The Beauty of Callused Hands

I enjoy the opportunity I have to read the blogs that my friends submit each month.  We really are blessed to live where we live and have the lives that we do.  Occasionally though, I take a look outside of our little town at the rest of the world.  One thing is certain, and that is change.  While I try to embrace changes that make life better or difficult tasks easier, there are a lot of changes that I quite frankly just don’t like.

My grandfather, Maurice Raban immigrated to the United States from France. His story is one that I hold very close to my heart.  I think of him often.  I also think of the things that he did that made him, and those of his generation great. Maurice came to this country by boat when he was not quite 8 years old.  He remembered standing on the deck while they were pulling into New York Harbor and hearing the people around him weeping.  His young child heart didn’t yet understand the great sacrifices those who traveled with him had made to come to the Land of Liberty where they could pursue their hopes and dreams.  He traveled with his uncle and aunt, and his grandparents who had given up everything they ever knew – their lands, their homes, their security, their language, their culture, and even most of their family and loved ones.  Grandpa Maurice might have been a little like me, when I was a child… He was precocious, and found himself on the wrong end of the discipline spectrum more than once. He was raised by his aunt, even though his mother lived in the Round Valley area.  When he was young, he went to work in California with yet another aunt.  This situation, however, was not good, and my grandfather was homesick and wanted to return not to France, but to St. Johns.  He was 13 years old when he packed his bag, and left his aunt’s home in Bakersfield, through a back window. 

Maurice did not have the means to travel home. He found work in a dairy, in California not far from his aunt’s.  He asked the farmer for a job, just until he could earn enough to pay for his way back.  The farmer and his family loved young Maurice.  The farmer asked him to stay, and promised he would be loved as though he was the farmer’s son.  As great as the offer was, the boy wanted to go home, and did just that.

Maurice, like most who lived in those days spent the rest of his life working not only with his mind, but with his hands, and his legs and his back.  He farmed; he took care of his family, and their animals.  He knew how to use a shovel, and how to manipulate the earth so that it provided enough for him, and those for whom he had stewardship over.

We don’t do that anymore.  In our world today, we hear of those who wait for someone else to do the work.  Please don’t misunderstand me!  I love the convenience of life in 2014. I am concerned though, that we are forgetting how to raise a garden, and put away for winter.  Our food generally comes from a corporate farm or ranch in a place few of us have ever seen!  Our kids are forgetting what a shovel is for, and that callused hands come after the blisters have healed.  They don’t know that Smuckers doesn’t make the best jelly and jam!

I am not a dooms day kind of person.  But, I can’t help thinking that if things continue as they are, at some point our living here will put us among the safest, most desirable places to be, because we are out of the way, and self-sufficiency is in our blood.

So, let’s continue to change what is good, and beneficial, but let’s not change the fiber of who we are.  Let’s not let the self-sufficiency and the ability to wear out a shovel escape us. Let’s keep our gardens, and our orchards, and our flocks and our herds healthy and strong. 

My grandfather Maurice, and probably your grandfathers too, left a legacy that surely is not just destined to be a footnote in history. It seems more and more likely that their legacy will be the roadmap for us and future generations of their families to live by, in order to preserve their posterity and ours!

Jeff Raban

The Lady Who Took Care of a Rogue Pig, Spilt Milk, and Me

I was six years old in 1938, and we lived in town in St. Johns. During the summer we did some gardening on our lot.

My dad was of the old school, and when he butchered a pig or a cow, he saw to it that all the widows in our area got some choice cuts of the beef or pork.

My job was to take a small lard bucket of milk to a family having a tough time. There were two older boys on my route to the family. They just gave me a bad time. Sometimes I spilled some of the milk, and the family was short because there wasn't that much left in the little lard bucket.

One of the widows was a lady whose name was Julia Greer. She was a school teacher, and when she spoke, things happened.

I was told that her neighbors had a pig. It would get in her garden and root up everything. She had told and told them again and again to keep their pig penned. She lived in a two-story house. The window on the second story made a good location to accomplish her task, and her task was to shoot that neighbor's pig. She did and killed it dead.

I would listen to that story and think, "Is that the same lady I have learned to respect and love?" Needless to say, I was full of respect for her or maybe you could call it a bit of fear.

The two older boys would wait for me to go down the street. They would cut through the field and meet me before I could deliver the milk. One day I could see I was in for another butt-kicking, and, to say the least, I was not looking forward to it. About that time, Mrs. Greer came out on her front step, and in a voice that you knew she wasn't there for fun, blasted those two kids. They hunkered down and ran back home through the shortcut in the field.

Boy, talk about a buddy! She was then and there mine.

My family taught me to respect older people.

Someday I will tell you about my time with a very old cowboy, Prime Coleman.

By Ted Raban
June 8, 2014

St. Johns, Arizona

I was born and raised in St. Johns, Arizona.  It seems like anytime I tell people where I’m from, they always seem to know someone from St. Johns, Arizona.  It doesn’t matter where you are.  In fact, it’s not just me.  I’ll bet most of us from that wonderful  little town have had that happen many times.  My dad, Ted Raban, had an experience once.  You may have heard this story, but like my dad says, if I’ve already told it to you, don’t stop me.  He was traveling across the back roads of Ireland with my mom many years ago.  They were visiting castles and country sides.  They were on a small bus taking them to the Bed and Breakfast where they would be staying that night, when my dad casually started a conversation with another gentleman sitting on the bus.  After getting acquainted, the gentleman asked my dad where he was from.  Dad told him he was from a small town in Arizona called St. Johns.  “Oh,” said the man.  “I once knew a man from St. Johns, Arizona.  His name was Ted Raban.  Do you know him?”

St. Johns will always be home to me.  Even though I’m grown, married with my own family and living away, St. Johns is still home.  To me, that meant knowing every single student in my High School graduating class, or every person in my High School for that matter.  It meant our teachers taught Math, Science and English during the week, and Sunday School or Primary on Sunday.  That meant when my sister was given a reckless driving ticket for driving on the sidewalk between the cement pillars and the old Wilbur’s store, the judge gave her a pat on the back and said, “I wouldn’t call that reckless driving, I would call that impressive driving!!”  That meant growing up with things such as Screamer’s Valley, the Little Resi, sandwash parties with bonfires, whitewashing the SJ, Duke’s pond, Lyman Lake, and Freshman initiation.  It meant leaving your keys in your car and going to bed with your doors unlocked.  It meant the cannon going off early in the morning on the 4^th of July, the pancake breakfast and races in the park.  It meant the 24^th of July  celebration, with the parade, rodeos and dances at the old downtown pavilion.  It meant our friend’s parents were known as “uncle and aunt” instead of “Mr. and Mrs.” and that they were almost as invested in how we were raised as our own parents were!

But more recently, it has come to mean so much more.  A few years ago, my husband Matt was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  He was given only a few months to live.  Even from afar, this “town of friendly neighbors” gathered around me and my family to offer their support of faith, love and prayers.  We received many financial contributions by mail.  To help out with a benefit barbeque in our behalf, fellow St. Johns friends and family donated beef to barbeque, and multiple items to be auctioned off, including guns, golf clubs, a steer and a registered quarter horse.  And just as important as the material support, is the moral support we continue to receive.  Phone calls (one all the way from Tampico Mexico), letters and mostly, the prayers.  Not just from our faith, but from other denominations as well.  We’ve been told that the High Priest Group in the St. Johns Little Colorado Ward prays together for Matt every Sunday.  I am continually told by people from home, “We’re praying for you.”  I believe that those prayers going up to Heaven from St. Johns, Arizona carry a lot of weight with our Heavenly Father, because after more than 5 years, Matt is still with us.  Faith, Love, Support and Prayers from home have helped to keep my husband alive and my little family intact.  That’s what St. Johns, Arizona means to me.

By Jodi King

Summertime in Saint Johns

This past week has been full of excitement and fun activities.  The last day of school and graduation made me realize that yet another year has gone by and that it is time for SUMMER!!!!!  Summer is one of my favorite times of year for many reasons, but most importantly because I get to be home and spend more time with my family.  I know that many of you share my love for summer so for this blog I decided to do something a little different. I talked with many people and asked them each the following  question; “What is your favorite thing about summer in Saint Johns?” Here are some of the replies that I received:

• I like swimming –Jacey Shurtz

• I like Bonfires with my friends- Alyssa Johnson

• Going Swimming- Kendall Chlarson

• What comes to mind is the big old poplar trees and the cottonwood tress when they bloom-Claryce Crosby

• Driving around town smelling the green chilies roasting at the end of summer- Jim Zieler

• You are talking to the past owners of the greatest snow cone shop in Arizona, so of course making a snow cone run is on the top of our list. Since I was a little girl we loved to lay out on the lawn or the trampoline and look at the stars and talk, wiener roasts in the backyard, riding horses, the July 4^th celebration complete with getting woken up early when the cannon went off, all the 24^th activities, camping at the Heap reunion, fresh garden veggies, watermelons, cool summer mornings, monsoon rains, sleepovers on the trampoline and no school! -Diane LeFevre

• I loved walking to get snow cones or to the pool when we were younger then as we got older going swimming at Patterson’s was always fun but it is even better to watch our boys do some of the same small town things we did. They both can’t wait for the first snow cone or the first day at the pool, there’s always sleeping on the trampoline!-Megan Bryan

• Going to the pool with my kids- Megan Chlarson

• The flowers and the trees- Eve Patterson

• The monsoons, when it rains and smells like rain- Chris Patterson

• I love when summer comes so I can get my garden going. When the weeds start growing I like to go out early when its cool and quiet and work-Larry Chlarson

• The swimming pool-Andrew Pearce

• All the stuff going on and more people in town, fourth of July, 24^th of July celebrations-Jason Doubt

• I like summer traditions now that I have kids, pool time, park time, snow cones, slip and slide, playing at the neighbors house, and of course the lake is #1-Ashley Doubt

• Swimming-Ava Nielsen

• The pool is open and I can do my aerobics and swimming, school is out and I can do the things that I want to do like sewing and visiting my family-Gayla Wahl

• The library hosts cool events-Ren Crosby

• The green fields-Hal Wiltbank

• The cool evenings-April Duggins

• No school-Brady Overson

• St. Johns has a good swimming pool-Tucker Nielsen

• Picnics, eating snow cones, and playing outside with my music and sword-Michelle LeFevre

• Snowcones!!!!!!!- Pacer and Clance Wiltbank

• We love the irrigation and family time, watermelon at the park, and of course the 24^th celebration and swimming-Daryl  Lee

• Ice cream and barbeques-Lupe Mireles

• The wind stops usually, it is pretty in the summertime with all the green fields-Keith Wahl

• Swimming pool!- Joey Wood

• The smells of summer, the rains, the cool weather, the irrigation of the fields and the barbeques, being able to be outside with family and friends-Tyrell Bond

• Water Skiing!- Joe Frazier

• People are outside more and are more friendly so you get more of a chance to talk to your neighbors-Stacy Frazier

• Not the mosquitos I’ll tell you that……I like the pool-Scott Skousen

• All the family activities-Kim Farr

• The rain-Ryan Farr

• The best snow cones!-Travis Duggins

• Vacation time!-Jace Chlarson

• Seeing Mom,Daddy, Allie, Kate, and Haze-Chase Platt

• How everyone is active, when you are out early driving around people are out running, and all the celebrations-Trent Hancock

• The summer monsoons-Miles Crosby

• Snow cone shop, my mom’s flowers, hearing the sounds of the pool, kids playing in the irrigation, hearing the crickets at night, 24^th celebration, 4^th of July races/celebration, warm enough to stay out and see the stars, fresh vegetables from the garden-Jenna Crosby 

• Riding my bike to the pool-Kirsten Baldon

• I enjoy all the trees and fields that are green, and when friends and family come back to visit. While working at the snow cone shack lots of people return with their kids to get a snow cone-Klint Heap

I look forward to another wonderful Summer here in this wonderful town I am fortunate enough to call home.  Lets enjoy this wonderful time of year and make this one of the best Summers ever!

Candice Bond

My Town Of Friendly Neighbors

I've always loved St. Johns, and the people who live here.

They help each other out and fill my soul with cheer.

 Thirty-eight years of life lived here, each year has gotten better,

 So I'm thankful for the chance I have to submit this little letter.

As not to offend the living, I'll focus on some who've gone,

They've touched my life in special ways, such as Verl and Dawn.

I galloped to a football game with Verl (in a dream) on a horse.

And garage sales and jokes without Dawn, just aren't the same of course.

There was Newt and Louise, Ken and Ila, Nanny (Anona) and AnnaVee Brown.

Memories of them can cheer me up and erase away any frown.

Herman and Myrna, Norma and Johnny, and Al of drug store fame,

Wallace Heap and tomato gravy, I loved it yum, yum, yum!.

There was no excuse for being late to school, detention, there they sat.

But one was excused, when he wailed, “I was stuck behind Earl Platt!”

Seen driving around, Virgene and Vinny, out for their daily coke,

Is it any wonder I dearly love this “Town of Friendly Folk!”

Earl Greer, my first garbage man, Loree and Earl Jarvis,

Verdell, Nathel, Clara and Jacque, Lorna and sweet Korlis,

Edward and LaRue, Kelly and Karen, and Ellen Overson,

Bob Cole, the prankster, scared me to death, ornery and so much fun.

Francis and Gloria, Helen Broadbent, Richard Waite and Claudia Goodman,

Lincoln, Thad, Ralph, and Charlie, Rob Roy, and Nick Patterson.

Some were sick, some old and young, some not, and some were ready,

Sure miss Sandy, Jeanne, Sybil, Janis, and Nanette and Eddie.

Leonard and Raymond, the Isaacson boys and Raymonds wife Lorraine,

Arlo, Delbert and Nedra and Otto, and LaVelle Despain.

Gary Welker, Gary Heap, Jessie Chlarson, Gwen and Keith Udall,

Corrine and Frank, and Anna Prentice, oh how I miss them all.

St. Johns is a pretty little town, I hear a spring bird sing,

I love all the people here and the joy they bring.

I'm sorry for the ones I missed, and if your name's not read,

Take comfort in the fact it's just, because, you're not yet dead!

 Ruthie Price

"Let it go...."

Monday morning dawned bright and early because we were in Snowflake and the girls had to be in St. Johns by 8 AM to start school.  It was going to be their first day of school in our new town, living in our new home (that wasn’t ready for us yet).  Emotionally, I was not doing well.  I kept asking myself why we were doing this and what was ONE good thing coming from this?  I couldn’t think of anything.  As we got ready to leave, the girls were in the car and Lehi and I were standing in the kitchen.  I was in tears, hating life.  I asked him, “Can you tell me one good thing that’s coming from this?”  His answer was simply that everything would be okay.  I wasn’t so sure.  I have to admit, though, that as I asked him that question an answer immediately came to mind, “You are closer as a couple; you’re better friends; you understand one another more; and you’re closer as a family.  In the whole scheme of things—those are the things that matter most!”  The most important things were coming from this experience.  But I didn’t want to admit it! 

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a devotional at BYU in 2009 entitled, “Remember Lot’s Wife.  I love Elder Holland because of so many things, and one of those reasons is because he knows how to lovingly correct my imperfections.  In this talk he shares why the Savior cautions, in Luke 17:32: “Remember Lot’s wife.” Apparently, what was wrong with Lot’s wife was not just that she looked back, but that she looked back longingly.  She wanted to go back.  Elder Holland said, “In short, her attachment to the past outweighed her confidence in the future. . . . [F]aith is always pointed toward the future.  Faith always has to do with blessings and truths and events that will yet be efficacious in our lives.”  So, Lot’s wife didn’t have faith.  She doubted the Lord’s ability to give her something better than she already had.  “Apparently she thought . . . that nothing that lay ahead could possibly be as good as those moments she was leaving behind.”

Lehi and I were both overwhelmed. He had to finish loading the trailer, so I kissed him good-bye and got into the car, crying.  My sweet, sweet girls then taught me.  Eliza asked why I was crying.  I told her, “I don’t want to do this!  It’s too hard!”  That was the first time they’d heard my opinion about moving to St. Johns; up until then I’d only said positive things to them even though I didn’t feel them inside.  Eight-year-old Eliza’s response was amazing, “Mom, this is our pioneer experience.  If they could do it so can we.”  Kate picked up on that and said, “It was hard for them, too, but Heavenly Father helped them.”  Then, Eliza said, “Yah, mom, He’ll help us.”  My immediate thought was, “I don’t want to be a pioneer!”  But, the Spirit quickly reminded me that our girls were helping me and that I was to learn from them.  My tears changed from tears of fear and frustration to tears of joy and gratitude for a loving Father in Heaven and two wonderful daughters!”

This concept and fearing the future and not wanting to let go of the past even when the Lord asks us to is very profound for me.  It’s happened more than once in my life, and I don’t seem to ever learn the lesson—that if He’s asking me to do something He’s doing it for my good.  It may not be easy.  It may go against the plans I have for my own life.  It may interfere with the way I want to grow.  But, He sees the whole picture.  He knows who He wants me to be and who I can become.  And, it’s being in St. Johns that will give me the opportunities to become more of that person.  There’s a reason He wants me here. 

That very difficult morning was three years ago this August.  And, to be honest, it’s been a tough three years.  I’m afraid I’ve been much like Lot’s wife, longingly looking back at the things I don’t have anymore, not really seeing the beauties that lie in front of me.  I’ve been afraid of the lessons He would have me learn, but as I slowly let go of my pride and begin to trust Him I can see a little of who He’s helping me become.  Do I want to be that person?  Yes!  Does it scare me? Yes!  But, I trust that He has great things in store for me—and for whatever reason, I have to be in St. Johns for that to happen.  For that reason, I am grateful to be here.

There are days now when I feel a little like Elsa in the movie, “Frozen,” when she sings: “It’s funny how some distance, makes everything seem small.  And the fears that once controlled me can’t get to me at all.  It’s time to see what I can do, to test the limits and break through.  Let it go, let it go. . . . Here I’ll stand, and here I’ll stay.  Let the storm rage on.  My power flurries through the air into the ground.  My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around.  And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast—I’m never going back; the past is in the past!  Let it go, let it go.  And I’ll rise like the break of dawn. Let it go, let it go. . . . Here I stand, in the light of day.  Let the storm rage on.  The [wind shouldn’t] bother me anyway.”  With faith in the Lord, and the opportunities that living in St. Johns will continue to bring me, I look forward to the future.

Darce Montierth

Secure Within the Walls

I reread a book recently that I love.  It is The Boxmaker's Son by Donald S. Smurthwaite.  It is a fiction about a boy's feelings growing up in his hometown.  I would like to quote a couple of the paragraphs in the book and then explain why this book touches me so.

"These people who called the building their home ward are as real to me as the edifice itself: family, friends, teachers, leaders.  They are but closed eyes and a good memory away.  They are those who took the time, those who understood the tap, tap, tapping of the Spirit and saw something remarkable in an un-remarkable brown-eyed boy, who felt most secure in the walls of that building.  I remember their names and recall their kindnesses.  .......They would be surprised that, beyond my family, they taught me charity.  From them to me, and in my own way, from me to others who walk the hallways on Sunday, teach lessons, direct music, and place a loving arm around a shoulder.

The old stone chapel looks beautiful on this bright spring day.  I notice how the stones are cut into squares, how the mortar between them holds them into place, gathered together, laid a stone at a time, with a larger plan guiding every step of the way, all joining to join a perfect symmetry to this fine old building".

This is exactly the way I feel about our grand old Downtown building.  When I enter it's doors I feel the love and faith of so many who helped build this church house, who walked the halls, taught the classes, conducted the meetings, and now I get to add my tiny drop to this tradition of helping, guiding, teaching and mostly loving those who enter the doors.   We have been here long enough to have known some of the 'Old Pioneers' and that means so much to me.   They helped me through the years to feel a part of it all.  I think about those who have already gone on and know what a privilege it has been to know them.  I watch the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood conduct meetings and take care of the sacrament and I am glad I can name each one of them because most of them have been in our Primary classes over the years.  I appreciate the little girls who now are young Moms who were in different classes I have taught and we now get to teach their children.  I am thankful that maybe I have had a little influence on their lives.  In the coming years they may not remember me but that does not matter, I remember them.  They have touched my life in a special way. 

My husband and I have taught Primary now for several years and I would not trade that for anything.  To get a hug from one of our "kids" is the highlight of our week.  We love each one of these precious children.

This windy, wonderful, friendly place is my home.  Each time I go to town I see or remember someone or something that makes it even more home to me.  I appreciate being accepted all those years ago into an elite group of folks and an opportunity to become part of the fabric we call Saint Johns, Arizona.

-Laura Humphreys