MEMORIES of MOM and DAD 5-19-2010
Reflections
A request from my beloved daughter initiated this effort. Memories fade and limited perspectives are bias at best. As a son and the youngest of the family my insights are narrow and merely glimpses into the lives of these people. All I can attest to is the 16 or so years that I was in direct contact to them. Everything that came before is a mystery to me. I don’t claim to know them, all I can declare to is the perceptions that I have retained. As a part of this effort, I spent some time chatting with surviving family who provided me with additional insight but again memory fades and perspectives are prejudiced. Please extract your own impressions and realize that this effort was done in Love and respect for the impact that Eloise and Nate made on our existence.
I begin this conversation with a dialogue concerning a recent experience that brought the fragile nature of earth life to my reality. The impact of parents on children is obvious and is addressed leading to a discourse on the effects of my mom and dad upon me specifically. A profile of each parent follows. Over the last few years I have been found writing reflections upon my life to date. A few of these were inspired directly by the lives of my parents. I included select ones attached to each parent profile followed by personal insights for each. I have always loved these people for giving me life, raising me, providing me with a full childhood rich in experience and sacrificing all for me. It wasn’t until this experience that I truly gained an in-depth understanding of how linked I am to these them, mentally, physically, emotionally and subsequently eternally. I honor their lives and respect their accomplishments.
Death
A strange thing happened in front of my house the other night. I witnessed the last moments of another humans life as he transitioned to the other side. Excessive speed, poor judgment an unexpected curve, possible alcohol and the rest is history. Events set into motion which could not be avoided. Wrapped around an electrical pole to the point of contorting the driver, the obliterated vehicle brought the wires down. I was the first on the scene. After a hurried 911 call I went to the occupant to determine if there was life. A few months back I completed first responder training and possessed sufficient confidence to perform triage on this sufferer. Although weak he was alive. Unconscious as he was, I stood by waiting for arrival of the rescue team. There was little I could do to alleviate pain or suffering so I proceeded to take pulse. Each weaker than the last I knew that he was not going to make it. Even though He was comatose I felt the urge to remain by comforting in some strange way this man I didn’t know who most likely didn’t realize I was even present. By the time the emergency team arrived his heart beat was gone. Their casual approach to the fatality validated his passing.
So short is our life. So quickly can it pass. So fragile is our existence. So insignificant is our impact. I am changed. Not like the highway accident witnessed from afar, which results in a slowing for a mile or two but within time initial speeds are resumed. No this was different. We connected this young man and me. For one brief moment we shared trauma, suffering and pain. I was there for him in the only way that I could. His passing impacted me and for this I am grateful. Maybe death is the great equalizer, the one big thing that can finally make strangers shed tears for one another. It assures me of a life beyond the grave. It confirms to me the importance of timely service. It awakens me to the need to enjoy the moment. Now is all that is real. This present moment is all we are assured. The joy of a life time must not be postponed until tomorrow. Dying is not something to be sad over. Living unhappily is far worse.
When I was 15, three immediate family members passed away. My grandmother and grandfather Russon died of heart attacks within months of each other. My dad died of a Heart Attack in the arms of my brother and I while we were on vacation to Flaming Gorge. As he passed a peace settled over his countenance. In spite of his pain his eyes showed relief. In 1970 my uncle drowned while boating with the Scouts in Yellowstone. My friend died in a car wreck when we were 18. My mother died of complications from heart surgery when she was 80.† She also died in my arms. As I held her I felt life drain from her body.† During the last minutes of her life as she passed to the other side events unfolded validating the belief that the petty challenges and contentions of this existence do not exist in the Eternal realm.† †We live here until we are taken away.† Our stewardship is to make the best of the challenges confronted.† Getting beyond self and into others appears to be the objective.† Love lives on, Love is eternal, Love is multi faceted, Love is not a quantity to be measured but an unlimited unconditional resource to be shared.
We are all a byproduct of our inherent Nature combined with the Nurturing atmosphere where we are raised. The home environment has a profound effect upon the children raised there. Even though most of it is good, some can be negative. As children we are directly affected by our parents, most good but not all. We are all damaged to some extent. Whether it is through predetermined malicious intent or actions unintentional the scars in reality are all the same. It can’t be helped. Like fingerprints on pristine glass, history is recorded. Some smudge, some crack, a few shatter but all leave a trace. The severity and impact is difficult at best to identify let alone mend. There is the damage of silence, an escape but rarely a refuge. Then there is the damage of neglect, rarely held, mostly grabbed and occasionally forgotten. Or even worse the damage of violence, the touch of calloused hands red with anger. Take one story, one episode, one event viewed from two different angles; it’s the same day, it’s the same moment, it’s the same occurrence but the remembrances are radically different, distinct to the individual memory.
On the other hand some of my greatest attributes grew from this same environment. I guess I am an adventurer of sorts. I came by it naturally. My mother’s greatest source of enjoyment was extemporaneous random driving with no apparent destination. To this day a chance road trip is my greatest release. Mom’s kindness was legendary. I recall more often than not, friends staying just to talk to her regardless of whether I was there or not. Her humor, insights, advice and food (not to mention Twinkies) left all who visited fed. Mom helped me understand human nature through concept and example. “Your actions speak louder than words”, “A spider web is as strong as a steel cable when there is no pressure on it”, “If ya can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say nothing at all”, “Stop and smell the roses”. Utterances of my father also had a pivotal influence upon my life history. He was never to be seen engaged in the conventional form of work or leisure. As such I became an eager intern. He taught me through hundreds of hands on experiences that I witnessed directly. “Never to give up” was probably the strongest message conveyed and it was taught to me by example. I’m a fix-it, build-it, repair-it type-a-guy. I got these attributes from my dad’s side of the gene pool. Homes, yards, cars are all my play ground. Especially gratifying is the joy of project completion. In our information based, intangible, virtual world it is often difficult to feel connected to the work. Dad showed me that the true value of the project is not the actual outcome but the journey and the lessons learned. Dad taught me so many things, “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach” “Can’t died because he couldn’t try”, “Measure twice cut once”, “Safety isn’t for sissies”, “Where’s the power and is it off?”, “Disassemble too fast and you break things, reassemble in the wrong order and you will be disassembling again and again”. The order is the key. Discovering the original designer’s intent is exhilarating. With role models as this I guess my version of normal is in reality tilted to the left.
Nathan Lund Seamons
Nate was the oldest son of Hannah Lund and John Robert Seamons. He was the second oldest of 10 siblings. John loved good horses as well as good music. Dark completied he had jet-black hair even to his death. When he was young it was said that John had the finest horse and buggy around. Hanna was a beauty and it was no surprise when they began courting. The couple was married in the Logan Temple March 16 1909. John sang in the Hyde Park Choir and was a master at playing the Mandolin. Hanna played the piano and sang. The girls would dance around the table, as their dad would play which brought much joy to all.
Nate was born on November 1911 in Hyde Park Utah. The family lived there for 6 years. In 1916 they moved to Battle Creek Idaho just 7 miles northwest of Preston. The home was on a hillside above the canal. The home was log with a dirt floor and a sod roof. Inside the walls were whitewashed and muslin was hung from the ceiling to separate the rooms. Coal-oil lamps provided light.
When the parents went to Preston for supplies the kids were told to stay inside until they returned. On one occasion the kids chose to ignore the rule remaining outside and play. To their astonishment Indians were seen approaching the home. Instantly they all ran screaming into the house. Once inside they boarded up the door with a cupboard and table and remained quivering there until Hanna and John arrived home hours later. They never disobeyed the rule again.
In 1933, after about 6 years the farm was traded for one in Bancroft ID. Bancroft was a hard climate, hot and dry in the summer and cold and snowy in the winter. Five of the 80 acres were cleared for planting and the rest was covered in sagebrush and rocks. This was a dry farm and the wheat crop was never good. The farm had a two-room wood home. A cellar was also adjacent which was lined with rocks where milk and apples were kept. The milk was placed in flat pans where over time the cream would rise to the top and once collected it was made into butter, which was traded for sugar and flower. John would go to Preston with a bucket of butter and eggs to trade for provisions. Dry farming was hard work and in addition to hay, beats were thinned by contract for the neighbors. Even when there was pressure to complete the “share crop contract” John never worked on the Sabbath. Even though he didn’t attend church on a regular basis he believed in establishing an example for the young kids. Horses, chickens, pig’s sheep and cows were also raised along with a shaggy dog named “Tip”. A large garden with ample strawberries and watermelons was maintained. The girls loved ice cream so in the winter they would take some cream, mix in sugar and vanilla then leave it in the snow until it froze. There was always plenty to eat regardless of the economic conditions at the time. “Lumpy dick” / oatmeal was the breakfast mainstay. The family favorite was Mulligan stew, fried lamb baked in seasoned batter. The weekly family bath took place on Saturday night. A wooden frame was placed around the tub with a robe stretched over it. This “cloths horse” provided privacy while bathing. After each child, additional hot water was added for the next bather. By the time the last child completed the water was quite dark.
After 5 years of bad crops, John moved the family back to Hyde Park to live in his Brother Henry’s house while they were on a mission. John stated that he had to move to the city to get the girls married. After loosing the farm all they possessed were the cows. Nate was called upon to drive then from Bancroft to Hyde Park, a huge job for a crew of men but for a boy of 13 incredible. Once settled in, Nate’s job was to herd the cows to the pasture three times a week on horseback.
Christmas was a high point of their lives. This annual ritual involved John and the boys cutting a tree. Hanna and the kids made chains of paper and popcorn to hang on it. Candle holders were then clipped to the branches and the candles placed on them. The children were then sent to bed. Christmas morning the candles were lit and the children were allowed to come out. The kids got apples; peanuts, hard candy and one present each. After a meal the team “Nap and Nellie” were harnessed up to the sleigh. The sleigh was lined with hay to sit on and hot bricks in the bottom provided warmth. Blankets were then wrapped around and all went visiting family and friends. John would lead the festivities with songs played on his Mandolin and all would join in singing. When they arrived home chili and hot coco were consumed.
All the kids worked in the fields thinning beats, growing hay, weeding the garden as well as feeding and watering animals. In addition to managing the kids Nate was also assigned to provide assistance to his dad. His father was often found at the local tavern drowning his worries in liquor. Nate at age 12 was the designated driver being required to enter and retrieve his dad after a long night of socializing. In Bancroft Idaho, life was hard and required much effort to survive. Nate often told of the scariest task that was required of him. Wood for the fire was a life force, so the weekly ritual was placed upon him. Nate would take the team and the wagon up the canyon. He then chopped the wood and loaded the wagon. This required most of the daylight hours. The final trip down the canyon in the dark provided his greatest fear. As Nate commented about the general sound of the forest he showed concern but when he began talking about the Wolves his whole countenance changed. As he retold the story his eyes widened stating that they appeared to be sitting right next to him.
When Nate was 17, he and a friend assembled the remains of a few old Model T’s and ventured overland making their own roads with it. Vehicle repair was the daily ritual as they journeyed beyond the formal roads. On a run to Evanston, WY the brakes went out as they were going down a steep grade. Ahead was a truck so Nate closed the gap between the two and after hitting it followed the truck the rest of the way down the hill. Nate worked for the neighbors and saved enough money to buy a motorcycle. He and friends would drive to Twin Falls, Idaho for work. Nate lived on his motorcycle for a few years. He traveled from Montana to New Mexico and everywhere in between. While he was gone Military draft notices were avoided. Was there a connection? Most likely! Many times Nate would take his money and buy flour and sugar for the family. Always generous and kind, Nate made sure none of his sisters went without.
Nate was very good with his hands. He went back East to a Vocational School where he studied automotive repair and bodywork. While there he played on the school basketball team receiving numerous awards for his skills. The staff noticed his academic abilities and he was asked to stay and teach. Instead he chose to return to Cache Valley and begin working in his profession. Nate secured the first Jeep dealership in Northern UT. He was always there for his younger brothers and sisters. He helped as he could afford. He paid for his brother Bob’s education in Engineering. He set up Glenn in the auto repair industry with tools, equipment and connections all without strings or connections. Nate was in business with his brother-in-law Elis. After he died Nate gave all the remaining assets to Elaine. Jessie told of Nate bringing her a small necklace one day when she was young. Her eyes moistened as she retold the event. Obviously Nate was sensitive to the needs of his struggling sister for she stated that it was the “perfect gift at the perfect time.” He assisted Darwin in his education in electrical engineering. Nate had a huge heart, way too big for business. He gave away more than he sold or billed. After he had died the books of the business were reviewed and the comment surfaced, “Anyone who owned a Jeep in the region prior to 1960 owed Nate money.” Whether he was just sloppy, resisted asking for payment, or truly felt that they needed it more than he, the fact remains that he never was in it for the money.
Nate made his own adventures. There is a story that Nate knew of a Glacier lake up Logan Canyon. He invited three couples to go on an off-road adventure. Forging rivers, cutting down trees, and breaking trail all became part of the experience. When they finally go there it was late and they had to turn back. It was later discovered that the name of the lake was White Pine. Oh by the way there were no roads up there then. One summer Nate took the position as the appointed ranger for the West gate of Yellowstone National Park. He invited one and all to join him. His sister Sarah tells of the long dusty ride north only to be greeted by mosquitos and sever cold. Nate didn’t’ mind, in fact he seemed to thrive on obstacles. They remained for a week engaged in daily treks into the park. After returning home Sarah caught herself reminiscing of the breath taking beauty and the excitement of the whole trip.
Nate was generally shy but the girls at school were attracted to his auburn hair and would chase him around the playground trying to kiss him. This made him crazy and in retaliation would come home and pester his older sister Thora. One time she got so upset that she chased him around the house with the piano stool. The first woman Nate formally dated was Ruth . Nate married Ruth in the Logan temple on 19 . They had a son John Reid. The relationship was uncomfortable and they divorced after 13 years. Nate was quoted as saying “Women are too bossy”
Eloise Russion
Eloise was the second born and youngest daughter of 11 children. She was arrived on July 15, 1918 in Lehi UT to Lot Erastus Russon and Fern Janette Brown. Erastus was a bright hard working young man. He had helped in the family farm from his youth until he served a Mission to Brooklyn New York. When he returning he met and courted Fern Jeanette Brown also from Lehi. Fern was on scholarship to Brigham Young College majoring in Elementary Education. Upon graduation she taught in Cokeville and then in the Alpine School District. The two fell in love and were married in the Salt Lake temple on June 25, 1914. They acquired 35 acres of the family farm and built a new home. Sugar beets and onions were the cash crops but strawberries, raspberries and cherries were also grown along with a full vegetable garden. “Always eat the cherries that the birds have picked at,” he would say. “The birds know the sweet ones”. A decent heard of milk cows completed the mix producing, milk, cream and butter. In addition to the cows, were pigs, chickens and horses.
In the late summer of 1920 Lott got his hand caught in a grain binder nearly severing it completely. Unable to work, He and this young family went to stay with a mission acquaintance. Moving to Salt Lake City they stayed with Dr. Caldwell who had relocated from New York with thousands of names in need of temple work. They stayed the fall and winter while Lott worked in the temple with his friend. His brother stayed in their new house while they completed theirs near by. After this experience Lott spent the rest of his winters doing temple work. At first making the trip daily soon he was staying in Salt Lake for the week returning Friday evening to spend the weekends with his family. He would arrive with a huge bag of bakery goods for the family. Pies, doughnuts, cakes and cinnamon rolls packed full of plump juicy raisins attended his return. In 1930 after the fall harvest, Lott left his farm and family to serve a second 2-year mission to Virginia. He returned only to plant and harvest the crops. An engineer of sorts Lott ordered all the tools for a Blacksmiths shop, forge, anvil, drill press, tongs and hammers. He built equipment for the farm but also made some great toys for the kids. A huge swing set for Christmas followed by a large sleigh the next year. A small car was conceived and constructed for the boys. Always frugal he was often quoted as saying “If you can’t afford it you don’t need it.” He hated being in debt or “on tick”. To them, borrowing, “on tick” meant that each time the clock made a tick you owed just a little more. Along with her teaching, Fern was a Daughter of the Utah Pioneers and was very involved there. With Ferns support all the kids finished High School in a time when many didn’t. Many went on for advanced degrees in college.
Lott was a spiritual man and two stories stand out as I recall grandpa: one conformational and the other protective. Grandpa Lott spent his entire life in temple service. On evenings while traveling home from a day of temple work in his Model-T he entertained an angelic visitor. As he rounded the Point of the Mountain a messenger appeared in the passenger seal and began a conversation with him. The gist of the message was that the heavens were pleased with his service to date and to keep up the good work. The next story was set on Grandpa’s farm. He had been plowing all day and was nearing completion. The sky was growing dark and thunder began in the West. A driven man, he was determined to complete the plowing regardless of the impending rain. Impressions to go inside for safety were repeatedly rejected. Finally an angel appeared in front of the tractor and stopped him in his path. This time he listened, drove back to the house and retired to bed. The next morning it was discovered that lightning had hit directly where he had been plowing the night before. The ground was black and everything was dead but his life had been spaired. Yes, he was a firm man, but he was always very in touch with the lord and as such his entire family was raised accordingly.
Fern was always up for adventure. Once they drove the oldest kids to Las Vegas to witness the construction of the Hoover Dam. On the morning they were to return Lott announced that they were going to the see the ocean. From the Orange fields of Riverside, the Docks of Long Beach to the Streets of San Francisco, they drove the entire coast. The very next year the entire family made the same journey but this time they included Tijuana Mexico. In 1929 the family visited Yellowstone National Park. The following year they ventured back to Chicago to the opening of the Worlds Fair. These were no small feats for folk back then.
Eloise was a born musician. “Music was in her soul.” She could harmonize by ear, hearing the notes in her head naturally. Stan, a younger brother, tells of an event involving the purchase of a new accordion. After weeks of attempting to master a tune, he was proudly attempting to entertain his brothers with painfully poor results. Eloise walked up and within moments was playing beautifully to Stan’s frustration. Eloise and her sister Ivy had outstanding voices but in harmony it was amazing. From their youth the girls would play for social and church events. As they evolved they picked up a western theme. The pair played on the local radio station, KSL as well as completing a couple of USO tours. Ask by the prophet to serve an extended singing mission they were unable due to finances.
Eloise was talented and artistic. She attended The Brigham Young Academy majoring in Art. Ivy was older and smaller. Eloise was 2 years younger and larger boned. When she turned 12 the family went to Lagoon, a local amusement park. The gate keeper gave Ivy the free birthday pass. “The gate keeper gave the pass to Ivy because I was so darn tall, needless to say, I was completely crushed” Eloise said. “I spent a lot of time slumping down just to look smaller”. Although extremely attractive she was always uncomfortable with her size.
Ivy married her child hood sweetheart Dean Worlton. Eloise married her child hood sweetheart Vernon Radmal in the Salt Lake Temple on November 25, 1940. Soon after marring Vernon was drafted into the Air Force and transferred to Florida, and Eloise followed. Within weeks Vernon was sent to Iwo Jima. Two days before peace was signed in Japan, Vernon’s plane was shot down over the China Sea. His body was the only one of the crew that was not recovered. Vernon was labeled as Missing In Action. Believing that he was alive, Eloise remained in Florida hoping / praying that he would be found. Nothing came as months turned to years.
Eventually Eloise went to stay with Vernon’s aunt in St Louis where she took a job and continued her quest with the War Department. While there her musical abilities were noticed. She was ask to be the lead singer in a local dance band where she stole the hearts of not only the band members but all those in attendance. Soon it was obvious that Vernon wasn’t coming home and after a few years Eloise made it back to UT. This time to Cache Valley where she began attending Brigham Young Academy. She never completely reconnected with her family after the war. Sadly Eloise became isolated and lonely.
Eloise’s older brother Arland developed a friendship with a couple while in Hawaii, Sterling Cheney and his wife Jessie Seamons. Jessie’s brother was Nate Seamons, who had recently been divorced and he also was living in Cache Valley. Nate and Eloise met and it was electric from the start. In a short time they had fallen madly in love. On February 2, 1949 they were married in Elko Nevada. As they began their lives together the happiness was consuming. After 3 years Nathan Lynn was born. Eighteen months later Janeen arrived. Three years after that Ray Alan appeared. The couple had a miscarriage 4 years later which became the source of some contention.
The one thing that they both enjoyed and that kept them together was the out of doors. Eloise thrived on nature and was renewed by it. Her favorite place was the Redwoods in Northern California. Of all the locations on this earth Eloise adored the forests of the west the best. Through Nate’s tutelage Eloise became an excellent hunter. One of her most acclaimed kills was an Elk brought down near camp 8 months pregnant with my brother Lynn. Of the two couples on the hunt, Eloise was the only one to draw a license. The ranger arrived soon after Eloise had shot the animal but refused to believe their story. Imagine the site of this very pregnant woman, 300 Savage in hand, aside these strong young men I’m sure you can see the perception problem. It was Eloise’s skills at persuasion and sincerity that finally won the rangers heart.
Nate made his own adventures. All of us learned to drive in our youth on the back roads. All of us learned to shoot and fish on these same adventures. All of us learned to hike and explore. Nate loved geology and nature. He and Mom were Rock Hounds and we kids were Rock Puppies. Initially we slept in tents but later we advanced to camping trailers. On one adventure to Yosemite National Forest we stopped to set up camp. It was late and it began to rain. As we all scurried to erect the tent the sad reality hit us that we had arrived without tent pegs. We put up the tent the best we could, laid out our bags and went to sleep. I recall lying in the sleeping bag and feeling it slowly absorb water. Soon it was totally saturated, as was I. Some frustrated words were exchanged which led to the decision to pull up camp and hit the road. The next day saw us driving through the Park with our clothing out the windows air-drying. Another camping nightmare involved a red jeep, a late night camp and a bull. As we awoke we were met with the appearance of a full size bull, angry and ready to engage. Again dad calmly took charge jumping into the jeep and preemptively chasing the bull before he attacked us. All of us laughed but only mom realized the true danger. As a family we went to Southern California quite frequently to see cousins. On one trip we had stopped for lunch. Janeen and I become engaged in a tournament of Cow Pie Frisbee. Moments later I was discovered kicking a Prickly Pear cactus. Why is a great question that still remains unanswered? The end result was a thorn buried deep in my leg. Attempts to remove the thorn resulted the broken tip remaining in my leg. Dad quickly came to my rescue with one of his two “treatments” that of Turpentine. Regardless of the wound Turpentine and / or Iodine were the cures and the fact that all of us are alive is testament to their effectiveness. After 10 days of swelling and pain the thorn finally surfaced enough to be removed.
Every Sunday of my youth we, as a family, went out to eat and drive around the valley. I used to complain about these trips wanting to remain home with my friends. We went on so many trips and adventures throughout our youth. Dad was very big on control to failing: when we ate, what we ate, how money was dispensed to Mom. Although we never had formal Family Home Evenings and traditional church attendance as a family, Dad certainly knew the principles as he raised us, his children. As I reflect back, not a moment went buy that dad was not explaining to whom ever would listen facts about nature, natural history, orienteering or the west. Whether we acknowledge it or not, so much of who we all are today was formed in those critical moments.
Mom was a master at making do. I recall wanting a new Sting Ray bike like all my friends had. Mom took me to a bike shop where we found an old wrecked frame. Together we proceeded to paint it and reassemble it. The distinguishing feature of the Sting Ray bike was the Banana seat. Nate made the fame and Eloise helped me cover it.
Each summer the Seamons family would converge from all parts of the West to Cache Valley and then we would head to Yellowstone. After a week of fishing, hiking, camping, eating and bonding we all became close. These reunions were great opportunities for the elders to pass on wisdom and culture to the youth. Every Christmas eve everyone would gather as an extended family enjoying food, games, candy, talents and gifts. Throughout the summer the families would gather for picnics when the out of town members would arrive in the valley. All his brothers were successful professionally as well as in the gospel commanding the highest regional offices. Nate never was as close to the church like his brothers were. One brother Bob was a mission president temple president and a regional authority twice. Most were stake presidents and bishops. Two of my cousins have been Presidents of Missions. I always felt that we were the Black Sheep of the group because of Nate’s indifference. The lowest of the elect but as I have grown I realize that even in our indifferent state we were in fact nurtured buy the elect and in reality on a spiritual plain well above the majority. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that Nate, although not extremely focused upon the church activities was indeed centered upon the basic premise of the gospel that of family, friends and service. Nate was the glue that kept the Seamons together from his youth to his death. As the oldest boy they all felt his responsibility and integrity. Nate drove the family togetherness as I discovered during this writing. His control over his brothers was amazing as attested to by their wives. For good or ill Nate was noticed.
The Russons were big into Family get togethers also. The annual “Potato Dig” was the most famous, where enormous piles of food and drink were consumed. Then there was the yearly Christmas party not to mention just hanging out at Grand PA and Grand MA’s house where we road the huge wagon down the lane, drove around the latest contraptions that Uncle Stan and boys had built and just exploring the miles and miles of fields and streems. Going to Saratoga hot springs was always a treat that we enjoyed in the summer.
Nate acquired some commercial real estate over the years. One a restaurant and the other an automobile repair garage. Those who rented from him were less than consistent in paying rent. In addition to his commercial endeavors Nate was constantly exploring areas of personal interest. What ever intrigued him he would proceed to research the topic then begin in earnest to validate his assumptions and theories. At his peak he had over 15 claims staked out in the West Desert of Western Utah and Eastern Nevada. His objective was GOLD! My High School chemistry teacher told me while in his class that Nate was one of the brightest chemists / geologists he had never associated with. Professors at Utah State University proclaimed the same sentiments. Nate would meet with them in consultation asking questions and trying out his theories. They would provide him direction. He would then do the research and begin validating his theories. Numerous occurrences of breaking and entering into his office authenticated that the gold he smelted from his claims was real. A financial partner was secured on a project that showed great promise. Sadly the partner took advantage of Nate’s good nature and cashed in alone.
Nate loved Western movies and magazines. His fascination for ghost towns was the focus of most of our numerous family trips. We as a family were often taken in tow on most of these expeditions. One day while investigating one of the ghost towns he had discovered I was ask to return to the Jeep and get a shovel. As I turned to go I was met with a sound that today sends shivers through my bones. The rattling got louder and faster and I was petrified. The snake was huge, coiled, angry and ready to strike. To a 12 year old this was a scary situation. I was within 5 feet of the beast. The claim that a coiled snake can spring the length of its body and strike it’s pray was sadly known by me. Fortunately I had been trained for situations such as these. Stay still and no abrupt noises. My brother’s friend Brent Jones noticed my predicament, informed my dad and within an instant the situation was resolved. Dad got his pistol and blew the head off the snake before I could realize fully what had happened. After the monster quit moving, we extended the body and it discovered that it was over 7 feet long. My heart sank as I realized the situation I had been in. Dad’s calmness kept every one at ease. We then followed Brent’s lead and began cutting the big snake up into bite sized pieces with the shovel. Why? Heaven only knows.
His skill with a gun was legendary. Always a hunter he and his brothers would go on Rattle Snake hunts just for sport, Calf-high boots and 22 pistols. Anyone can kill with a riffle but it takes a true marksman to hit with a pistol. Nate hunted anything that walked, ran, crawled or flew. None of us kids ever caught the spirit of the “Blood Sports” but all of us enjoyed the endless hours in nature.
In 1963 dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. Throughout his life, Nate had never been all that fond of the medical field. In the hospital twice for this disease, the first time he was in for diagnosis and a blood transfusion. After becoming frustrated with their performance, Nate checked himself out. His second stay involved receiving a full colostomy. Many years later while living in Millville Utah, I discovered that my home teaching companion, Dr. Mike Bishop, was Dads attending physician on the initial visit. Mike stated that this was his first case as a young physician in Cache Valley and we laughed as he explained the excitement of discovering that he had lost his cancer patient. In true Nate style he researched out his disease and proactively engaged in the cure. Latril, a drug extracted from almonds and only a drug available in Mexico, showed promise but was not FDA approved in the States. Nate made numerous trips alone to Mexico to secure his medication. During the last seven years of his life Nate began drinking infrequently. He had become irritable and I had distanced my self from him. Upon reflection I now see that his drinking and sharpness was in fact a byproduct of his pain and discouragement. As he entered this phase of his life his perspective with the church began to change. I recall passing the sacrament one Sunday and discovered Dad in the back corner pew. His attendance never corrected the past but established a direction for his future.
The mechanical skills I currently possess found their roots in my dads shop. He built me a go-cart out of a lawn mower. We built a mini bike out of the same motor. At 15 I sold my bike and bought a 56 Chevy that did not run. Dad helped me fix it up and get it operating. Every Sunday we went out to eat and drive around the valley. Although we never had formal Family Home Evenings and traditional church attendance as a family Dad certainly knew the principals as he raised us his children.
Eloise was quite a sport when it came to keeping up with Nate but his adventures, novel at first, began to wear on her emotionally. As Nate’s roads became riskier and the adventures edgier Eloise grew increasingly distant. As the novelty of their marriage diminished kids had filled in the gap, but over time financial pressures and emotional scars left them both damaged. Nate’s looseness in business left Eloise financially short. She was not allowed to work and as such she must have felt trapped in her economic state. In 1969 Nate and Eloise separated and Nate moved into the family home in Hyde Park Utah.
In August 1970 Nate, and his brother in law Sterling planned a fishing trip through the High Uintah ending at Flaming George. The 5 Cheney kids and my brother Lynn were going. I was scheduled to start sophomore football, the day we were to leave. I feared that if I went on the trip my chances at “All American” would be hampered. Moments before they were to leave I decided to go also. As it turns out this would be a monumental decision for me. After 5 incredible days reconnecting and enjoying everyone we had arrived at Flaming George. When we arrived home, the next day, Nate was scheduled to close a business deal with a major restaurant owner Johnny Quawn. Dad was to provide the real estate and Quawn the name, money and management. As partners we would have been set to live comfortably for the rest of our lifes. Finally a break for a man that had worked so hard. That morning as we were all around eating breakfast in the campground it was noticed that Nate wasn’t there. Breaking the conversation we heard dad’s muffled yell for Lynn coming from the trailer. Entering the trailer Lynn and I witnessed Nate pass from this life. His voice subdued and chocking as his complexion becoming increasingly discolored. As his life left his body we both felt the importance of the moment. For a boy of 15 this really freaked me out and I am probably still reeling from it even today in some strange subtitle way. Regardless of the trauma suffered I am indeed grateful to have been there as he passed to the next world. That week had been a major healing for all involved.
After Nate’s death Eloise began working at the Hostess Bake shop. She also worked in the food preparation industry at the Junior High as well as the temple. Her last employer was the National Forest Service that turned out to be a match made in heaven. She loved it, issuing fire and logging permits. Each week she went into the forests to see the sites she was managing. Each week she returned renewed, revitalized and refreshed.
Eloise read a lot she was always equipped with a quote to live by. “stop and smell the roses” , If you Fight the dragon long enough, you become as the dragon”, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease”, “Your actions speak so loudly I can’t hear your words”. What paineth thee in others is in thy self may find”, “A spider web is as strong as a steel cable when there is no pressure on it”, “If you can’t say anything good about someone, don’t say nothing at all”, “Pray for the crops but keep hoeing”. Readers Digest wisdom which she lived by. Never was mom without a pencil. She was always writing down poems and thoughts in prose the compilation of her many insights.
Always musical, Eloise was the ward chorister for as long as I can remember. She sang in the choir as well as a local singing group. “Town Singers”. Having no formal training she played the piano and the guitar by ear. It was often stated “The music was in her soul”.
I had a large family in a short amount of time. We were blessed with 7 children in 10 years. Although they all grew close because of this, Mom was constantly concerned that they individually needed to feel loved and special. For the last 15 years of her life she started a dating thing with our children to address this concern. Once a month each of the 7 children got a date-night with Grandma. The child was allowed to choose the place to eat as well as the event. Nothing was off limits. The most extreme example included eating 5 pounds of bacon with my oldest son over the space of the 12 hour sleep over. The quantity here may be questioned but definitely not the intent or significance. Regardless of the food or the event the importance was allowing the child to determine their destiny even if it was only for a few hours. There was never even a question as to her purpose. The child ruled. Buckets of individual self esteem were created each time they went out. With so many children born in so few a years it would be easy for the children to be grouped together and generalized damaging individual identity. Eloise ensured that each child felt special, unique and important.
Mom’s knees were worn out. Years of working on concrete floors had taken its toll. Additionally she had experienced numerous “Heart Charlie Horses” (angina) and she finally had angioplasty as an interim cure. Four years later while in Salt Lake City I received a call from my oldest son. He stated that Grandma had just called and she didn’t sound good. We tried to call her but were unsuccessful. We then called a neighbor who proceeded to go next door to check on her. Upon entry the neighbor immediately called an ambulance. When we arrived at the hospital in Logan Mom had been dancing with death for and hour or so. After 8 hours she was stabilized and the next morning was shipped off to Salt Lake City for a quadruple bypass. Ten days of recovery resulted in her returning to our home for convalescence. One day she was complaining that she felt that we had her in prison. I stated that she couldn’t even walk around the house without fatigue. I must have said something that inspired her for she began arising early and walking around the home until faint. When she was able to loop the house 10 times continuously she declared that it was time for her to go home. Always independent it required more and more effort to keep her that way. About four years after her first surgery, Eloise began complaining about her shortness of breath. Working with cardiologists they diagnosed a heart related issue, “You need a new valve”. She was signed, scheduled and admitted. Because the insurance company categorized her as a “redo”, she was only allowed 3 days in the hospital. Again we set her up in our study. This time was so different. She never seemed as healthy nor was she able to recover from the surgery. Within in 10 days she was gone. Such a loss to my children for she had become such an important aspect of their lives. They were shocked and devastated for she had given herself to them for so many years. What an excellent testament to a life well lived, to be truly missed.
Closing Thoughts on DAD
With a heart bigger than his head, logic and personal gain always paled in light of the perceived needs of those acquainted. Brother’s and sisters all looked to him throughout their lives for guidance, support and council. In spite of his distance from the formal church his actions confirmed his complete understanding of the gospel. Why does the hand of fate touch more gently on some than others? Why are some lives blessed with simplicity and success while others are cluttered with obstacles and challenges unique and disheartening? Why is there not a direct correlation between kind acts and personnel blessings? Why? because spiritual growth is linked to delayed gratification. Dad’s financial challenges were directly tied to his compassion and tenderness. It was said of his father “John would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it”. He was an excessive drinker yes, but one can’t help but think that the pressures of raising 10 children amidst failing crops combined with his giving nature led to unmet expectations, discouragement, depression and alcohol. Could Nate have struggled likewise? I believe so. His successes are often overshadowed by his disappointments and challenges. Struggling with cancer for over 7 of the last years of his life, no doubt much of his sharpness was driven by pain. His mistakes were from ignorance rarely from malice. Extremely competent and resourceful nothing intimidated him. Overwhelming obstacles at times appeared self generating. Wanderlust, wing walking and risk taking all defined Nate. The initial rush of the fall, the joy of the flight and the satisfaction of landing all provided personal satisfaction.
Nate's riches lie in his “life story”. Though temporal assets did not stick to Nate well, he experienced thousands of events barely conceptualized by most. His legacy lies in US who were blessed personally and/or genetically to share his nature. Hold to the good and resist the pitfalls!
FOUR-WHEEL-DRIVE
The General Purpose (GP) Jeep is an incredible device. First conceived as a means for rapid small scale infantry transportation through rugged terrain its value in World War II was expansive. In short order it became a key element of all engagements and operations. Due to its small maneuverable size and four-wheel-drive capability, nothing could stop it. At home climbing the mountains of Italy, crossing the deserts of Africa or roaming the beaches of the South Pacific. History has now attributed it as the key variable in winning the second Great War.
Long before driving in the dirt was considered a sport, Willys Overland modified the jeep for civilian use naming it the Willys Utility Vehicle (WUV). Dad was one of the first to own one and he became obsessed. My Dad was the first Jeep Dealer in Northern Utah. His love for vehicles was expanded with its presence. Between the efforts of the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) and the Forest Service hundreds of dirt roads were created through out the Intermountain West. These became a virtual playground for Dad and his Jeeps. Prior to the establishment of the EPA and Range Management, my youth was spent making our own roads in the great back country. These newly created dirt roads were our starting point. Content at first, it wasn’t long until we would venture off into uncharted wilderness in pursuit of our own adventures.
As an avid outdoorsman, Dad lived to explore and this wonder-lust dominated our family life. Far from the resorts, motels and restraints our guns, rods, and cook stoves were all that was required for our recreation. With these light provisions and our four-wheel-drive, we were off for another exploit. The initial objective always paled in comparison to the adventure enabled by our WUV. Wonderful moments all but even these were clouded by an occasional mishap. It seemed like every adventure ended with something distasteful. A challenge or two, which at first glance, was insurmountable but with sufficient time, effort and ingenuity was conquered. As I reflect back I can say with certainty that each one was unique and attributable to the Jeep. Getting stuck was most common. Not just a slipping wheel or two but buried in a quagmire of mud up to the doors. Dad did nothing halfway even with his mishaps. Winches, trees, dirt and sweat eventually prevailed. If not, given sufficient time, another die-hard enthusiast would eventually pass by and eagerly lend a hand. I even recall a time or two when both vehicles became stuck. It was quite a sight to see this chain of metal buried in mud surrounded by perplexed people gazing in amazement as to how we had accomplished it.
Then there were the mechanical breakdowns. In spite of the Jeep’s rugged design and through testing on the War front, Dad was somehow able to punish it more. In order to get stuck to the magnitude we repeatedly attained, the mechanical abuse was enormous and repetitious. Again, in time fellow adventurers eventually arrived and assisted. Fuel was another variable in our outings. Few gas stations existed in the backcountry and these sojourns always took longer and consumed more than anticipated. The challenge was easily overcome. We just carried more by strapping on Big Red cans wherever possible.
In our road making labors we unfortunately lacked the necessary topographical maps of the areas to be traversed. Dad’s instinct although good was not perfect and as such we often found ourselves positioned on slopes unmanageable. Probably my greatest fears still are those times when we all wondered if gravity would prevail. My palms are damp even now as I reflect back on those moments. Dad’s confidence got me through. He didn’t even look concerned so it must be all right. His calmness under extreme pressure always prevailed.
Dad was stuck or broken down more than the average motorist in spite of his rugged WUV. Did he acquire a string of Lemons or were they pushed beyond their intended limits? Designed for emergency use the capability was for occasional emergency avoidance not continual sustained engagements. The SUV’s of today employ All-Wheel-Drive as a safety feature for dangerous road conditions and few see actual dirt and mud on a regular basis. Not my Dad, these capabilities freed him to go deeper, longer, higher and steeper until eventually limits were reached. By pushing the window as far as we did, the tool designed to help became the source of our trauma, leaving us in an exponentially worse state. Initially designed as a throw away vehicle to be used as a life preserver in extreme life or death situations, my Dad’s Jeep’s repeatedly went beyond the intended use by continually pushing the threshold of it’s capabilities. As such we more often than not found ourselves “out there”, “up the creek”, “walking the tight rope without a net”, “wing walking for the thrill of it”.
My mother loved the out of doors. She was never more content than sitting or hiking in “Her woods”. But in spite of this love she never quite got use to the stress of these self-induced incidents. Over time the trauma off set the tranquility. Soon her paranoia outweighed the promised joy and she quit going. Sadly both joined by passion for the out of doors yet radically different in their individual objective. Mom’s desire for peace and tranquility were incomplete juxtaposition to dad’s self-made bedlam.
I honestly think that Dad had become “hooked” on chaos. I think that he only felt alive in the middle of pandemonium, maneuvering through these self-made situations. “Can’t died because he didn’t try” his words still ring in my ears today. These words are reinforced by the fact that I am here today and nothing he put us through was terminal. All situations were conquered, each obstacle was overcome and every challenge was surmounted. It’s interesting now as I sit back and reflect upon the profound impact all this had on me. I too am a thrill seeker, I too push the limits, I too take pride in complex problem solving, I too never give up, I too have a history of going to far.
My Dad has been dead now for nearly 40 years. I am now nearing his position in life. I now reflect upon my histories successes and failures, happiness and sorrows, challenges and opportunities. A legacy has been created by my Dad. A legacy of confidence, of resourcefulness, of creativity, of problem solving, of ingenuity and of excitement. He taught us all to think and for that I am eternally grateful. Unfortunately what he did not teach us moderation. That now becomes my quest to learn to keep away from the edge, to avoid extremes, to evade the cliff. Maybe somewhere between Mom’s pursuit of forest tranquility and peace and Dad’s quest for adventure there is stability. Possible an objective to find peace in the stability of the mundane.
SIDE ROADS
My Dad was an adventurer. My entire life was spent exploring the back roads of the West. Given a choice we always took the road less worn, the one obscure, the side road. These choices although seemingly insignificant at the time led to entirely different adventures some good others ill. Most of these diversions were not recorded on the available maps, which seemed to intrigue dad even more. The thrill of observing the undiscovered or less known drove him on. Some of the greatest memories of my life to date are as a direct result of these apparently random choices dad made on those back roads. But just as many led to adventure; others lead to trauma and danger. Even today my hands turn clammy at the thought of some of these. Lying side by side with each event was exciting and the traumatic. In hindsight now I realize that these choices were not as random as originally believed. Dad kept extensive mental notes on it all. This data base led to the conscious decision to carry on resulting in subsequently greater risks. Through it all my confidence in Dad was great and expanding. In spite of the calamities experienced we always got through.
Agency is a bugger isn’t it. As with Dad and our situations, all were initiated by a choice. We have been given the opportunity to choose our actions and behaviors. We have been given the opportunity to have the influence of the spirit to assist us in our choices. But even that is a conscious choice. The spirit can help us know the will of God as well as avoiding the pitfalls and trappings of evil. Our sojourn here on earth truly does validate the true intent of our individual hearts. How we use our agency shows our commitment to God and our degree of compliance to his recommendations. Actions lead to consequences and although we are free to choose, these attendant consequences are not elective. A choice results in an outcome. Although not always immediate they will always follow. Short sighted choices delay progress and the side roads can lead to heartache and misery. Enlightened choices bring happiness and joy.
Accountability to the choice is inseparably linked to the chooser. Dad was fully aware of this and I am sure this is why he never gave up. This is why he tenaciously continued with the task at hand until he had got us all through unharmed. Influences of family, friends and circumstances although significant do not discharge accountability. The delay of future joy or heartache, success or failure, fullness or emptiness is predicated on choice. I watched as Dad sacrificed personal comfort, safety and ease to resolve the dilemma at hand. Some choose to be engaging others withdraw. Dad chose to engage, to take life on and live it to the fullest. With that choice he accepted the consequences. True he placed him self and his family at risk but in the same instant he was teaching us. Instructing us on this very lesson of responsibility, accountability and consequences. He taught us that there is always a solution to the most alarming challenges, but that solution rarely comes easily. He showed us that hard work and determination resolve the greatest of obstacles. This was my greatest lesson learned and is the fiber of my very being. To dad I give thanks for teaching me to gladly accept the good with the ill at the cost of opportunity. If you don’t like the seat you’re in, choose another.
THE POLE BENDS
My dad was a great outdoors man. If it flew, crawled, ran, walked or swam it should be tracked, caught, and cooked. Fishing was one of his favorite activities. The rod, the reel, the line, the tackle all-important, all unique, all chosen for events specific outcomes. Unfortunately I extracted more in metaphor than in skill from our lessons.
Life is and always has been a struggle apparently by design. A struggle not just for me but for all who have occupied or will occupy this globe. The fishing pole bends heavier for some than others and nobody has yet to figure out why. The greater the fight the greater the excitement but in turn the greater the disappointment and struggle. Just as you never know when you make a cast, if what attacks your fly is minnow or a mammoth, we wrestle with the rod just the same. Like the fish on your line, when it’s there you feel it, you fight it, you gain line, you loose line, you carry on until the line breaks, the pole snaps, the fish escapes or it’s landed. Regardless of the outcome when the tension is gone the experience will be relived. Having left a permanent imprint on your very soul it will be continually referenced throughout your existence.
My dad lived such a life up to the very end. Not easy but full of excitement, full of energy and full of growth. As my brother and I watched as his last breath was released it was understood by all that his legacy would not be forgotten.
Closing Thoughts on MOM
Eloise was a stunning woman with a dynamic outgoing personality. As with most of us, she focused inwardly upon her flaws instead of her strengths. Large boned, her petite older sister made her stature all that more extreme. Sharing parallel lives, Eloise’s fell short of Ivy’s. Both married to childhood sweethearts Mom’s husband died in the service of his country moments before the wars conclusion. Again sadness and disappointment compared to happiness and satisfaction. It’s no great challenge to be happy when good things happen. The true measure of the soul is to keep cheerful in times of disappointment. I don’t know how the heart can recover form a loss such as hers. To gain the courage to carry-on with optimism and hope is the measure of greatness. Denied the contentment and simplicity of a normal life, Eloise developed an ability to keep going and endure. Endurance by its very nature is making the best out of struggles. Sadly this struggling spirit attended most of her adult life. One of the best conversationalists I’ve ever known, mom in her quiet times possessed a melancholy known only to God. A melancholy only now I am beginning to feel and understand. Her optimism kept her going but please never judge her by the successes or failures of her short earthly existence. The disappointments and sorrow of her second marriage were at least in part due to the unavoidable comparisons to what could have been or what should have been. In spite of personal heartache she always left those in her presence better, happier, freer. So many of my childhood companions still consider Eloise their friend. As a self-proclaimed “peacemaker” she always serviced the emotional needs of all that shared her presence. Occasionally, when “out of work”, she seemed obligated to create a little needed strife.
As I reflect on Mom my thoughts are dominated by the word Beauty. Beauty in sights, beauty in sounds, beauty in words and beauty in thoughts. She embraced beauty wholly and shared beauty freely with all who would listen and receive.
WATERED DOWN ORANGE JUICE
My mother was a master at the art of extending stuff and making do. My father died in my youth and as such things were always tight financially. Mom did not want us to do without, yet lacked the resources to do it right. Thus everything was extended: our raw milk was mixed with powered, the meat loaf was 90% bread, and the orange juice was light yellow water. The scant pieces of pulp ensured us all that it contained some real juice; it was just the concentration that was in question.
I’m not against watering things down or diluting issues when appropriate. Even today I don’t like totally concentrated events. Mom’s juice did originate as frozen concentrate, she just went a bit too far in the dilution process in my mind. Even though her heart was in the right place, her extreme watering-down of the subject often missed the point. The politically correct are masters of this dilution process where critical issues are addressed, but the pulp is gone and the color pale at best. There is a point at which mom’s OJ ceased to become juice, where it turned into just contaminated water. Issues in our personal communications confront this same challenge. Have you ever sat down and eaten the frozen concentrate straight out of the can with a spoon? You can’t take many bites until the lips pucker and you experience brain freeze. Blunt, undiluted truth is hard to digest. When everything observed is spoken reception is low and listeners naturally reject. On the other hand, excessive diluting completely changes the intent. Watering down the content results in missed issues and bypassed objectives.
The dilution ratio of all orange juice concentrate, as stated on the can, is intended to maximize consumption. The objective of the consumer is to maximize value. Knowing the nutritional value of fruit juices in the growth of children, Mom’s original purpose was to supply us with them. Yet given her limited budget her conflicting objective was to minimize consumption. Thus the dilution process began. I don’t know when the liquid she created ceased to have dietary value. Somewhere along the process taste and color lost presence and confusion prevailed. Heck if it tasted good and looked inviting we would have wanted more. As I reflect upon mom’s juice I conclude that she meant us no physical harm. As a mother her need to provide was strong and she did the best that she could. Our mutual purpose may not have been met but the love was there, I see that now.
BURNT TOAST
Who do you know that eats the burnt toast? What do you do with life’s bread crusts? How about the odds and ends and table scraps? Those pieces which for one reason or another aren’t as desirable. Everyone wants the best but what do we do with the leftovers?
My mother was a Burnt Toast woman. For as long as I can remember she had the darkest piece on her plate. At times she went to elaborate lengths to scrape off the black. None of us wanted it so I guess she just didn’t want it wasted, all a part of the Depression Era perspective I assume. In my youth I actually thought she actually preferred it but as I matured I realized that she was saving the best things for us kids. She didn’t like the Burnt Toast particularly, she was just too frugal to throw it out, no one else would eat it and so she did.
I caught myself eating the Burnt Toast the other day; in fact as a parent I consumed quite a lot of Burnt Toast. The “Burnt Toast Syndrome” starts out with good intentions. It is a giving attitude and sacrificial in nature. These offerings, although small, are genuine and do make it nicer for others, but there is a down side to this Burnt Toast perspective. Over time, the giver begins to feel undeserving of better things. The long-term effect of settling for second-best is the limiting of personal vision and potential. Consistently denying self of gratification results in a distorted perception. Perhaps labeling self as undeserving, crosses the line of healthy self image. I’m not advocating uncontrolled decadence here, just a little time for personal care and maintenance. Every once in a while allowing yourself to enjoy something special, something good, something nice really does rehabilitate a bruised image. I guess another option is to just be more careful when making the toast in the first place. Now there’s a novel thought!
THIS IS NOT THE END
Eloise Russon Seamons, my mother, died April 22 1997 at 10:22 PM. My name is Ray Alan Seamons and I am her youngest son. She was preceded in death by my father Nathan Lund Seamons 27 years earlier and by her first husband and child hood sweetheart Vernon Radmal. 45 years previous. After being released from the hospital following a heart valve replacement, she was recovering at my home. Four years prior to this surgery she had recovered from a quadruple bypass also at our residence. That time she was very anxious to return to her own home. This time was different; she demonstrated no such urgency as in her previous recovery. In spite of the noise and confusion from our 7 children, she was content to relax in her room in our study. After 10 days of recovery she showed little interest in returning to her place. The day of her death she had been to a soccer game, completed a video with our son James and read a book for half an hour.
At 10:00 PM Eloise retired to bed. At 10:05 she called out “Alan something is wrong, I don’t understand. I took a deep breath and now something is wrong”. My wife and I quickly merged at her bedside. I was sitting on the bed next to her and Cindy was kneeling in front on the floor. Having watched my father die of a heart failure, I was painfully aware of what was happening. Holding tight I could feel her body muscle tone change. When we initially arrived her speech was tense yet normal. As things progressed her speech as well as her muscle tone deteriorated at about the same pace. Cindy was frantic in an attempt to resolve her condition. I on the other hand was uncharacteristically calm. Due to my physical contact with her and my past experience with dad I knew that she was passing on. During this time mom was talking directly to Cindy and I, explaining her feelings and thoughts as she felt her condition worsen. Intermittently, without hesitation, and with increasing frequency mom would talk out of context. “What are you doing here”? “Not now, please not now”, “Not after all I’ve gone through”, “Oh no not now”. As if speaking to us, yet turning to make eye contact with others unseen. This went on for about 10 minutes as life drained from her body. In the confusion of the moment her duel conversation went unnoticed and written off as a byproduct of a dying mind. Our good friend and neighbor Dr. Larz Bergson responded to our call of distress. He took charge as attending physician, and graciously protected her from the desires of the emergency medical staff to revive her mindless dying body. During this entire evening there appeared to be a reassuring calm over everyone in attendance.
The next morning, while planning the funeral services and discussing the events of the prior evening, we relived Eloise’s strange dialogue and the sprit of the evening. Upon recollection it became very obvious what had transpired. It is my testimony to those who read this that my mother Eloise Seamons was talking to loved ones in the study that night; Cindy, me and others not seen to the mortal eye. These guests who were residing with us that night were from beyond the veil. Even though Cindy and I could not see nor talk directly to them, it does not remove the fact that they were there. The veil over mother’s eyes was removed slowly but steadily as her spirit left her dying body. I am convinced that by the time of her departure there was no difference between any gathered in the study that night.
Death is not scary, negative, nor mysterious. Loved ones come and loved ones go. The veil is thin and when dying we will be prepared, comforted and lead to that “Next” level of experience. As a “Man of Action” I am by nature the one who generally takes charge and fixes things but not that night. I too was comforted, calmed, prepared and attended to. I have reflected upon the events of that evening numerous times and I attest that my father Nate was a member of Eloise’s welcoming committee as was Vernon her first love, both with a common objective of supporting her through the transition. Loved ones gone, with open arms, without resentment or discontent. I know that the petty differences experienced here on earth are quickly forgotten at these meetings and the warm loving feelings often lost in the pace and pressure of earth life come rushing to the forefront of all involved. Without the veil there is no faith, and we know of assurity. Earth is the time to learn to walk by faith “Now we see through glass darkly but then shall we see face to face. Now we know in part but then shall we know even as we are known.”
PINE
There alongside a heavily traveled trail that my mom use to enjoy stands a mighty pine, distinctive from all around. A unique life lived in spite of similar circumstances to its sister pines. By trunk width one of the largest around, testament to its ability to survive and endure life’s’ challenges. Shorter than many of its peers, it has compensated by the breadth of its canopy. Upon closer glance it is discovered that 5 distinct trunks have formed about 10 feet above the ground, protruding horizontally at first, and then abruptly they all go vertical. Enormous masses initially entangled in confusion they all eventually stretch skyward. Deep within the center of the entanglement stands what is left of the withered trunk; gray, cracked and dead.
Conifers such as this grow a canopy in direct proportion to their tap root, a mirror image in height of one to length of the other. So what happened so many years ago, which nearly terminated this trees existence? A single event so profound that it radically changed its genetic nature. It appears that shortly after this event a choice was presented to either adapt and grow or wither and die. Some how this mighty pine found the determination to survive. Slow at first but with increasing momentum until now it stands as a testament to those sensitive enough to see it. A monument of courage in the midst of catastrophe. Easier to give up, shrivel, and die. Surely it was justified given the magnitude of the incident and the probability of success. At best it would be different, never again to be as the others. Not now, not after this. The course was permanently altered. Why try? Why continue when original objectives and dreams are now beyond reach? What transpired within this majestic pine to determine to carry on inspire of the challenge? What was the source of courage inspiring it to become the best it could be in spite of this handicap? What sustained it in the early stages of growth, when just surviving required all the energy available?
So here it stands as a testament to all who have an eye to see. Its beauty lies not in statistics but in majesty and uniqueness, truly “one of a kind”. All of us confront challenges and events of life changing proportion. All of us loose hope and desire. All of us get discouraged, disappointed and depressed. Our futures are not determined by these incidents. Our futures are determined, as with the pine, by our response to them.
Like this pine both my parents left a legacy of strength, courage and growth. As such I posses with my very soul this combined determination and faith as do those who follow after. Thanks Mon and Dad for showing us how to be strong.
Reflections
A request from my beloved daughter initiated this effort. Memories fade and limited perspectives are bias at best. As a son and the youngest of the family my insights are narrow and merely glimpses into the lives of these people. All I can attest to is the 16 or so years that I was in direct contact to them. Everything that came before is a mystery to me. I don’t claim to know them, all I can declare to is the perceptions that I have retained. As a part of this effort, I spent some time chatting with surviving family who provided me with additional insight but again memory fades and perspectives are prejudiced. Please extract your own impressions and realize that this effort was done in Love and respect for the impact that Eloise and Nate made on our existence.
I begin this conversation with a dialogue concerning a recent experience that brought the fragile nature of earth life to my reality. The impact of parents on children is obvious and is addressed leading to a discourse on the effects of my mom and dad upon me specifically. A profile of each parent follows. Over the last few years I have been found writing reflections upon my life to date. A few of these were inspired directly by the lives of my parents. I included select ones attached to each parent profile followed by personal insights for each. I have always loved these people for giving me life, raising me, providing me with a full childhood rich in experience and sacrificing all for me. It wasn’t until this experience that I truly gained an in-depth understanding of how linked I am to these them, mentally, physically, emotionally and subsequently eternally. I honor their lives and respect their accomplishments.
Death
A strange thing happened in front of my house the other night. I witnessed the last moments of another humans life as he transitioned to the other side. Excessive speed, poor judgment an unexpected curve, possible alcohol and the rest is history. Events set into motion which could not be avoided. Wrapped around an electrical pole to the point of contorting the driver, the obliterated vehicle brought the wires down. I was the first on the scene. After a hurried 911 call I went to the occupant to determine if there was life. A few months back I completed first responder training and possessed sufficient confidence to perform triage on this sufferer. Although weak he was alive. Unconscious as he was, I stood by waiting for arrival of the rescue team. There was little I could do to alleviate pain or suffering so I proceeded to take pulse. Each weaker than the last I knew that he was not going to make it. Even though He was comatose I felt the urge to remain by comforting in some strange way this man I didn’t know who most likely didn’t realize I was even present. By the time the emergency team arrived his heart beat was gone. Their casual approach to the fatality validated his passing.
So short is our life. So quickly can it pass. So fragile is our existence. So insignificant is our impact. I am changed. Not like the highway accident witnessed from afar, which results in a slowing for a mile or two but within time initial speeds are resumed. No this was different. We connected this young man and me. For one brief moment we shared trauma, suffering and pain. I was there for him in the only way that I could. His passing impacted me and for this I am grateful. Maybe death is the great equalizer, the one big thing that can finally make strangers shed tears for one another. It assures me of a life beyond the grave. It confirms to me the importance of timely service. It awakens me to the need to enjoy the moment. Now is all that is real. This present moment is all we are assured. The joy of a life time must not be postponed until tomorrow. Dying is not something to be sad over. Living unhappily is far worse.
When I was 15, three immediate family members passed away. My grandmother and grandfather Russon died of heart attacks within months of each other. My dad died of a Heart Attack in the arms of my brother and I while we were on vacation to Flaming Gorge. As he passed a peace settled over his countenance. In spite of his pain his eyes showed relief. In 1970 my uncle drowned while boating with the Scouts in Yellowstone. My friend died in a car wreck when we were 18. My mother died of complications from heart surgery when she was 80.† She also died in my arms. As I held her I felt life drain from her body.† During the last minutes of her life as she passed to the other side events unfolded validating the belief that the petty challenges and contentions of this existence do not exist in the Eternal realm.† †We live here until we are taken away.† Our stewardship is to make the best of the challenges confronted.† Getting beyond self and into others appears to be the objective.† Love lives on, Love is eternal, Love is multi faceted, Love is not a quantity to be measured but an unlimited unconditional resource to be shared.
We are all a byproduct of our inherent Nature combined with the Nurturing atmosphere where we are raised. The home environment has a profound effect upon the children raised there. Even though most of it is good, some can be negative. As children we are directly affected by our parents, most good but not all. We are all damaged to some extent. Whether it is through predetermined malicious intent or actions unintentional the scars in reality are all the same. It can’t be helped. Like fingerprints on pristine glass, history is recorded. Some smudge, some crack, a few shatter but all leave a trace. The severity and impact is difficult at best to identify let alone mend. There is the damage of silence, an escape but rarely a refuge. Then there is the damage of neglect, rarely held, mostly grabbed and occasionally forgotten. Or even worse the damage of violence, the touch of calloused hands red with anger. Take one story, one episode, one event viewed from two different angles; it’s the same day, it’s the same moment, it’s the same occurrence but the remembrances are radically different, distinct to the individual memory.
On the other hand some of my greatest attributes grew from this same environment. I guess I am an adventurer of sorts. I came by it naturally. My mother’s greatest source of enjoyment was extemporaneous random driving with no apparent destination. To this day a chance road trip is my greatest release. Mom’s kindness was legendary. I recall more often than not, friends staying just to talk to her regardless of whether I was there or not. Her humor, insights, advice and food (not to mention Twinkies) left all who visited fed. Mom helped me understand human nature through concept and example. “Your actions speak louder than words”, “A spider web is as strong as a steel cable when there is no pressure on it”, “If ya can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say nothing at all”, “Stop and smell the roses”. Utterances of my father also had a pivotal influence upon my life history. He was never to be seen engaged in the conventional form of work or leisure. As such I became an eager intern. He taught me through hundreds of hands on experiences that I witnessed directly. “Never to give up” was probably the strongest message conveyed and it was taught to me by example. I’m a fix-it, build-it, repair-it type-a-guy. I got these attributes from my dad’s side of the gene pool. Homes, yards, cars are all my play ground. Especially gratifying is the joy of project completion. In our information based, intangible, virtual world it is often difficult to feel connected to the work. Dad showed me that the true value of the project is not the actual outcome but the journey and the lessons learned. Dad taught me so many things, “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach” “Can’t died because he couldn’t try”, “Measure twice cut once”, “Safety isn’t for sissies”, “Where’s the power and is it off?”, “Disassemble too fast and you break things, reassemble in the wrong order and you will be disassembling again and again”. The order is the key. Discovering the original designer’s intent is exhilarating. With role models as this I guess my version of normal is in reality tilted to the left.
Nathan Lund Seamons
Nate was the oldest son of Hannah Lund and John Robert Seamons. He was the second oldest of 10 siblings. John loved good horses as well as good music. Dark completied he had jet-black hair even to his death. When he was young it was said that John had the finest horse and buggy around. Hanna was a beauty and it was no surprise when they began courting. The couple was married in the Logan Temple March 16 1909. John sang in the Hyde Park Choir and was a master at playing the Mandolin. Hanna played the piano and sang. The girls would dance around the table, as their dad would play which brought much joy to all.
Nate was born on November 1911 in Hyde Park Utah. The family lived there for 6 years. In 1916 they moved to Battle Creek Idaho just 7 miles northwest of Preston. The home was on a hillside above the canal. The home was log with a dirt floor and a sod roof. Inside the walls were whitewashed and muslin was hung from the ceiling to separate the rooms. Coal-oil lamps provided light.
When the parents went to Preston for supplies the kids were told to stay inside until they returned. On one occasion the kids chose to ignore the rule remaining outside and play. To their astonishment Indians were seen approaching the home. Instantly they all ran screaming into the house. Once inside they boarded up the door with a cupboard and table and remained quivering there until Hanna and John arrived home hours later. They never disobeyed the rule again.
In 1933, after about 6 years the farm was traded for one in Bancroft ID. Bancroft was a hard climate, hot and dry in the summer and cold and snowy in the winter. Five of the 80 acres were cleared for planting and the rest was covered in sagebrush and rocks. This was a dry farm and the wheat crop was never good. The farm had a two-room wood home. A cellar was also adjacent which was lined with rocks where milk and apples were kept. The milk was placed in flat pans where over time the cream would rise to the top and once collected it was made into butter, which was traded for sugar and flower. John would go to Preston with a bucket of butter and eggs to trade for provisions. Dry farming was hard work and in addition to hay, beats were thinned by contract for the neighbors. Even when there was pressure to complete the “share crop contract” John never worked on the Sabbath. Even though he didn’t attend church on a regular basis he believed in establishing an example for the young kids. Horses, chickens, pig’s sheep and cows were also raised along with a shaggy dog named “Tip”. A large garden with ample strawberries and watermelons was maintained. The girls loved ice cream so in the winter they would take some cream, mix in sugar and vanilla then leave it in the snow until it froze. There was always plenty to eat regardless of the economic conditions at the time. “Lumpy dick” / oatmeal was the breakfast mainstay. The family favorite was Mulligan stew, fried lamb baked in seasoned batter. The weekly family bath took place on Saturday night. A wooden frame was placed around the tub with a robe stretched over it. This “cloths horse” provided privacy while bathing. After each child, additional hot water was added for the next bather. By the time the last child completed the water was quite dark.
After 5 years of bad crops, John moved the family back to Hyde Park to live in his Brother Henry’s house while they were on a mission. John stated that he had to move to the city to get the girls married. After loosing the farm all they possessed were the cows. Nate was called upon to drive then from Bancroft to Hyde Park, a huge job for a crew of men but for a boy of 13 incredible. Once settled in, Nate’s job was to herd the cows to the pasture three times a week on horseback.
Christmas was a high point of their lives. This annual ritual involved John and the boys cutting a tree. Hanna and the kids made chains of paper and popcorn to hang on it. Candle holders were then clipped to the branches and the candles placed on them. The children were then sent to bed. Christmas morning the candles were lit and the children were allowed to come out. The kids got apples; peanuts, hard candy and one present each. After a meal the team “Nap and Nellie” were harnessed up to the sleigh. The sleigh was lined with hay to sit on and hot bricks in the bottom provided warmth. Blankets were then wrapped around and all went visiting family and friends. John would lead the festivities with songs played on his Mandolin and all would join in singing. When they arrived home chili and hot coco were consumed.
All the kids worked in the fields thinning beats, growing hay, weeding the garden as well as feeding and watering animals. In addition to managing the kids Nate was also assigned to provide assistance to his dad. His father was often found at the local tavern drowning his worries in liquor. Nate at age 12 was the designated driver being required to enter and retrieve his dad after a long night of socializing. In Bancroft Idaho, life was hard and required much effort to survive. Nate often told of the scariest task that was required of him. Wood for the fire was a life force, so the weekly ritual was placed upon him. Nate would take the team and the wagon up the canyon. He then chopped the wood and loaded the wagon. This required most of the daylight hours. The final trip down the canyon in the dark provided his greatest fear. As Nate commented about the general sound of the forest he showed concern but when he began talking about the Wolves his whole countenance changed. As he retold the story his eyes widened stating that they appeared to be sitting right next to him.
When Nate was 17, he and a friend assembled the remains of a few old Model T’s and ventured overland making their own roads with it. Vehicle repair was the daily ritual as they journeyed beyond the formal roads. On a run to Evanston, WY the brakes went out as they were going down a steep grade. Ahead was a truck so Nate closed the gap between the two and after hitting it followed the truck the rest of the way down the hill. Nate worked for the neighbors and saved enough money to buy a motorcycle. He and friends would drive to Twin Falls, Idaho for work. Nate lived on his motorcycle for a few years. He traveled from Montana to New Mexico and everywhere in between. While he was gone Military draft notices were avoided. Was there a connection? Most likely! Many times Nate would take his money and buy flour and sugar for the family. Always generous and kind, Nate made sure none of his sisters went without.
Nate was very good with his hands. He went back East to a Vocational School where he studied automotive repair and bodywork. While there he played on the school basketball team receiving numerous awards for his skills. The staff noticed his academic abilities and he was asked to stay and teach. Instead he chose to return to Cache Valley and begin working in his profession. Nate secured the first Jeep dealership in Northern UT. He was always there for his younger brothers and sisters. He helped as he could afford. He paid for his brother Bob’s education in Engineering. He set up Glenn in the auto repair industry with tools, equipment and connections all without strings or connections. Nate was in business with his brother-in-law Elis. After he died Nate gave all the remaining assets to Elaine. Jessie told of Nate bringing her a small necklace one day when she was young. Her eyes moistened as she retold the event. Obviously Nate was sensitive to the needs of his struggling sister for she stated that it was the “perfect gift at the perfect time.” He assisted Darwin in his education in electrical engineering. Nate had a huge heart, way too big for business. He gave away more than he sold or billed. After he had died the books of the business were reviewed and the comment surfaced, “Anyone who owned a Jeep in the region prior to 1960 owed Nate money.” Whether he was just sloppy, resisted asking for payment, or truly felt that they needed it more than he, the fact remains that he never was in it for the money.
Nate made his own adventures. There is a story that Nate knew of a Glacier lake up Logan Canyon. He invited three couples to go on an off-road adventure. Forging rivers, cutting down trees, and breaking trail all became part of the experience. When they finally go there it was late and they had to turn back. It was later discovered that the name of the lake was White Pine. Oh by the way there were no roads up there then. One summer Nate took the position as the appointed ranger for the West gate of Yellowstone National Park. He invited one and all to join him. His sister Sarah tells of the long dusty ride north only to be greeted by mosquitos and sever cold. Nate didn’t’ mind, in fact he seemed to thrive on obstacles. They remained for a week engaged in daily treks into the park. After returning home Sarah caught herself reminiscing of the breath taking beauty and the excitement of the whole trip.
Nate was generally shy but the girls at school were attracted to his auburn hair and would chase him around the playground trying to kiss him. This made him crazy and in retaliation would come home and pester his older sister Thora. One time she got so upset that she chased him around the house with the piano stool. The first woman Nate formally dated was Ruth . Nate married Ruth in the Logan temple on 19 . They had a son John Reid. The relationship was uncomfortable and they divorced after 13 years. Nate was quoted as saying “Women are too bossy”
Eloise Russion
Eloise was the second born and youngest daughter of 11 children. She was arrived on July 15, 1918 in Lehi UT to Lot Erastus Russon and Fern Janette Brown. Erastus was a bright hard working young man. He had helped in the family farm from his youth until he served a Mission to Brooklyn New York. When he returning he met and courted Fern Jeanette Brown also from Lehi. Fern was on scholarship to Brigham Young College majoring in Elementary Education. Upon graduation she taught in Cokeville and then in the Alpine School District. The two fell in love and were married in the Salt Lake temple on June 25, 1914. They acquired 35 acres of the family farm and built a new home. Sugar beets and onions were the cash crops but strawberries, raspberries and cherries were also grown along with a full vegetable garden. “Always eat the cherries that the birds have picked at,” he would say. “The birds know the sweet ones”. A decent heard of milk cows completed the mix producing, milk, cream and butter. In addition to the cows, were pigs, chickens and horses.
In the late summer of 1920 Lott got his hand caught in a grain binder nearly severing it completely. Unable to work, He and this young family went to stay with a mission acquaintance. Moving to Salt Lake City they stayed with Dr. Caldwell who had relocated from New York with thousands of names in need of temple work. They stayed the fall and winter while Lott worked in the temple with his friend. His brother stayed in their new house while they completed theirs near by. After this experience Lott spent the rest of his winters doing temple work. At first making the trip daily soon he was staying in Salt Lake for the week returning Friday evening to spend the weekends with his family. He would arrive with a huge bag of bakery goods for the family. Pies, doughnuts, cakes and cinnamon rolls packed full of plump juicy raisins attended his return. In 1930 after the fall harvest, Lott left his farm and family to serve a second 2-year mission to Virginia. He returned only to plant and harvest the crops. An engineer of sorts Lott ordered all the tools for a Blacksmiths shop, forge, anvil, drill press, tongs and hammers. He built equipment for the farm but also made some great toys for the kids. A huge swing set for Christmas followed by a large sleigh the next year. A small car was conceived and constructed for the boys. Always frugal he was often quoted as saying “If you can’t afford it you don’t need it.” He hated being in debt or “on tick”. To them, borrowing, “on tick” meant that each time the clock made a tick you owed just a little more. Along with her teaching, Fern was a Daughter of the Utah Pioneers and was very involved there. With Ferns support all the kids finished High School in a time when many didn’t. Many went on for advanced degrees in college.
Lott was a spiritual man and two stories stand out as I recall grandpa: one conformational and the other protective. Grandpa Lott spent his entire life in temple service. On evenings while traveling home from a day of temple work in his Model-T he entertained an angelic visitor. As he rounded the Point of the Mountain a messenger appeared in the passenger seal and began a conversation with him. The gist of the message was that the heavens were pleased with his service to date and to keep up the good work. The next story was set on Grandpa’s farm. He had been plowing all day and was nearing completion. The sky was growing dark and thunder began in the West. A driven man, he was determined to complete the plowing regardless of the impending rain. Impressions to go inside for safety were repeatedly rejected. Finally an angel appeared in front of the tractor and stopped him in his path. This time he listened, drove back to the house and retired to bed. The next morning it was discovered that lightning had hit directly where he had been plowing the night before. The ground was black and everything was dead but his life had been spaired. Yes, he was a firm man, but he was always very in touch with the lord and as such his entire family was raised accordingly.
Fern was always up for adventure. Once they drove the oldest kids to Las Vegas to witness the construction of the Hoover Dam. On the morning they were to return Lott announced that they were going to the see the ocean. From the Orange fields of Riverside, the Docks of Long Beach to the Streets of San Francisco, they drove the entire coast. The very next year the entire family made the same journey but this time they included Tijuana Mexico. In 1929 the family visited Yellowstone National Park. The following year they ventured back to Chicago to the opening of the Worlds Fair. These were no small feats for folk back then.
Eloise was a born musician. “Music was in her soul.” She could harmonize by ear, hearing the notes in her head naturally. Stan, a younger brother, tells of an event involving the purchase of a new accordion. After weeks of attempting to master a tune, he was proudly attempting to entertain his brothers with painfully poor results. Eloise walked up and within moments was playing beautifully to Stan’s frustration. Eloise and her sister Ivy had outstanding voices but in harmony it was amazing. From their youth the girls would play for social and church events. As they evolved they picked up a western theme. The pair played on the local radio station, KSL as well as completing a couple of USO tours. Ask by the prophet to serve an extended singing mission they were unable due to finances.
Eloise was talented and artistic. She attended The Brigham Young Academy majoring in Art. Ivy was older and smaller. Eloise was 2 years younger and larger boned. When she turned 12 the family went to Lagoon, a local amusement park. The gate keeper gave Ivy the free birthday pass. “The gate keeper gave the pass to Ivy because I was so darn tall, needless to say, I was completely crushed” Eloise said. “I spent a lot of time slumping down just to look smaller”. Although extremely attractive she was always uncomfortable with her size.
Ivy married her child hood sweetheart Dean Worlton. Eloise married her child hood sweetheart Vernon Radmal in the Salt Lake Temple on November 25, 1940. Soon after marring Vernon was drafted into the Air Force and transferred to Florida, and Eloise followed. Within weeks Vernon was sent to Iwo Jima. Two days before peace was signed in Japan, Vernon’s plane was shot down over the China Sea. His body was the only one of the crew that was not recovered. Vernon was labeled as Missing In Action. Believing that he was alive, Eloise remained in Florida hoping / praying that he would be found. Nothing came as months turned to years.
Eventually Eloise went to stay with Vernon’s aunt in St Louis where she took a job and continued her quest with the War Department. While there her musical abilities were noticed. She was ask to be the lead singer in a local dance band where she stole the hearts of not only the band members but all those in attendance. Soon it was obvious that Vernon wasn’t coming home and after a few years Eloise made it back to UT. This time to Cache Valley where she began attending Brigham Young Academy. She never completely reconnected with her family after the war. Sadly Eloise became isolated and lonely.
Eloise’s older brother Arland developed a friendship with a couple while in Hawaii, Sterling Cheney and his wife Jessie Seamons. Jessie’s brother was Nate Seamons, who had recently been divorced and he also was living in Cache Valley. Nate and Eloise met and it was electric from the start. In a short time they had fallen madly in love. On February 2, 1949 they were married in Elko Nevada. As they began their lives together the happiness was consuming. After 3 years Nathan Lynn was born. Eighteen months later Janeen arrived. Three years after that Ray Alan appeared. The couple had a miscarriage 4 years later which became the source of some contention.
The one thing that they both enjoyed and that kept them together was the out of doors. Eloise thrived on nature and was renewed by it. Her favorite place was the Redwoods in Northern California. Of all the locations on this earth Eloise adored the forests of the west the best. Through Nate’s tutelage Eloise became an excellent hunter. One of her most acclaimed kills was an Elk brought down near camp 8 months pregnant with my brother Lynn. Of the two couples on the hunt, Eloise was the only one to draw a license. The ranger arrived soon after Eloise had shot the animal but refused to believe their story. Imagine the site of this very pregnant woman, 300 Savage in hand, aside these strong young men I’m sure you can see the perception problem. It was Eloise’s skills at persuasion and sincerity that finally won the rangers heart.
Nate made his own adventures. All of us learned to drive in our youth on the back roads. All of us learned to shoot and fish on these same adventures. All of us learned to hike and explore. Nate loved geology and nature. He and Mom were Rock Hounds and we kids were Rock Puppies. Initially we slept in tents but later we advanced to camping trailers. On one adventure to Yosemite National Forest we stopped to set up camp. It was late and it began to rain. As we all scurried to erect the tent the sad reality hit us that we had arrived without tent pegs. We put up the tent the best we could, laid out our bags and went to sleep. I recall lying in the sleeping bag and feeling it slowly absorb water. Soon it was totally saturated, as was I. Some frustrated words were exchanged which led to the decision to pull up camp and hit the road. The next day saw us driving through the Park with our clothing out the windows air-drying. Another camping nightmare involved a red jeep, a late night camp and a bull. As we awoke we were met with the appearance of a full size bull, angry and ready to engage. Again dad calmly took charge jumping into the jeep and preemptively chasing the bull before he attacked us. All of us laughed but only mom realized the true danger. As a family we went to Southern California quite frequently to see cousins. On one trip we had stopped for lunch. Janeen and I become engaged in a tournament of Cow Pie Frisbee. Moments later I was discovered kicking a Prickly Pear cactus. Why is a great question that still remains unanswered? The end result was a thorn buried deep in my leg. Attempts to remove the thorn resulted the broken tip remaining in my leg. Dad quickly came to my rescue with one of his two “treatments” that of Turpentine. Regardless of the wound Turpentine and / or Iodine were the cures and the fact that all of us are alive is testament to their effectiveness. After 10 days of swelling and pain the thorn finally surfaced enough to be removed.
Every Sunday of my youth we, as a family, went out to eat and drive around the valley. I used to complain about these trips wanting to remain home with my friends. We went on so many trips and adventures throughout our youth. Dad was very big on control to failing: when we ate, what we ate, how money was dispensed to Mom. Although we never had formal Family Home Evenings and traditional church attendance as a family, Dad certainly knew the principles as he raised us, his children. As I reflect back, not a moment went buy that dad was not explaining to whom ever would listen facts about nature, natural history, orienteering or the west. Whether we acknowledge it or not, so much of who we all are today was formed in those critical moments.
Mom was a master at making do. I recall wanting a new Sting Ray bike like all my friends had. Mom took me to a bike shop where we found an old wrecked frame. Together we proceeded to paint it and reassemble it. The distinguishing feature of the Sting Ray bike was the Banana seat. Nate made the fame and Eloise helped me cover it.
Each summer the Seamons family would converge from all parts of the West to Cache Valley and then we would head to Yellowstone. After a week of fishing, hiking, camping, eating and bonding we all became close. These reunions were great opportunities for the elders to pass on wisdom and culture to the youth. Every Christmas eve everyone would gather as an extended family enjoying food, games, candy, talents and gifts. Throughout the summer the families would gather for picnics when the out of town members would arrive in the valley. All his brothers were successful professionally as well as in the gospel commanding the highest regional offices. Nate never was as close to the church like his brothers were. One brother Bob was a mission president temple president and a regional authority twice. Most were stake presidents and bishops. Two of my cousins have been Presidents of Missions. I always felt that we were the Black Sheep of the group because of Nate’s indifference. The lowest of the elect but as I have grown I realize that even in our indifferent state we were in fact nurtured buy the elect and in reality on a spiritual plain well above the majority. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that Nate, although not extremely focused upon the church activities was indeed centered upon the basic premise of the gospel that of family, friends and service. Nate was the glue that kept the Seamons together from his youth to his death. As the oldest boy they all felt his responsibility and integrity. Nate drove the family togetherness as I discovered during this writing. His control over his brothers was amazing as attested to by their wives. For good or ill Nate was noticed.
The Russons were big into Family get togethers also. The annual “Potato Dig” was the most famous, where enormous piles of food and drink were consumed. Then there was the yearly Christmas party not to mention just hanging out at Grand PA and Grand MA’s house where we road the huge wagon down the lane, drove around the latest contraptions that Uncle Stan and boys had built and just exploring the miles and miles of fields and streems. Going to Saratoga hot springs was always a treat that we enjoyed in the summer.
Nate acquired some commercial real estate over the years. One a restaurant and the other an automobile repair garage. Those who rented from him were less than consistent in paying rent. In addition to his commercial endeavors Nate was constantly exploring areas of personal interest. What ever intrigued him he would proceed to research the topic then begin in earnest to validate his assumptions and theories. At his peak he had over 15 claims staked out in the West Desert of Western Utah and Eastern Nevada. His objective was GOLD! My High School chemistry teacher told me while in his class that Nate was one of the brightest chemists / geologists he had never associated with. Professors at Utah State University proclaimed the same sentiments. Nate would meet with them in consultation asking questions and trying out his theories. They would provide him direction. He would then do the research and begin validating his theories. Numerous occurrences of breaking and entering into his office authenticated that the gold he smelted from his claims was real. A financial partner was secured on a project that showed great promise. Sadly the partner took advantage of Nate’s good nature and cashed in alone.
Nate loved Western movies and magazines. His fascination for ghost towns was the focus of most of our numerous family trips. We as a family were often taken in tow on most of these expeditions. One day while investigating one of the ghost towns he had discovered I was ask to return to the Jeep and get a shovel. As I turned to go I was met with a sound that today sends shivers through my bones. The rattling got louder and faster and I was petrified. The snake was huge, coiled, angry and ready to strike. To a 12 year old this was a scary situation. I was within 5 feet of the beast. The claim that a coiled snake can spring the length of its body and strike it’s pray was sadly known by me. Fortunately I had been trained for situations such as these. Stay still and no abrupt noises. My brother’s friend Brent Jones noticed my predicament, informed my dad and within an instant the situation was resolved. Dad got his pistol and blew the head off the snake before I could realize fully what had happened. After the monster quit moving, we extended the body and it discovered that it was over 7 feet long. My heart sank as I realized the situation I had been in. Dad’s calmness kept every one at ease. We then followed Brent’s lead and began cutting the big snake up into bite sized pieces with the shovel. Why? Heaven only knows.
His skill with a gun was legendary. Always a hunter he and his brothers would go on Rattle Snake hunts just for sport, Calf-high boots and 22 pistols. Anyone can kill with a riffle but it takes a true marksman to hit with a pistol. Nate hunted anything that walked, ran, crawled or flew. None of us kids ever caught the spirit of the “Blood Sports” but all of us enjoyed the endless hours in nature.
In 1963 dad was diagnosed with colon cancer. Throughout his life, Nate had never been all that fond of the medical field. In the hospital twice for this disease, the first time he was in for diagnosis and a blood transfusion. After becoming frustrated with their performance, Nate checked himself out. His second stay involved receiving a full colostomy. Many years later while living in Millville Utah, I discovered that my home teaching companion, Dr. Mike Bishop, was Dads attending physician on the initial visit. Mike stated that this was his first case as a young physician in Cache Valley and we laughed as he explained the excitement of discovering that he had lost his cancer patient. In true Nate style he researched out his disease and proactively engaged in the cure. Latril, a drug extracted from almonds and only a drug available in Mexico, showed promise but was not FDA approved in the States. Nate made numerous trips alone to Mexico to secure his medication. During the last seven years of his life Nate began drinking infrequently. He had become irritable and I had distanced my self from him. Upon reflection I now see that his drinking and sharpness was in fact a byproduct of his pain and discouragement. As he entered this phase of his life his perspective with the church began to change. I recall passing the sacrament one Sunday and discovered Dad in the back corner pew. His attendance never corrected the past but established a direction for his future.
The mechanical skills I currently possess found their roots in my dads shop. He built me a go-cart out of a lawn mower. We built a mini bike out of the same motor. At 15 I sold my bike and bought a 56 Chevy that did not run. Dad helped me fix it up and get it operating. Every Sunday we went out to eat and drive around the valley. Although we never had formal Family Home Evenings and traditional church attendance as a family Dad certainly knew the principals as he raised us his children.
Eloise was quite a sport when it came to keeping up with Nate but his adventures, novel at first, began to wear on her emotionally. As Nate’s roads became riskier and the adventures edgier Eloise grew increasingly distant. As the novelty of their marriage diminished kids had filled in the gap, but over time financial pressures and emotional scars left them both damaged. Nate’s looseness in business left Eloise financially short. She was not allowed to work and as such she must have felt trapped in her economic state. In 1969 Nate and Eloise separated and Nate moved into the family home in Hyde Park Utah.
In August 1970 Nate, and his brother in law Sterling planned a fishing trip through the High Uintah ending at Flaming George. The 5 Cheney kids and my brother Lynn were going. I was scheduled to start sophomore football, the day we were to leave. I feared that if I went on the trip my chances at “All American” would be hampered. Moments before they were to leave I decided to go also. As it turns out this would be a monumental decision for me. After 5 incredible days reconnecting and enjoying everyone we had arrived at Flaming George. When we arrived home, the next day, Nate was scheduled to close a business deal with a major restaurant owner Johnny Quawn. Dad was to provide the real estate and Quawn the name, money and management. As partners we would have been set to live comfortably for the rest of our lifes. Finally a break for a man that had worked so hard. That morning as we were all around eating breakfast in the campground it was noticed that Nate wasn’t there. Breaking the conversation we heard dad’s muffled yell for Lynn coming from the trailer. Entering the trailer Lynn and I witnessed Nate pass from this life. His voice subdued and chocking as his complexion becoming increasingly discolored. As his life left his body we both felt the importance of the moment. For a boy of 15 this really freaked me out and I am probably still reeling from it even today in some strange subtitle way. Regardless of the trauma suffered I am indeed grateful to have been there as he passed to the next world. That week had been a major healing for all involved.
After Nate’s death Eloise began working at the Hostess Bake shop. She also worked in the food preparation industry at the Junior High as well as the temple. Her last employer was the National Forest Service that turned out to be a match made in heaven. She loved it, issuing fire and logging permits. Each week she went into the forests to see the sites she was managing. Each week she returned renewed, revitalized and refreshed.
Eloise read a lot she was always equipped with a quote to live by. “stop and smell the roses” , If you Fight the dragon long enough, you become as the dragon”, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease”, “Your actions speak so loudly I can’t hear your words”. What paineth thee in others is in thy self may find”, “A spider web is as strong as a steel cable when there is no pressure on it”, “If you can’t say anything good about someone, don’t say nothing at all”, “Pray for the crops but keep hoeing”. Readers Digest wisdom which she lived by. Never was mom without a pencil. She was always writing down poems and thoughts in prose the compilation of her many insights.
Always musical, Eloise was the ward chorister for as long as I can remember. She sang in the choir as well as a local singing group. “Town Singers”. Having no formal training she played the piano and the guitar by ear. It was often stated “The music was in her soul”.
I had a large family in a short amount of time. We were blessed with 7 children in 10 years. Although they all grew close because of this, Mom was constantly concerned that they individually needed to feel loved and special. For the last 15 years of her life she started a dating thing with our children to address this concern. Once a month each of the 7 children got a date-night with Grandma. The child was allowed to choose the place to eat as well as the event. Nothing was off limits. The most extreme example included eating 5 pounds of bacon with my oldest son over the space of the 12 hour sleep over. The quantity here may be questioned but definitely not the intent or significance. Regardless of the food or the event the importance was allowing the child to determine their destiny even if it was only for a few hours. There was never even a question as to her purpose. The child ruled. Buckets of individual self esteem were created each time they went out. With so many children born in so few a years it would be easy for the children to be grouped together and generalized damaging individual identity. Eloise ensured that each child felt special, unique and important.
Mom’s knees were worn out. Years of working on concrete floors had taken its toll. Additionally she had experienced numerous “Heart Charlie Horses” (angina) and she finally had angioplasty as an interim cure. Four years later while in Salt Lake City I received a call from my oldest son. He stated that Grandma had just called and she didn’t sound good. We tried to call her but were unsuccessful. We then called a neighbor who proceeded to go next door to check on her. Upon entry the neighbor immediately called an ambulance. When we arrived at the hospital in Logan Mom had been dancing with death for and hour or so. After 8 hours she was stabilized and the next morning was shipped off to Salt Lake City for a quadruple bypass. Ten days of recovery resulted in her returning to our home for convalescence. One day she was complaining that she felt that we had her in prison. I stated that she couldn’t even walk around the house without fatigue. I must have said something that inspired her for she began arising early and walking around the home until faint. When she was able to loop the house 10 times continuously she declared that it was time for her to go home. Always independent it required more and more effort to keep her that way. About four years after her first surgery, Eloise began complaining about her shortness of breath. Working with cardiologists they diagnosed a heart related issue, “You need a new valve”. She was signed, scheduled and admitted. Because the insurance company categorized her as a “redo”, she was only allowed 3 days in the hospital. Again we set her up in our study. This time was so different. She never seemed as healthy nor was she able to recover from the surgery. Within in 10 days she was gone. Such a loss to my children for she had become such an important aspect of their lives. They were shocked and devastated for she had given herself to them for so many years. What an excellent testament to a life well lived, to be truly missed.
Closing Thoughts on DAD
With a heart bigger than his head, logic and personal gain always paled in light of the perceived needs of those acquainted. Brother’s and sisters all looked to him throughout their lives for guidance, support and council. In spite of his distance from the formal church his actions confirmed his complete understanding of the gospel. Why does the hand of fate touch more gently on some than others? Why are some lives blessed with simplicity and success while others are cluttered with obstacles and challenges unique and disheartening? Why is there not a direct correlation between kind acts and personnel blessings? Why? because spiritual growth is linked to delayed gratification. Dad’s financial challenges were directly tied to his compassion and tenderness. It was said of his father “John would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it”. He was an excessive drinker yes, but one can’t help but think that the pressures of raising 10 children amidst failing crops combined with his giving nature led to unmet expectations, discouragement, depression and alcohol. Could Nate have struggled likewise? I believe so. His successes are often overshadowed by his disappointments and challenges. Struggling with cancer for over 7 of the last years of his life, no doubt much of his sharpness was driven by pain. His mistakes were from ignorance rarely from malice. Extremely competent and resourceful nothing intimidated him. Overwhelming obstacles at times appeared self generating. Wanderlust, wing walking and risk taking all defined Nate. The initial rush of the fall, the joy of the flight and the satisfaction of landing all provided personal satisfaction.
Nate's riches lie in his “life story”. Though temporal assets did not stick to Nate well, he experienced thousands of events barely conceptualized by most. His legacy lies in US who were blessed personally and/or genetically to share his nature. Hold to the good and resist the pitfalls!
FOUR-WHEEL-DRIVE
The General Purpose (GP) Jeep is an incredible device. First conceived as a means for rapid small scale infantry transportation through rugged terrain its value in World War II was expansive. In short order it became a key element of all engagements and operations. Due to its small maneuverable size and four-wheel-drive capability, nothing could stop it. At home climbing the mountains of Italy, crossing the deserts of Africa or roaming the beaches of the South Pacific. History has now attributed it as the key variable in winning the second Great War.
Long before driving in the dirt was considered a sport, Willys Overland modified the jeep for civilian use naming it the Willys Utility Vehicle (WUV). Dad was one of the first to own one and he became obsessed. My Dad was the first Jeep Dealer in Northern Utah. His love for vehicles was expanded with its presence. Between the efforts of the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC) and the Forest Service hundreds of dirt roads were created through out the Intermountain West. These became a virtual playground for Dad and his Jeeps. Prior to the establishment of the EPA and Range Management, my youth was spent making our own roads in the great back country. These newly created dirt roads were our starting point. Content at first, it wasn’t long until we would venture off into uncharted wilderness in pursuit of our own adventures.
As an avid outdoorsman, Dad lived to explore and this wonder-lust dominated our family life. Far from the resorts, motels and restraints our guns, rods, and cook stoves were all that was required for our recreation. With these light provisions and our four-wheel-drive, we were off for another exploit. The initial objective always paled in comparison to the adventure enabled by our WUV. Wonderful moments all but even these were clouded by an occasional mishap. It seemed like every adventure ended with something distasteful. A challenge or two, which at first glance, was insurmountable but with sufficient time, effort and ingenuity was conquered. As I reflect back I can say with certainty that each one was unique and attributable to the Jeep. Getting stuck was most common. Not just a slipping wheel or two but buried in a quagmire of mud up to the doors. Dad did nothing halfway even with his mishaps. Winches, trees, dirt and sweat eventually prevailed. If not, given sufficient time, another die-hard enthusiast would eventually pass by and eagerly lend a hand. I even recall a time or two when both vehicles became stuck. It was quite a sight to see this chain of metal buried in mud surrounded by perplexed people gazing in amazement as to how we had accomplished it.
Then there were the mechanical breakdowns. In spite of the Jeep’s rugged design and through testing on the War front, Dad was somehow able to punish it more. In order to get stuck to the magnitude we repeatedly attained, the mechanical abuse was enormous and repetitious. Again, in time fellow adventurers eventually arrived and assisted. Fuel was another variable in our outings. Few gas stations existed in the backcountry and these sojourns always took longer and consumed more than anticipated. The challenge was easily overcome. We just carried more by strapping on Big Red cans wherever possible.
In our road making labors we unfortunately lacked the necessary topographical maps of the areas to be traversed. Dad’s instinct although good was not perfect and as such we often found ourselves positioned on slopes unmanageable. Probably my greatest fears still are those times when we all wondered if gravity would prevail. My palms are damp even now as I reflect back on those moments. Dad’s confidence got me through. He didn’t even look concerned so it must be all right. His calmness under extreme pressure always prevailed.
Dad was stuck or broken down more than the average motorist in spite of his rugged WUV. Did he acquire a string of Lemons or were they pushed beyond their intended limits? Designed for emergency use the capability was for occasional emergency avoidance not continual sustained engagements. The SUV’s of today employ All-Wheel-Drive as a safety feature for dangerous road conditions and few see actual dirt and mud on a regular basis. Not my Dad, these capabilities freed him to go deeper, longer, higher and steeper until eventually limits were reached. By pushing the window as far as we did, the tool designed to help became the source of our trauma, leaving us in an exponentially worse state. Initially designed as a throw away vehicle to be used as a life preserver in extreme life or death situations, my Dad’s Jeep’s repeatedly went beyond the intended use by continually pushing the threshold of it’s capabilities. As such we more often than not found ourselves “out there”, “up the creek”, “walking the tight rope without a net”, “wing walking for the thrill of it”.
My mother loved the out of doors. She was never more content than sitting or hiking in “Her woods”. But in spite of this love she never quite got use to the stress of these self-induced incidents. Over time the trauma off set the tranquility. Soon her paranoia outweighed the promised joy and she quit going. Sadly both joined by passion for the out of doors yet radically different in their individual objective. Mom’s desire for peace and tranquility were incomplete juxtaposition to dad’s self-made bedlam.
I honestly think that Dad had become “hooked” on chaos. I think that he only felt alive in the middle of pandemonium, maneuvering through these self-made situations. “Can’t died because he didn’t try” his words still ring in my ears today. These words are reinforced by the fact that I am here today and nothing he put us through was terminal. All situations were conquered, each obstacle was overcome and every challenge was surmounted. It’s interesting now as I sit back and reflect upon the profound impact all this had on me. I too am a thrill seeker, I too push the limits, I too take pride in complex problem solving, I too never give up, I too have a history of going to far.
My Dad has been dead now for nearly 40 years. I am now nearing his position in life. I now reflect upon my histories successes and failures, happiness and sorrows, challenges and opportunities. A legacy has been created by my Dad. A legacy of confidence, of resourcefulness, of creativity, of problem solving, of ingenuity and of excitement. He taught us all to think and for that I am eternally grateful. Unfortunately what he did not teach us moderation. That now becomes my quest to learn to keep away from the edge, to avoid extremes, to evade the cliff. Maybe somewhere between Mom’s pursuit of forest tranquility and peace and Dad’s quest for adventure there is stability. Possible an objective to find peace in the stability of the mundane.
SIDE ROADS
My Dad was an adventurer. My entire life was spent exploring the back roads of the West. Given a choice we always took the road less worn, the one obscure, the side road. These choices although seemingly insignificant at the time led to entirely different adventures some good others ill. Most of these diversions were not recorded on the available maps, which seemed to intrigue dad even more. The thrill of observing the undiscovered or less known drove him on. Some of the greatest memories of my life to date are as a direct result of these apparently random choices dad made on those back roads. But just as many led to adventure; others lead to trauma and danger. Even today my hands turn clammy at the thought of some of these. Lying side by side with each event was exciting and the traumatic. In hindsight now I realize that these choices were not as random as originally believed. Dad kept extensive mental notes on it all. This data base led to the conscious decision to carry on resulting in subsequently greater risks. Through it all my confidence in Dad was great and expanding. In spite of the calamities experienced we always got through.
Agency is a bugger isn’t it. As with Dad and our situations, all were initiated by a choice. We have been given the opportunity to choose our actions and behaviors. We have been given the opportunity to have the influence of the spirit to assist us in our choices. But even that is a conscious choice. The spirit can help us know the will of God as well as avoiding the pitfalls and trappings of evil. Our sojourn here on earth truly does validate the true intent of our individual hearts. How we use our agency shows our commitment to God and our degree of compliance to his recommendations. Actions lead to consequences and although we are free to choose, these attendant consequences are not elective. A choice results in an outcome. Although not always immediate they will always follow. Short sighted choices delay progress and the side roads can lead to heartache and misery. Enlightened choices bring happiness and joy.
Accountability to the choice is inseparably linked to the chooser. Dad was fully aware of this and I am sure this is why he never gave up. This is why he tenaciously continued with the task at hand until he had got us all through unharmed. Influences of family, friends and circumstances although significant do not discharge accountability. The delay of future joy or heartache, success or failure, fullness or emptiness is predicated on choice. I watched as Dad sacrificed personal comfort, safety and ease to resolve the dilemma at hand. Some choose to be engaging others withdraw. Dad chose to engage, to take life on and live it to the fullest. With that choice he accepted the consequences. True he placed him self and his family at risk but in the same instant he was teaching us. Instructing us on this very lesson of responsibility, accountability and consequences. He taught us that there is always a solution to the most alarming challenges, but that solution rarely comes easily. He showed us that hard work and determination resolve the greatest of obstacles. This was my greatest lesson learned and is the fiber of my very being. To dad I give thanks for teaching me to gladly accept the good with the ill at the cost of opportunity. If you don’t like the seat you’re in, choose another.
THE POLE BENDS
My dad was a great outdoors man. If it flew, crawled, ran, walked or swam it should be tracked, caught, and cooked. Fishing was one of his favorite activities. The rod, the reel, the line, the tackle all-important, all unique, all chosen for events specific outcomes. Unfortunately I extracted more in metaphor than in skill from our lessons.
Life is and always has been a struggle apparently by design. A struggle not just for me but for all who have occupied or will occupy this globe. The fishing pole bends heavier for some than others and nobody has yet to figure out why. The greater the fight the greater the excitement but in turn the greater the disappointment and struggle. Just as you never know when you make a cast, if what attacks your fly is minnow or a mammoth, we wrestle with the rod just the same. Like the fish on your line, when it’s there you feel it, you fight it, you gain line, you loose line, you carry on until the line breaks, the pole snaps, the fish escapes or it’s landed. Regardless of the outcome when the tension is gone the experience will be relived. Having left a permanent imprint on your very soul it will be continually referenced throughout your existence.
My dad lived such a life up to the very end. Not easy but full of excitement, full of energy and full of growth. As my brother and I watched as his last breath was released it was understood by all that his legacy would not be forgotten.
Closing Thoughts on MOM
Eloise was a stunning woman with a dynamic outgoing personality. As with most of us, she focused inwardly upon her flaws instead of her strengths. Large boned, her petite older sister made her stature all that more extreme. Sharing parallel lives, Eloise’s fell short of Ivy’s. Both married to childhood sweethearts Mom’s husband died in the service of his country moments before the wars conclusion. Again sadness and disappointment compared to happiness and satisfaction. It’s no great challenge to be happy when good things happen. The true measure of the soul is to keep cheerful in times of disappointment. I don’t know how the heart can recover form a loss such as hers. To gain the courage to carry-on with optimism and hope is the measure of greatness. Denied the contentment and simplicity of a normal life, Eloise developed an ability to keep going and endure. Endurance by its very nature is making the best out of struggles. Sadly this struggling spirit attended most of her adult life. One of the best conversationalists I’ve ever known, mom in her quiet times possessed a melancholy known only to God. A melancholy only now I am beginning to feel and understand. Her optimism kept her going but please never judge her by the successes or failures of her short earthly existence. The disappointments and sorrow of her second marriage were at least in part due to the unavoidable comparisons to what could have been or what should have been. In spite of personal heartache she always left those in her presence better, happier, freer. So many of my childhood companions still consider Eloise their friend. As a self-proclaimed “peacemaker” she always serviced the emotional needs of all that shared her presence. Occasionally, when “out of work”, she seemed obligated to create a little needed strife.
As I reflect on Mom my thoughts are dominated by the word Beauty. Beauty in sights, beauty in sounds, beauty in words and beauty in thoughts. She embraced beauty wholly and shared beauty freely with all who would listen and receive.
WATERED DOWN ORANGE JUICE
My mother was a master at the art of extending stuff and making do. My father died in my youth and as such things were always tight financially. Mom did not want us to do without, yet lacked the resources to do it right. Thus everything was extended: our raw milk was mixed with powered, the meat loaf was 90% bread, and the orange juice was light yellow water. The scant pieces of pulp ensured us all that it contained some real juice; it was just the concentration that was in question.
I’m not against watering things down or diluting issues when appropriate. Even today I don’t like totally concentrated events. Mom’s juice did originate as frozen concentrate, she just went a bit too far in the dilution process in my mind. Even though her heart was in the right place, her extreme watering-down of the subject often missed the point. The politically correct are masters of this dilution process where critical issues are addressed, but the pulp is gone and the color pale at best. There is a point at which mom’s OJ ceased to become juice, where it turned into just contaminated water. Issues in our personal communications confront this same challenge. Have you ever sat down and eaten the frozen concentrate straight out of the can with a spoon? You can’t take many bites until the lips pucker and you experience brain freeze. Blunt, undiluted truth is hard to digest. When everything observed is spoken reception is low and listeners naturally reject. On the other hand, excessive diluting completely changes the intent. Watering down the content results in missed issues and bypassed objectives.
The dilution ratio of all orange juice concentrate, as stated on the can, is intended to maximize consumption. The objective of the consumer is to maximize value. Knowing the nutritional value of fruit juices in the growth of children, Mom’s original purpose was to supply us with them. Yet given her limited budget her conflicting objective was to minimize consumption. Thus the dilution process began. I don’t know when the liquid she created ceased to have dietary value. Somewhere along the process taste and color lost presence and confusion prevailed. Heck if it tasted good and looked inviting we would have wanted more. As I reflect upon mom’s juice I conclude that she meant us no physical harm. As a mother her need to provide was strong and she did the best that she could. Our mutual purpose may not have been met but the love was there, I see that now.
BURNT TOAST
Who do you know that eats the burnt toast? What do you do with life’s bread crusts? How about the odds and ends and table scraps? Those pieces which for one reason or another aren’t as desirable. Everyone wants the best but what do we do with the leftovers?
My mother was a Burnt Toast woman. For as long as I can remember she had the darkest piece on her plate. At times she went to elaborate lengths to scrape off the black. None of us wanted it so I guess she just didn’t want it wasted, all a part of the Depression Era perspective I assume. In my youth I actually thought she actually preferred it but as I matured I realized that she was saving the best things for us kids. She didn’t like the Burnt Toast particularly, she was just too frugal to throw it out, no one else would eat it and so she did.
I caught myself eating the Burnt Toast the other day; in fact as a parent I consumed quite a lot of Burnt Toast. The “Burnt Toast Syndrome” starts out with good intentions. It is a giving attitude and sacrificial in nature. These offerings, although small, are genuine and do make it nicer for others, but there is a down side to this Burnt Toast perspective. Over time, the giver begins to feel undeserving of better things. The long-term effect of settling for second-best is the limiting of personal vision and potential. Consistently denying self of gratification results in a distorted perception. Perhaps labeling self as undeserving, crosses the line of healthy self image. I’m not advocating uncontrolled decadence here, just a little time for personal care and maintenance. Every once in a while allowing yourself to enjoy something special, something good, something nice really does rehabilitate a bruised image. I guess another option is to just be more careful when making the toast in the first place. Now there’s a novel thought!
THIS IS NOT THE END
Eloise Russon Seamons, my mother, died April 22 1997 at 10:22 PM. My name is Ray Alan Seamons and I am her youngest son. She was preceded in death by my father Nathan Lund Seamons 27 years earlier and by her first husband and child hood sweetheart Vernon Radmal. 45 years previous. After being released from the hospital following a heart valve replacement, she was recovering at my home. Four years prior to this surgery she had recovered from a quadruple bypass also at our residence. That time she was very anxious to return to her own home. This time was different; she demonstrated no such urgency as in her previous recovery. In spite of the noise and confusion from our 7 children, she was content to relax in her room in our study. After 10 days of recovery she showed little interest in returning to her place. The day of her death she had been to a soccer game, completed a video with our son James and read a book for half an hour.
At 10:00 PM Eloise retired to bed. At 10:05 she called out “Alan something is wrong, I don’t understand. I took a deep breath and now something is wrong”. My wife and I quickly merged at her bedside. I was sitting on the bed next to her and Cindy was kneeling in front on the floor. Having watched my father die of a heart failure, I was painfully aware of what was happening. Holding tight I could feel her body muscle tone change. When we initially arrived her speech was tense yet normal. As things progressed her speech as well as her muscle tone deteriorated at about the same pace. Cindy was frantic in an attempt to resolve her condition. I on the other hand was uncharacteristically calm. Due to my physical contact with her and my past experience with dad I knew that she was passing on. During this time mom was talking directly to Cindy and I, explaining her feelings and thoughts as she felt her condition worsen. Intermittently, without hesitation, and with increasing frequency mom would talk out of context. “What are you doing here”? “Not now, please not now”, “Not after all I’ve gone through”, “Oh no not now”. As if speaking to us, yet turning to make eye contact with others unseen. This went on for about 10 minutes as life drained from her body. In the confusion of the moment her duel conversation went unnoticed and written off as a byproduct of a dying mind. Our good friend and neighbor Dr. Larz Bergson responded to our call of distress. He took charge as attending physician, and graciously protected her from the desires of the emergency medical staff to revive her mindless dying body. During this entire evening there appeared to be a reassuring calm over everyone in attendance.
The next morning, while planning the funeral services and discussing the events of the prior evening, we relived Eloise’s strange dialogue and the sprit of the evening. Upon recollection it became very obvious what had transpired. It is my testimony to those who read this that my mother Eloise Seamons was talking to loved ones in the study that night; Cindy, me and others not seen to the mortal eye. These guests who were residing with us that night were from beyond the veil. Even though Cindy and I could not see nor talk directly to them, it does not remove the fact that they were there. The veil over mother’s eyes was removed slowly but steadily as her spirit left her dying body. I am convinced that by the time of her departure there was no difference between any gathered in the study that night.
Death is not scary, negative, nor mysterious. Loved ones come and loved ones go. The veil is thin and when dying we will be prepared, comforted and lead to that “Next” level of experience. As a “Man of Action” I am by nature the one who generally takes charge and fixes things but not that night. I too was comforted, calmed, prepared and attended to. I have reflected upon the events of that evening numerous times and I attest that my father Nate was a member of Eloise’s welcoming committee as was Vernon her first love, both with a common objective of supporting her through the transition. Loved ones gone, with open arms, without resentment or discontent. I know that the petty differences experienced here on earth are quickly forgotten at these meetings and the warm loving feelings often lost in the pace and pressure of earth life come rushing to the forefront of all involved. Without the veil there is no faith, and we know of assurity. Earth is the time to learn to walk by faith “Now we see through glass darkly but then shall we see face to face. Now we know in part but then shall we know even as we are known.”
PINE
There alongside a heavily traveled trail that my mom use to enjoy stands a mighty pine, distinctive from all around. A unique life lived in spite of similar circumstances to its sister pines. By trunk width one of the largest around, testament to its ability to survive and endure life’s’ challenges. Shorter than many of its peers, it has compensated by the breadth of its canopy. Upon closer glance it is discovered that 5 distinct trunks have formed about 10 feet above the ground, protruding horizontally at first, and then abruptly they all go vertical. Enormous masses initially entangled in confusion they all eventually stretch skyward. Deep within the center of the entanglement stands what is left of the withered trunk; gray, cracked and dead.
Conifers such as this grow a canopy in direct proportion to their tap root, a mirror image in height of one to length of the other. So what happened so many years ago, which nearly terminated this trees existence? A single event so profound that it radically changed its genetic nature. It appears that shortly after this event a choice was presented to either adapt and grow or wither and die. Some how this mighty pine found the determination to survive. Slow at first but with increasing momentum until now it stands as a testament to those sensitive enough to see it. A monument of courage in the midst of catastrophe. Easier to give up, shrivel, and die. Surely it was justified given the magnitude of the incident and the probability of success. At best it would be different, never again to be as the others. Not now, not after this. The course was permanently altered. Why try? Why continue when original objectives and dreams are now beyond reach? What transpired within this majestic pine to determine to carry on inspire of the challenge? What was the source of courage inspiring it to become the best it could be in spite of this handicap? What sustained it in the early stages of growth, when just surviving required all the energy available?
So here it stands as a testament to all who have an eye to see. Its beauty lies not in statistics but in majesty and uniqueness, truly “one of a kind”. All of us confront challenges and events of life changing proportion. All of us loose hope and desire. All of us get discouraged, disappointed and depressed. Our futures are not determined by these incidents. Our futures are determined, as with the pine, by our response to them.
Like this pine both my parents left a legacy of strength, courage and growth. As such I posses with my very soul this combined determination and faith as do those who follow after. Thanks Mon and Dad for showing us how to be strong.
