I Always had a Friend

Canning time, I was busy bottling peaches, pears, apricots, tomatoes, jams and pickles. I had never done any of these things before. Orville and my neighbors were very good to help me and show me how things were done. I was so proud of my accomplishments. Oh, what a delight it was to open my pantry door every day and admire the rows of beautiful bottles, and what a new experience for me.

All this time I kept in touch with my Mother. I told her about the fruit I had put up and described the farm and how the cows were milked, the range cattle and the rides out to the farm to see them being fed. I told her about our beautiful mountains and, of course, I described in detail our lovely baby. At last my efforts were rewarded, a letter came one morning. It wasn't a very nice letter and when I read it I wept but Orville comforted me by saying that she had to write that way to save face after her long silence. After that her letters were more natural.

Milking the Cows with Phyllis Jorgensen, a friend visiting from England

I often had days of loneliness and longing for old friends and familiar faces. On one such a day, early in the morning, I was waiting for Orville to come home to breakfast. I was feeling very sorry for myself and trying hard to keep back the tears. The kitchen door was open and then I heard a most unbelievable sound being wafted on the morning breeze. Someone way off in the distance was playing a trumpet and the tune was "Come, Come Ye Saints". It was as though an angel had been sent to comfort me and give me courage. I have heard it other mornings when the breeze was blowing our way. George Woodhouse played his trumpet every morning but we couldn't hear it only when the wind came from the South.

I had a new friend. One morning I was walking around the corral, trying to cheer myself up, when I heard a voice coming from the dividing fence. The voice said, "Hello, neighbor", and there stood a sweet, smiling woman who had just moved next door. Although she was smiling there were tears in her eyes. So we chatted over the fence for awhile. Her name was Lydia Smith and she was to become one of my dearest friends. We were both lonely and needed each other.

       Whenever the need was great, the Lord has always provided me with a dear and loving friend and how grateful I am to Him for the dear and loving people that have crossed my path.

Picnic with the Muir Family

There were other neighbors to the north of us who also became very dear to us as a family, Albert Muir, his wife, Zelma, and their son, Albert, Jr. There was a gate in the fence between us and it was easy to slip through and visit for awhile each day. They always had a good vegetable garden and a raspberry patch, also beautiful flowers, and they generously shared what they had with us. We had many lovely meals in their house too. Orville's cousin, Vina Pearce, who lived across the street, and her mother, Grandma Jones, were also very good to me. Also, other cousins, Lillian Thompson, Lydia Robinson, Anona Smith, were special people to me.

My neighbor was my neighbor, for just a little while.

We shared the sunny mornings, and bartered smile for smile.

My neighbor was my neighbor, until the first year's end.

And then forever after, my neighbor was my friend.