Muddy Creek Burials, Wyoming

On July 9, 1859 a company of handcarts departed for the plains from Florence, Nebraska. The group consisted primarily of converts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Switzerland, Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Their destination, Salt Lake City, was a gathering place for the Saints, a place they would call Zion.

Handcarts provided an economical way for the church to convey thousands of new members to the West. Most of them arrived in the New World impoverished and without the means to buy a team and wagon.

Fifty-seven handcarts among them carried 250 pounds of provisions each. Four people were assigned to each cart. In addition there were eight wagons to carry extra luggage. Seven “Captains of ten” took stewardship over a group. These men were usually more seasoned on the frontier than the newly arrived immigrants.  George Rowley was assigned captain over the entire company.

Handcart memorial at This is the Place Heritage Park in Salt Lake City.

Being a God-fearing group, every day began and ended with prayer. The distance they traveled, nearly all while pulling handcarts, varied from zero to seven to twenty miles a day. As you can imagine, this led to sore feet and sick people. One of the wagons was designated as the “provisions wagon,” which carried the “invalids.”

As they wandered in a strange land they witnessed things they had never before seen. Buffalo roamed the prairies. Indians came into their camps. Wolves howled at night and at times stirred up trouble. As one lady put it after a night of lightning and rain: they had witnessed “a real American thunderstorm.”

In addition to the mind-boggling number of miles they put in, the terrain on which they walked was not easy. The wheels of their handcarts spun over sandy hills, slogged through mud and forded rivers. At times when they stopped to camp for the night there was neither water nor wood for a fire. They quickly learned to use an American novelty for fuel: the buffalo chip.

Two-rut trail at Muddy Creek.

As they traveled from east to west, they mostly followed the Oregon-California Trail until they parted ways near South Pass, Wyoming. For much of this journey they followed the Platte and Sweetwater Rivers. They watched for notable landmarks like Devil's Gate and Chimney Rock.

Along with sickness came death. There were no doctors or hospitals for the weary travelers. When the angel of death came, he often claimed more than one in the same family. Burial was a sad affair. After the grieving family was long gone, the lifeless corpse entombed in parched or frozen ground was often disinterred by wolves. Travelers along the route reported to having found skulls lying around and limbs protruding from the earth.

Martin Handcart Company---Bitter Creek, Wyoming, 1856.  (Courtesy Church Newsroom)

As the company of handcart pioneers of whom we speak traveled across what is today Nebraska and Wyoming, they became low on provisions. This was difficult for the group, and like similar stories found in scripture, they began to murmur. By August 22 when they arrived at the Green River in Wyoming, their provisions were completely exhausted. They resorted to killing one of their own oxen. —Two days later horsemen from Salt Lake arrived with provisions and the famished Saints were overcome with joy and shed many tears.

After a well deserved rest the group continued their journey in a southwesterly direction, crossing the Hams and Smiths forks. On August 28 they arrived at Fort Bridger where all the soldiers turned out “to see 250 persons pulling handcarts over a wild country of a thousand miles and all for a religion in which they have implicit faith and confidence.”⸺They ate dinner at “The Springs” and descended a very steep and rocky hill and camped at the foot of it beside the “little Muddy.”

On August 29, Thomas McIntyre recorded the following in his diary:

“At 7 a.m. we have a death in our camp. Anna Henysen [Hansen] aged 49. She had been sickly since she left home. We bury her on near to a creek near the south of the road. The Danish Saints attend to the rites of burial. We travel over hilly ground but good roads. [We] ford Bear River which is very high and camp about ¼ of a mile from the crossing. Traveled today 21 miles.”

Peaceful waters at Muddy Creek.

Fenced memorial for Catherine Bennett.

Ann came to America from Denmark with her husband, Mads Jensen, and five living children. In Denmark she would have been known as Ann Hansdatter. They arrived earlier that year on the ship “William Tapscott.” We know very little else about them.

Like many other pioneers, she died from “mountain fever,” which tends to be a catch-all phrase for any fever or disease you get in the mountains. It is the same illness that plagued Brigham Young when he arrived in Salt Lake twelve years earlier. Apparently Ann's family had it also because just five days later—just one day before arriving in the valley—her 13 year-old daughter, Maren, also died. The next day they were joined in death by, Karen, the 7 year-old daughter. Indeed, a very sad situation.

Headstone for Ann Hansdatter Jensen.

The Muddy Creek Campground was one of the most used on the Mormon and California Trails. Brigham Young's group camped here on July 9, 1847. They reported the camp had good water and plenty of grass.

It was also used as a stage stop and Pony Express station. In 1858, over 2,000 men with the U.S. Army camped here. The original Transcontinental Railroad came near here in 1869. It is estimated that 70,000 Mormon pioneers either came through or camped at the Muddy Creek Campground.

Muddy Creek, Wyoming.

Less than two weeks after the death of Ann Hansdatter Jensen, there was another death at Muddy Creek. Peter Andersen Fjeldsted, another Danish convert, passed away on September 9th. There is very little we know about him, including exactly how he died. Luckily for us, he was in the process of writing his history down in a “diary.” It was only three pages long and still not complete as he crossed the plains.

Born near Copenhagen in 1821, Peter was raised in the Lutheran faith. His family was so poor that by the age of fourteen he had to leave home and work at a factory where he “saw all the drunkenness and wild life and those who didn't believe in God.” After several years he returned home to support his mother after his father died in a drowning accident. In 1844 he married and had a child who died the same day.

Peter learned of the restored gospel in 1850 from missionary Erastus Snow. He and his brother, Christian Daniel Fjeldsted, believed the words of Elder Snow and were a strength to each other. His wife, however, did not believe and this drew a wedge between them that eventually pulled them apart. As he recorded in his diary: “My heart felt as if it were crushed between two stones.”

After his baptism he spent several years serving as a missionary for the church in Denmark. He presided over congregations as well as baptized new converts. He returned to his wife several times, but she would not budge. She stood staunchly in her Lutheran faith. He wrote in his diary: “I can see now that she won't believe in the Gospel, but she's in God's hands and I'll pray for her, that's all I can do.”

On April 1, 1859 he left Denmark for the last time aboard a ship for Liverpool. From there he would board another ship bound for America with hundreds of Saints. His diary ends while aboard this ship. We know that five months later he would die near Muddy Creek.

Peter had no living descendants. His brother, Christian, however, successfully made it to Utah and was blessed with a bountiful progeny. He was ordained as a President of the Seventy in 1884 and is buried in Logan, Utah.

Christian Daniel Fjeldsted, brother of Peter.

Almost exactly a year later would come the third and final known burial at Muddy Creek. Catherine Jones Bennett, a convert from Wales, died on September 26, 1860. What makes this interesting to me is that it was recorded in the diary of my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Joel Hills Johnson.

The Bennett family lived in a village near the border with England. Catherine's father, John Jones, had a dream where he saw two men bringing a book and preaching a new gospel. He told his dream to Catherine's husband, Benjamin Bennett, and they decided that when these men came they would follow them.

Several years later, in 1840, several members of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles traveled to England as missionaries. Two of them, Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, made a short trip into Wales to the town of Hawarden to preach the gospel. It was here that John Jones saw and recognized them as the men in his dream.

(L-R) Catherine Bennett, Benjamin Bennett, daughter Elizabeth Bennett.

Benjamin and Catherine, along with several family members, were baptized in 1841. After several more years in Wales, they were finally given the opportunity to come to America and join the other Saints in the mountains of Utah.

They sailed from Liverpool, England aboard a ship with 730 converts of the church. After arriving in New York City they took a train eastward, likely then to take a steam boat on the Missouri River to Florence, Nebraska. This was where the real work would begin. Then they traveled in a wagon train with the William Budge Company.

Joel Hills Johnson started his journey across the plains on August 5,1860. He traveled with two wagons, one carrying belongings for himself and the other with provisions and goods from one of the handcart companies. It is unclear when he began traveling with the William Budge Company, or if he traveled with them the entire time. I believe there were multiple trains traveling within general proximity of each other.

The pioneers traveled most of the same route traveled a year earlier by Ann Jensen and Peter Fjeldsted. Johnson writes of many of the same landmarks and encounters as did Thomas McIntyre in his diary, although in less detail.

The first and only mention of Catherine Bennett comes on his September 27 entry:

“Started before breakfast. Traveled about 8 or 9 miles to the Station on the muddy near Iron Springs where we camped for the balance of the day and night. At this place we buried Sister Bennett, an aged Saint from England, who died the day before.”⸺The next day they had no choice but to move on.

There is one more connection that makes Catherine Bennett of interest to me. Her husband, Benjamin, completed the trip to Utah and eventually settled in what is now known as Holden, Utah. Catherine and Benjamin's daughter, Elizabeth, married John Kenney. John Kenney is my great-great-great-grandpa, I being related through John's second wife, Phebe Alden, these being the days of polygamy.

Memorial for Catherine Jones Bennett.

The Muddy Creek Burials are special in the sense that we know where they are. The vast majority of deaths along the Mormon Trail are lost to time. Often they were “buried on a hill.” But which hill that is, no one knows for sure.

But it should also be noted that, at least in the case of Catherine Bennett, and possibly with the other two, we only know of the general area. When Catherine's family finally learned of the general location where she was buried, they traveled there in the early 1990's and “found one grave that had been claimed last year, but not much else that looked like a grave.”

In 1862, Jens Weibye recorded in his journal “. . . there a short distance west on the north side of the road, was the grave of Peter A. Fjeldsted who died while crossing the plains in 1859.” This shows that his grave was marked at one time. Perhaps this is the grave the Bennett family found in the 1990's. There were no bodies exhumed, nor any Lidar scans. It is likely, in my opinion, that the grave marker for Peter Fjeldsted is in the correct spot, while the other two are just in the general area. All three markers are next to each other. 

Grave markers for Ann Jensen (left) and Peter Fjeldsted.

An expansive view of Muddy Creek, looking west.

The Muddy Creek Burials are half an hour drive from Evanston, Wyoming. From the exit off I-80 it is three miles on a well-maintained graveled road. Muddy Creek wasn't muddy at all when I visited the location. It's clear waters meandered lazily downstream.

The location still feels pretty isolated. I can picture snow on the ground and gusty wind with nothing to block it. I can imagine sore feet from walking hundreds of miles with no relief on the horizon.

Researching these burials has been a humbling experience. My ancestors traveled the exact same route as Catherine Bennett, Peter Fjeldsted and Ann Jensen. Although none of my ancestors died while crossing the plains, some perished at Winter Quarters while waiting to cross. These men and women sacrificed everything they had to find a place where they could worship in freedom without fear of violent mobs. They suffered far more than I will ever suffer so that I might have the liberty to worship. I will be eternally grateful for them. ♠

[Sources: Journal of Thomas McIntyre, Journal of Joel Hills Johnson, Find a Grave, numerous documents from Family Search, and historical marker at Muddy Creek.]

The Vision of Samuel Orton

Samuel Taylor Orton was no stranger to divine manifestations. In 1856, as part of a handcart company crossing the plains, he became sick and fell behind. All at once a voice spoke to him and asked, “Samuel, are you here?” He answered,”Yes, I am here.” But when he turned around, he saw no one.

This experience got him thinking and he asked himself, Why am I here? He wanted to know if the cause he was walking for was a true cause. Just a year earlier he had been baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Now was a time of reflection. Did God the Father and Jesus Christ really appear to Joseph Smith? Was Brigham Young his true successor? If these things were true, Samuel determined he wanted to see a halo of light around the head of Brigham Young when he arrived in Salt Lake. 

He regained strength and was able to catch up with the rest of the company. They soon met with a team from Salt Lake who brought them flour. This helped immensely as they were all on rations and very hungry. They successfully made the rest of the journey. 

They arrived October 5th. The following day was conference and they met in the old bowery. Samuel took his seat and watched the people coming in. Then he saw President Young. Rays of light surrounded his head, just like he had envisioned on the plains. Even the brethren next to him had a faint halo about them. Then he heard the same distinct voice he had heard on the plains: “Now Samuel, if you ever apostatize, here is your condemnation.” 

Samuel Taylor Orton.

This was a powerful witness that stayed with Samuel his entire life. 

During that same month Samuel made the trek to Southern Utah in company of Joel Hills Johnson, who would become his future father-in-law. He lived and worked with Brother Johnson for eighteen months.

In the spring of 1858 he moved just a few miles northwest to Summit Creek where he and other single men took up farming ten acres. They were the first men of European descent to settle in that place. 

It was here where Samuel had his marvelous vision. The account is stated in his own words: 

“One day while I was plowing in the field, my oxen stopped suddenly and refused to go any further. No amount of persuasion, coaxing, or whipping did any good. So I finally unhitched and went home. The next day I started again, and when I got to the same place, they again refused to go, so again I went home. The third day I went again, determined that nothing would stop me from doing my work, but when we got to that same place, again I was stopped and I was rather provoked, so I went up to see if I could persuade them to go by leading the leaders. When to my surprise I then beheld a great battlefield with men fighting hand to hand. I recognized at once the Nephites and their colored brethren the Lamanites that I had read about in the Book of Mormon. I was convinced that we were standing on the battleground where they had a great battle. After the vision passed, my oxen plodded along without any further trouble.” 

Final Nephite Battle by Jody Livingston.

The location of the vision took place near the Summit Cemetery in Iron County, obviously many years before it became a cemetery. Even before I heard this story, I was told that the cemetery stood atop an ancient Indian burial mound. 

The cemetery is small and now has grass. There are several burials from the 1800's, the oldest I could find was 1864. There is a distinct mound in the middle of the graveyard, upon which there are several headstones. I don't know if this is the burial mound referred to by early settlers. There is no doubt that this entire area is hallowed ground. 

That fall Samuel Orton built a dugout where he spent the winter. The following spring he built a modest cabin. During that same season three families came from nearby Johnson's Fort and settled along the creek. That was the beginning of the little town of Summit. 

In November of 1860, Samuel would marry Julia Johnson, the daughter of Joel Hills Johnson. Thus began another saga, one which would take a tragic twist. Of this story I will write later . . . ♠ 

 

Summit, Utah Cemetery.

 

 

 

Sources 

“Samuel Taylor Orton (autobiography),” Family Search, online. 

Samuel T. Orton, “The Testimony of Samuel Taylor Orton,” handwritten ms. in the possession of decedents of A. Hills Orton, youngest son of Samuel; transcript available online at Family Search.

Zeke Johnson and the Raising of the Bones

Zeke Johnson.

Zeke Johnson was named after his paternal grandfather, Ezekiel. His father, Joel Hills Johnson, was a prominent pioneer and hymnist for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. His mother, Margaret Threlkeld Johnson, supported herself and her sister on the plains by selling buffalo chips to the railroad. At age twenty she finally made it to Utah, encountering Indian threats, losing oxen and dealing with broken wagons along the way. Needless to say, Zeke had adventuring blood in his veins.

Zeke was born in 1869 in Bellview, Utah (now Pintura). His life's journeys took him to Johnson Canyon and Kanab, Utah, then to Tuba City, Arizona. Eventually he returned to Utah, this time in Bluff, then in 1908 to the newly settled town of Grayson, which would later become Blanding. 

This new settlement was twenty miles north of Bluff on White Mesa. In addition to the Navajo and Ute Indians that lived in the area, the land was scattered with ruins and remains of the Anasazi, an ancient tribe that once flourished, but for reasons not entirely understood, decided to leave. 

Zeke had a working knowledge of both the Ute and Navajo languages and he was a friend to many. He gave the Indians produce from his garden and his wife, Annetta, would bake them bread. 

Over the years he spent considerable time on the land. In the area around Blanding he raised cattle and farmed, and had an orchard, vineyard and garden. Many places in the area are named after him including Zeke's Hole, Johnson Creek, Zeke's Bathtub, and Shirttail Corner. 

Ruins like these lay scattered all across San Juan County.

In 1908 or 1909, Zeke had an experience “on the mesa” that would stay with him the rest of his life. The land was covered in sage brush and pinyon trees and he worked hard to clear a few acres where he could plant some corn. He would plow a stretch of dirt, after-which his son, Roy, would plant the seeds in the furrow. He would then cover them up. As he worked he noticed remnants of ancient houses beneath the ground. 

What happened next I will leave in his own words: 

“As I was plowing around I noticed that my plow had turned out the skeleton of a small child. The skull and the backbone, most of the bones of course were decayed and gone. Part of the skeleton was there, so I stopped immediately as my plow had passed it a little and I turned and looked back against the bar of the plow between the handles and was looking at that little skeleton that I had plowed out and wondering. All of a sudden to my surprise I saw the bones begin to wiggle and they began to change position and to take on different color and within a minute there lay a beautiful little skeleton. It was a perfect little skeleton. 

“Then I saw the inner parts of the natural body coming in--the entrails, etc. I saw the flesh coming on and I saw the skin come on the body when the inner parts of the body was complete. A beautiful head of hair adorned the top of the head and in about a half a minute after the hair was on the head, it had a beautiful crystal decoration in the hair. It was combed beautifully and parted on one side. In about a half a minute after the hair was on the head, the child raised up on her feet. She was lying a little on her right side with her back toward me. Because of this I wasn't able to discern the sex of the child, but as she raised up, a beautiful robe came down over her left shoulder and I saw it must be a girl. She looked at me and I looked at her and for a quarter of a minute. We just looked at each other smiling. Then my ambition was to get hold of her, I said 'Oh you beautiful child,' and I reached as if I would embrace her and she disappeared. That was all I saw and I stood there and I wondered and I thought for a few minutes. My little boy was wondering why I was there because he was down at the other end of the row anxious to come and plant the corn.” 

Old homestead on the mesa east of Blanding.

This miraculous experience left Zeke speechless. For years he was unable to recount it to anyone because it was so mysterious to him. Why should he, an uneducated and common man, be allowed to witness a resurrection? 

One day on the streets of Blanding he ran into Wayne Redd, a dear friend and Stake Patriarch. Wayne stopped him and said, “Zeke, you have had an experience on this mesa you won't tell. I want you to tell me.” 

Well, he told him, and since that time Zeke has recounted his story to thousands of people in meeting houses, temples and socials. But the question that still weighed on his mind was why he was allowed to witness such a miraculous manifestation of God's power. 

Again in his own words, Zeke recalls how he received an answer to his question: “One day as I was walking alone with my hoe on my shoulder going to hoe some corn, something said, 'stop under the shade of that tree for a few minutes and rest.' This just came to me and I thought I would, so I stopped there and this was given to me. 

“It was in answer to my prayer. I prayed incessantly for an answer as to why I was privileged to see that resurrection. I was told why. When the child was buried there it was either in time of war with the different tribes or it was winter time when the ground was frozen and they had no tools to dig deep graves. If it were during time of war they couldn't possibly take time to dig a deep grave. They just planted that little body as deep as they could under the circumstances. When it was done the sorrowing mother knew that it was such a little shallow grave, that in her sorrow she cried out to the little group that was present, 'That little shallow grave, the first beast that comes along will smell her body and will dig her up and scatter her to the four winds. Her bones will be scattered all over these flats.' There just happened to be a man present holding the priesthood (a Nephite or a Jaredite, I don't know which because they had both been in this country.  I've been in their houses and know it.) This man said, 'Sister, calm your sorrows. Whenever that little body is disturbed or uncovered, the Lord will call her up and she will live.' Since that time, I have taken great comfort, great cheer and consolation and satisfaction with praise in my heart and soul, until I haven't the words to express it, that it was I that uncovered that little body. Thank you for listening to me. I just can't tell this without crying.” 

Looking toward Sleeping Ute Mountain from Mustang Mesa.

For me, another fascinating aspect of this story is the parallel it has with a more ancient narrative from the Bible. From time to time as I have read accounts of our faithful pioneers, I have come across stories that seem to closely resemble those that have been recorded in scripture. It is as if the Lord is duplicating the story to reaffirm the authenticity of the scriptures and also to manifest His power. 

The story I refer to is in the Old Testament in thirty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel⸺and I do not believe it was mere coincidence that the experience on White Mesa happened to a man named Ezekiel. I believe it was intended. 

I refer to Ezekiel's vision of the valley of bones: 

1 The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, 

2 And caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry. 

3 And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.

4 Again he said unto me, Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. 

5 Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live: 

6 And I will lay sinews upon you, and will bring up flesh upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and ye shall live; and ye shall know that I am the Lord. 

7 So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone. 

8 And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them. 

9 Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.

10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army. (Ezekiel 37: 1-10)

This vision most likely has a dual interpretation, not only foreshadowing the physical resurrection that would come after the death of Jesus Christ, but also as a prophecy to the restoration of the House of Israel. But I can't help but to see the striking similarities between this vision and the miraculous experience of Zeke Johnson. ♠

 

Empty field with Blue Mountain in distance.

 

A Weekend With Bernie

Today I talked for one and a half hours with a person I had never met in my life. 

It all began yesterday when my wife was photographing the wedding for a young couple. After the wedding they attended a luncheon when she happened to sit at the same table as the groom's grandparents. 

The grandmother asked my wife, “Now, remind me of your name.” 

“Jenelle Lacy,” she responded. 

After a minute of small conversation, an older gentleman sitting at the same table piped up in a loud voice: “So, who is John Lacy?” 

This was odd since neither one of us had ever met each other. 

He introduced himself as Bernie Johnson. When he learned that I, John Lacy, was her husband, he became excited. “I have some documents I need to give him,” he said. 

He wanted to meet me in person. I wasn't there, but through texts from my wife, I quickly became informed of his presence. I was as baffled as anyone. 

It turns out we are both descended from Joel Hills Johnson, a prominent figure in the early history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Joel is my fourth-great grandfather, while he is Bernie's first-great grandfather. I had a suspicion that this had to do with the reason he wanted to see me. 

His sister lives just up the street and we had arranged that I would meet Bernie the following morning. 

When I showed up, some of the tables and chairs from the reception still adorned the lawn. A small group of family members sat around and visited. At once, Bernie stood up. He was expecting me. I know everyone else in the family and I'm sure they told him it was me. 

Bernie is 80 years old. He wore Sunday pants with a white shirt, but no tie. On his gray head he donned a straw hat. The first words from his mouth: “You are much younger than I thought you'd be.” 

We walked around the back yard to go inside the house. His legs almost gave out. He struggled to make it up the stairs and I supported his back with my hand so he didn't fall backwards. 

Our common ancestor, Joel Hills Johnson.

We found ourselves ensconced in two wooden chairs inside Gaye Matheson's kitchen. Gaye is his sister and eight years his elder. 

On the table sat a large brown expanding folder. In front of it, a stack of papers. 

For the next hour he handed me papers, one document at a time, explaining each of them. We covered so much area that I have already forgotten many of the details. 

He gave me a paper on the resurrection of little children and another on the Biblical mother, Aseneth. As he told the story of Aseneth, tears rolled down his cheek as if he were speaking of his own mother. 

The bulk of what we discussed, however, was Joel Hills Johnson, and in particular, when and where he wrote the beloved hymn, “High on the Mountain Top.” It is disputed within the family and even the church whether it was written in Salt Lake City during the spring of 1850, or at Johnson Fort (now Enoch) in 1853. 

One of the commonly accepted versions comes from Bernie's father, who claims that Joel wrote the hymn while waiting in line at the tithing office in Salt Lake. Each time he returned with a load of lumber from his sawmill at Mill Creek, he knew he was getting close when he could see the flag waving on Ensign Peak. One day there happened to be a long line at the tithing office, so he unhitched his horses and sat down on the tongue of his wagon and penned the famous verses. 

Bernie grew up in Tropic, Utah at the foot of Bryce Canyon where they raised cattle. His grandfather, John Henry Johnson, spent a lot of time on a horse in the back-country, and even led a National Geographic reporter in the early 1900's. On a remote wall in Paria Canyon is the inscription “J H Johnson,” most likely left by Bernie's grandfather. He showed me a picture of the inscription. 

When it was time to go, I firmly shook his hand and told him I appreciated the opportunity to meet him.—But I had to ask one last question. 

“How did you know of me?” 

He wasn't really sure. 

We both belong to a Joel Hills Johnson group (with thousands of members) on Facebook. A couple of years ago I made a comment on it. He's not sure if that's where he heard my name, but for some reason, it stood out to him. 

On the drive here he had the thought that if he were to meet John Lacy, he should give him some documents. 

“So, you were thinking about it on the way down?” I asked him. 

“Oh, it was just a passing thought. I do a lot of thinking when I drive.” 

—And then at the luncheon, he sat down next to my wife. ♠

Johnson Cemetery Comes Alive

The old house was abandoned and we were able to walk on our own to the burial ground.
 
We walked along a small two-track road that was surrounded on both sides by tall purple thistles and an old alfalfa field. All was green including the weeds that grew in the field. Two different flocks of wild turkeys crossed in front of us. The sky was covered in rain clouds, but no rain fell. Unconnected irrigation pipes flanked the sides of our path.
 

Johnson was settled in the 1870's by the four Johnson Brothers: Joel, Joseph, Benjamin, and William. Both Joel and Joseph happen to be my direct ancestors.
 
On January 2, 1871, Joel recorded in his journal: “I was ordained a Patriarch in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints under the hand of President Brigham Young, George A. Smith being the mouth. About this time President Young suggested to us that the Johnson family have what was called Spring Canyon twelve miles north of Kanab for a stock race and for all the family who wished to settle there, and requested us to go and look at it which we agreed to do as soon as we conveniently could.”
 
Sometime later he recorded: “. . . I started for home [from St. George] and arrived late in the evening, having previously made arrangements to meet my brother and some others at Virgin City on our way out to look at Spring Canyon Ranch near Kanab, agreeable to the request of President Young. We . . . found a beautiful canyon from half a mile wide [to] several miles long covered with grass, with small springs coming out at the bluffs on each side, and a small beautiful stream running from the mouth of the Canyon, plenty of excelled grass for meadow and stock range extending for many miles around. We were highly pleased with the place and concluded to accept the President's offer. Therefore we made arrangements for some of us to move there in the Spring and start a cooperative Stock Association for herding stock raising and dairy purposes, after which we all returned home. In the latter part of March I moved my wife Susan and her two boys Joel and Lamon out to Johnson and my brother William, who was stopping at Washington moved out his family also and my brother Joseph sent three young men.
 
“We took tolls, grain and seeds of many kinds for farming and gardening, and also trees and vines for orchards and vineyards. My two oldest sons Sixtus and Nephi also moved part of their families out and all went to work. Some to planting out fruit trees and vines, some to building cabins, others to plowing, planting, garden making etc. I then started for home and met my brother Benjamin at Virgin City on his way out to Johnson with farming tools or implements, grains, seeds, etc.”
 

Joel Hills Johnson (right) is buried in the Johnson Cemetery (left).

Detail on headstone of Joel Hills Johnson.

Another family that found their way to Johnson was that of Henrietta Bird Shumway, the third wife of Charles Shumway. They came from Mendon, Utah in Cache Valley. Her biography recounts her experience upon arriving at the canyon: “The farm, unfenced and uncleared had never known a plough. The only shelter was a deserted trapper's cabin, so small that when all the beds were made, Henrietta could scarcely walk between them to cook the meals.
 
“It was dangerously late in the year to be putting in crops, but they must if they were to survive the winter unaided. Even the halflings toiled like men, digging out the rocks and lugging them away to make fences; while each of the older boys were giants uprooting trees, and scrub and sage. Someone was always at the plough. It never ceased turning the soil from dawn to dark. They were lucky in their neighbors. Seeing their plight, the Johnson men came in a body and dug them an irrigation ditch to the creek, and their young ones helped with the planting.”
 

Headstone for Margaret and Richard Shumway, infant children of  Richard Franklin Shumway and Margaret Hannah Johnson Shumway.

During the next decade, more families moved to Johnson and the small community soon enjoyed an adobe brick school-church, a general store, and a post office. None of these continue to exist, as Johnson has become a ghost town. Only a handful of farms are sprinkled along the canyon.
 
The Johnson cemetery, which is about the only relic left of the former town, is very secluded in its own side-canyon. A very quiet and peaceful feeling is felt there. Inside the fence there is hardly a weed to be found. Every burial is from the 1800's. Most of the headstones are of the old type, hewn from stone. As we walked around we found the surnames of Johnson, Laws, Glover, and even a Shumway. However, a large portion of the burials, I believe, are unmarked. It is interesting that a lot of old-style nails are scattered across the ground. In the middle is a giant ant-pile. Some headstones were tipped over, while others had completely disappeared, yet we could tell there was a headstone there at one time.
 

Headstone for Conradine Albertine Sorenson Mariager Johnson, wife of Nephi Johnson, who is the son of Joel.  Conradine was born in Denmark and while in Johnson was very good friends with Henrietta Bird Shumway.

I don't know the history of the cemetery, but I believe that it has been cleaned up extensively from a neglected state. Elsinore Nelson, daughter of Sixtus Ellis Johnson, reported a visit to the cemetery in 1961 in search of her grandfather's grave: “It was in a beautiful spot at the foot of a hill. It was difficult to find among the tall grass and weeds [that] had grown around the graves, but we finally located it. There was a beautiful headstone with his name Joel Hills Johnson and this inscription on it 'Prepare to meet me in heaven.'”
 
Two of my family lines come together in this canyon—the Johnsons and Shumways. Peter Minnerly Shumway and Mary Elizabeth Johnson became acquainted when both their families lived in Johnson. They were married on December 17, 1879 in the St. George Temple. They didn't stay in Johnson long. In a couple months they made their way to Arizona with Peter's family, crossing Lee's Ferry and encountering blizzards and cold weather. They lived in several places in Arizona before settling down in Blanding, Utah.
 
Mary's mother, Editha Melissa Merrill Johnson, died four years before their leaving. I can find very little about her other than the usual dates and places. Elsinore Nelson wrote: “I have often heard Father speak of Aunt Editha as being a very kind, sweet mother to her children and a wonderful helpmate.” She had been sick for sometime and passed away on February 7, 1876. One source states that she died during child birth. She left behind seven children. As was the custom during days of polygamy, one of the other wives stepped in and raised the children as her own.
 
We searched and searched for Editha's grave, but was unable to locate it. As the cemetery is small, it is not difficult to check every headstone. We concluded that she is buried in an unmarked grave. Perhaps it was marked at one time, but over the years it had been knocked over, withered away, or crumbled.
 

After Jenelle and the younger girls left to go back to the vehicle, Kaitlyn and I were left alone to linger in the cemetery. She made the comment: “Wouldn't it be neat if the resurrection were to happen right now and all these people were to resurrect and we could talk to them?”—Yes, I would love that! To be able to hear their stories, listen to their voices, and see what they looked like—that would be absolutely amazing! ♠

Ensign Peak

Before the Saints had left Nauvoo, the martyred prophet, Joseph Smith, appeared to Brigham Young in a vision and showed him the place where the banner of liberty should be flown. As Brigham entered the Salt Lake Valley on July 24, 1847, still suffering from mountain fever, he reportedly said, “This is the place.” And pointing to a knoll on the northern end of the valley he indicated that he wanted to go there, it being the same place shown to him in the vision.

Two days later, Brigham Young and a party of seven other men climbed the small summit. From there they used field glasses to make a careful survey of the mountains, canyons, and streams, and discussed plans for their new city.

The knoll of 1847 was probably more prominent than the knoll of 2016—perhaps because it is now abutted on one side by sprawling homes of Salt Lake City, where it is not too far north of the State Capitol Building. I am here with my family as we find a parking spot along Ensign Vista Drive.

Sundown is approaching, and I was worried that we wouldn't make it here in time. Next to the road are concrete stairs leading to three flag poles and a small memorial park. I wish I had time to read the plaques, but time is of the essence, and we must march on.

As you might be able to tell, we are hiking to Ensign Peak, which is above us to the northwest. The path quickly turns to dirt and gravel as we ascend the hill and arrive at our first viewpoint, which offers a fine view of downtown Salt Lake, and the peak directly behind us.

The trail, which of course didn't exist in 1847, runs along the east flank of the knoll, and then switches back and forth up the backside of the hill. The kids don't seem to mind the climb, and neither do our two schnauzers, who don't get out like this too often. Within ten minutes, we are at the top.

Although not as high as the taller slopes, Ensign Peak displays an excellent panorama of the Salt Lake Valley, from the Great Salt Lake and airport in the west to the Wasatch range in the east, with its striking summits. We catch the view just before sunset and watch silhouetted jets take off over the lake. The dome of the Capitol Building poses prominently below us, and just beyond are the skyscrapers of downtown. Among the buildings are the iconic spires of the Salt Lake Temple, as well as the round roof of the Tabernacle. In typical Utah fashion, all the streets are in straight grids, the most pronounced one being State Street, which stretches south as far as we can see.

It is difficult to imagine what the view looked like when Brigham Young and party stood here 169 years ago. City Creek would have ran below them on their left into a barren valley. On that day they may have tied a yellow bandanna onto a cane and waved it as a symbolic gesture. Within a few weeks, the American flag was hoisted on the summit.

For the Mormons, the idea of an ensign waving for all to see was not only literal, but also symbolic—they believed they were fulfilling prophecy. The scripture in Isaiah 11:12 reads: “And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth.” And hence the name of this little hummock became known as Ensign Peak.

The first flagpole was erected on the summit in 1897, and that year it was designated by the Utah leaders as an official place to display American and state flags. It is also possible that the “flag of the kingdom” was flown on Ensign Peak. Although never with a formalized pattern, it had twelve blue and white stripes, and one or more blue stars.

For me, our hike to the top of Ensign Peak has an additional meaning.

One of the great anthems of the Mormon church is the hymn, “High on the Mountain Top.” The words to this hymn were inspired by the view and symbolism of Ensign Peak, and will forever be associated with this flag-bearing knoll. The song was written by my fourth great-grandfather, Joel Hills Johnson.

A few years after the Saints had settled in the Salt Lake Valley, Joel established a sawmill in Mill Creek Canyon, some ten miles from the center of town. Sawing lumber was Joel's “calling” in the church, and he would bring his load to the tithing office to assist with the building of the church. In lieu of wages, he was allowed to collect food for his family from the storehouse.

Joel Hills Johnson

As he made his trip down from the sawmill, he often thought of the flag on Ensign Peak. As he drew closer, the sight of the flag on the knoll reminded him that he was almost home. Joel's grandson, Bernard A. Johnson, was told the story by his grandmother:

“In the early spring of 1850, Joel loaded up a load of prime lumber and headed for the tithing office. As he headed into the lot that housed this office, he noticed that there were several other wagon loads of tithing offerings ahead of him. He stopped his team, unhitched the horses and turned them into Brother Brigham's pasture, and sat down to wait his turn to unload.

“Being a warm spring day, Joel sought the shady side of his wagon, leaned back against the wheel and waited. As was his habit, he pulled out a piece of paper and prepared to write. He found himself thinking about the breeze and how it must be making 'Old Glory' ripple. In his mind he pictured how it must look there on the top of the peak under the clear blue sky as it waved and fluttered in the breeze. His mind painted such a wonderful picture.

“Almost as if written by unseen hands, words began to appear on the paper.”

The song that Johnson penned, “High on the Mountain Top,” was originally titled “Deseret.” It is interesting that Joel's most popular and revered poetry is not mentioned in his journal. Although his diary is meshed with many small poems and accounts from his life, the origin of this song is omitted.

After writing the poem, Joel folded the paper and placed it in his pocket before delivering his load to the tithing office. He later showed the poem to John Taylor, who was then an Apostle in the church. Elder Taylor liked it so much that he asked to keep it. The poem was later put to music written by Ebenezer Beesley, and quickly became a favorite hymn among members of the church. Only four of the six verses are used in the present-day hymn book.

At the top of the peak there is a plaque commemorating Joel Hills Johnson. I motion over my kids and together we read the words that honor our ancestor.

By now, the lights of Salt Lake City are emerging, including the dome on the Capitol Building, and the illuminated spires of the temple. State Street lights up like a snake that stretches nearly to the south end of the valley at Point of the Mountain. There are a few lingering souls with us, watching the same sweeping panorama, and breathing in the same summer air. I have to wonder if they, too, are making the same pilgrimage, and perhaps they are my distant cousins. ♠

High on the Mountain Top

“High on the mountain top,

A banner is unfurled.

Ye nations now look up;

It waves to all the world.”

In Deseret's sweet, peaceful land-

On Zion's mount behold it stand!

For God remembers still

His promise made of old

That He on Zion's hill

Truth's standard would unfold!

Her light should there attract the gaze

Of all the world in latter days.

His house shall there be reared

His glory to display

And people shall be heard

In distant lands to say

We'll now go up and serve the Lord,

Obey His truth, and learn His word.

For there we shall be taught

The law that will go forth,

With truth and wisdom fraught

To govern all the earth;

Forever there His ways we'll tread

And save ourselves and all our dead.

Then hail to Deseret!

A refuge for the good,

And safety for the great,

If they but understood.

That God with plagues will shake the world

Till all its thrones shall down be hurled.

In Deseret doth truth

Rear up its royal head;

Though nations may oppose,

Still wider it shall spread;

Yes, truth and justice, love and grace,

In Deseret find ample place.

Profile of Salt Lake City and Ensign Peak, looking toward the west,