Dorothy Delilah (Hickman) Pectol’s record continues as transcribed by her daughter Golda (Busk) Pectol

Aunt Golda says:

“The link with our Pioneer past is gone, but memories of our loved ones are bound together as a sacred trust for us to preserve and cherish. We will find many of these as we unfold each page narrated in first person which has been taken from a history mother wrote while living with Fontella and Loren after her 'Port' passed away. There are also some excerpts taken from a diary she kept while he was on his mission to New Zealand beginning 11 Dec. 1907, and ending 10, Jan. 1909:”

"To my children with the thought that it may give you a betterunderstanding of your Mother, a part of my life you know littleof, and a few sacred memories dear to me. This along with a few things you remember of our family life, hopefully, willhelp you understand how very dearly I love all of you.

Oh, how I have guarded and cherished those beautiful spirits God gave me the privilege of bringing into this world to mother.

I hope and pray you can say I succeeded, even to a small extent, giving you some of the worthwhile things of life I have wanted for you. May the Lord bless and keep you alwaysunder his protecting care when I am not here to be with you.

Keep love in your hearts for me, for as your mother, I will guard you tenderly throughout eternity. That is my privilege, a blessing of our Heavenly Father, through my Temple marriage.

I hope I have honored that sacred covenant and will be privileged to join my husband and help him prepare a Heavenlyhome for our loved ones."

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Her History Begins 30 March, 1880 through 1950:

"I was born at Bingham Canyon, Salt Lake County, Utah, a mining camp nestled between the mountains. At the east entrance of the Canyon (later named Galena) a little cabin or dug-out scarcely large enough to be called a home, with dirt roof and floor, was called home by Deseret N. Hickman and Dorothy Ann Carrell, his wife. It was here, to seek a livelihood for his wife and two children, that my father settled in this mining town, and under these circumstances on a very cold morning 30, March 1880 I was born. The Doctor who delivered me was Uncle Jimmy (James) Hickman, my father's uncle, known all over to those in sickness and distress.

This man and woman, my parents, were hard working people and good, but so poor with scarcely enough to keep soul and body together, for these were hard times and poor pay at the mines. They told me in later years, that a piece of salt bacon, a few beans, a potato, and sometimes a pint of milk watered down, was a luxury in this humble home. An open fire place was used for cooking as well as for heating purposes.

It was a hard struggle for them, the winter of '79. My father had no work this winter. The only means of support was with the one horse he had which was used for dragging wood, selling it or trading it to those in better circumstances. I also learned from my parents that the mines were not running that winter and they were too proud to complain. My father told me the only shoes he had were picked from the trash piles and were often odd sizes and kinds, but they were happy with their babies, my sister Berley and brother, Will. Will was sick all winter from improper diet which consisted mostly of beans. Even with all these hardships they were happy in the love they shared with each other.

Lights called "bitches" were made by putting a little tallow (animal fat) in a saucer, then twisting a rag to form a sort of wick which was dipped into the tallow. This was all the light they had to use when darkness came. These were crude candles as we would call them today.

When spring came after I was born; my parents decided to move farther south as some of their family had gone on earlier to a place called Horse Shoe Bend two miles south of Milford, Utah. A mining district had opened up in a place called "P Star" east of Milford and one west called Shaunti. By securing another horse, and by trading and picking up enough pieced to put a wagon together, they started for Horse Shoe Bend. By this time I was three months old. Will was much better, and of course, Berley grew up as first children always do. Father and mother claim I cried all the way to Milford each taking turns walking me because I would not ride in the wagon. I have no cause to disbelieve them. The drives were not long in a day, as the horses were too poor, and there was very little feed. We lived in a hut there. I think it could also be called a dug-out. My father worked at the above named mines for awhile. The ore was hauled by wagons and mostly mule teams, put on the train at Milford and shipped to smelters in the northern part of the State. After awhile a smeltering process was started in Milford, but was not much of a success.

Our stay was of short duration at Horses Shoe Bend. We moved into Milford and were fortunate enough to own a home with three rooms. It was in Milford that Sadie, George, Joe, Don, Vivian, and Myrtle were born.

In the summer of 1886 an epidemic of diphtheria broke out. My brother George and sister Sadie died in Milford of this dreaded disease and are buried there. My life was despaired of. I begged for pickles. The doctor said: "No", but since my brother and sister had died begging for something to eat, and since there was little hope for me, my father let me have what I wanted to eat. They let me eat pickles, as many and when I wanted them. It seemed from the moment I got the thing to eat that my fever craved, I began to get well and improved from then on.

While living in Milford my father guarded gold and silver bullion sent from Delmar to Milford. Three span of horses attached to a light coach was used to haul it. From the coach it was put on the train and sent to Salt Lake City. I was about eight years old and well remember the fear my mother and we children went through each trip he made. The fear was of highway robbers and bandits trying to steal the valuable ore being hauled to the train. My father had no fear, and was never but once molested and that was on the train. The robbers became frightened and jumped. It was never known who they were, or if in the jump they were killed.

Previous to the time the railroad was established in Pioche, Nevada, my father, Will and John Kirk freighted goods from Milford to Pioche using four to six span of horses on a single, or two, wagons coupled together. The time of travel between towns would be about two weeks to go to St. George, Las Vegas and Pioche. He also owned a livery stable at Milford. It was at the livery stable he became acquainted with a freighter from Elsinore named John Busk. This acquainted amounted to nothing materially or socially at that time, but years later one of his sons married my daughter, Golda, and he spoke of knowing Hickman, often accepting his hospitality at the livery stable.

Up until the time I was six years of age and started to school, the time passed with nothing of importance to my memory. My school days were spent in Milford. I finished the eighth grade which ended my schooling when I was sixteen. The year I finished, I taught the smaller grades in the same building, a room about 20 x 40 feet long, under the head teacher, Miss. Christensen, for $25.00 per month and two music lessons a week.

At the time I finished my schooling, we were living on a little ranch about one half mile from town and we children walked to school and ate a bucket lunch. One time when I was about eight years old, I remember a boy teasing me and calling to me: "Dot is a monkey, Dot is a monkey" at which I became very angry. I threw a stove poker at him and almost cut his lip. I was frightened, but it taught him and others a lesson. They never bothered me again.

At school, of course, we always have our little love affairs, so I had mine. I was about ten at this time. The school teachers had chosen for us a partner for the school party. I wanted my sister Berley's beau. It seemed all through my childhood and girlhood days I fell for my sister's beaus. When she got ready to go home, I left my beau (or date) John Wright, and ran after her. When I became twelve years old, this young man, her beau, turned out to be my brother-in-law, John Kirk! At a Thanksgiving dinner at our house before he and Berley were married, he saw me crying and said, "Dottie, if you won't cry I'll give you a nickel." Little did he dream I was crying because he had asked my sister to go to the dance with him instead of me.

We lived in Milford until the fall of 1897. This period of time went by as every child's life does in early youth. Dances, parties, etc. were interspersed with a few other instances. I remember when I was seven or eight years old my father came home from a freighting trip bringing with him a big round wooden bucket of jelly. This was the first we ever had in our house. It was more like thick knox gelatin and sugar mixed. He set it in the middle of the floor and told us "go after it". (This was typical of Grandpa Deseret Hickman.) Don't ever think we didn't! Not one of us suffered ill effects from this indulgence. Maybe it was because it wasn't the right kind of jelly to make us sick, or it was because we were so starved for it. My father was quite a crank about his jelly and preserves. After this experience, when mother made any it was out of SUGAR and nothing else. He didn't like the taste of molasses or honey for making goodies. How fortunate we were to have a father with such an expensive taste! The next summer we ate our first peach preserves. A peddler from St. George, Utah came to Milford in a wagon and sold mother enough peaches to make a five gallon can of preserves, with sugar. I have often wondered just what those peaches looked like. I am sure they were good enough for preservers only. Mother put them behind the cellar door. My, how Will and I used to love to sneak behind that door and steal some of this luscious food. Of course, each time it tasted better. We never used a spoon, always our fingers, so mother wouldn't know we had been into it. Berly was always too grown up to do these mischievous things with Will and me. At this time she was all of twelve years, a young lady wearing her dresses lengthened to suit herself when she got away from home, much to father's disgust. He saw her on the street one day and scolded mother because she let her do such a disgraceful thing.

One night about 10 p.m. my father had come home from delivering bullion. Mother had just fixed his supper and he was eating. We children were all in bed. The kitchen door opened without a knock and in walked the largest person we could ever imagine seeing. He was all feathered, blanketed, and painted up. We were all petrified at seeing this intruder, an Indian. We shouldn't have been frightened for he was from a friendly band of Indians who worked to earn their living. He told my parents that all he wanted was food. He didn't get any, but went out of the house in front of my father's foot. We were never bothered again by him or any other Indian. Many of the squaws washed clothing all day for fifty cents.

Berley was growing up. She was too much of a lady at this time to help Will and me hatch the twelve eggs mother had setting under the only hen she had. What a fiasco this turned out to be! Mother had purchased these eggs with money she had saved for a long time, and was waiting, patiently for them to hatch. We helped the old hen hatch those eggs, alright. We didn't realize they weren't smothering. How were we to know that was the natural way baby chicks came into this world. They all died, of course. We knew, soon after our midwifery what a disappointing experience this was for our mother. She had intended to use those chickens to help feed HER little flock. If she ever knew what we did, she didn't scold us. This ended our interest in ever assisting any more barnyard residents. However, there was a time we shared another kind of experience. One time when we were living in Grover, Utah, mother left Will and me to tend our little brother Joe. We grumbled about this as most all children do when they are entrusted with younger siblings. We fed little Joe lamb droppings and told him they were pine nuts. It didn't make him sick. We were the sick ones when we realized what an awful thing we had done to an innocent child because we didn't want to tend him.

As I outgrew, or was growing out of the mischievous age, I had my first real romance. I still remember it vividly. He was a boy whose home was in Salt Lake City. Oh, how I lived in the clouds! He would walk home with me from meeting, sing and play the organ, stay and have dinner. What a shock it was to me one day when I realized it was not me, but my mother's nice Sunday dinners he wanted.

After this let-down, I was soon ready for more excitement. Romance or any new experience thrilled my pink. It was with happy anticipation that my parents decided to make a hurried trip to Caineville, Utah to visit my mother's parents who lived there. I was twelve years old and had a merry time with my cousins, new faces, new hills to climb, new people to meet. I did see someone new, a boy who took my fancy, and who was to be by future husband, but of course he did not notice me...only my sister Berley. I was still somewhat of a tomboy and a giggly girl, not as sophisticated as she. We stayed a short time and returned to Milford living in the same house about one half mile from town. It was upon our return that I once again met my king of kings! This time it was Charlie Cook. He took me to private dances, and how the other girls envied me as he was a new comer in town, and a school teacher. One night a girl with red hair came to town, and I was...no more his date. I was just sixteen, and still pug-nosed and my hair just wouldn't stay put up like the older girls. My, how unhappy a girl can be at that age when she thinks she is in love and he marries someone else. Yes, he married this girl just two days after he met her. In a few months he became tired of his red head and wanted me, but my parents soon put a stop to that.

For my sixteenth birthday my parents gave me an organ. We moved into town and soon, even at sixteen, I was quite settled and sensible again. I enjoyed going to church and played the organ. Since I could play the organ, I corded for violins making music for dances. Oh, how I loved to dance, too. I never seemed to be lonely for I loved to be with people trying in many ways to make them happy. I enjoyed being with my girl friends and we had many good times together.

In the summer of 1896 we mad another trip to Cainville to visit my grandparents, the William T. Carrells. Just before going into Caineville at the south entrance there is a dugway we called the Blue Dugway, a road following a blue clay hill. As we were ascending the grade a wagon was coming down. The road was both steep and narrow. In trying to pass, the two wagons nearly overturned. As the excitement died down and I got a good glimpse of the lone wagon master, I could see it was the boy who I had wanted to pay attention to me a few years before. He wore a straw hat and looked like someone form heaven setting there in the wagon on a roll of bedding with a box of provisions beside him for he, we learned, was going for a load of lumber. As I looked at him I knew we were meant for each other. He later told me the same thing, for I was no longer the "tom boy" he remembered a few years ago. Don't think I didn't, this time, make a full swing for my beau, for my sister Berley, was out of my way. His name was Ephraim Portman Pectol. (His history is more romantically detailed.)

At the time we were to return to Milford, I became quite sick. There were no doctors around, and my father not being as Elder in the Church yet, wanted someone with the Priesthood to be with us. He felt better having someone along with authority to administer in the name of the Lord. Port, as I and everyone called him, accompanied us home. Oh, the happiness I knew by the time his stay with us was up and he had to return home to Caineville. We both knew of a certainty that the search was over and this love of ours was to be carried into eternity.