The Saga of the House Hunt, Part II

I posted the first part of our house-hunt story several months ago. I wanted to collect enough pictures, and have a real block of time to do this post right when I got down to it.

I ended that last post describing how discouraged I was feeling. That I realized we can't get the house of our dreams because we couldn't afford to heat and maintain it.

Well, the very next day, a house that I'd been eyeing but not really eyeing was reduced drastically in price (by about thirty thousand dollars) so that it finally fell within our practical price range. It had five bedrooms. It had five acres. It was built in 2006. So I jumped at the chance to look at it. IN fact, I called the realtor that day and he happened to have an opening that afternoon, so it's likely we were one of the first couples to come and see it after the price reduction.

Skywalker and I walked through the house. We kept eyeing each other, like, "do you think this is as cool as I think it is?"

Suffice it to say, by the end of the tour, we were both ready to make an offer. Which is kind of a miracle in itself, because Skywalker isn't someone to jump the gun. Or really, do anything fast at all. He's the yin to my yang. I'll be like, "let's not miss this opportunity, now's the time to strike," and he'll want a few weeks or months or perhaps even years to make an important decision. It's good, because we tend to balance each other out. But in this case, he was right with me.

There was another couple bidding on it. We didn't know their bid. We put in ours.

The bank came back saying the bids were so close, that they wanted both of us to put in our best possible offer for consideration. After a bit of fretting and some prayer, we put in an offer we felt was reasonable (we were capable of handling the mortgage, and it wouldn't strain our budget so it was uncomfortable to live).

We got the house.
And moved in one month later.

It felt kind of insane to me. WE've never bought a house, neither one of us. To go from renting teeny little spaces to owning a place that is not a starter home... it's our home, our permanent place... has been a dream come true and hugely overwhelming at the same time. We are incredibly blessed.

A few years ago I made a list of things I wanted in my dream home. I found it a little while after we purchased this home and I was struck by how much Heavenly Father listened to me, even though it was just a little list... little things that I didn't really expect to have.


On the list:

A bedroom with a large east window so that the sun could come in and wake us up.

Our bedroom's east window.


A large laundry room with lots of storage space and chutes going from the upstairs so that I don't have to carry dirty laundry all the time.

The kids' upstairs bathroom--that cupboard under the sink is the chute opening.

\
That's one of the chute openings--directly into the laundry room. There are two. The other comes from the master bath. ANd the laundry room is the right size for raising (eventually) nine kids... with a giant set of shelves lining the wall big enough to tuck laundry baskets into.

(from the list) A bigger kitchen, with windows that look out into the backyard so I can watch the kids playing while I do housewifely work.

You see in the above picture that the floors are concrete. One of the things on my (and Skywalker's) wish-list was radiant floor heating. We *never* thought we'd be buying a house with it already installed, we always assumed, since it is kind of a rare and quirky thing for people to do, that we'd have to build a house ourselves before we'd have it. This house has radiant floor heating. This is what heats the radiant floor heating:

This is a boiler (the radiant floor contains tubes, and hot water is what heats the floor). It runs on either electricity or (as you can see) a wood stove. Skywalker's big project this fall and winter has been to get the boiler going and the stove working. Because it lay dormant over a winter and hadn't been maintained properly for a few years, He's had to get in and scrub out the tank

And replace and adjust some hardware.

Luckily, he's had plenty of help.

This project has been a combination of headache and love story for Skywalker. He's always been interested in alternative heating/technology. Our plan has always been to try eventually to live completely off-grid. One of the facets of our plan is to build a greenhouse/atrium that completely encases the southern and eastern sides of our house. This would heat the home (passive heating) during the winter, and also provide us an opportunity to grow fresh vegetables (and possibly fruits) year-round. The first thing we noticed when we looked at our home, was the bones of our greenhouse.

In case you can't tell, that long side is the south side, and the porch goes on around to the east. Again, this is something we never thought we'd be able to purchase already completed (or ready to be completed), we thought we'd have to build our own home in order to do this. In fact, there are some coils from the boiler that emerge inside this porch, we think the previous owners (and builders) of this home had planned on it becoming a greenhouse, and the coils are meant to create some heated beds inside.

Some other things not pictured:
I've always wanted a seperate room for toys, where I can just shut the door and not care about the mess. And there is a room on the first floor that we immediately designated the "toy room."

I've always wanted a school room.

The upstairs living room is large enough, and sort of in two parts. One side is perfect for our Schoolroom

The other has become our den/living room.

Skywalker has always wanted a secluded office/storage space where he can occasionally work from home, and with storage for all his electronics. Just off the master bedroom is:

It's a long nook, filled mostly with giant shelves--enough even to satisfy my husband with his love affair with electronics of all kinds, including salvaged cables, collections of power strips... all things that I admit have come in handy but we've had a hard time finding a good place for (where they won't drive me crazy because to me, they look like clutter). ANd there's a nice nook for his desk. There's even a window (admittedly, it looks into our neighbor's backyard, but oh well.) Best thing of all-- it has a keyed lock on the door. So he feels like his stuff is safe from the kids.



Other unexpected blessings:

The dining room. We got the table and chairs for a really, really great price off of KSL, and almost blew out our transmission dragging it home.

You'll see in that image a French Door... that is another wishlist item for me. I love French doors. ANd with the two there on the east side of living room/kitchen, and all the big windows, I feel like I'm out in nature. I can watch it snow. I always know where my kids are. It feels very peaceful, looking out on the grassy fields. All our neighbors have horses; it's wonderful to watch them grazing or sometimes cantering across the fields that surround our property. Speaking of which:

That's the view from the balcony off the master bedroom. The property line ends that kind of brownish furrow you see (there's a pond right there), and it continues for some ways south of us, bordering the lot of the seminary building (no driving kids to semiary, yay! And... the high school is also *right* across the street.) When we lived in Provo, we hoped, hoped, hoped for 1 acre. We moved to Idaho, and our hopes expanded... we very likely could end up with two acres. Maybe three, if the house was a fixer-upper. We never in a million years thought we'd end up with five, and a house that we didn't have to retrofit quite a bit to make liveable.

Stuff I never expected but am very grateful for: the bedrooms are very large, and all have walk-in closets with tons of bars and shelves for the kids to put all their clothes/stuff/toys. The master bedroom is huge with a giant walk-in closet with two sides, which is helpful to Skywalker's and my relationship... in the past, I have hogged 2/3 of the closet space, and he has room to spread out, now.

And last but not least... my favorite room of the house...

WHen we first looked at it I kind of snickered (like, who puts marble floors in a bathroom, and who needs a jetted tub) but oh man. I've gotten uuuuuused to it. And I loooove it. And I hope that's not a sin.

I need to go on a little. Because we bought our house, not sure we'd like where we chose to live. Our town is a tiny little town, 3500 people. It's an old town, which was promising to me; I love places with history. And there is of course the beautiful river.

I love my town. Love it. People are so friendly. And they all know each other. And they say hi on the streets. I've had fun conversations with so many of the business owners in town already--they love my kids, and I enjoy living in a place where people actually act like a community. Some of my favorite things:

That's the movie theater. IT plays one movie at a time. The cost is five bucks :) and they have a few couches at the back, and a raised dias with cool leather chairs and footstools, supposedly for big contributors to claim but generally speaking, you can sit there if you want. It's truly wonderful. Sometimes it's packed; sometimes you have the whole theater to yourself.

I'm not going to take pictures of the whole town for confidentiality reasons, but there's also the drug store (opposite from the Roxy). It truly is like an old-time drug store... they sell everything there, from prescriptions (and the guy is soooo nice... I sometimes go back there just to say hi) to craft supplies to electronics...and they have one of those long counters with a raised line of soda-fountain era stools. They sell ice cream kiddie cones for fifty cents. THey serve breakfast and dinner and cookies and brownies and all kinds of good stuff. And the ladies there are chatty and they remember you (well of course they do, there are only 3500 people in town).



This town has a wild-west, rough-and-rowdy history. It was the place the non-mormon people went. It was a hideout for outlaws, because of the proximity to the river and also the train, which stopped here, not in Rexburg. So the main street is old. 1800's brick facades that remind me of a (much smaller) version of my hometown. They're not well-preserved... they're charmingly crumbly with some boarded up windows here and there. Scattered throughout town are retrofitted victorian and turn-of-the-century era buildings and houses.

ONe of those was a brothel, back in the day. See if you can guess which one :) It happens to be just two houses down from the courthouse (also pictured above.)

ONe day while I was driving through town, I saw this sign.

Can you read it? It says "To Sandbar" with an arrow pointing off to the right.
What is this sandbar, I wondered. I turned right, and found this:

This isn't the best time of year to take pictures of it. It's a park, on the river's edge. In the summertime, they buoy off a section right there next to the shore--it's a calm, shallowish little eddy of the river. You can see the tube slide going down to it--there are nozzles at the top that spray water down into it so the (life-jacketed) kids can slide. And they truck in tons of sand and pour it all over there, for kids to play in and enjoy. We got to it on the last day of summer. We'll be taking full advantage of it next year.

And then, there's the river itself:

I think it is the most beautiful in the winter. It goes right through the middle of town. There's a paved nature trail that follows it several miles downstream. You can hike, run, bike... and in the winter, cross-country-ski along it. It's a famous river for fly-fishing. Each year our town hosts a fisherman's breakfast on the first day of the season. I want to learn... I've been aspiring to start by learning to tie flies. Skywalker got me a gift certificate so I can purchase a fishing license this year, which I will do *after* I get book and baby out of the way.

So... all in all... we feel incredibly blessed. Heavenly Father knows what he's doing. We didn't buy a house for six years, even though we could have... instead we adopted two girls. And in the end, that decision has blessed us with a great deal more than we ever expected, because we ended up in the right place, at the right time.

A granddaughter's Eulogy

I know lots of people will be relating experiences and memories today. My mother and her brother wrote a lovely obituary. I helped with some comma placement, so I got to read it.

I am not sure I want to stand up and say much today. I feel like it would sort of be self-aggrandizing to get up when there are others who know him better in a different capacity than just grandfather.

But let me say that, as a grandfather, Robert William Hartley has had a huge influence on my life. Not just my life, but I'm focusing on mine right now.

Memories of Grandpa include fishing on his pond, learning to survey using tin can lids and a telescope, helping with wood projects, driving his ATV over his hilly ten acre property, loud and sometimes laughingly argumentative conversation around the dinnner table. Grandpa's favorite thing to do when he was around us was to relate funny memories... things we kids did or said that were amusing to him. One of "mine" was when we walked down to the pond one day, and grandpa was getting a boat ready for us to go out on it. On the shore was a pile of wood. Grandpa reached close to it, I think he was grabbing a life jacket, and Carolee (my sister age about 6 at the time) says, very calmly: "Grandpa. There's a snake there."

Grandpa started--it was a baby rattlesnake. He reaches for something--a hoe or board, maybe and I yell hysterically, "grandpa, don't kill it!"

He thought it was hilariuos that care was so calm about finding a rattlesnake and I was worried about its health.

I will say that the thing about Grandpa that most affected me was just him. He was a perfectionist. His handwriting was square and precise, he measured things with slide rules and any project he took on was apt to have perfectly squared edges and perfectly trimmed hedges. I did not inherrit this quality from him.

It might be part of a larger piece of his personality... a telling thing about him, this perfectionism. You see, grandpa grew up in a turbulent chaotic sort of household. His father, William (also known as "wild Bill") started out life as a rich rancher's son and ended impoverished and addicted to some unhealthy things. His mother wasn't around much. He was raised by Myrtle, his aunt, and by his grandparents. And he made some choices about his life... he wasn't a teetotaler, but he rarely drank. He never gambled. He worked hard and had very stark ideas of "right" and "wrong" and every moment he lived was his best attempt to do only what was right and avoid what was wrong. Who knows why he made the choices he did, but I know that these choices led to my mother being in a position to join the LDS church. I know that my mother, while she had some frustrating times as a child (like me, she is not a perfectionist) has a deep-rooted knowledge of morality. Her character had a solid foundation probably from the time she was an infant. My Grandfather, and my Mom (and hopefully, me too) are the kind who do things just because they are right.

I owe my grandfather a debt beyond anything I can probably understand in this life for what he chose and what he did. He was a safety net in that his choices corrected some possible difficulty that could have trickled down through generations. He chose to be that strong link in the chain of generations that President Hinckley has talked about.

When I think of Grandpa I picture him standing at his 6-foot-1 height, his broad shoulders and strong legs. For so long he always defied his age--he worked hard up to the last two months before he died and didn't allow physical difficulty as he aged to discourage him. He was cutting wood with my family at the end of October. In a way it is a blessing he passed so quickly and didn't have to be in a vulnerable physical state for long, because it wasn't soemthing he ever liked--being vulnerable.

My grandfather's smile is always a little sarcastic, always a little cynical, but there is great warmth there that none of his grandchildren ever missed. We have always respected and loved our Grandpa Bob and his character has flavored our childhood memories. For most of our lives we visited about every two weeks. We went over there for birthdays, for Christmas, for Thanksgiving. He came to church any time any of us performed in sacrament meetings. He came to every baptism.

Grandpa was not extended family to me. He was as present and real as either of my parents in my life. He will be missed, but I have no doubt I'll see him again. I'm glad to have had him in my life.

Love you, Grandpa Bob.

--Sarah

It's been a year...

It is hard to believe that it has been a whole year since the big changes happened for our family. At this time last year, Skywalker was being interviewed for a job. And given an offer. And it was during Christmas Vacation that we came up here to see this windy, snowy little town and sample American Pizza Cafe oreo dessert pizza and tacos from one of the four local taco trucks. When we stayed in the inn that Jeff and I both look at with a measure of fondness every time we drive by. When we tramped through a foot and a half of snow, in and out of apartments, to find a temporary place to put ourselves as we gathered our lives up and... moved on.

I look back on the last year and am so glad we are where we are right now. But I feel a weight of melancholy on me as well... Provo truly is no longer our home. It's where some of our best friends live, where some of the sweetest and most challenging memories are. I still think of Provo as "my city." I think of all that happened to me there as a sort of refiner's fire for my youth, turning me into a real adult. Skywalker, too.

We will be visiting over Christmas break, and I fully expect to have my heart full of some sorrow and some gladness. To see friends again reassures me that friendships last. The tabernacle has been refined as well, by fire, and is going to be a temple.

Things have changed so much in the last year. We've moved. Skywalker has gotten a job of real responsibility, in the venue and atmosphere he has dreamed of, and done well. We've bought a home. We have another baby on the way. We've gotten published. Tragedy has touched some of our friends lives--children lost, marriages lost, spouses lost. A longtime family friend and mentor ended his own life. My grandpa is dying of cancer. Our friends just got some bad news. Or illuminating news... or just news... depends on how you look at it.

The other day, our family drove back from the "city" with a trunkful of groceries and a car full of irritable, weepy children to find several dark hooded people darting around our front door. Seeing our headlights, they immediately fled to a mysterious maroon minivan, leaving a bewildered toddler on our front porch. After several seconds wherein Skywralke and I watched, stifling our laughter, one of them crept from the van, snatched the toddler and ran back. The driver's side door opened, and an ominous figure approached us.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Brother Hunter said.
We found green and red hearts plastered all over our door. It's good to know that our new neighbors like us--especially the ones we want to like us.

Sometimes I wonder if Heavenly Father is easy on us in our youth (or, easy on some of us, I should say. I know people who have had stunning trials hit them for the entirety of their lives.) What I mean is, life suddenly feels substantial... I feel myself getting older and things feel more real. I have a sense of heaviness--real responsibility. And real things happen. They touch me. Life isn't always nice to us, sometimes it is hard. But life also provides stunning, very real blessings.

I look back on the last year and feel a roil of confusion but also a warmth of gratefulness... that Heavenly Father guides our paths and knows what will make us into the people that we have the potential to become. He knows, in the end, what will make us happiest and what really matters.

And in the end, fear has no place in the gospel. Worry, concern, all of that... sometimes it's productive and we need to heed it, but fear doesn't stand in the face of faith. I'm a grown-up now. I can say that without blushing, without worrying that people might chuckle at me. Not so long ago, I cringed at the thought of calling myself a woman.

I'm a woman, a wife, a mother, and a cultivator of a family. My children, husband and I make up something substantial--something more together than we are apart. Life is happening, faster than I can really comprehend sometimes.

And I'm grateful for all of it.

Writing for a New Year

Check out the latest post on my professional blog about writing, this year, and the plan for next year, as well as links to a few great contest where some of you should definitely submit your stuff.

Four Hard Men, Four Different Ways: Orrin Porter Rockwell

I'm going to make this entry all about Rockwell's character and his relationship with the indians. There is so much going around on the internet about Rockwell, not to mention the hundred or so novels that have been written about or mention him. Porter Rockwell is a legend just about as big among the LDS people as Butch Cassidy, and therefore, there's a lot of heresay going around out there.

Rockwell is described as soft-spoken, with piercing eyes. He didn't say a whole lot... he was quiet, but lightning-quick and deadly accurate with his bullets. An unnerving picture, which may or may not be colored by the wishful thinking of those who like the idea of the sort of vigilanteism that Rockwell tends to represent in LDS and western accounts. To quote Fitz Hugh Ludlow, "In his build he was a gladiator; in his humor a Yankee lumberman; in his memory a Bourbon; in his vengeance an Indian. A strange mixture, only to be found on the American continent."

Rockwell joined the lDS faith on April 6, 1830 in Fayetteville New York. Just for perspective, that is the same day that the church was officially established. Rockwell was among the first members, and among the first married as a church member (to the first of his 3 wives.)

Rockwell has been described as a man of "contrasts." Generous to a fault. Deadly with a weapon, and he didn't falter when he felt someone needed to be dealt with. A direct quote: "[I}never shot at anybody, if I shoot they get shot!... He's still alive, ain't he?"

This was in conjunction with the charge made that he attempted to assassinate Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs, but missed, hitting him in the leg instead. The Jury failed to convict him in part because of this testimony.After he was released, Rockwell (emaciated, filthy, with his hair grown long after eight months in prison) showed up at Joseph Smith's christmas party at Nauvoo house. He made quite an entrance. And that was when Joseph Smith made the legendary prophecy about his hair: "I prophesy, in the name of the Lord, that you — Orrin Porter Rockwell — so long as ye shall remain loyal and true to thy faith, need fear no enemy. Cut not thy hair and no bullet or blade can harm thee."

Porter Rockwell became a bodyguard for Joseph Smith and the next two presidents of the LDS faith. IN 1834, he was one of the men caught up in the Danite phenomenon, which some accounts say continued long into the church's history, and others say was never authorised or condoned by church leaders, and was quickly extinguished, within a year of its formation. I will write more about that in another post. Suffice it to say, Rockwell's deeds, along with his association with people like William Hickman, give rise to a lot of speculation as to his role in the church and what leaders actually asked him to do.

It is unquestionable that Rockwell murdered several people. When charged with this, he would respond, "I never shot someone who didn't need shooting." He shot men in the course of what he saw as his duty to the prophet and the church, but he also shot people for personal reasons. One of his victims was his old friend, Lott Huntington, another name associated with the Danite legend and often the third to the duet of Hickman and Rockwell in rowdy, sometimes violent exploits.

Lott Huntington was accused of stealing a horse from the Bennion family. The son of the family, Sam, enlisted Rockwell's help in rounding up Lott. Lott holed up in Faust's mail station, Rockwell and his posse surrounded the station, and Lott did well for a while (apparently he was also a 'crack shot') until the horse bolted, leaving him vulnerable on the ground, and at that point, Rockwell "shot him dead."

This is an interesting story to me, because we're talking about two men who were longtime friends and associates. And yet, Rockwell did not hesitate in this instance... to him in that moment, Lott was a horse thief. Therefore he "deserved to be shot," and friendship didn't enter into it.

Rockwell is accused of all manner of violence, including shooting settlers, shooting indians, castrating people... a picture develops of a man who sees justice in black-and-white terms, and himself as a perpetuator of that justice, without need for jury, trial, or argument.

Which, when you think about it... could be seen as s rather frightening thing.

But then there's Rockwell's generosity, his soft side. He eventually cut his hair when Agnes Smith, widow of Don Carlos, the prophet's brother, lay suffering from typhoid fever. Her hair had fallen out due to the fever. So Rockwell gave up his long tresses that he had taken such care of for all those years, so that they could be made into a wig for her.

There are accounts of Rockwell sitting quietly while his grown-up daughters combed and braided his long hair. Rockwell spent a great deal of time, in the earlier years of the Utah settlement, with the Bean family. Eliza Bean also braided his hair on occasion.

George Washington Bean and Porter Rockwell were given the special assignment, in the years 1853-54, to keep track of Chief Walkara, a powerful ute leader who troubled the settlements from time-to-time, and at one time converted to the LDS faith. Bean was interpreter, but Rockwell also engaged in interpretation.

From here:

There did come a relatively tranquil couple of years in Salt Lake, during which Rockwell tended home fires by getting married that third time and working perhaps harder than he had at any of his other jobs to bring down the sparse timber from the steep, dry canyons of the Wasatch. But this quiet time was punctuated by his amiably getting drunk with Walkara of the Utes, and then having to wrestle a bloodied knife away from the war chief when peace talks spectacularly blew up at what was becoming popularly known as the "Walker" War.29

Another incident I thought interesting: when the LDS emigrants were about to move down into the salt lake valley for the firs time, a band of Crow indians stole fifty head of horses from the Church (ie Brigham Young's) herd. Rockwell singlehandedly retrieved 8 of the fifty, but the rest were lost.

Some famous advice purportedly given by Rockwell to Sir Richard F. Burton as he was embarking on an (apparently also now-famous) excursion through the desert: “Carry a double barreled gun loaded with buck-shot, to keep my eyes skinned especially in canyons and ravines, To make at times a dark camp, That is to say un-hitching for supper, and then hitching up and turning a few miles off the road. Ever to be ready for attack when the animals are being in-spanned and out-spanned, and never to trust to appearances in an Indian Country.”

Porter Rockwell was only semi-literate, and so we depend mostly on the journals of others to gain information about his life and actions. This is part of the reason why so much about Rockwell is heresay. But here is an entertaining account that I really hope is true (also from here):

"Camped at Scotts Bluff, a good day's march beyond Chimney Rock, the advanced party of pioneers fell to entertaining itself with the same sorts of mock trials in which we still like to roast our dignitaries. This court summoned the defendant, Rockwell, before one whose name sounds Dickensesque—the Right Reverend Bishop Whipple. The moment could have grown expectant—just before the elders of the wayfaring Church convulsed into giggles as their bailiff did his theatrical best to swell himself—the better to deliver the complaint:

That of emitting in meeting of Sunday last, a sound a posteriori, (from the seat of honor) somewhat resembling the rumble of distant thunder, of the heavy discharge of artillery, thereby endangering the steadiness of the olfactory nerves of those present, as well as diverting their minds from the discourse of the speaker.37"

I believe Porter Rockwell was a man of contrasts, who saw the world as black-and-white--in fact, he had such a concrete idea of morality that, after he cut his hair for the Widow Smith, he "found himself unable" to say no to a drink, and his life, once, to him, so clearly "consecrated" to the defending of the prophets and the church, slowly devolved into dissonance and rowdiness. His attitude toward the Indians was the same attitude he had toward everyone: there were people who needed shooting. There were people who needed, and what you do when people need something, is give it to them, whether that was a bullet, or money or food, or the hair off your head.

Things we say: Boobs and Alcohol

(setting: squirt has developed a ritual of a nightly personal prayer with mom to fend off nightmares. Generally he's got this prayer down pat, but tonight he's a bit tired and more than a little sugar-high).

Squirt: *Clears throat, squints at NSG, and flings his upper body onto his mattress* Dearhevnyfather, thankyoufor thisday, thankyoufor... hmmm... this food, blessit'llbe good forusn help strengthen our bodies...

NSG: (trying to help out a little, whispers) please bless us...

Squirt: Please bless us...

NSG: To not...

Squirt: To not....

NSG: (silence)

Squirt: Drink alcohol. Or wine, or coffee.

NSG: (making a second attempt, whispers) Please help us not to have....

Squirt: Colds from this chocolate, and help us to strengthen our bodies... (springs upright) Mom, this is a different prayer. We need to start over again.


(Setting... the Nosurf fam has just filed out of the ultrasound room wherein they discovered the gender of their unborn child/sibling. They are now waiting in a tiny office room, children seated against every wall, waiting for the Dr. visit followup).

Skywalker: (eyeing the kids sitting at his feet, who are prodding and poking each other)Do we really need to be in here?

NSG: It's just a really short visit. I just want you here because they said Dr. _____ would be seeing me. He's the one who convinced me to come to this practice, and likely will be delivering the baby. I think you should probably meet him at least once.

Skywalker: OK.

(several minutes pass... kids switch walls, begin playing on the turny-chair, have to be asked not to spit on each other several times)

Skywalker: Are you sure we have to be here? There's spongebob on in the waiting room.

NSG: You don't like spongebob.

Skywalker: No, but it's better than this (gesturing to the now-somewhat chaotic mess on the floor... the kids found the magazines.)

NSG: I know. I know. He'll just be a minute. I just want you to meet him. He's a little wierd...

Skywalker: A little wierd? How?

NSG: I don't know. He's just kind of a strange person. I think he might have ADD... he talks a lot.

Skywalker: (makes a face.)

NSG: But he's competent and respectful. That's the important part. You'll probably like him.

Skywalker: Does it really matter if I like him or not?

NSG: He'll be delivering our baby.

Skywalker: (Shrugs) OK.

Several minutes pass... the magazines are abandoned in favor of loudness and dancing and lots of bumping into expensive eqipment).

Skywalker: Squirt, don't touch that. (Removes Squirt from the vicinity of the table, where he has been experimenting with the metal stirrups and gazing-lamp) Nosurf, do you really think we have to...

NSG: He's touched my boobs.

(utter silence for several seconds, Loli and Bella stare at NSG with horrified expressions)

Skywalker: (half-sputtering, half-laughing) don't they all do that?

NSG: Yeah. And you met the others. So now you need to meet this one, too.

Skywalker: (rolls eyes, wrests inside-out-rubber glove from toddler's grip and tosses it back in trash can) This seems a bit silly.

NSG: Yeah, well. I don't expect you to understand.

Four Hard Men, Four Different Ways: William Hickman

William Hickman.Or Wild Bill Hickman, as he was more colorfully known. Accounts of him are all over the map. So what is true?

The short answer?

Who knows.

He lived more than a hundred years ago. In piecing and parcing accounts done by Mormon scholars such as Hugh Nibley, accounts from individual family histories by his descendents, his own well-known publication, and the mentions he gets in the biographies of other famous or well-documented people who knew him, I see two possibilities (and a whole range of gradations in between):

1) William Hickman was a fierce defender of the faith who had a weakness for horseflesh that eventually lead to his downfall and excommunication. His book, Brigham’s Destroying Angel, Life, Confession and Startling Disclosures of Bill Hickman, the ‘Danite Chief’ of Utah, was borne out of the feelings of betrayal and bitterness that followed his excommunication. His parter in the work, a notorious anti-mormon named John Hansen Beadle, took the account that Hickman admits is not true in many respects and embroidered it further so that it was a complete fiction (acc. To sources quoting Hickman) and he regretted it as soon as it was published.

2) William (Wild Bill) Hickman was a fierce warrior for the church leadership who murdered, stole, lied, and mistreated his family in the name of the church. He is the personification of the dark, shadowy doings of the church and when he was found out, the church denied and betrayed him. His book is a true account of all that occurred and shows that the LDS faith was lead by unscrupulous people willing to commit all manner of atrocities in the name of God for their own selfish purposes.

Here, I will examine these two hypothesis as best I can. All who read this must consider the reality, though: hardly ever is life so black and white. Generally, things fall in-between. More on that in a sec.

Hickman was famous not only for his book, but for being the one who first brought news to Brigham Young of the Federal Troops about to cross into Utah Territory. Young didn’t believe him at first; in fact one account states that Young laughed at Hickman (which might say something about how little Brigham Young actually did trust him, maybe?) Maybe.

Anyway, when Porter Rockwell brought further news, however, Brigham realized that there was about to be trouble, and he made that famous announcement for everyone in Salt Lake to leave their homes ready to be burnt.

Hickman was among those who attacked the solders’ supply wagons and stole their animals, keeping them on the other side of the mountain for a key amount of time so that Brigham Young and the people of Salt Lake would have time to mobilize and move south. At the time, he is said to have “executed” a man named Richard Yates, which he later claimed he did at the order of Brigham Young. If you look at online articles and even in books, you’ll find account after account that seems to hint that Hickman was told to “execute” Yates. But here, from the diary of Daniel W. Jones, is something that could shed a bit more light on the situation.

From Forty Years among the Indians, by Daniel Webster Jones:

"There is one circumstance connected with my experience while in Echo Canyon service which I wish to put on record--the killing of Yates by Bill Hickman. This Mr. Yates was a personal friend of mine, a kind-hearted, liberal man of whom I had received many kind-[130]nesses, and his being murdered did not agree with my feelings, but I knew of no way to mend the matter, for I knew nothing of the killing till he was buried.

I was camped with a small party about four miles west of the Weber valley and ten or twelve miles from Echo. One very cold morning about sunrise, Hickman and two others came to my camp. They seemed almost frozen, shaking and trembling in an unusual manner. Hickman asked me if I had any whisky. I told them I had not. He then asked if we had coffee. I replied that we had. "Then make us a good strong cup." While the coffee was being made, he took me outside and asked me if I knew Yates. I told him I did. "Well, we have just buried him."

He then told about Yates being taken prisoner for tampering with Indians. And after talking quite excitedly, he said, "We have got away with him. What do you think the Old Boss," (meaning Brigham) "will say?"

Now if Yates had been killed as Hickman related in his book he would not have manifested so much interest in what President Young would say. He tried hard to draw an approval from me of what he had done. I told him I knew nothing about such modes and did not know what Brother Young would say about it.

Hickman killed Yates for his money and horse the same as any other thief and murderer would have done, and then excused himself by telling that he was counseled to do these things. I know positively that Governor Young's orders were to avoid bloodshed in every way possible. I was continually acting and around in places and under circumstances that gave me the best of opportunities to know."


In dealing with the Indians, Hickman was quick to act “in defense of the saints.” Again, from this account: William and his families stayed on the plains until 1849. During this time, he apparently scalped an Indian that made a threat against Brigham Young’s life. William Hickman was operating as a body guard at this time, but later in his life after a serious break in his relationship with the prophet, he wrote, “This was my first act of violence under the rule of Brigham Young.”

Also: "[they] made the trek to Utah in a small company of people that included Bill, his first wife Bernetta, their four children, Udney Hay Jacob, and Mary Jane Shadner. It was noted that Bill killed Indians along their way.

The following years proved to be ones in which he would get his western desperado nickname of “Wild Bill Hickman.” He was involved in quieting Indian trouble that arose in Utah County in 1850."

I have already related the incident of Old Elk. And if you read Hickman’s account of the Provo River or Fort Utah War in his book, you could feel a bit sick at the language he uses… he says things about eating the dead, for instance. But remember that this account is suspect. We don’t know how much is true, and how much can even be attributed to Hickman at all.
Another statement about Hickman as emissary to the Indians:

October 20. 1856. (Taken from THE MORMON, published in Salt Lake City: The editor said in reply to "Correspondent" from Norwalk, Conn, "The 'notorious Bill Hickman', as the correspondent calls him, is a United States Deputy Marshal for Utah, a man that none can fool with, and this the rowdies that come to Salt Lake will soon find out. I know he is a terror to them, for he will not be imposed upon by them, neither suffer his friends to be imposed upon. In regards to his being 'sent to the Indians with goods' what of it, Gov. Young is Supt. of Indian Affairs, and I expect had a perfect right to send whom he pleased. Hickman being well acquainted with the Indians and their Chief, and understanding their language, was certainly a fit person to send".

The question is, how did Hickman see the Indians? One would assume, because of the “Old Elk” deed, the documented killings, and his son’s own account (given below), that he did not see them as human. That words “savage” and “enemy” were used in his household to describe the natives of Utah Valley. But we also have to factor in something a little baffling: Hickman’s tenth wife? A Cherokee woman. They never had children together, but he married her legally. That suggests that he saw Indians as human beings, perhaps. Or it could suggest he saw women as objects and didn’t want to “sin,” therefore he used the principle of plural marriage to satisfy a lust. I don’t know that I see him that way, however. Because accounts also paint Hickman as a loving father. After his excommunication, all his marriages were dissolved except the first. The women decided to do their best to strike out on their own, and Hickman divided his estate among them so that they would have some support. But his children, particularly his sons, followed after him, prospected with him, farmed with him and kept up contact with him. Here is one, very loyal, account of Hickman by one of his sons.

From This: A SON'S TRIBUTE
Wm. A. Hickman was elected by the people to be a member of the first legislature of Utah, which met at Fillmore. I have been told by Church members that he was called by Brigham Young to go to Fort Bridger, Green River, and he performed a great mission while there. He had his ferry so the saints could cross and come on to Utah. I have always been led to believe that my father, William A. Hickman was to Utah what Daniel Boone was to Kentucky; a great Indian fighter in early days and a dealer in fine horses. My mother has often told me how in early days he protected and guarded Brigham Young laid, his hands on his head and blessed him, that he might be able to protect the Saints from Wild savage Indians and outlaws.
J.H. Beadle, who wrote my fathers history, had only one object in view, and that was to slander the Mormons. He admits that he changed the original manuscript in some respects, and I may say many. His corroborative evidences, as he calls them, in the appendix, proves that. He never spoke of Brigham as being governor and executive officer who wanted law and order or that the Mormons had been driven from their homes and had endured great suffering. My oldest sister, Katherine, was the manuscript and she said it was changed to a novel form, much to her and to my father's sorrow. Father told his brother, Dr. G.W. Hickman, that there are many things in that book Beadle had written unauthorized and that were entirely untrue. Beadle got his data, then went East and wrote the book and published it without my father ever seeing the manuscript. Beadle might in justice have said that Utah, like all other states in her early days, had outlawry and Indian troubles, and that Hickman, as an officer, tried to protect the people from such conditions.

The last time I saw my father was at Murray, Utah. We were camped there Bishop Hunter came along. I heard him say to may father that he had been misrepresented and greatly wronged. My father replied, "Let it go, things will be made right some day." I knew him to be a kind and loving father. People seemed to like him wherever he went. All his family speak well of him in the kindest affectionate way, and tell of his charitable deeds, not only at home but abroad."

Perhaps the history of William Hickman is a great example of how history can sometimes fail us. We can gather bits and pieces, and get an idea of things that might have occurred. But anything that stirs up this much controversy makes everything in its wake murky, possibly slanted, and very difficult to trust, on either side.

Above, I provided the two conventional hypothesis found in the literature, generally, surrounding William Hickman. But I have formed an alternative hypothesis (just something I came up with after reading a lot of mind-boggling articles that I will refer you to if you wish).

If Hickman was a murderer (and by every account, he was) it likely had everything to do with a weakness he had. That weakness was horses. Here are a couple telling accounts:
From here:
“Bill was fanatical about horses and his obsession with them led others to accuse him of stealing. After one such accusation by a member of the Church, a formal trial was not instituted but he told Bill that he would never take a brother to trial for stealing from the Gentiles, but when it came to stealing from a brother, he had a problem with it. He ended by telling Bill to “go and steal no more.”

Once, an army officer’s horse was stolen and he announced that he would give the horse to whoever recovered it. Bill heard of the reward and sent word to the officer that he knew a band of horse thieves that had the mare in their possession. Bill offered to recover her for a fee. The officer asked him to proceed. Bill returned claiming that he recovered the horse at great risk of his life and expenses. The officer offered to pay for the expenses incurred, and Bill handed him a complicated list of expenses that amounted to more than the horse was worth. The officer declined to pay it and let Bill remain in possession of what he claimed was “the fastest horse in Utah.” The officer’s suspicions that Bill was the original thief may have very well been correct.”

“At one point, his horse was stolen, and he retaliated by killing the men.”
From here:
A gunfight on Christmas Day 1859 in downtown Salt Lake City nearly ended Hickman's life. He was shot in the hip by his long-time friend and protégé, Lott Huntington in an argument over stolen horses. The effects of this wound plagued Hickman throughout the last 22 years of his life and caused him to walk with "a shuffling gait."

A few accounts state that Hickman fell out of favor with the church after the mid 1850's. Nobody has a definitive reason why, other than that he "stopped living by gospel principles." The only faint hint I've found is that his weakness for horses and his habit of murders. After he was retired from his post as lawman he killed another man. For this, he was excommunicated from the church and prosecuted by the Utah government, and the church did not back him up as before. It was at this point that Hickman turned on the men he, by his own accounts, had loved and trusted and served before. That is when he was persuaded to write his book.

Of all that I have read of Hickman, this, to me, strikes home the most (from here):

"Missouri was not yet a state and Indians and wild animals were part of daily life on the western frontier. Bill grew up thriving in the freedom of the frontier and enjoyed playing outdoor sports and hunting. Being the oldest son, Bill farmed with his father Edwin, who said of him, “He was full of mischief, such as tricks for fun making. He was the best and the worst boy I ever raised.” Guns and fists settled most arguments, which influenced Bill throughout most of his life. He was born a Missouri Wildcat.

The best and worst boy. The best and worst man. He performed heroic deeds, was always generous and ready to help someone out. And, I think we can say there was also another side of him: vengeful, angry, and selfish… and above all, treating lightly the value of another’s life in the face of his own needs and desires. It is possible that as his life spun out of control with murders and thefts, he lost purchase on the things that he previously valued, and saw very few people outside himself as human--brown, black, or white.

At any rate, there are certainly more than a couple lessons we can ingest from the life (and wildly conflicting accounts of the life) of William A. Hickman. One more interesting factoid: The man who baptised Hickman? John D. Lee, who was eventually excomunnicated and executed for killings in the Mountain Meadows Massacre, which is an important piece of backstory for my novel.