From the Instructor, October 1970 –

A Christmas to Remember

By Thomas Elliott Moss

The winter of 1911 was a bleak one for the people of Caineville, Utah. Far off the beaten trails, their main money crop was alfalfa; and that year they hadn’t raised enough to sell to cattlemen.

The river from which they got their water was officially named the Fremont because John Charles Fremont had once passed that way on a trip to California. But the settlers called it the Dirty Devil because of its turbulent, muddy floods that rushed down after heavy rains in the mountains and washed out their irrigation dams.

Those people didn’t have a government reclamation service for their irrigation project; they had to build their dams with their own labor, sweat, and horsepower. There was womanpower too, as those hardy women withstood hardships to stand by their men and be homemakers. While the men were working on the dam, women and children hauled water in barrels to irrigate small gardens and fruit trees. Somehow they did raise enough fruit, vegetables, and chickens to make a living.

At that time Wayne County was known to the outside world because not very many years before a gang of outlaws known as The Wild Bunch had had a hideout there called Robbers’ Roost. But the settlers who were farming the tillable land along the river were hard-working, honest. God-fearing people. They were poor, but that couldn’t stop them from celebrating Christmas.

They didn’t have enough money to send out to buy toys for the children, so the men made home-made ones at night after the children had gone to bed. The women got together enough material to make rag dolls and some clothes. The men cut down a Christmas tree in the mountains and laboriously hauled it down the steep slopes and across the desert to Caineville. After it was set up in the one-room schoolhouse, the women decorated it with homemade ornaments.

They got substantial help from Arthur Meeks, a bishop of the Church. He had property in Caineville but lived in Bicknell, which is up past what is now the famous Capitol Reef National Monument. Bishop Meeks was a member of the state legislature and was one of the finest men I ever knew. I often wonder how he found time to do the many helpful things he did.

Somehow word went out to lonely camps and ranches about our celebration, and the day before Christmas people came in from many miles away. It was cold, there were snowdrifts on the roads, but they came — in wagons and on horseback. There were sheepherders, prospectors, ranch people, and cowboys. All were made welcome, and there were handclasps of friendship.

The women had managed to store enough pumpkins and fruit in the winter cellar to bake pies, and there were some vegetables too. A sheepman donated mutton and a cattleman brought a front quarter of beef. The meal we had was fit for a king.

After dinner there was a program of songs and recitations. Nearly everybody took part. The songs we sang were as sweet as any ever sung in a fashionable city church.

After a prayer of thanksgiving a sermon was preached that was as eloquent as any I ever heard. It brought us a story that never grows old — the story of the birth of Jesus Christ, We received a message that we all wanted to hear.

The rule about waiting for Christmas morning to hand out gifts was broken. The children were made happy with the homemade toys and presents at the foot of the tree; toys and presents fashioned by hard work and loving care.

Then most of us went for a ride in wagon boxes mounted on sled runners. The snow-clad hills and valley were like a fairyland in the moonlight. Bells fastened to the horses’ harnesses rang out clear in the night air, as if heralding peace on earth, goodwill to men. From a distant ridge came the serenade of coyotes, as if they too were singing their own kind of Christmas carols.

Everybody was quiet when the drivers reined the horses to a stop. Then an old man, one who had helped build many irrigation dams only to see them destroyed by flash floods, held up his hand for attention.

“Listen,” he said, as he stood bareheaded, his white hair gleaming in the moonlight. “We may not have much in the way of worldly goods, but tonight is a joyous occasion for us. If we really listen we can hear the song of the angels, just as it was heard when Christ was born almost 2,000 years ago!”

It seemed to me that there was an unseen presence on that lonely desert 59 years ago, something that raised our spirits above our troubles. And I know that we did hear the song of the angels.