From the Improvement Era, December 1964 –

Eight Pounds of Love

By Donald Coburn

The early morning sun reached across the little valley, working it way slowly down the west mountains. It silhouetted for a moment the Teton Peaks. Flanked on each side by its impressive but smaller neighbors, the main peak reached up alone and majestic into the cold, clear winter sky.

The shadows thrown across the valley by this mighty range of mountains grew ever smaller, and the morning light unveiled a beautiful little picture-book valley, Teton Valley. Ringed on all sides by it spine-covered mountains, a quiet willow-lined river wandering slowly down its length, it was truly beautiful.

This morning seemed special somehow. The smoke had started curling up from the chimneys of the scattered ranch and farmhouses even earlier than usual, and there was an unusual amount of activity, for this was the day before Christmas.

Alta Green had been up with the earliest. There was so much to be done today. The older boys had needed no urging to get their chores done – the livestock fed and the cows milked. And the girls had been so eager to help that it seemed they were everywhere present.

The morning with its special glow of excitement slipped by rapidly. Now with dinner over and the dishes done, it was with a sigh of relief, a grateful one of course, that she sent the children out for a snowy romp.

Alta followed the youngsters to the door. “Have fun and keep bundled up,” she cautioned.

“Bye, Mom, we will!” came the laughing reply from all at once.

She closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment as if to find strength. The day before Christmas was a busy, joyous, happy day for almost everyone, but a day of trial for Alta Green.
The slim, still attractive woman with almost un- conscious motion crossed the room to the cupboards. The neatness and cleanliness so characteristic of her reflected itself not only in her gingham attire but also in the warm, cheerful kitchen and throughout her home. Alta quickly, efficiently began molding in the last churning of butter to the previous mold of butter that she had been so carefully saving over the past weeks.

As she worked, Alta watched from the window as the children disappeared over the brow of a nearby hill, and the sounds of laughter faded away. The brown careworn hands slowed in their movements, and the butter knife came to rest on the cupboard.
Alta watched fascinated as the sun turned each snow-covered pine tree into a twinkling, sparkling jewel-bedecked pageant of color. “How beautiful,” she murmured. “What truly beautiful Christmas trees.”

Her eyes followed the trees up the mountain sides until the green turned to shades of blue because of the distance, and up until the marching ranks of pines thinned and finally halted completely, and on higher – so high no tree could survive, where there was only the still white blanket of snow.

How often she looked up at these towering mountains and gained strength from them. The lines of the psalm she often repeated ran through her mind. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength.” Yes, truly these mountains had always been a source of strength to her ever since Ernest had first brought her to this valley.

Alta smiled softly, wistfully. to her, it was long ago when that tall young man from the mountains had first met and courted her. This land of pines, mountains, and meadows had seemed so far form the little sun-baked town in Utah where she had been raised. A soft radiance crept over her face as she recalled that wonderful day when they were married in the temple. And again how vividly she remembered the day when he finally brought her to her new home. In her still girlish enthusiasm she gave her heart to this wildly beautiful valley of the Tetons.

How quickly the years had passed. Not easily, but in the romance and enthusiasm of their youth they met and lived with or overcame the early hardships and obstacles of their pioneer life. Their family came and grew, each child received and loved in turn. And Alta remembered how, despite the pressing demands of raising a family and starting a ranch, her husband never lost his love of the mountains that surrounded them. How he delighted in taking her by the hand and leading her along some woodland path to a surprise he always had in store for her. Maybe it would be a little park-like meadow covered with a profusion of wild flowers, or a tiny nest with little speckled eggs in the soft down of its cup. Again he would bring her quietly to the edge of a brook, and they would watch a family of beaver at work on their dam or a large trout moving its tail slowly as it lay in concealment under an overhanging bush. The mountains were good to them. The wild game – deer, elk, grouse and trout – were a welcome addition to their food supply as were the huckleberries ad chokecherries which were so abundant. how wonderful those years had been – the love and warmth in their home, their love of the Lord and his goodness to them, and always the steady hand of her husband to show the way and give support in time of need.

And then these mountains which he loved so dearly, knew so well, and which had given them so much, had suddenly in a thundering, roaring cascade of snow taken him from her and the children.

Her hand tightened around the butter knife until the knuckles showed white. The softness of olden memories disappeared, and the harsh realities of today came back. This, the first Christmas since their marriage that she and Ernest had not prepared for and enjoyed together with the children, seemed more than she could bear.

Working quickly as if to get rid of the choking leaden weight that settled in her chest, Alta finished the pat of butter and gazed at it speculatively for a moment. She had saved, oh, so carefully, but the yellow mound of butter seemed so pitifully small. That was all there was to provide Christmas for nine eager, trusting children.

The jingle of the sleigh bells by the house came as a welcome relief. Quickly Alta slipped on her coat and hat as her oldest boy called cheerfully, “All ready, Mom?” He was fifteen now, always cheerful, kind, and understanding. He was a great comfort to her.

“Yes, son, ready,” Alta replied, buckling on her boots. “Would you bring the pat of butter there on the cupboard?’

Theone followed her out to the sleigh, placed the butter carefully in the sleigh box, and helped is mother up into the seat. “Sure you don’t want me to go to town with you?” he asked teasingly.

“No – no, I’ll try to manage,” Alta replied. ‘You watch things, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“You bet I will. Say, now, you wouldn’t have a little shopping or something to do, would you?” A big smile lit up his face.

Alta picked up the reins, gazed at Theone for a moment, and without answering started the horses down the road. They needed little urging as they swung out into a steady trot. The clip-clop of their hooves, the familiar sound of the sleigh bells, and the sound of the sliding runners on the cold hard-packed snow was familiar music that Alta has always loved.

Today the music was not the happy tune it had always been. The same thoughts kept crowding all else out of her mind. How could that one mold of butter go to make Christmas for nine children who so depended on her, never doubting, it seemed, that tomorrow wouldn’t be just like all the other wonderful Christmases they had known?

“Oh, Ernest, Ernest!” she whispered. “What can I do? How can there be Christmas tomorrow?”

In town a cheerful “Merry Christmas, Sister Green” brought a wave and a forced smile from Alta. The horses turned automatically into the first open space along the hitching rail.

Inside the store, holding her precious butter firmly, Alta moved carefully along the outside aisle. Mr. Stone had done his best to give his store a yuletide glow with some stars, a large cardboard Santa, and a few strings of tinsel.

It seemed as if everyone in the valley must be there. Gay, happy greetings were passed back and forth from one family to another. Alta watched the couple at the counter checking over the gifts they had laid before them. The glow of love and companionship lit their faces as they watched each present being checked off, already enjoying the pleasure of giving and tasting the happiness it would bring.

The desperate sense of loneliness and inadequacy returned. She turned quickly and hurried back to the meat counter to find Mr. Stone. He was there busily waiting on each customer in turn, inquiring as to their good health and wishing each a Merry Christmas. As Alta stepped up to the counter, he seemed to have an especially jovial “Merry Christmas” for her, taking the mold of butter and laying it on the scales. The needle moved down, six … seven … waved, and finally settled just short of eight pounds. Silently he added the eight pounds at 25 cents a pound – $2.00. He, as everyone in the valley, was aware of Alta’s struggle. It’s Christmas, he thought. Two dollars won’t go far to make Christmas for nine children. I could give a little extra. But then he mentally shook his head as he noted the firm chin come up and the level gaze which matched his own. No, no charity. She wouldn’t want it that way. Instead he commented, “A fine pat of butter, Sister Green. Let’s see, that’s $2.00,” and he added softly as he placed the money in her hand, “Merry Christmas, and God bless you, Alta.” The mist almost returned to her eyes as she thanked him and stepped aside so the next customer could be waited on.
For the next while Alta wandered back and forth and up and down each aisle. Dolls – there were several “from $2.98 and up.” Boys’ toys – quite a few, but not when you were trying to divide nine into $2.00.

There, funny she hadn’t noticed them before – dolls’ heads. A gay little smile on each china face. Of course, that was it. The bodies could be sewn on tonight, and her three little girls would love them she knew. Still fifty cents left. Now the shiny whistles she had noticed earlier. Four of them at 10 cents each and still 10 cents left over for a little candy to put in the bottom of the stockings. Something for everyone – except for the older boys, Theone and Delbert.

She hesitated, seeing against the laughing faces of the boys. But the money was gone, and with the courage that had faced so many difficult decisions these past months the purchase had been made. Alta with her pitifully small package hurried out the door to the waiting team and sleigh.

“Eight pounds of butter just doesn’t go very far, does it, dear?” Mr. and Mrs. Stone had paused in their work as Alta had left.
“No,” was her reply, “but that was more – that was eight pounds of love, devotion and sacrifice. It goes a long way.”

Mr. Stone turned and smiled fondly at his wife. “As usual you’re right – so very right.”

The sun had fallen behind the western mountains and what little warmth it had given was quickly gone. The team, sensing a warm stall and a good feed of hay ahead of them, strained against the tugs. The fences, trees, and bridge whipped by, bringing Alta to the moment she had dreaded. Night had closed in as the sleigh came to a stop in the yard. The light from the coal-oil lantern shining from the windows gave off a warm, soft light which contrasted with the cold white moonlight that bathed the valley this Christmas eve.

The door flew open and immediately was filled with boys and girls of assorted sizes. “Now, listen, children,” Alta heard herself saying, “all of you back in the house. Mother will be in in a minute. Theone and Delbert, you take care of the team, if you will.”

The door closed again, and Theone and Delbert raced to the sleigh. Alta slid off the seat and handed the reins to Theone. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. Now was the time, she told herself. “Boys, you know how much your mother loves you, don’t you?” She tried to look at them, but their gaze averted her. Did they know already? Delbert dug diligently in the snow with the toe of his boot.

“Boys, what I’m trying to tell you is that I did the best I could, but there wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

Alta turned and stumbled up the path, blinded by the tears that clouded her eyes – tears they must not see. Suddenly she felt two pairs of mittened hands and padded arms go around her. “Mother,” Theone cried, looking at her anxiously, “you know that’s all right with us, but,” and the voice broke slightly, “we didn’t get our skins sold, and we couldn’t get you anything – anything at all.”

“Oh, thank God – thank God for your boys!” The tears fell unashamed as Alta dropped to her knees in the snow, hugging both boys to her closely. “How proud of you Father would be. How very proud.” Then as she smiled and held them back, her gaze shifted from one tear-streaked face to the other.

As she told them what she had done, Delbert broke in eagerly, “Can we help, Mother, can we?”

“Yes, of course, I need your help, both of you. Now run and take care of the team.”

Theone gave her a parting hug, “You know, Mom, it’s going to be all right, isn’t it?” and without waiting for an answer followed Delbert and the team out to the shed.

Alta rose from her knees and looked up to her beloved mountains and beyond to the winter sky pierced with the cold brilliance of a myriad of stars, and beyond, far beyond, “Yes,” she murmured, “everything is going to be all right.”