Sister Louse Y. Robinson, General President of the Relief Society, was ever mindful of the needs of each member, so she and Dr, Florence Jeppson decided that there should be more singing among the mothers. Accordingly in all the wards a Singing Mother Chorus was organized. Parker Ward was one of the first to function in this field.
Because the church was not kept warm except for meetings, the singing Mothers went in the homes of those who owned an organ or piano to practice. The husbands were interested and helpful in the endeavors of their wives. They would go from house to house with their sleighs to gather the women and take them home. Light refreshments would be served following practices. At Christmas time there was always a pot lunch supper party.
A collection of selected hymns and songs arranged for the use of the Relief Society was published in book form. One of the first songs learned was “we Love To Serve”, and another beautiful song was “How Lovely Are Thy Messengers.” The latter song was sung by hundreds of Relief Society Choruses at the Centennial celebration of the organization of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints-Katie Rudd

How Vaudrey Strawed the Road

In 1913 in Parker Idaho, there was a group 'Dry Farmers who celebrated a party, at one such party this following poem was composed.
The Juniper is fair to see, the Juniper’s a land of gold,
And Lies between the dunes of sand, and Camas river gray and old,
Where game abounds, and oats and wheat; and fleecy clouds of summer sails;
And yet one blot has laid its hand upon this region of the brave,
And frightens back the sons of toil who seek its haunts their crops to save.
It is the one dark fatal bar, that bid defiance to the strong,
And hold as in the bondage sure the valiant poor who fright the wrong
This evil that we hate and fear and burdens with its heavy load,
Is that “bill “ Flint and Vaudry bold, have scattered straw along the road.

‘Way back in misty ages past; in auld lang sine’ and long ago,
Before Columbus had a dream, or Alexander crossed the Poe,
The Juniper lay blushing fair, the pride of many blushing maids,
Whose dark brown lovers sought for them, in its sequestered silvan shades.
They never hear of Old Fremont, or Washington or General Strode,
They never dreamed that Vaudry, he, would dare to come and straw the road.
This empire laying near the door, of every railroad in the state,
Has been reserved for the good few, who now redeem it from its fate;
The sunken rivers hiding now beneath the burnished brow of sand,
Will soon be shooting from the deeps to irrigate the fertile land;
And when this evolution sees, fair cities where the cowboys rode,
Will anybody have the nerve, to say that Vaudry strawed the road?
If William Flint, commissioner, should ever ride his car that ways
He’ll tell about his joys, and how it was he came today,
That far and near where he had been, he never heard a man that crowed,
So long and long as Vaudry did, because he made the old straw road.

The Allans and the Hopkins too, the Josephsons, and Jeff’s and Browns,
The Hixes and the Froks and Haights, the Millers and the Rubberdowns,
And all the men of Juniper whose names I cannot think of now,
Will come and say at close of day, me thinks I hear them say it, how
In spite of love or fear or hate, or hell that hides the floating mode,
Bill Flint and Vaudry take the cake, because they strawed the road.

Come all you sons and daughters too, who love this dry farm land of ours;
That catch the latest snows that fall, and rising meet the early showers,
The coming empire of the west, the crown of all the dry farm train,
Rejoice with me and come and see the harvest fields of golden grain;
And what you see and what’s to be, would ne’er have been the farmer’s code
If General John C. Vauderee had never made and strawed the road.

Behind the white frosts falling zone, that hides the hills of Juniper,
We hear the voice of Spring command, to build a road of Flint and fur,
To build it wide and deep and high, where naught can stall the heavy load
Because Friend Vaudry in the night, might slip out there and straw the road

My Great Grandmother Clinging to that which is of most importance

I have a great grandmother on my fathers side. She was an amazing woman, well she grew up in New Zealand and her parents at the time hated the LDS church and thought that it was an a cult. But she had her own doubts. One day when her parents were not home the missionaries dropped by and she listened to them, she had a feeling that her parents had been misguided about the church. Anyway she read the Book of Mormon and took the discussions and decided that she wanted to be baptized. When she talked to her parents about it, they said if she went through with it she would no longer be a part of the family. Well she ended up making one of the hardest decisions in her life: Whether or not to Be part of a great churcha and gospel of Christ, or stay with her family? She pondered and prayed, and decided to get baptized. So she went and did just that, however when she returned home her bags were packed with a note saying that she was now considered Not a part of the family, and to never return. Forlorn she returned to the missionaried to tell them what had happened, one of the missionaries sent her to his family in Canada, and not too much time passed before they were married in the temple. I have always loved this story of her, she had much courage and faith. She decided to follow Christ despite losing her family, but gained another family, the Family of Our Heavenly Father. She was blessed ten fold and she is a great example for me in my life and I am so grateful for her decision and I hope that I can be as faithful and devoted to the Lord as she was.

My Birthright

My Birthright
Many and wonderful are the privileges that are mine because of my birthright. First of all, I am a child of GOD—born in the infinite realm of Eternity of divine spiritual Eternal Father and Mother. I am mortal because n my body is placed the seed of death. I am immortal because in my soul is the germ of Eternal Life. I am naturally and literally the daughter of Celestial Beings. I was acquainted with them and I know and loved them in the home beyond my remembrance. Then I walked by sight. Here I have to walk by faith. I was at the great council in Heaven before the foundation of the earth was laid. I was taught the principles of the Gospel in that Heavenly Home. I rejoiced in the Heavenly plan that was accepted there requiring all men to work out their own salvation and through the redemption of the Savior to receive Eternal Life in the Celestial Glory as has been exemplified to by our Father. As man is God once was. As He is man may become. I was doubtless taught what my mission was to be on earth and advised in the way of life by my Heavenly Mother. I was endowed with divine attributes, GOD like power and my free agency. I kept my first estate and did covenant with my Father to keep my second estate. How do I know? Because I would not have been here had it not been so and the Lord has taught me through the Patriarch. My blessing tells me “Thou art from Ephraim.” Ephraim who received the greater blessing n his generation came through the lineage of Israel, Abraham, Shem, Noah, Enoch and other back to Adam who was one of the GOD’s who created the earth in the beginning. Adam called his wife Eve because She is the Mother of all living. They kept their second estate. This is my heritage from our great progenitors the first man and woman. I was born of goodly parents under the covenants making me heir to all the blessing and privileges of the Celestial Kingdom.

My Aunt Kona

I was going through my family histories, I have been typing them all and saving them and backing them up on discs so they may not be lost. This morning at 4 am I felt the impression that I should work on it a little bit more. I found a little story that she wrote, I have no idea how it came about, but it has inspired me. Its called "Inviting the Savior into our lives":
Inviting the Savior into Our Lives
One day when I was feeling very humble and thankful for what Jesus had done for me, I decided to invite Him into the home of my heart. He came without hesitation and filled my house with job.
I said to Him, “I hope you will stay and feel at home here,” He said “I’m sure I will. Why don’t you show me around,” the first room we went into was the Library. This was a small round room with very thick walls. It contained everything I had ever read, listened to or watched. Suddenly I felt very embarrassed over some of the trivia I had collected there. I’m sure he felt y embarrassment because he suggested that if we worked together, He could help me add more worthwhile items. He said “You know the Library is a very important room because it is sort of control room for the rest of the house,” Then He said He would like to see the dining room. I took Him into this big room filled with appetites and desires. I told Hi I had a hard time ever finding anything here that satisfied my hunger. He suggested a new diet and told me that if I follow it closely, I would never feel hungry again. I have had just a little taste of this new diet and I think He is quite right.
Next we went to the basement to see my workshop. I have a lot of tools in my workshop but I always seem so busy and everything just looks half done. Again I felt embarrassed and started making excuses about being awkward and clumsy. He said “ Would you like to be able to use the tools in your workshop better?” and I said “Oh yes, would you help me?” and He said “ I was wondering if you would ask me,” and so He stood behind me and put His great powerful hands over mind and guided them, and then He showed me how to use the tools in the workshop. I marveled at what we were able to produce together. “Will you always help me?” I asked. And He said “Yes, if you invite me to, but I never come unless I am invited,”
After the workshop we went to the Drawing Room. This is a small, quiet, peaceful place for deep thoughts and meditation. He seemed pleased with this room and was very comfortable. He said, “Lets meet together often here-at least twice a day. We can talk about your activities, plans an problem’s,” I thought that was a wonderful idea and I set the time for the appointments.
Now I was beginning to feel that his was a very one-sided relationship and so I said “Isn’t there something I can do for you; you have done so much for me?” and He said, “Yes, there is a great deal you can do for me. I was wondering if you would want to help me,” and then He told me of His endless projects and how some of them took money(none of which he had). I told Him I would be honored to serve on His projects and that He would be more than welcome to use some of my money. I could see right away that all of these projects were for the benefit of people just like me
Then I could tell something was bothering Him. He very kindly said “ There is a peculiar odor in this house and it’s coming from that locked closet. Why don’t we open it and see what the problem is?” Now this really made me made! Here I had let Him into every room in my house. I had promised to run errands for Him, let Him use my money and now he wanted to look in my secret closet. “It’s very small and the rest of the house if quite comfortable and very presentable so it shouldn’t make any difference what’s in the closet!” He said “ I cannot stay in this house if you do not give me the key to the closet.” And so He left.
I was so mad. Despair, gloom and depression came over me. Nothing seemed to go right. Because you see, once having had Him as a guest in my home, life was unbearable without Him. And so I went and tearfully pleaded with Him, “Please come back. I will give you the key to the closet. I will hold nothing from you,” He came, I have Him the key, and He opened it. Quickly and efficiently He cleaned out all that refuse I had been trying to hide, ignore or pretend did not exist. He fumigated, painted, and made the closet perfectly acceptable. I bowed my head and said “I feel so ashamed that you know what I have been hiding in my closet,” and He said “You know I have cleaned out so many closets I can never remember afterwards what was in any of them. It’s a strange thing. All I see here now is a house that is totally acceptable to me,” And then I knew why I loved him so much.
Later I got to thinking how much better everything would work out if I just signed the whole house over to Him. So I got the deed and did that very thing. He seemed pleased and did a lot of remodeling that strengthened the house and made it an all around even better place to live. He then told me that eventually He would move my house to another area but I was not to worry about a thing. He would take care of all the arrangements. I was not to even worry about the day or way it would take place. He said I would be thrilled with the new neighborhood!

The Vital Importance of Geneology

Throughout my entire life, I have always had an interest in my ancestors, who they were, where they come from, and what they became. I had grandparents who traced their ancestors all the way back to the 1300's on some lines. That is amazing, and has shown me how important it is for us to learn about our ancestors, to learn of and from them. There is so much to learn from them, and as we learn more of them, we become to know them as real people, and we come to the point where we love them, as we love any other family member.