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Show First Christmas in American Fork . ; Brazilla Guymon Caldwell surveyed sur-veyed her new home. This should have been the happiest day of her life. The fireplace in the east end of the room was carefully made of rocks and ' plastered with mud mortar. There was even real glass in the window, an unusual blessing for pioneer women. She had guarded that one pane of glass clear across the plains. The floor of the log cabin was packed earth, swept to a fine hard glaze, and she had managed to sew flour sack curtains for the window. The house ' looked like a home, but gloom ; enveloped her. . It was one week until Christmas, and she had no presents for her ' children. She didn't blame her . husband, Matthew. He had worked ; hard hauling the Cottonwood logs from the river bottoms near Provo, and with the help of their young sons, Thomas and Curtis Washington, and the herd boy, Washburn Chipman, had finished this fine warm cabin. They had even added a lean-to for the herd boy's sleeping quarters. She well recalled Sept. 20, 1850 when they had arrived in American . Fork. They had been directed to come here from Salt Lake City by Brigham Young. Their first home had been the covered wagon box and a makeshift tent which Matthew had set up. He left immediately with the running gears of the wagon, drawn by a team of oxen, to cut logs for the walls and smaller timbers for the rafters. She and the children helped chink the spaces between the unhewn logs with chips and adobe mud. For straw to strengthen the mud they used dried grasses gathered along the creek bank. Brazilla heard the cows lowing in the shed and took her pails to go milk the animals. "Well, what is, is," she said as she went about the chores. "Thank goodness we have milk and flour for bread. I didn't get any new bread baked today so I'll fix lumpy dick for supper." Returning to the house, Brazilla set about preparing the lumpy dick. Into a large pan of flour she sprinkled drops of water, stirring the flour with a spoon until little lumps of dough, the size of a pea, were formed. Then she set a dutch oven full of slightly salted milk over the fire. When the milk began to boil she sprinkled the little lumps of dough into the liquid and stirred vigorously until all the flour mixture was in the milk. Gradually the food thickened. As the family gathered for their supper, they sat around the table and bowed their heads in thanks for food and shelter. Brazilla spooned great servings of the hot lumpy dick into their bowls, and each person poured fresh milk from the pitcher over the food to cool it a bit. After supper, the woman inquired, "Washburn, do you think you could find us a Christmas tree?" "Sure, Ma'am. I'll try. I'll ride my pony up the creek toward the canyon tomorrow and bring one home." Five-year-old Rachel Almira clapped clap-ped her hands. "Oh, goody, goody, Mama. I thought you said we didn't have much to decorate a tree with." "We don't have much, Almiry, but I can't see Christmas without a tree. We'll find something." The next evening Brazilla and her little daughter began making paper chains. Brazilla had saved the paper that had wrapped the glass pane. It was a sort of dull gray and they had nothing to color it with, but Rachel Almira clapped her hands excitedly as she draped the garlands around the tree. Tommy and Curtis Washington helped, too. "I wish we had a Christmas fairy for the top of the tree, Mama." "Well, I'll try to make one if you'll help me." From some of the paper Mrs. Caldwell fashioned a body and pleated two wings which she tied to the fairy. "I wish we had popcorn to pop and string," she said, "but we don't have any this year, or red apples either. They always looked lovely tied to the green branches. But what is, is. We can have parched corn to eat, though." "What's parched corn, Mrs. Caldwell?" Washburn inquired. "I make it from dried kernels of sweet corn," she replied. "We can shell the kernels off the cobs and then brown them carefully in a fry pan, with some butter and a pinch of salt. I have to watch the corn carefully and stir it constantly over low heat to keep it from scorching. But it will brown nicely and give us a delicious treat." "I've never tasted any," Washburn Wash-burn commented, "but it sounds good. I'll help if you want me to." "You're a kind young man, Washburn. You do many things for us besides herd the cattle. I'd be obliged to you if you'd help." "Mama," Curtis exclaimed suddenly, sudd-enly, "I just remembered. There's a whole bunch of burdock down along the creek bank. The burrs are still clinging and they're sort of reddish- Continued Page 12 "rt-'Kr't'-'f "--' v . .!?inin'n 1 f "-"'TT?' ' " C i 1 1 , u v.. .ssfy 1 r , - - ,'.k.' 1 1 I |