Stories from Isabell Cooper's Life

Back in the 1970's when Grandma Cooper was staying with us, we got out a tape recorder and asked her to tell some stories about growing up.  When I heard my grandmother's voice on that recording, it took me back to being a child.  I hadn't heard her voice in over 30 years and yet it was just like yesterday.  She said about every two or three sentences, "I've had a good life."  She was that positive. I loved her so much. 

She said, "I lived on a farm or ranch most of my life.  We used to raise a lot of milk cows and make butter and cheese.  We'd go to St. George in the fall and take a load of cheese and butter and trade it for fruit.  I remember the big barrels of pickles that we would have outside.

When the Indians would come for the 24th of July, they would always stop at our place for cheese and butter.  One time an Indian came in and said,"How much for a dollar?" and mom showed him this much. 

He said, "No, I want this much!"  He went to put his hand on it and she cracked his hand with a butcher knife.  We kids were terrified.  We were scared to death.  

She said, "I don't allow anyone to touch my cheese."

The Indians went on their merry way, but they did come back later for some milk and cheese.

My mother was a very religious woman but my dad wasn’t too religious.  Sunday was the most glorious day of the whole year for me. It seemed like everything was great, I’d wake up in the morning and the sun was shining. The day was just the same, but I was just happy. I had a good life, a good youth."

She said of her mother, "Mother was quite strict, she was quite clean.  We lived up on the Mammoth one summer.  I remember the night we moved there, Mother imagined that she saw mice in the house.  We had to camp outdoors in the snowstorm.  She was just that fussy.  She heard that burning old shoes would run away mice and bedbugs so she set the shoes on fire and set the house on fire.  So we were (living) out for two or three days."

"We had four deaths of children, Mom’s babies.  I don’t think anybody felt any worse than I did over those babies. Two were between me and my brother Dunning." (Rhoda 3 months old, Abraham Arterbury 6 months old) "One had whooping cough, another had spinal meningitis, the last one that died."  (Charlotte was 7 when she died.  Grandma would have been 3 years old at that time.  The last one that died was William Wallace.  Grandma would have been 10 years old when he died.)  "My father was in House Rock Valley hauling freight when Wallace died.  Dad was a great freighter.  We had an old dog named Balli. They called my father  and told him that Wallace was dead.  He said he couldn’t make it back for a few days.  The old dog was standing there by him and he heard Mother’s voice.  He barked when he recognized her voice.  Dad didn’t come for a few days, it was snowy. I remember how terrible that was. Wallace was 11 months old.  He was very smart. Everybody lost children in those days.  There was a lot of families that buried two from a family at the same time. Aunt Sarah (Ipson) buried two at the same time.  It was quite a time."  Grandma's four brothers and sisters who died in childhood died in an 8-year period.  The first to die was Rhoda, (3 months) who died in May of 1896.  Her sister Charlotte age 7 died 4 months later in September of 1896.  Six month old Abraham died 13 months later (Oct 1897), then there was about seven years until William Wallace died in January of 1904.

When grandma was a teenager, her brother John Dunning nearly drowned.  She was very close to him as there were no surviving siblings between them.  He was five years younger than she was.  She said, "My dad and brothers used to haul freight with teams and wagons.  On one trip I rode to Circleville with John to visit (my friend) Rachel Haycock.  I stayed a few days while he went to Marysvale to get freight.  He came to get me on his way back and there was a big rain storm with thunder and lightning.  When we started for home I had my clothes in a little suitcase.  I had on my best clothes.  When we got in Circleville Canyon a big flood came.  A man came along in a buggy with two horses.  

My brother Dunning said, "Will you take this girl up to Robinsons," which was about five miles up the canyon.  So he took me there. It was a terrible storm.  John and his freight got in the main part of the flood, One horse drowned.  In the night word was sent that he (John) had drowned.  My dad came down from Panguitch to the Robinson’s. 

In the meantime, a traveler came and took (John) out of the flood and put him in a ranch house for the night in Circleville. We didn’t know until morning that he wasn’t drowned.  Another man that was with him, an Ipson man, his  horses both drowned.  I’ll never forget that night.  It was on the Sevier River on the road to Circleville."

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