Born 9 Apr 1863, Great Salt Lake City, Utah Territory, United States
Died 9 May 1957, Provo, Utah, Utah, United States

Daughter of John & Eline Hansene LARSEN LAMBERT

Wife of Robert Moroni MICHIE

Elena Dorothy LAMBERT MICHIE, taken about 1930.

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Life History of

Elena Dorothy Lambert Michie

Daughter of John Lambert and Eline Hansine Larsen
Wife of Robert Moroni Michie
(written by herself)

Part One: Adventurous Child


I was born of goodly parents on April 9, 1863, at Salt Lake City, Utah. My three older brothers, Joseph Heber, Ephraim, and Dan were born in Salt Lake City, too. My parents moved to Kamas before I was born [1861]. They were pioneers of Kamas. No other help was available, so mother had to go to Salt Lake City to her mother's for help before my birth. She rode on a load of wood drawn by oxen. They were three or four days on the road. Mother arrived there at 2:00 p.m. and I was born at 6:00 p.m. I cried for hours! Finally father called in the Elders and I was administered to and slept all night.

Eight of my brothers and sisters (Mary Elizabeth, Rebecca Cornelia, Sarah Christine, John Benjamin, Laura Amanda, Parley William, Agnes Emeline, and Alice Adelia, who was stillborn) were born in a small log house in Kamas, Summit County, Utah.

Now a few words about my father (John Lambert). He came to America when 20 years old. He met the Prophet Joseph Smith in Illinois. He was one of his bodyguards, and heard him say, "I go like a lamb to the slaughter, void of any crime." Father has wrestled with him many a time. When working in his office, he [Joseph] would sometimes run out in the street, grab the boys, throw them down, for a rest. They all thought it was fun, and an honor to wrestle with the Prophet.

I have heard father say he saw a halo around the Prophet when [he was] preaching, also a gray-headed, white-bearded man standing by him while he was talking. When he was through this personage walked to the door, where the mobs were waiting to grab him, and he went right through the crowd and wasn't touched.

Once during a drought, the people met together to pray for rain. There wasn't a cloud to be seen anywhere, but when he [Prophet Joseph] prayed, the rain was pouring down before the meeting was out. Father had the handkerchief that was around the Prophet's neck and a bullet he was shot with. Many men came our home to see them.

Father never could talk about him without shedding tears. Whenever he was called on to talk in meeting he would end with something about him and have to sit down. Father said he was next to the Savior, and when he died he wanted him to come to accompany him to the spirit world, and he did. My brother, Dan, happened to be the only one in the room when Father passed away. He said he saw the Prophet hovering over father. Dan took out his watch to see what time it was and it was 20 to 6 p.m. He looked up and the Prophet was gone. It happened just that way, that we may all know that father's desire was granted.

Father came to Utah in 1850 (Sept. 11th) in Lorenzo Young's1 Company with a wife and two children. The family settled in Salt Lake City (Second Ward). My father was a mason by trade. He worked on the Salt Lake Temple for years. He didn't like his boss. Brigham Young told Father if he would stay and work on the Temple he would give him a choice piece of land or he could go and pioneer Kamas. Father always wanted to go where he could raise cattle, horses and sheep. He was called by Brigham Young in 1861 to pioneer Kamas. He had a good adobe home in Salt Lake. He left it all and went to a barren sagebrush valley.

We lived in a tent until he could build a log house, dirt roof and dirt floor. Only one man was in Kamas. He was a trapper, his name was Rhodes. Father built the first house and there now stands a monument right where his first house was [near the corner of 100 South and 100 East].

He was a lover of animals. He had the largest and prettiest team of horses I ever did see. Two strings of the largest and loudest sleigh bells, also. We could hear them very plainly three miles away.

My mother, Eline Hansene Larsen, [was] born 13 Sep 1838, Copenhagen, Denmark. She being the first girl to accept the gospel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she with the rest of the family and others numbering 19 were the first family members to be baptized in Denmark. Three of her baby sisters were the first to receive their baby blessings under the hands of the Priesthood.

My Grandfather (Hans Larsen) was a sailor. He was born 8 July 1806, Lund, Denmark. His progenitors go back to the royals. The family came to America in 1853 in a sail ship with Captain [of the LDS people on board] Erastus Snow. One of Mother's little sisters died, and they had to bury her in the ocean for fear of sharks tipping over the ship2. When they landed, they came the rest of the way by ox team. They never traveled on Saturday or Sunday. Saturday was wash and scrub day. Everything was taken out of the wagon box and scrubbed, everything put back clean. Mother said their yards at home (Denmark) were kept as clean as their floors.

As we grew up in Kamas we had friends all around us. The environment was good, although occasionally a man would get drunk at a party. Father and mother were both very strict, and strict observers of the Sabbath Day and in paying of tithing. Many times I took butter and eggs to the tithing office. Father would always take the tenth load of what he raised to the tithing office. They taught us children to do the same. They had but very little education. Grandfather Lambert died when my father was seven3 years old, hence he had to earn his own living.

One winter the snow was so deep that nobody could get out to the grist mill. We had to live on boiled wheat, carrots and beef.

Mother had a very pleasant disposition. She would never do or say anything to hurt anyone's feelings. Father was more quick and stern. We were all physically strong, and brother Dan, when grown, was the strongest and largest man in Kamas.

The boys and girls played ball, rounders, baseball, and we liked steal sticks, pom-pom-pull-away. We had a lot of fun at rag bees, quilting parties and dancing parties, and home dramatic association plays. Sleigh riding with bob sleighs with a hay rack on them, two span of horses and bells on bobtail bays was always fun, too. At times about a dozen boys and girls with harmonicas and accordions would go. It was sweet music out in the open air at night.

Father and the boys would wrestle and box with boxing gloves to see which was the strongest, and at times would see who could chop the most timber. We all played at pull sticks and would grip each other down. We lifted on the scales. At the age of 16, I lifted 400 pounds on the scales, sitting down on them and lifting up on both sides. My younger sister who was larger than I, lifted 450 pounds. At that time I could pull up boys and grip them down, boys that were 3 and 4 years older than myself. There was one boy, George Leonard, that I couldn't do anything with because he was so strong.

We had very little time to play. There were times when my mother had to go out into the field and bind grain while father cut it with an old fashioned scythe.

It was a great help when we could wash our wool and send it off to be corded into rolls, then all we had to do was spin it. How well I remember the dye pot sitting by the stove, also gathering rabbit brush to dye with, the mader red and the pretty striped stockings we knit, at least we thought they were pretty, and with a blue denim dress how proud we were.

My father at that time owned many sheep and some cattle and oxen. Very often the oxen would run away with a load of hay and break the rack all to pieces. We had one ox that was awfully hard to yoke and many times he ran away with the yoke on his neck. We milked 25 or 30 cows, between the two families (Father had two wives), and when we turned them out in the morning we sometimes had a hard time to keep the oxen back. Many times I have run until I could not go any farther and had to lie down on the ground to get my breath, trying to get the oxen back after they got away. Father had to have them to work with in putting up the hay.

When I was eight years old, I made my first biscuits. I went to the shed, where father and the older boys were shearing sheep, to call them to dinner. On the way back I said to them, "You don't know who made the biscuits." When they ate dinner, how they did praise the biscuits! Why, I thought I was a real cook!

One day my oldest half brother, John, came home from fishing and he told his sister, Emma, to put her hand in his pocket and get some pretty pieces. She did and got a handful of snakes! Oh, what a shudder ran through me! It would have been worse for me than her for I was always scared to death of snakes. She was scared of mice. He would hold a mouse over her in the morning when he wanted her to get up and she got up right now! Once she and I were up along the side of a big creek in the grass, and all at once a snake about a yard long jumped to one side. Emma said, "Run, it's right after you." I turned to look and sure enough it was. Well, I ran to one side and it went on and I didn't wait to see where it went either.

When we were real little kids, we would get some bushy weeds and play with them for dolls out in front of the house. One day I laid mine down and went in the house for something. When I came back there was a green snake about a foot long crawling out of it. Believe me, we didn't have them for dolls any more.

I remember when [I was] a child I had my leg broken and my brother, Joe, carried me on his back out to see the little lambs. My sister and I had the whooping cough. How her nose would bleed and sometimes her ears. She had it much worse than I did. When we had the measles, I was the worst.

We had very little opportunity for an education. We didn't even know what a grade school was. I was nine years old when I started and know I had no more than an eighth grade education. Many times I had to stay out of school to help mother. While I did the housework, my mother would card wool and spin yarn and send it off to be woven into linsey for dresses, sheets, jeans and pants for father and the boys and yarn for all our stockings, mufflers and sweaters. We had knitting in our hands continually.

Our first school house was built of big rough logs, and if I remember right, our first benches were just logs. Later on, we had benches made of planks. Later, backs were added on them and then home made desks. My father's first wife [Adelia Groesbeck] was our teacher. One stubborn girl in my class would stand with her finger in her mouth and wouldn't say a word. One of my best girl friends had a real fight with the teacher. She pulled her hair all down and pulled out her watch.

The school house stood in the middle of the Fort that was built to protect us from the Indians. They used to come to Kamas in tribes and camp there. At one time we moved to Peoa and lived in a tent to get away from the Indians. My father said that Brigham Young said it was better to feed the Indians than to fight them, and he believed it. Many a time we had two long tables full of Indians. They used to always call for "Namba," which means Lambert, whenever they came to Kamas. I remember one time father gave them a big fat beef. They took it about a half block from the house and killed it, cut it up, put it in their pack saddle and away then went. Another time father gave them a mutton.

Later on, the Indians stole some horses and drove them off. They were about three miles from home when father saw them. He got his spy glass and looked at them and said, "Yes, they are our horses and the Indians." So we all got busy immediately. Horses were saddled, pack saddles, guns and ammunition were ready. Mother, and father's first wife, made bread and other things for them to eat. Away they went: John [Carlos] Lambert, my half brother, William Gibson, my intended brother-in-law, and Oscar Clark. Oh, the anxiety! We didn't know whether or not they would get back alive.

They were gone two weeks. They followed the Indians to Blue Mountain, then sneaked up on them just at break of day while they were asleep, got their guns and ammunition and then got the horses and brought them home. They got so thirsty that William Gibson killed a rabbit and drank the blood.4

Father would spy with his glass every day. At last he saw quite a dust in the distance and said, "Yes, it is them." Oh what a happy bunch we were! I shall never forget it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1Further research has shown that they traveled with Benjamin Hawkins Company. See the overland travel history for John Lambert.

2The baby was actually buried in New Orleans at the mouth of the Mississippi River. See the history of Elina Hansena Larsen, mother of Elena Dorothy Lambert..

3John was actually one month shy of being 14 years old when his father died. John's birthdate was 31 January 1820; his father died 22 December 1833.

4See William Gibson's notorized statement about this experience and others.

Part Two: Hard Worker

When I was 10 years old I had to take care of my mother in bed with a newborn baby. The first time, Mother sat up in bed and washed and cared for the baby, but it was too much for her so I had to do all after that. I never shall forget the washing! It seemed like I never would get through. When I got them on the line my older half sisters said how nice and white they were. I cared for Mother with the last four babies.

In my teens I worked out and took care of mothers and babies and did all their work. We had no nurses as they do now. I was nurse, head cook, wash girl and did all that had to be done. I worked in a cheese factory all one summer. I enjoyed the change. The lady told me I was the best girl she had ever had work for her. I kept house for a widower and worked for my aunts [my mother's sisters] in Salt Lake City at different times, and picked currants on shares for our neighbors. When we could get away, a bunch of us would go out in the hills and pick wild currants, gooseberries, haws and chokecherries, also service berries and raspberries. Any kind of work was always a pleasure to me. The more the better.

Dancing was the only vacation we had. My brother, Dan, and I were said to be the best dancers in Kamas. I would rather dance than eat any time. Oh, didn't we have fun, especially on holidays when we had dancing two nights together. We danced till 12:00 then had intermission, went home and cooked a hot meal of mashed potatoes, fried beef steak and buttermilk biscuits with plenty of butter. We went back and danced all night. I never missed a dance and when I got home felt like I couldn't take another step. Hen Walker, Al Rhodes and Clegg were the musicians. When Walker wanted to introduce a new dance he would take me out on the floor.

They didn't allow children under 14 to go to the night dances. The girls were told not to go outside the hall alone if strangers were there. Dances started with prayer and were dismissed with prayer. Our bishop finally got word from headquarters to close the dances at 2 o'clock. We then did away with hot lunch and had 15 minutes rest. Later on they cut down to 12 o'clock. We could then dance four hours, go home to bed get up and do our work and never know we had been to a dance.

Later on, a Dramatics association was organized. The president made three special trips to persuade me to join, said I had the best stage voice. My brother, John, said stage people didn't have a good name. I have wished many times I had joined. It would have strengthened my memory. I have never heard anything bad about stage people in my life.

While in my teens I was a teacher in Sunday School of the primary grade, the first counselor in Primary, treasurer in YLMIA.

When I was 19 years old [1882], before I was married, my husband's sister, Alice [age 16] and I were cooking at a sawmill for about 20 men. One day after dinner when the work was all done, I stretched myself out on a long bench (we had one on each side of the table) and said to Alice, "Shall we lie down and take a snooze or go down and pick some strawberries?" It was June and the wild strawberries were just getting ripe.

The boys, my brothers, owned and ran the sawmill. They had seen a bear up in the timber, but we didn't think it would come that close to the mill on account of the noise. We could also smell cotton burning. We looked in the stove, went outside and checked the tents where the boys slept, also looked in a box of cotton wadding but could find nothing burning. We took our little tin cups and went after berries.

We had just picked enough to cover the bottom of our cups when the whistle blew. We knew something had happened for that wasn't the time for the whistle to blow. In a little while here came my brother, Joe. I thought something had happened to my brother, Dan, who was the sawyer. The first thing Joe said was, "You girls are goners!" and told us the house had burned down. We then knew the cotton we had smelled burning was our bed which was in the corner of the cook house and if we had gone to take a snooze we would have found the fire.

The men thought we were in the house and ran and opened the door and the whole thing was ablaze. They couldn't get anything out of the house as there was a gun in each corner and they kept going off. They had all they could do to keep the mill from burning! Some of the piles of lumber got on fire. They had just got in a big load of food stuff the night before so it left us without any supper.

The first thing to do was to send a man to Benchcreek to borrow some flour to tide us over until we could get to Kamas and back. Along came a tribe of Indians and the boys got some deer meat from them. They put the stove up under some trees and plastered the cracks with mud, but we couldn't make it bake, so had to cook biscuits on top of the stove. We got all the tin dishes, knives, forks, spoons and scoured them to eat with. We all had meat and dough gobs for supper. We had no table so ate in all kinds of positions. We had no bedding and only the clothes on our backs. The boys divided their bedding with us and gave money donations for clothes . We had to go to Benchcreek on Sunday to make ourselves a house dress each.

While still at the mill, one beautiful day after we got our work done, Alice and I went for a walk across a stream of water called the South Fork to get some pine boughs on the hillside. There was a log over which we crossed. After getting the pine boughs we threw them over the water. When we were ready to cross I asked Alice if she thought she could wade the stream. She said she didn't know. I told her I believed I could. I said, "Well, I will see that you get across safely first." I thought I was head cook and bottle washer

I told her to take a stick that was laying there to balance herself with. She did but the water was so swift and she hung to the stick till she was overbalanced and in she went. I told her to grab a limb on the log and hang on till I could get to her. The water was so swift it took me right off my feet the moment I got in. I grabbed the log with my arm and worked myself along to her, but couldn't do a thing. I put my arm around her and told her to let go and away we went down stream, the big waves turning us over and over. We tried to work ourselves over to the shallow side. There was a limb of a tree that hung almost flat with the water. She being on that side, I told her to grab it, which she did, and it broke off so down we went again. We gradually got to where it was shallow enough to get out. We were about strangled! Alice was the worst as she got water down her throat when she first fell in.

Well, we looked just like two drowned rats. Now we must get to the cook house without the men seeing us. It was only a few rods from the Mill on the west side. We ran to the house. When we got there we heard some men talking like they were in the house, so we peeked through the cracks and saw no one. Being all excited we couldn't open the door. We still thought there were men in there as we could hear them talking. We thought they had the door locked. We slipped around the corner again and peeked and peeked but saw no one, so we tried the door again and it came open immediately. Instead of met, it was oxen at the west end of the house.

We had to have dinner at noon, only 15 minutes. We made the fire, changed our clothes and got dinner all right. We never told what had happened until three weeks later. When they heard our story they said it was the biggest wonder in the world that we ever got out for it was all a man could do to wade that stream of water, it being at its highest in June. That is the South Fork of Provo River above Woodland.

Later on they moved the mill up on Soapstone. I cooked for three years at that mill with different helpers. One summer there were three families working at the mill which made company for us. They also sawed shingles, bunched them, and planed lumber.

Part Three: Loving Wife and Mother

Late in the fall they ran short of mill men which left only 8 men to cook for. In the meantime, my help had to go home. They were short of help, but didn't want to bother to send for more for such a short time. I sawed shingles, bunched them, planed lumber piled it. I could bunch as many shingles in a day as any man there and cook for eight men besides. There wasn't a man there who could bunch over 12,000 a day, they all tried it. I could earn a dollar a day and cook besides. When I put in a full day I bunched 15,000. This may sound like bragging, but nevertheless it is true. I also piled them, some bunches weighing 114 pounds. My husband, what at that time was my best friend, hauled them to Park City. How he hated to have me pile shingles and did it for me when he could.

There was a lake in Soapstone Valley and the boys made a boat in which we would go riding. We had a lot of fun that summer [1885], which was my last summer at the mill.

One beautiful moonlight night, he [Rob Michie] and I were sitting on a pile of lumber. There he popped the question, and I said yes. Fours years later we were married in the Logan [LDS] Temple. There never was a kinder, more thoughtful, considerate man, with true love and affection than him. He would of made a booby of me if I would let him, but I never wanted to be a booby. That is one thing I hated.

It being late in the fall, the water froze up so it was necessary to pump water from a spring and carry it a long distance when the well went dry. I would cook dinner while it filled up and so on through the day. A friend of mine who was hauling lumber came to water his mules and wanted to rest me. He pumped a few minutes and said, "My gosh, how can you stand it? I am give out now." I couldn't quit when I give out. If I did it would fill up and I would have to pump that much longer.

They worked up in the hills as long as they dare in fear of being snowed in. [We] rode home in a snow storm on a load of lumber with two yoke of oxen. Henry Harder [was] walking on one side and singing, "The snow, the snow, the beautiful snow." Richard, my brother, said, "Darn the man that made that song!" When I got home, people said I had aged ten years that summer.

I never had but three days vacation in my life. That was the year of 1885. Six or seven couples of us young people went up the Weber River canyon. We had such a nice time that we all decided to go the next year. When the next year came, blessed near all of us were too busy getting ready to be married.

My first traveling was when we went to Logan to be married. We went from Kamas to Wanship in a cutter sleigh where a brother Simmons invited us to dinner. From there, we went to Logan on the train. When the big engine came puffing up, I didn't know whether I wanted to go on it or not, but I couldn't be a coward, so I got in without any preliminaries. It was the first time I had ever been near a train. I had seen them in the distance, but that was different.

We went to Ogden and stayed over night, stayed in Logan the next night, next morning at 8 a.m. we went to the Temple. We were sealed for time and all eternity. I have never for a moment regretted this. While there, many sacred and serious thoughts made a great impression on me. This has been a guide and a help to me all through the years. When I came out I knew more than I did when I went in. You know, we have to be in tune to get the finer things of life and eternity. One of the sisters said to me when I came out, "You look more sober than [when] you came in." I told her I felt that way, for I was afraid I would forget some things that I should remember. She told me to be faithful and all would be recalled when needed.

My brother, Joseph, and my husband's sister, Alice, were with us, and were married the same day. Our husbands tried to make us think that they were going to sleep with us that night, but we just slipped up to our room and that was all there was to that. We were on our way home the next morning, stopped at the same places overnight and were treated royally.

We had a couple of receptions, one at his mother's and one at my mother's place. We never occupied the same bed for a week after we were married. My husband (Robert Moroni Michie) and I were married 7 January 1886.

One of the hard things I had to do was go and leave my mother crying. For a minute I didn't know whether to go or stay home, then I thought I wouldn't be content at that, so then we went 6 miles from home to our home on Bench Creek, Woodland on a piece of land that his father had given him. Our house was a hewed log house with a shingle roof with two rooms, and we thought that we were just fixed up fine. Imagine having a cook stove, a glass-door cupboard, extension table, six chairs and a lounge that we could pull out and make a bed on it if we wanted to. The floors were covered with homemade rag carpet. We had a bedstead, bureau, wash stand and two chairs in the bedroom. We were very happy and thought that we were just fixed up lovely.

In the spring we began to clear the land of sagebrush, oak roots, rocks and get ready to plow. We didn't have enough land of our own. At times he would break up land for others for the use of it for a year. He would have a big farm if he could have had all that he broke up for others.

I have always been religious, or at least I wanted to be. I always hoped and prayed that I would get a real religious man and I got him. He took time for family prayers night and morning and a blessing every day at meal time. Always getting up real early in the summer time, he would go out on the range and bring in the horse and we could all go to Sunday School and meeting, sunshine or rain.

The next fall, about a week before my first child [Eugenia] was born, I was lying on the lounge planning what to cook for the thrashers, expecting them the next day. Then came a knock at the door saying the threshers would be there for dinner. My husband being away threshing, I had to dig beets, potatoes and get dinner ready. What a rush! They were there for dinner supper and breakfast. I couldn't stand on my feet the next morning, so my husband had to get them breakfast.

At that time it took 12 to 15 men to run the old-fashioned horse-powered threshing machine. We had the threshers with us over night for ten years in succession. [One time] they were pulling out just at dinner time. I had it all ready but they said no, for they had imposed on our good nature too much. We couldn't persuade them to stay so we invited our neighbors on both sides of us to have dinner and had a reunion.

When our second daughter, Myrtle, was 3 or 4 years old she was very sick for 3 or 4 days with a severe pain of some kind. Every little while she would scream out until the sweat would run out on her forehead in big drops We did all we knew how to do, and so we had her grandfather, father and uncle administer to her. I had her out on the couch and fixed her ready for bed, and was going to carry her to bed as she couldn't stand up before. She said, "Don't carry me. I can walk." And she slid off the couch and ran into the bedroom and climbed into bed and slept like a log all night. I put my ear to her to listen if she was breathing. She lay so still and quiet all night; never even turned over and that was the last of her sickness at that time.

She (Myrtle) was fifteen years old when she had the measles. She had escaped them once when the family had them, but she surely had a terrible siege. She couldn't rest anywhere. Sometimes I thought she had pneumonia. At any rate, she spit up streaks of blood. We had her administered to and she quieted down and rested. In about a week she started in with earache and abscesses under her chin and around her jaws. She was troubled all summer. At times she couldn't lie down and would sit up all night in the rocking chair with a quilt around her. We did all we knew to ease her, but there is very little ease until they break.

Our daughter, Hilda, was born when we had whooping cough. When she was three weeks old she began to cough. We knew that was a very bad thing for a baby to have, but we thought if we had faith and did all that we could that she would pull through. We had her blessed and named and administered to several times. When she got to the worst, she would go right off and she would have five choking spells every night. On this one certain Sunday, her father had just come home from Meeting when she had the worst spell she had ever had. The children thought she was dead and ran outside crying.

When I got her ready for bed, I told my husband that I didn't dare go to bed with her until she was administered to. He said, "Who shall we get?" It was high water time. The river was booming. We had to go away up around or away down around to cross the river to get anybody and we would have to hitch up the team. I said, "We are to call in the Elders, but why when we already have one in the family. I can help you." He said, "All right, if that's the way you feel." So we did, and she only had three coughing spells during the night and they were not half as hard, (of course, she coughed some during the days, too,) and so I do feel like women do hold the Priesthood along with their husbands.

My husband worked all one summer on a railroad and never got a cent. [He] would haul lumber to Park City whenever he could. It took a day to go to the mill to get it. Then he would start out at two o'clock a.m. in the coldest, stinging weather in January or February in order to make the trip without staying over night. And at Christmas the merchants would treat their customers generously. They offered him all kinds of liquor and tobacco, but he refused all. They asked if he had some children. He said yes, so they said, "Will you have candy?" He said yes. They replied, "Well, we sure do admire a man like you."

One time in the spring, my husband was very ill and had been in bed a week. His mother thought he had typhoid fever, but I thought he had the flu. Well, this one day he felt quite discouraged for he had so much to do and couldn't do anything. Some of the older children were away to work. He wanted them all to come home and kneel around his bed and pray for him, which we did. We also sent for the Elders to come that night and he was administered to again, and the fever left him that night. His mother was there, so I insisted on her going upstairs to sleep so she wouldn't be disturbed with the babies. (We were then living in a new four-room home and had been for a number of years.)

After the work was done and all [were] to sleep, I sat on the foot of his bed and combed my hair. Everything was perfectly quiet. About two o'clock a.m. he said to me, "Do you hear that music" I said, "No. Where is it? What is it?" He said, "It is a violin playing 'Do What is Right.'" I said, "Now that we are talking, does it disturb the music?" He said, "Yes. Now it is in the distance and before it was right here in the wall." He said, "Let's be quiet for the music has come to comfort you in time of need." In just a few minutes he began to sing and he sang two verses of "Do What is Right" right along with the violin. He also said every note was played distinctly. The music lingered along off and on almost all night.

The next morning when his mother came down, he was asleep. I told her what took place and she broke down and cried. She thought he was going to die. I told her no, he wasn't, he was going to get well, and he did. In a week from then he was out to work. During the meantime, our good neighbors got busy and did some plowing and put in a few acres of wheat.

We all went to everything pertaining to the church whenever it was possible. I had special word sent to me to be sure to be to a special Relief Society meeting. I had heard they wanted me for President. Of course, I went and when the Bishop called for the first nomination, I got busy and moved that the Bishop's wife act as president and it was carried. She chose me for her first counselor.

Our children, as they grew old enough, all took active parts wherever they could. Eugenia, my oldest, was secretary in Sunday School. At the end of the year she and her helper got together to make out the year's report. While she was at her home, one of the family broke out with Smallpox, and the result was she got it and brought it home. We all had it and we had quite a time, but we all got through all right, and you wouldn't know that any had ever had smallpox.

People of our ward had great faith in my husband in administration. He was called on so often. One girl died of diphtheria right under his hands while administering to her, but that didn't lessen their faith. One young man was given up by the doctor. He said he had done all he could and that he was dead. But through his faith others, and the power of the Priesthood, he got well and went and paid his doctor bill. The doctor said that was the first time that a dead man ever came and paid his bill.

At the time the little girl died, we had seven down with measles. Two were real sick, this was in February. This Sunday night, my husband had to stay outside until I got water and a change of clothes for him so he could bathe and disinfect himself before he could come in. There was no place but the granary and [it was] as cold as blue blazes! Again we all pulled through all right.

We had many congratulations on our family, and asked how do you do to keep your children looking so nice. Your husband isn't getting any higher wages than ours. I said we don't drink tea or coffee, we don't use tobacco or whiskey. We try to make the best of all we have.

While living in Woodland, my husband worked in the Sunday School and YMMIA and as ward teacher. My brother, Ephraim, was Bishop in Woodland for fifteen years. When we moved away, he told me that had it not been for my husbands hearing, he would have been at the head different times in place of a counselor. He thought the world and all of my husband and said we could travel for thousands of miles, and see thousands of people and we wouldn't find one out of a thousand that would be equal to him. He was honest and tried to do good all the time. I would tell him sometimes that I believed he thought more of his neighbors than he did of his family and he said, "No, darling, I do not, but when I sit down to eat I like others to enjoy the same." Whenever he killed a pig or animal of any kind, the neighbors all had to have piece. I sometimes wondered if he would have any left. We also had good neighbors.

One Valentine night we had been to a dance and just before sunup I heard someone hollering. I told the children to look out the window and see if it was coyotes. They said our neighbor's house was on fire. I woke my husband and he was up immediately. They were quite a distance from us and [there was] only a trail [to their place]. As the snow was three feet deep, he jumped on a horse and went. I told him to be careful.

There was no water to put out the fire. The house burned down. He came home and got the wagon and brought the family to our home. They stayed with us a week while the people got together and moved a vacant house and fixed it up. When one of the neighbors came to pick them up he said it wasn't fair for us to have to keep them all the time. My little boy about the age of theirs, three or four years, had two pairs of shoes. His Sunday shoes were red. I asked him if he would give them to their little boy, so he right away got them. They only had their night clothes on, so we divided our clothes with them until they could get better.

My husband and I worked unitedly together as the heart of one. Here in Woodland is where all our children were born.

Identification of those in the above photo:

Back row, left to right: Della Eugenia, Fern Elena, Marvin Robert, Genevieve, Myrtle Lizetta. Center row: Robert Moroni Michie [my husband], Rula (baby), Elena Dorothy Lambert Michie [myself], Preal Frances. Front row: Hilda, Lambert Moroni [called "Pete"], Violet. Not in the picture is Asael Trevor who was born in 1907. I had a stillborn in 1893. [Photo taken about 1905]

Now our family was so large we had to get more land, so after 22 years in Woodland, we sold our home and moved out into the Duchesne County on April 1, 1908 to homestead. Here we pioneered for thirteen years in a log house with a dirt roof. Our four oldest were girls, but had to do men's work. All of us worked that could work. We all pitched in piling up sagebrush and we did raise a good garden. My husband built a log house that was warm and comfortable, also a granary, and cellar, a cool place for milk. He dug an extra place for potatoes. It was a good place for vegetables. We raised turnips that made twelve pounds; a cauliflower, seven pounds which took first prize in Roosevelt and Salt Lake; [and] carrots, seven pounds [which] took second place. I think I still have the blue and red ribbons.

Our first winter was a hard one for we weren't prepared for what we got. The snow drifts [were] so deep that we couldn't go anywhere. Two of our cows starved to death and the rest of them blessed near did. We had heard that stock could live out all winter. We had plenty of hay, but couldn't go back to our former home to get it. Word had gone out that we had to kill all our stock to live ourselves. That wasn't true. My brothers at Roosevelt sent us a sack of flour which tided us over until we could get some ourselves. We went pretty skimpy, but we got along all right.

Finally we thought we were prospering and my husband felt so happy and encouraged. He was preparing to build a new house, but a change came. Our baby boy (Trevor, age 3) became ill and died October 27, 1910, and Fern had Typhoid Fever. We had to decide where to have a cemetery and our baby was the first one buried in it.

The Tabiona Ward was organized in 1911 and I was made Relief Society President and worked at this for ten years until I moved to Provo. My husband was made first counselor to Bishop James S. Jones and served until his death.

A few words about my husband, Robert Moroni Michie. I don't believe there [are] many men more kind, thoughtful, and considerate than he was. Everybody that knew him loved him, and said if there ever was an honest man on earth, Robert Michie was one. Everybody loved to hear him preach.

We went together whenever we could. We were together to Sunday School the Sunday before he got his death blow on Monday. My husband died February 23, 1912, of an accident that happened at a saw mill. He with others agreed to go to a saw mill Monday morning to make some double doors to divide the classes at church, which was held in the school house. He was working under a saw mill shed. The sawyer asked him to help him roll a log onto the carriage, which he did. Then he stepped back into a sawdust pit that had a 2 x 4 laying across it. He fell and hit his back on it and broke three of his ribs next to his spine. They crushed into his lungs which caused his death.

He couldn't lie down, so he had to sit up in a rocking chair for 17 days and nights. Oh, how he did suffer! Still, he wouldn't have a doctor and said if the Lord couldn't save his life the doctor couldn't. So we did all we could for him and exercised all the faith we knew how to. At times he felt easier, then at times he felt like the Lord had forgotten him. He also said, "If the Lord wants me I am ready to go, as bad as I want to care for them (my family)."

The day before he died he was administered to for the last time. He sealed the anointing himself. And he offered up the most beautiful prayer. He told his brother, William, to look after my son, Marve, who was 18 Years old and told Marve to take care of his mother. The Bishop's and his [my husband's] brother's hands were on his head. The bishop said that prayer ought to be written in big gold letters so everybody could see it. He was the Bishop's first counselor. The Bishop asked him what he would do for a counselor and my husband said he didn't know, but hoped it would be someone that would be of better service than he had been. He had always been on hand to do anything he could. His last words were, "Poor little Trevor" (who had died, age 3).

Some of the men got a doctor regardless, but he passed away before the doctor got there. I asked the Dr. had he been there what could he have done. He said he could have taken a rib out, which would let the blood out, which would have prolonged his life a little.

We had a most beautiful funeral. People came from all around to attend it. His coffin was made out of the lumber that came out of the log that he had rolled onto the carriage. [He was buried in the Tabiona cemetery next to Trevor.]

Our oldest daughter at Heber [Eugenia] was very, very sick with milk leg following the birth of her first baby. At the time of her father's death they couldn't tell her. She told them they didn't need to keep anything from her, for she knew her father was dead. Genevieve and Preal were both away to work in Salt Lake City. We had a hard time to get them home as the snow was so deep over the ridge. We had to send a man on snowshoes to the top of the ridge to meet my brother at the top of the other side to get the material for the [burial] clothes and we made them.

We had friends all around, but oh, the terrible loneliness and heart ache. At the same time I felt like many were praying for me. I was warned the morning that he went to work. I never wanted to do anything so bad in my whole life as I did want to persuade him to stay home that day, but I thought, what would the people think if I tried to keep him home when he was going to work for the benefit of the Sunday School. If I ever had that feeling again, I would use all of my influence I could regardless of what people may say.

Part Four: Bereaved Widow

After his death I just did not know how I could live. Eight children care for; the two oldest were married and had their own to take care of. Marve took right hold, and did very well considering his age.

We all had to work. Money was as scarce as hens teeth. I sent the children to school, wherever they could go and work to pay their own way.

It may be all right to tell a little of my experience while president of the Relief society at Tabiona. There was no doctor within thirty miles, and no cars for a number of years. I would go, wherever I could go, to help in sickness and death. When I couldn't go they would come after me. I have gone all times of night, in all kinds of weather, in all kinds of conveyances from buckboards to cars [and] all kinds of sleds and nearly froze to death.

There was a midwife there, Esther Wagstaff [mother of daughter-in-law, Orpha], one of the very best. She always wanted me to go with her, and I did. I became her regular helper, but without charge. My work was free gratis. Sometimes there was two cases at the same time. Then I had to take it alone, and by the help of my Heavenly Father we got along all right. Ofttimes as soon as we got through with one case we went immediately to another. Instruments had to be used and men called in when physical help was needed. She had a record of 2,800 babies that she had delivered and never lost a case. I would put her ahead of any doctor, regardless of name or station.

Epidemics and accidents were often serious. There were many people who would go to her for help in common sickness. She would send them to me. I never did refuse.

At one time in our little town there were nine babies who had Whooping Cough. I am satisfied that most of them had pneumonia, though we had no way of knowing. My second counselor and I went from one place to another and put old fashioned poultices on them. We kept them warm and changed them night and morning. it was made knows to me that two of them would pass away, and I knew which two it would be. One little girl [was] eighteen months old. The moment I clapped my eyes on her I knew she would pass away, yet I went there several times, stayed over night. Of course, others went there, too.

One lady, on her way home, stepped in and told me if I would go up there and stay [in their home] they knew their little girl would bet better. I told her no she won't get better, but of course I went. While I was there, my daughter's husband (Rollo Jones) came after me. His two months old baby was very bad. The little girl [I had been staying with] died that day, and the baby [mentioned earlier] died the next morning, and of course we were very busy until they were laid away.

There have been times that I have sewed two days and nights for the dead. I never had a wink of sleep until they were laid away.

My oldest son, Marvin, had Typhoid. He was utterly helpless for nine weeks. I had to turn him over with a sheet. For five weeks I never had my clothes off, except long enough to bathe and change them. Everybody gave him up but his mother. At one time he told his wife and sister goodbye, and said "Goodbye mother." I said, "You are not going to die." He said, "How do you know I am not going to die?" I answered, "I feel you are not going to die." Every morning after that he would say, "Mother, how is your faith this morning?" I told him it hadn't wavered. Even the doctor said, "If he gets better, don't give me any credit." He [the doctor] told our neighbors, "The next thing his mother will be sick." I wasn't. I sometimes have asked myself how did I stand some things that I have.

At one time the midwife I have spoken of had five grandchildren down with Scarlet Fever in her home. they were quarantined. She sent for me. I went, knowing I would have to be disinfected. One little five year old girl was awfully bad. She could hardly get her breath, because of such a sore throat. I asked her grandmother if she (the little girl) had been administered to. She said no. I said, "Oh, have it done right away," which they did.

We got a few chunks of lime to put in with some hot water. It began to boil and we put a blanket over the tub. The grandma, with the little girl on her lap, were covered with the blanket. They had to breath the steam. They had to put their heads out several times to get a breath, but this loosened her throat. She coughed and spit out a lot of phlegm, and from then on improved. All the rest of them improved also.

I was there three days, then I was disinfected and went home. I could say a lot more along this line, but what I have said is a sample of what I have experienced.

Women have told me that I had saved their babies' lives. I said, "No, I haven't. I tried to help them and the Lord raised them up." Some said they couldn't have a baby without me.

When my last child went away to school, I was left alone. I decided I was no good left alone on the farm. I then decided to come to Provo, so I rented the farm and came to Provo [in 1921]. I haven't been sorry yet for the course I took. During the meantime, I sure did a lot of praying. Most of my children followed me. Those that were married, of course, went with their husbands: Eugenia in Heber, Myrtle in Duchesne, Genevieve in Provo, Preal in Pleasant View, Marve in Tabiona, Violet and Hilda in Provo, Rula in American Fork, Fern in Provo, and Lambert in Salt Lake.

I rented here (Provo) for three years, then decided to pay 'rent' on something for ourselves. During the meantime we had saved up $200.00 that we had to pay down on this place (488 East 600 North), and a hundred dollars every six months. We did that and paid all we could on the principal. [I] should have said Hilda, Rula and Lambert did. At the end of seven years it was paid and the deed handed to me until the end of me, then it goes back to them [Hilda, Rula and Lambert].

After moving to Provo I have been with four different doctors on different confinement [childbirth] cases. They used instruments on one case, but the Dr. stood holding his hands up with gloves on, watching her tear to have the job of sewing her up, to get the extra $5.00. I felt like telling him to step to one side and let me help her. I could have prevented it myself. This was before the hospital days. Several times since coming to Provo I have had the opportunity of spending ten days in caring for a mother and her new baby without charge.

I have had seven chances to be married, all supposed to be Latter-day Saints. If I could take the characteristics that suited me, and put them into one, maybe it might make one as good as my man, but I doubt it. So I am taking no chances. I have one waiting on the other side, so that is all I want.

I wish everybody could be as well satisfied as I am. I didn't want to bury another husband, so the course I have taken I don't have to. Thank heaven for that. The most heartbreaking thing of my life was to bury my husband, and if it hadn't been up to me to take care of my children, I would have prayed for the Lord to take me. I didn't know what on earth I would do without him, but it has been like his spirit has been with me to help me over the hard things and uphill business.

Part Five: Beloved Grandmother

In Provo I have been a teacher in Relief Society for many years, a worker in genealogy and a member of the sewing and art committee. I have done a lot of temple work even staying days at a time in Salt Lake to do temple work.

I will now tell a little of my hospital experience. On October 18, 1948, I fell and broke my hip and pelvic bone. They took me to the hospital. The first thing they did was x-ray me and found the broken bone. They never told me anything other than my hip. the girls were told that under my condition and age of 84, they could do nothing, that it would have to get along the best it would. They elevated me in my room, straightened me out and put what they called sandbags. One bag reached from my heal to my hip, a shorter one on the inside. I was certainly in a brace. They felt like iron bars to me. They doped me up with penicillin. I took $50.00 worth while I was there six weeks.

We had the Elders every night, and a sleeping tablet the last thing at night. The very first visiting hour the next day, here came the Bishop and counselors. After exchanging a few words, the Bishop said, "Sister Michie, we have come to give you a blessing." They did give me a heavenly blessing. the word blessing gives me a thrill whenever I think of it. I wondered how they had gotten word of my condition so soon.

The Dr. never did anything to my hip until the following Wednesday. That day our Bishop Hintze and our former Bishop Ballif came and gave me a special blessing for the special occasion, after which they wheeled me into the operation room [and] put me on the operating table. In walked the Dr. They gave me a spinal. Two or three of them wheeled in the x-ray machine. They were moving something, either my leg or the machine, I don't know what. I had no feeling. The man said, "A little this way - a little that way." then said, "just right." He was then ready to go to work. I thought, OK, go to work. I was there three hours. While he was making the incision it appeared like it was awfully hard to cut. I thought, well I am old and tough. It never hurt a particle! All I felt was the sensation of it. I think it was that which made me sick. My daughter, Fern, who was then a nurse at the hospital, witnessed the operation and she was so interested watching the Dr. that she didn't even know that I was sick. Another nurse was taking care of that part of the business.

When he [the surgeon] was driving the pin in, it sounded like he was pounding awfully hard. All I felt was the jar of it. the pin looked like it was about eight or nine inches long. It had three smooth sides about a quarter of an inch thick. This is the size it looked to me, though I never saw it before it was put in. I saw the x-ray picture after it was put in.

When the Dr. got through he said, "This is the best job I've ever done. I feel quite proud of myself." I thought to myself, I wonder if he realized what power has helped him. I did. I was telling this to my daughter, Myrtle, who had not yet seen me. She lived a long way off and had no way of coming, and had to wait for a chance. She said he didn't know how many were praying that his hands would be guided that everything would be put in its right place.

When I was all taped up, they put me back into my little cozy bed, wheeled me back into my room, put a weight on my foot, and I was again in a brace. I couldn't move again that night. Brother Hyrum Muhlestein, our Patriarch, gave me a wonderful blessing. The last thing at night was a sleeping tablet. It lasted until about twelve o'clock, penicillin time. (It had to be given every three hours, sleep or no sleep.) I was good and sick from then until morning.

One of the nurses said next morning, "Sister Michie, what would you like for breakfast this morning?" I said, "Oh, please don't mention breakfast! If you will make me a little cup of right strong coffee without any cream or sugar in it, I'll take that." She did it and I took it, and I never have taken anything in all my life that did me as much good as that in such a short time. It took away that nasty sickness suddenly. The reason why I am telling this is to prove that coffee is a medicine, and our Heavenly Father isn't pleased with us when we drink it otherwise. It will also kill ptomaine poison which we sometimes get in canned food.

Next morning, here came my little cup of coffee on my tray. I told them I was no coffee drinker, that what I had taken was for medicine. It did its work, now I needed no more coffee. Oh how I would have loved to drink it, but I said to myself no, I have kept the word of wisdom as far as coffee, tea, whiskey and tobacco are concerned. I am too old to start now. So that was the last of my coffee.

Things went on as usual. A few days and here came our former Bishop Ballif and his counselor, Terry. They gave me another blessing. Brother Terry was mouth that time. He repeated one thing it says in my patriarchal blessing that hasn't come yet. He hesitated a little when saying it, as though he might say something he ought not to say, I thought, well, I'll ease his mind when he gets through, so I told him, "That hasn't come yet, but it will if I live worthy of it, either in this life or the life to come. I think it is meant for this life. At least I hope it is."

There was one time while there that I could hardly talk, but I laid every ache and pain to my hip. I couldn't figure how it could affect my speech. They told me later that I had pneumonia. I heard a little inkling a time or two about never walking. I thought to myself, how can I help but get better and walk after having such wonderful blessings pronounced upon my head by the servants of the Living God. I said to myself, by the help of my Heavenly Father I will fool them. I will walk. I never doubted one minute that I would walk, but I did think that I would walk much sooner than I did. When I did walk, hearing so much about not walking that I feel more grateful than ever that I walked as soon as I did.

I had more friends that I ever anticipated. Friends and relatives came from far and near. With their sweet spirited souls, they always had something nice to say. One night I heard a group of nurses talking in the hallway. They said, "Sister Michie must be the favorite patient in the hospital. She has more letters, more cards, more flowers and more visitors than anyone else in the hospital." I felt quite puffed up! Then I had another thought. Well, there is a jap here who has had his hand taken off, a lady that likes to keep the nurses busy, and a man in the adjoining room from me. He did have a bad cough, and he sure made a terrible fuss about it. I was glad when he left.

When the girls were getting me ready to come home the Dr. said they were taking a great responsibility on their shoulders. I thought, well, they can do what is necessary and I hope I am through with the Dr.

There were months and months in my home that there wasn't a day that passed but what I had callers and visitors. Different ones came bringing little dainty foods, thinking I would enjoy them, and I did. My appetite increased. One good old soul brought me a piece of fresh beef about one foot long and about five inches square. I tell you that was an expensive Christmas present. Everybody has been so kind and nice to me that I feel like I am indebted to everybody, especially to my Heavenly Father. I hope and pray that I can live in a way that I can make myself worthy of the blessings that I have received from my Heavenly Father and His children.

Going back to my recovery from my accident: the first meeting I walked to, Bishop Ballif bore a strong testimony of my healing. He said, "The healing power has been made manifest in a marvelous way through the case of Sister Michie. Many said she would never walk. She is here today. She had the faith and she worked. She is a living testimony of God's power and goodness, a living testimony to me." Patriarch Muhlestein said, "We need look for no greater evidence of administrative power. Sister Michie is a living monument to the ward." Professor Cummings said, "When word came of Sister Michie's accident it send a gloom all through the ward."

I am very proud of my children. All of them have worked hard, some have been school teachers, stenographers, nurse, carpenter, and farmers. All of them are active in the church, all holding positions in the various organizations. One son [Lambert] went on a mission to Colorado. All that have married have been married in the Salt Lake [LDS] Temple and have families. I do wish Hilda could find a good man that she could learn to love, so as to have a companion on the other side. Then she could be happy and contented.

~~~~~~ END ~~~~~~


Elena Dorothy Lambert Michie died at the age of 94 on May 9, 1957, at her home in Provo. She was buried in the Tabiona Cemetery next to her beloved husband, Robert Moroni Michie, and her baby son, Trevor.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The foregoing history was written by Elena D. L. Michie. She wrote these events of her life on note paper, the backs of bulletins and other pieces of paper at various times in 1933, 1942, 1950, 1954, and 1955. Part of these were typed by her daughter, Hilda, who edited it and made corrections in spelling and punctuation. After Hilda's death, I (Yvonne) have arranged and typed the history. Therefore, the history is in two styles - correctly edited and just as written. In both cases it is Grandmother's history as she wrote it. I have tried to put the events in their chronological order. Grandma did get her wish. Hilda was married and sealed to a good man whom she loved and both are now together on the other side.

~ Yvonne Jones Perry, granddaughter, March 1978.

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July, 2003

I, Venita Parry Roylance, granddaughter, have transcribed Yvonne's printed history into digital form. I have also corrected spelling and punctuation throughout, inserted photos, and have added bracketed words where I believed they were needed for clarification.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Transcription of Elena's obituary:

Daily Herald, Provo, Utah
Thursday, May 9, 1957
Utah County, Utah, p. 4

Elena Dorothy Lambert Michie

Pioneer Utah Woman Dies at 94 in Provo

Mrs. Elena Dorothy Lambert Michie, 94, died this morning at her home in Provo of causes incident to age.

She was born in Salt Lake City on April 9, 1863, the daughter of John and Elena Hansena Larsen Lambert. She was married to Robert Moroni Michie on Jan. 7, 1886, in the Logan Temple. They made their home in Woodland, Wasatch County, where their 11 children were born.

In 1908 they moved with their family to Tabiona, Utah, where they homesteaded and helped settle the town. Shortly after this move their baby son died and was the first one to be buried in the Tabiona Cemetery. Mr. Michie died 16 months later on Feb 23, 1912, following an accident at a local sawmill.

Mrs. Michie was a very devout member of the LDS Church and served as president of the Tabiona Ward Relief Society for 10 years. In this capacity she served as nurse, seamstress, spiritual advisor and mortician. She was called into all the homes during illness and assisted during many a childbirth. After moving to Provo in 1921 she served as work director in the Manavu Ward Relief Society and directed the making of hundreds of quilts. Her life has been one of pioneering and hard work until she moved to Provo.

Flowers and handiwork have been great hobbies of Mrs. Michie. She has made many a quilt in her life making her first, a crib quilt, when she was six years of age. Her home has always been beautiful with flowers both inside and out, which seemed to thrive under her tender care.

Mrs. Michie has 162 living descendants which include her 10 children, 45 grandchildren, 106 great-grandchildren and one great great grandchild.

Surviving are her eight daughters and two sons, Mrs. Eugenia Sharp of Heber City, Mrs. George H. (Myrtle) Wilcken of Duchesne, Lambert M. Michie of Salt Lake City, Marvin R. Michie of Tabiona, Mrs. E. M. (Rula) Wrigley of American Fork, Mrs Fern Lewis, Mrs. Thomas (Violet) Parry, Mrs. Genevieve Allen, Mrs. Preal Jones and Miss Hilda Michie all of Provo. She also has a sister, Mrs. Emmeline L. Carpenter of Park City who survives.

Funeral services will be held Saturday at 11 a.m. in the Nineteenth-Manavu Ward Chapel with Bishop Chauncey C. Riddle of the Nineteenth Ward officiating. Friends may call at the home at 488 E. 6th N., Friday evening from 6 to 9 and Saturday prior to the services.

Burial will be in the Tabiona Cemetery at Tabiona, Utah, under the direction of the Olpin Mortuary of Heber.

More about "Lena":

Additional family photos and census records

History of Robert Moroni MICHIE, husband

History of John LAMBERT, father

History of Elena Hansena LARSEN, mother

History of Adelia GROESBECK, step-mother

Back to Histories Index

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