Now here is a real surprise. The original photo was so spotty and defunct but it came to life a bit after doctoring it up. Looks like, l to r, Louise, Peggy, Dwight in monstrous sheepskin coat, Dean, Stanley, maybe Verne in front? Aunt Elna and Uncle Oscar in back, looks like puffing on his pipe. Don't know man on left or on second row in back in Tom Mix hat.
Garland was about seven miles from where we lived in Penrose and was our mailing address all the time I lived at home. I remember when there were still some stores there when I was little that Mom took me there to buy some overshoes in one of the stores. It seems like there was a boardwalk. I also remember going with Grandpa Wasden to see Isaac Wasden who was living in one of the abandoned stores for a time. The corner lot by the telephone pole became a general store that was still open when I was in high school. We stopped there occasionally for Nehi grape soda. The Garland postoffice was a little tiny structure somewhere near where these tracks are where for decades "Joe Bob" Cubbage dutifully tended (and read our postcards, maybe?) our mail which was then delivered by Ezra Lewis, or "Ez" as we called him on a long rural route that he serviced for many years. The highway from Powell to Lovell came down the street then lined with telephone poles, turned south, (on the left side of the photo), and that is the way that we ultimately got to Penrose. Gail Burke ran a well patronized traditional blacksmith shop that we often needed repairs from. Now, nothing is left and Garland sees only the ghosts of its former proud existence.
If this keeps up, I won't have to print my story. I'll just use pieces of it here and then I'm done. Dwight asked about our memories of the Penrose Church. Here are just a few of mine.
For many years, the church had been used as a voting place during
election time and for Saturday night dances. Before we started school, Steve
and I would spend voting day at the church with Mother, who was one of the
voting judges. She probably heaved a sigh of relief when older siblings got
home from school so she could send us back to the house.
Either Steve or Judy discovered we could get inside through the outside
coal chute so once in a while we would go adventuring. Other times we
would ask Mother for the key and then we didn't feel like trespassers. The
front steps provided an incredible place for “stair hopping” and stair jumping.
We would compete with each other to see how many steps we could take at a time.
Inside the church were hidden treasures. There were books, some of which eventually came to our house and became favorites. One of the best, for me, was Song of Years. There were a few chairs, two of which came to our house and were treasured possessions because they were just the right size for little people. The smallest one was mine to keep in my bedroom and was a favorite possession during those early years.
One Saturday night the church was being heated for a dance and it
caught fire. Watching from my bedroom window, it was scary to see the flames
coming out through the roof. The Powell fire department was called and we
were all excited about having a real fire engine come to Penrose. That put an
end to the Saturday night dances in the church.
There was an outhouse by the old church and every Halloween it seemed to get tipped over. Strange because who, besides kids in Penrose, even knew that outhouse was there?
Dad paid $500.00 for the 5 acres of land and the church building on
November 13, 1956. The receipt was signed for the Big Horn Stake by a Mr. Jolley.
One of the conditions of the purchase was that the church and foundation were
to be cleared off “in reasonable time”.
When the dismantling of the church began, Dad discovered the walls on
the north side were full of honey from bees that had been there for a long time.
The honeycomb was wonderful and we ate “church house honey” for years. When
Mother and Dad moved to Olympia, they took the honey with them and I think
someone mentioned there was still “church house honey” after Mother died, which
would have been 1981.
The ceiling of the old church was made of large embossed tin tiles. In
the mid 1950’s no one thought much about them but today they would probably be
worth a lot of money. Not knowing what else to do with the tiles, Steve says they were
eventually used on a shed for the dairy cows. That was probably the fanciest
roof ever for a bunch of cows. The wood flooring was rescued and used in the
room that was built on to the Penrose house. Everything that could possibly be
used again was carefully saved, including a bucket of nails. Steve tells the story about the roof trusses. I don't remember that part exactly, but I do remember how grateful Dad was to have
escaped being seriously hurt when the trusses fell.
After a few weeks (months?) of our little blog languishing, I decided to try and get things moving again. No less than an authority than Judy admonished me for not posting and commenting, so I thought, I'll show her a thing or two. Despite the fact she has been expecting us to still read about household skills from six months ago on Amsbaugh Gardens.So I did some redecorating and started going through the really terrible black photos on my hard drive to see what I could resurrect. There are about four things that make this blog meaningful: Photographs, which elicit memories and stories. The memories and stories that we write, either without photographs or in response to photographs.And then,all of us participate in some way. In this way we all stay connected, and at this stage of our lives, our connectedness and interdependence is becoming increasingly precious and important. So when you see or post a photo, add a photo or something you remember. Check through your own collections of old pictures and memorabilia and see what you can add. Some of these additions, like Steve's story about tearing down the church, and Ann's post today are really useful and important. Facebook is the current fad, but Facebook posts are transient and get lost forever in the shuffle. At least on our blog, we can etch our memories and photos into something permanent, that can be printed and referenced. Thank you all these past several years since we started the Penrose blog. Now we are starting on a new era with more memories, stories, photos, memorabilia, and whatever else you can find. I'm anxious to see what we all come up with.
I elevated this comment by Steve to a post because of the importance of the comment and so everyone will see it. Stories and comments like this are really critical for this blog. Thank you, Steve.s
I had the thrill of being father's gopher from time to time while he was tearing it down. The honey in the wall was not a surprise the amount of honey was a big surprise. Dad found someone in Lovell who came and collected the hives. Some of the honey figured to be over fifty years old. (honey does not go bad). Dad and Norm extracted the comb and had it processed into five gallon containers. The older honey which had darkened the took in chunks and put in open buckets which we snacked from. Mother would use the honey to sweeten everything..EVERYTHING!! We were still eating the honey when the bull was shot and we had salami and bologna to eat forever.
The story on the roof was that Norm and dad worked on it from the inside out so that no one had to be on top. Sometime during the holidays it was a nice warm shirt sleeve type day and father decided to go over and do a little work. When he left all of the rafters and trusses were in tact. He later came home visibly shaken and there were no rafters and there were no trusses.
He said that he had taken the bolts out of a truss started to walk across the ceiling joists from one side of the building to the other when he said he felt a large rush of air over his head and looked up just in time to see the truss fall over the top of his head, crash into the other rafters and take the entire roof down. He truly had a guardian angel that day.
I ran across this history and have included it in my story. Thought you might find it interesting.
In the Encyclopedic History of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints by Andrew Jenson, Assistant Church Historian, published in 1941, about 2
years before we moved back to Penrose, it states:
Ward, Big Horn Stake, Big Horn Co., Wyoming, consists of a few saints
residing in a scattered condition in a farming district on the south side of
the Shoshone River in Park County, Wyoming, about eight miles west southwest of
Byron, and 5 ½ miles south southeast of Garland, a railway station on the
Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad. Only two families resided on the town site
in 1930 on which the meeting house and school house is located. The rest of the
people live on their respective farms which are irrigated from the Elk and
Lovell Canal. This canal taps the Shoshone River about six miles above Penrose.
Penrose may be termed an outgrowth of the
Byron Ward and came into existence as a branch in 1905, with Jeremiah Johnson
as presiding Elder. He was succeeded in that capacity in 1907 by Peter Shirts,
and in 1911 the Penrose Branch (thus named in honor of the late Charles W. Penrose)
was organized as a ward, with Seth Alvin Johnson as Bishop. He was succeeded in
that capacity in 1915 by James B. Wasden, who in 1928 was succeeded by Charles
G. Anderson as presiding Elder. The Church membership of Penrose Ward Dec. 31,
1930, was 66, including 12 children.” (Note: That means Grandpa served as
Bishop for 13 years.)
The following was
written about Grandpa in the Latter-Day Saint Biographical Encyclopedia
published in 1936. Check out how long Grandpa served as Bishop.
“Wasden, James B., Bishop of the Penrose Ward,
Big Horn Stake, Wyoming, from 1915 to 1928, was born July 16, 1870, in Scipio,
Millard Co., Utah, the son of John B. Wasden and Anna Sophie Jensen. He was
baptized by Isaac Pierce, moved to Big Horn, and filled a mission to the
Southern States in 1898-1900, was ordained a High Priest July 30, 1910, by
Jesse W. Crosby, jun., and a Bishop April 11, 1915.”
I'm continuing to have the time of my life rediscovering and resurrecting old and previously coal-black photos. I remember being so discouraged when I developed these pictures and got a fistful of black negatives. But isn't it interesting how the essentials are all recorded anyway? Not great photos, but then I would never throw them away. I still have a few more. Date, someone?
The mandatory annual posting of the cat checking out baby Ann. And I tell the same story every year: On this same day many years ago I walked down town from school and noticed that Dr. Coulston's Cadillac was gone behind the Coulston Clinic on the corner of Main Street. I knew then that our peace and quiet in our bedroom already sleeping four Bloods would become noisier. And when I rode the bus home that night, I was right! Convenient place to hang the washtub. I think only about a dozen photos were taken during the three years we were in Ralston.
This is a picture taken on another special day - Ann is wearing the Hawaiian shirt and necklace that was necessary for her and Paul's trip of celebration to Hawaii. Birthday? Anniversary? I didn't date the picture. This picture says it all about Ann - She has a great sense of humor, wit, and complete compassion for those around her and beyond. We are so blessed to have her as "little" sister - a term long-ago outgrown. When you need health advice, supplement advice, sewing advice, baking or cooking advice, parenting advice, etc., etc., etc., where else can you turn. The quartet of the Blood sisters is very powerful - and it's important to remember that. Happy, happy birthday, Ann. I do know that the reason you kept chickens is that your mother hen instinct is so strong, that none will go wanting.
This rare picture of early Penrose shows how barren and empty the land was until most of the area came under cultivation. The Penrose church is on the right in the far distance, the Penrose school is on the left. Somewhere there is a picture of a school class at the Penrose school but I couldn't find it this morning.
With tools in both hands, someone convinced Grandpa Wasden to sit for a family picture on the porch of their Penrose home. Left to right, Lucinda, Minnie (our mother) Grandpa, Grandma immediately behind, Orvil, and Elna. This photo has probably been posted before, but we're in the mode of the Penrose church and Grandpa's role as church leader for so many years. Sorry if I am making the pictures too large but I like to show them off.
And here is Bishop and Sister Wasden who did indeed take their appearance seriously on the Sabbath day and looked as spiffy and dressed up as any Mormon bishop and his wife.
And here is how I remember Grandpa from days spent in the haying fields when I grew up. Note the arms of his shirt, cut and refurbished to last another few years.
I don't know where I got this old and valuable photo from. The fact that this many adults and children attended the Penrose church at one time just seems incomprehensible. Today, one family farms all of Penrose and many acres on all sides of the little valley where we grew up.
Someone can tell the story of how Dad and Uncle Norman Sorensen tore the building down, discovering a large honeycomb stash of honey and nearly killing themselves when the roof structure collapsed. And then the hardwood flooring lived on in the west side addition to our Penrose house.
I don't know where I got the four negatives of the construction of the Penrose LDS church. They were miniscule, mostly coal black. I thought that despite the primitive nature of these photos these images are historically important. As I recall, lumber came from a logjam on the nearby Shoshone River. This is the church where Grandpa Wasden served as branch president and bishop for how many years? Thirteen? Will those who have some of the historical facts of the construction of this building please fill in the gaps? Maybe Uncle Dave's writings? Note the out house in the first image., I received my infant blessing in this building and remember going to Sunday School in the summer and taking our little chairs down the front steps and out into the weedy blossoms for class. And I remember so well the plaintive wail of fiddles well into the wee hours of the morning when country dances were held here. Jerry Gullion would stand either on the stove or on a chair or on something in the middle of the room and call the square dances and weary bone-tired hard scrabble farmers would find, temporarily and blessedly, a new lease on life from a few moments of fun and laughter. Please add to what I have said here by adding new posts rather than just comments, which rarely get read.
While I was at it, I couldn't resist tinkering with these other 2 pics from Steve; I hope you don't mind.. If any of you have further photos post 1950 when I left home please dig them out and post!,I missed about half of my parents' lives and know little about the mayhem and fashion errors of the less mature siblings after I was no longer home to supervise, guide, and admonish.