Emma Lucinda Welling Earl

History of Emma Lucinda Welling Earl

As I attempt to write a history of the life of my mother, I am thankful for many things, that her life, while not a spectacular one, was a life dedicated to her beloved husband, nine children and the community in which she lived. Hers’ was a sweet wholesome life, with not one closed chapter.
I pray that my thoughts might be guided, that I will be able to put into writing a little of the life of this good woman. She was born July 8, 1878 at Farmington, Utah, the daughter of Emma Lucinda Holmes and Job Welling and named for her mother, Emma Lucinda.

She attended public school in Farmington and later in Salt Lake City, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Her childhood must have been a happy one, as she spoke often to us of a loved ‘Auntie” and Aunt Pheobe. These dear women took the place of a mother who was called away from home to make a living for this large family, left fatherless by the early death of their father, Job Welling.
We know there was poverty and hardship, but as Mother spoke of her early childhood, it was always with a great pride and love —— a wondrous love and respect for these three women who were all mothers to her; pride in her own Mother who was so capable and love for her brothers and sisters. I often wished as a child that I could have had three mothers and as many brothers and sisters to play with.
No hint of bitterness ever entered her mind and she has inspired me in my life with her great love and unselfishness.
She must have been a frail little girl; I know she was ill as a child, and while this illness did not appear to be serious at the time, in her later life it proved to be most serious.

In her late teens, she met and fell in love with a fine, good— looking musician, Milton Wilson Earl. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple December 22, 1898. This was truly a marriage of two young people in love. This great love endured through forty—nine years of marriage. The very few times when they had to be separated for a day or two, were most unhappy for them both.

On April 18, 1901 a tiny little boy, Horace was born to this happy couple. When this baby was three weeks old, the young mother left her beloved family in Farmington and came with her husband in a covered wagon to far away Idaho. Would I today have that kind of courage. She did not even question the wisdom of such a venture, but bravely followed her husband to this new home which he had made for her. She was very ill on the way and I’m sure that her love and loyalty to her husband is all that kept them from turning back. They made a home in Iona, Idaho, and this young father began gathering things around him with which to farm and make a living for his family.

On March 3, 1903 another son was born, Ray Welling, and then on May1, 1905 a daughter, Ireta was born. I suspect that she was just a little glad that I was a girl. Little boys somehow have little time to listen to stories and so she poured into my eager ears stories of her childhood and beloved family in Utah.

With his little family growing so rapidly, Dad began looking around for a larger house and more ground. He found forty acres to his liking about 10 miles away. A part of the ground was homesteaded fruit trees, shade trees, and small fruit were planted, chicken coops were built and Mother turned the small house into a cozy home.

While living on this little home my mother told me of a wonderful experience she had. One morning as she was washing and her two little boys were playing about and her few month old daughter was in a crib, she entered her kitchen she stopped short in the doorway, for there, sitting on a chair, was her mother. I suppose it was only an impression, for her mother had passed away a short time before this. But the impression was so strong, that Mother was left weak and shaken. She told us later, that she felt her mother had come to see how things were with her and seeing that she was well and happy had gone away again.

On September 10, 1907, another daughter, Lillis, came to bless this home. While Mother was still in bed with a tiny one, my older brothers and the neighbor’s boys, playing with matches, set fire to the barn. A brisk wind caught the fire and sent it raging through a straw and hay stack, a tool shed filled with newly purchased machinery. What a disaster to this struggling young couple. I’m sure Dad and Mother spent a wakeful night, but when the morning came, and the smoke cleared away, they faced the new day together and unafraid.

Dad raised a beautiful garden. Mother and we children washed and tied into bunches, radishes, onions, carrots, beets, and all other good things that grow under the care of an expert gardener. They were then taken to town and sold. How we worked and how proud we all were to be part of this project.

About this time, one summer afternoon, a wagon backed up to our door and a piano was placed in our living room. I shall never forget the day. As each child became old enough, he or she was given music lessons either on the piano or violin, with Dad as our teacher. I’m sure Mother washed many of the dishes I should have washed while I practiced.

There are many memories that come to my mind, here, of things that happened to our family, as they do in all families, but to Mother, everything was fine as long as Dad was there.

I remember when she took me on the train to visit for two weeks in Utah. At the end of one week we were both so homesick that the remaining week we spent in watching and waiting for Dad to come for us. She never went visiting again without him.
On February 28, 1910, a little girl was born named Emma in memory of Grandma. During this time the farm was being built up. It was well stocked with farm animals and chickens. A partition was removed from our house to make a larger kitchen and another room was added.

Dad was playing for dances whenever the opportunity came along; sometimes he drove forty miles with horse and buggy, receiving five dollars in return. Mother was never idle. She cooked and washed and sewed for her growing family. She made old clothes into new ones and made countless quilts and rugs.

About this time Mother’s feet began to give her a great deal of trouble. Dad tried in every way to have her shoes fitted and made more comfortable, but to no avail. Hundreds of times I have seen her walk with her aching feet across the field with a pitcher of cool lemonade or a pitcher of freshly churned buttermilk or a piece of pie that she might refresh her beloved Wilson and visit with him for a few minutes. This task she seldom delegated to her children.

On September 25, 1913, a little boy came to our house. This tiny boy was named M. H. after Mother’s beloved brother, Milton Holmes. August 1, 1915, another daughter, Ida was born, a little beauty with dark hair and black eyes.

Then, on a hot summer day in July, 1917, another daughter, Marjorie was born. I, with my father, had gone with a team and wagon to Idaho Falls. On returning late in the afternoon, dad seemed to know that something was wrong. As we turned into the driveway he jumped from the wagon and ran to the house to be greeted by the midwife, a crying new born baby, and his beloved “Louie” in tears; because for the first time he had not been at her side when one of their babies were born. Dad was an especially kind and devoted husband after this.

Dad realized at this time that his farm was not keeping pace with his ever—growing family, lie wanted to keep his boys with him as long as he could and with Mother’s help and advice, he began looking for a larger farm; close to church and a good school. So the forty—acre farm was sold and we moved to an eighty—acre farm in the community of Taylor, Idaho. We had a much larger house and again Mother turned it into a comfortable home. Dad repaired the steps and mended the porches to make things as easy as he could for Mother.

One afternoon the wind began to blow. All during the night it whistled around the corners of the house and we found ourselves in the midst of a sand storm. Sand was everywhere; on our table and even in our beds. The crops were literally lifted from the ground and carried miles away. We children huddled in the kitchen. There was deep concern on Mother’s face, but her concern was for Dad, whose face was lined with worry and despair and she bravely covered her own worries for his sake. Then the wind stopped and again they faced a severe loss with great courage.

On March 12, 1920, their ninth child, a little girl whom they named Louise, was born. This event took place during the flu epidemic of that year, and much concern was felt for Mother at that time. However, she soon regained her strength and today I marvel at the things she was able to accomplish.

How we all enjoyed the evenings when the work was done, the lamp lighted and placed in the center of the table along with a bowl of delicious winter apples fresh from the pit. Dad read to us from a good book, while Mother sat close by with her mending. I’m sure through all the hardships that Mother was very happy.

Dad was asked to serve as Bishop of the Ward in which we lived and a huge desk was placed in our living room. More than ever now, Mother devoted her time to helping Dad in this position. Then she was called to be Relief Society President. This task proved to be too much for her failing strength and because of her countless other duties she resigned after two years.

My oldest Brother, Horace Welling, left for Mexico, where he filled an honorable three—year mission. Mother was very proud of him. About this time I left home to make a home of my own.

From this point I believe the hardships were greater for Mother than at any other time in her life. Their second daughter married in the Salt Lake Temple. The Depression came and the farm was no longer theirs. They moved to Osgood and rented ground once more. I visited them there and again found a clean comfortable home filled with love and happiness. Horace returned from his Mission and married a lovely girl in the Salt Lake Temple. Others in the family left to find other employment. Now, the nest was not so crowded. They then moved to Utah on a farm near Logan, where Mother worked shoulder to shoulder with her husband helping him in every way she could, always active in Church and community.

They then moved back to Idaho Falls where Dad raised sugar beets. He worked very hard and somehow was able to buy a very desirable corner lot not far from the Idaho Falls Temple.
Mother’s health at this time was not good and upon examination by the family physician, it was found that the illness she had as a child had damaged her heart to a very great extent, and that she must be very careful for the remainder of her life. This was a very difficult thing for her to do and I’m sure this was a most trying time in her life.

Together, Mother and Father built a beautiful home and lived in it; Dad for five and Mother for almost six years. Dad was determined that Mother should have some of the good things of life and I believe she had them all. . . a lovely home, a beautiful fur coat, nine loving children and the love of a devoted husband. She stood calmly by while her youngest daughter, Louise, and a son, Milton, left for the armed forces along with two grandsons. She spent many hours writing encouraging letters to them and keeping them in close touch with home and loved ones. I know her heart was made glad when her daughter, Marjorie, left for an Eastern States Mission.

Dad passed away suddenly, March 4, 1947, and the doctor, fearing for Mother’s life, put her to bed. I shall never forget the courage she displayed at this time, and later, as she tried valiantly to pick up the pieces of her life and go on alone.

Some eight months after Dad’s passing, my brother, Milton, and my family, decided to put in a long distance phone call to her in Idaho Falls. We each took a turn in talking and how we enjoyed it. The following day Ida returned home to find her unconscious, her finished crochet work folded in her lap, books and papers she had been studying, closed on the desk and letters she had written to most of her family were on the table ready for mailing. She passed away two days later without regaining conscious ness. Her life will always be an inspiration to her children and all who knew her.

Mother’s whole life was an example of honesty, not that she talked about it a great deal, but it was a vital part of her code of living. At one time when there were three or four little children and a new baby expected, Mother went into Idaho Falls to do a little shopping. At home that evening when she looked over her purchases and counted the money left in her purse, she discovered a 20 dollar gold piece. She realized at once that it had been given to her by mistake for a penny. The next day Dad hitched up the team and they drove the six miles back to Idaho Falls and the Golden Rule Store where Mother had done her shopping the day before. The manager had discovered the shortage but had no idea how it happened. He was so pleased and grateful to have his money returned that lie invited Mother to choose something from the store as a reward. I’m sure Mother must have thought of some lovely thing she could have selected for the new baby, but felt that honesty is its own reward. She thanked him for his offer and left the store. A few days later she received a lovely baby blanket in the mail.

One of the sweetest memories I have of my mother is hearing her bear her testimony in our Ward Testimony Meetings. I was always thrilled and inspired with her wonderful faith and unwavering testimony of the gospel and her gratitude for the blessings of life. I was proud of her choice of words. To me she was a perfect example of culture and refinement. In the weeks following Dad’s death when the rest of us could hardly bear to speak his name, she talked of him in a calm and gentle way as if he had just gone away for a little while and would soon be back. It was as though she stayed with us to comfort and sustain us with her faith and courage until we could adjust to our great loss, and then slipped quietly away to join him.

“To live, to struggle, to be in love with life, in love with all life holds, joyful or sorrowful, is fulfillment.” In writing this history, I am keenly aware that I might have added many more events, but hope that I have given a true outline, at least, of the life of this most noble woman. . . My Mother,

EMMA LUCINDA WELLING EARL

Ireta Earl Arave and Lillis Earl Lloyd

March 14,1958