The Food that Binds Us

Every Christmas Eve features the same menu of finger sandwiches, potato chips with onion dip, posole, and frappe. It has been this way for decades, since I was a little girl eating it at my Papa & Grammy's house, since before that when my mom was a teenager. An odd assortment of foods, any one of us will admit, but one that came together through the years of my grandparents' celebrations. Christmas Eve is not Christmas Eve without the spicy warmth of the red chili corn soup paired with the cool 7-up and sherbet beverage. Although the fillings of the sandwiches have changed over time, the eating of them has not. We all know what to expect for that evening's meal, and we look forward to it with taste buds, stomachs, and hearts.

This year, as I mixed the frappe in Grammy's punch bowl once again, memories flooded my mind. I learned how to make this holiday staple as a teenage girl, and I have made it every year since, whether in the kitchen on 1st South or the one on 15th North. I love it, but I only make it once a year. I wonder if it would taste the same in March or July. I doubt it. I think it has a special ingredient at this magical time.

Christmas morning, too, has its set menu items: steak, biscuits & gravy, eggs, and sausage. Regardless of the temperature, the manly men gather outside around the charcoal grill to cook the steaks, while the women prepare the remainder of the meal inside. My assignment has always been the gravy, mixing and whisking and seasoning until it is just right.

Christmas afternoon meant Grandma's house. Entering her little kitchen, warm from the fire, the smell of red chili and pork filled the air. I always hoped there would still be some chicharrones when I arrived. Her hugs and "Mija" greeting made the day complete.

Out of all the foods Christmastime brings, my favorite is divinity. Each year, I make a batch - or a double batch, depending on my cravings and desires to share:). It is a simple recipe of only five ingredients, but it is a tricky one to get just right. It takes time, and patience, and a meticulous following of the directions. Nevertheless, I find a clear, non-high-humidity day to make it. I make it, not only because it is a delectable little bite of heaven, but also because it honors my heritage. From Granny, to Grammy, to Mom, to me, it connects us in a way that nothing else does. When I create this concoction, I can feel the ties strengthening among these generations of women whose love for the white candy flows through our veins. As I boil and beat and beat and beat and beat and beat, waiting for the glossy sheen to lessen as an indicator that it is finally done, I talk to my predecessors: "Mom, please help this set up right... Grammy, do I need to beat it longer?... Granny, I don't know how you made this with a hand-beater and not electricity." I have even added another great woman to my list, my husband's grandmother. She, too, shared the love of divinity and mastered the making of it. "Beth, I wish you were here to taste this."

Dropping the spoonfuls onto waxed paper to set up, I feel arms around me, as warm and comforting as one of my Grandma's flour tortillas, hot off the wood stove. Arms that watch over and protect me from above, arms that once beat and beat and beat just like mine, to create a tradition, to keep that tradition, to preserve love.

And what comforts me most of all is that it really isn't just divinity or tortillas or posole or steak that binds us, here on earth or on the other side. What binds us, Suzanne-Mom-Grammy-Granny-Beth-Grandma, is something much stronger than the hard-ball stage of candy-making. What binds us comes from Him whose birth this season celebrates.

"And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst" (John chapter 6, verse 35).

He was born, He lived on this earth, He died on the cross, and He lives again. Because of this, we are bound together by more than memories and traditions and food. Because He lives, they live, too. Because He lives, we will all live again, together, exchanging recipes in heavenly kitchens...Recipes of Divinity.

Coach

I have had many coaches in my life, but only a couple who earned the lifelong title of "coach." It is rare to find that coach who earns that singular name. After I returned home from my mission, I had a desire to play basketball in college. Due to a few health complications, I was 23 before I tried to walk on to the local junior college. This is when I met my coach, Coach Zalenski. Back then NPC basketball was a very good program. Coach Z recruited very heavily in the Midwest and brought in some very good basketball players. I knew it would be very hard to make this team, much less be able to play. When I met the team prior to school starting and conditioning, I knew I was in trouble. I was a 6'5 post player who had played at Joseph City. Our best post player had just signed to play at a division 1 college. It was going to be tough. Coach Z pushed us very hard. During conditioning he pushed me far beyond what I believed my physical limitations were. We would go to the gym, play basketball for about two hours, then go on a run. The first day we had a timed run of 5 miles. I had never run that far in my life. I didn't think I could run that far, much less even meet the time. Along the way Coach would be waiting, checking names off his list. Surprisingly, to me, I made the run in time. A week later we were up early for our 10 mile run, again we had to complete it in time. I was a lot less surprised this time when I finished it. Even more surprisingly though was that I was starting to hold my own against Coach's big recruits. I started believing that I would make the team. When coach met with us individually to let I us know, I was very nervous. When it was my turn, Coach told me how surprised he was in telling me that I had made the team. I was very happy and very excited; my dream was coming true.

As the season progressed, we were a very resilient team. We became a team that refused to give up. We won 30 games that year and only lost 5. Two of our losses came in the last week of the season at the national championship tournament. Many times Coach would refuse to allow us to lose. He would will us to win. We were tied or behind in over 20 of our wins that year. Somehow, someway, we would find a way to win. One game that I remember was just after our Christmas break. We were playing Yavapai College in Prescott. With less than ten minutes left in this game and down by double digits, coach called time out. During the time out, he simply told us that we were going to win this game and this is how we would do it. Not only did we win the game, we won by double digits and cleared the bench. This is how our season went. Coach refused to allow us to quit or give up. There would always be a way to win the game.

After completing my two years at NPC, coach helped me get into two different schools and graduate college with a bachelors degree. He took a personal interest in all of his players. He would call us regularly. In 1998, Coach suffered a massive stroke, one that would not allow him to continue as a head coach. Two years later, NPC no longer would have a basketball program. Last week Coach passed away. While coach was recovering from his stroke, he never lost his sense of humor. He never lost his desire to coach again. He worked hard to help local kids have an opportunity to pursue a college education and play basketball. Coach never gave up. Whenever you talked to Coach, he would sincerely ask if there was any way that he could help. His life was about helping others.

Coach taught me many life lessons through basketball. One is you can only control two things: your effort and your attitude. Another is to never give up - there is always a way. He also taught me these with the way he lived his life, especially after his stroke. Another lesson was you can always be happy wherever you are, if you are happy with who you are.

When I think about our town of St. Johns, there are a few coaches I respect and admire, who I think earn this special title of "Coach." Win or lose, they teach the bigger picture of how to act in life. When I officiate or are around these teams, the respect for the coach is clear.

I am grateful for my coach, Coach Z, and for others who dedicate their lives to serving and building our younger generation.

Written by Paul Hancock

Lessons Learned While Turning My Nose Up

"But I'll never live in St. Johns" were the last words I mustered as we drove to the airport. 

 

You see, I had it all figured out- my life that is, until I didn't.  Let me rewind 10 years.....

I was set up on a blind date by my parents home teacher. (someone, who through my church, is assigned to make monthly visits, checks on the needs of the family, etc.)  I immediately turned my nose up  because Kasey wasn't 6'2" or taller (shallow, I know :()  While I was turning my nose up, he was doing the same thing.  He wanted a low key low maintenance kind of girl and didn't think that was me. Once he learned that I had a fishing license, he decided to take a chance.  So our first date was fishing, where this "high maintenance girl" out fished him 5 to none!  At that point he was 'hooked' and so was I. And almost a year to the day later, I married my 5'11" boyfriend. 

We had planned on staying in Provo, Utah until Kasey graduated from BYU.  Which is 10 miles away from my parents home- anyone that knows me, knows that I love my parents and didn't want to be any farther from them.  But, reluctantly, that wasn't in the cards for us.  You see, the Engineering Program at BYU is pretty fierce and the waiting list is even more daunting.  So we listened to that gut feeling, packed our bags and headed to BYU-I in Rexburg, Idaho.  While looking for an apartment, one of the first ones we looked at was Cougar Court Apartments.  I, once again, immediately turned my nose up.  Cougar Court sounded too much like BYU fan headquarters to me.  Although my husband is a die hard BYU fan, I am not.  University of Utah, anyone??  After searching and searching at the end of the day, Cougar Court is where we signed on the dotted line. 

 

Graduation day finally came with a job offer at the power plant in Kasey's home town of Kemmerer ,WY. A quick 2 hour drive to my hometown- I was sold. So we once again, we packed our bags and moved to Wyoming, to where we thought we would be the rest of our lives. 

When the power plant was purchased by another company, that meant new rules which included more hours, less pay and fewer benefits.  Then throw fertility issues into the mix and we were in a hot mess!  We were humbled, whether we wanted to be or not.  We knew that change had to happen.  That's when the call from TEP came.  We flew to Phoenix and made the drive to Round Valley.  I dropped Kasey off for his interview and I began scouring the mountain for living arrangements.  I think I drove up every street in Round Valley.  I fell in love.  The smell of the pine trees, two grocery stores, a Sonic :)! I got to the St. Johns city limit sign and flipped around.  I turned my nose up yet again.  While driving back to the airport, I gave Kasey specific details of Eagar and that's when I bluntly stated "but I will NEVER live in St. Johns!"

 

The job was offered and a home was purchased, in St. Johns.

 

I look back over the past 10 years and the best things that have happen to me are ALL of the ones that I initially turned my nose up to.  Ones that I had to let go of what I thought I wanted and go with my gut.  Ones that have molded me into the person that I am today. 

 

I couldn't ask for a better husband- Height has nothing to do with the character of a man.  He has taught to me always look for the good in people and to not focus on the negative or think the worse.

The experiences in my tiny 600 foot apartment solidified my marriage.  Neither of us could run home to mom and dad when problems arose.  We only had each other, that's who we had to turn to.  Living in married BYU housing truly taught me how blessed I was and am. 

 

And lastly St. Johns.  Boy, was I wrong.  If there was a town to define the phrase- 'Don't judge a book by the cover,' St. Johns would be it. 

I've never lived in a town where people are so genuinely concerned for the well being of others.  Bumping into someone at the store leads to conversations, not just a quick hello. I've strived to be a better person because of the examples of the good people of this town.

 

Opinions can't be based on appearances.  We need to look past- height, names, small towns, or whatever we are facing, to see the true character of what we are looking at.  I wonder, in my life, how many friendships weren't established or how many opportunities weren't experienced because I turned my nose up. 

Written by Holly Nelson

By Design

Sometimes my wife will catch me staring off into space with a blank look on my face and ask “rocks on the brain huh?” 95% of the time she is right. Being in the stone business I do think about rocks a lot. I notice stone everywhere. On a home or building, in a cut in on the side of the highway or off in a distant mesa - stone is everywhere. I can’t go anywhere without looking at stone. At first I thought it was a sickness now I understand it is, though it sounds silly at first, an awakening. It is an awareness of God that I never had before. I found it here in St. Johns.

Stone has a way of bonding past to present. People who have gone before leave their stories behind in stone for us to discover and enjoy. In our little town of Saint Johns we are surrounded by such monuments. I feel a certain reverence when looking at these old stone edifices. I am reminded of the hard work and sacrifice of those who came before us. I want to share a couple of my favorites.

In our Salado quarry south of town sits this old stone block. At some point long ago, someone tried to split this stone down to a workable size with a hand crank drill and steel feather wedges. Perhaps they were shaping stones to build a foundation for a new home, or perhaps they were looking for a slab with which to make a headstone. This probably took the better part of a day to get to this point, and, for whatever reason, they abandoned their purpose and left this block as it sits today.

This building sits down by the Little Colorado off Water Street. Somebody told me it was a grinding mill at one point. It may not seem like much until you think that each single stone placed in these walls literally took hours and hours to find, shape, transport, and set into place.

Once I hiked to an old site out by TEP with Wade Udall where we explored the remains of an old limestone kiln. The early settlers would haul small chunks of limestone from a nearby bluff to the kiln and heat them. The heated limestone could then be crushed by hand and mixed with sand to make the mortar which still holds the stones in place to this day.

This mini obelisk sits it the St. Johns Cemetery. It seems rough to our modern standards, but when you think of the time it took to go out, probably on foot or in wagon, miles from town, excavate a large stone with nothing more than a pry bar and shape it slowly, chip by chip, with a hammer and chisel - it changes. When you look at it through that lens, you can see it becomes a masterpiece.

Sometimes when we excavate stone from the earth I feel guilty. Sometimes it feels like we are undoing what it took an almighty creator thousands and thousands of years to beautify and position. In the process we have made many discoveries. Deep below the surface we have found layers of rippled sandstone, evidence of a sandy beach frozen in time. We have discovered small footprints of some ancient creature in between layers of sandstone - again frozen in time for us to discover. We have found impressions of ancient ferns and plants.

The colors are also amazing. Iron and other elements give each stone a unique character over time. I love to inspect each load of stone that comes in and see the unique quality. When the Nielsens drilled our well I remember watching the tailings of blue and purple sandstone emerge from hundreds of feet below. It made me think of all the beautiful things beneath our feet that we will never see. These are all testaments of an artistic and patient God who, in perfect order and natural harmony, created these for us to appreciate.

It is awesome to contemplate the ages of time that have produced every single stone. They have been beat upon relentlessly by water and wind. They have been heated and compressed, slowly shaped and perfected. There are no two exactly alike. I like to think that is the way God works with us.

Despite our increasingly godless world, stone in a simple way has shown me that divinity undeniably surrounds us. In everything, if we will take the time to notice, there is design.  

Written By Chuck Humpherys

Create an Echo

When I was growing up in St. Johns I was blessed to live two blocks away from my grandparents house. I remember spending a lot of time over at their home.  I loved it there.  As a matter of fact I loved it so much I started figuring and finding new quicker routes to their house, shaving off as much travel time as possible!  I found the fastest foot route was taking a short cut through Carl Herrings yard to an easement road behind Earl Patterson's house that headed north.  I would then follow that path to Jay Platt's house cutting right through his yard and arriving to the south side of my Grandparents lot.  I promise there was not one "No Trespassing" sign! I laugh to myself now to think of Mr. Herring and Mr. Platt peering out their windows at me and my brother just marching across their properties like we owned them!  Getting caught was a risk we were willing to take to cut off this extra 30 seconds of walking; it seemed so paramount at the time. When we would step foot on their lawn we would run for the back door and most times as we opened the door we breathed in the aroma of fresh baked bread.  I loved this as a young boy, I always knew there would be a jar of freshly made grape jelly.  I still remember my Grandmother cutting a slice of thick homemade bread and watching the steam release from the center.  She always smeared a healthy serving of butter on it that would disappear as quickly as it was spread from the heat.  When the butter had melted a spoonful of homemade grape jam finished off the master piece.  What a treat this was for all of her grandchildren.  I thoroughly enjoyed going to her house to play pool with my other cousins or go to the city park next to her home to play wiffle ball.  I also have fond memories of being taken care of when I was ill.  My Papa would bring a special TV to the end of the couch with a hot bowl of soup to eat which always made things "all better."  The peace and comfort I felt there was very desirable, it was in a sense like going to heaven.  I credit my Grandmother and Grandfather with teaching me how to work.  I vividly recall the scorching sun beating down on me as i picked up bucket after bucket of rocks out of their garden. I also remember using a push mower to mow their football field of a front lawn, which seemed to take hours.  They would always take take us for a coke afterwards out to the drugstore in the back by the pharmacy.  Times have changed since then for sure.   I was also blessed to have my other set of grandparents in SJ just another block away.  I loved eating my Grandma Nielsen's scrambled eggs.  They were the best!  I learned as I watched her prepare them, and today prepare them the same way for my own kids.  She always had a candy dish in the upper cupboards filled with cinnamon and butterscotch discs that we could earn for helping gather the eggs at the barn or other chores.  I still remember the old plum tree that was near their garden and picking and eating plums on my way to gather the eggs.  I still haven't eaten a plum that GOOD!  I loved playing on the homemade swings out in front of their house where we would spin in circles till we were sick.  It is amazing how much your memory has stored when you actually take time to ponder. The role of Grandparents in our society is so important, especially in our day.  With the cost of living going up and more couples having to work to support a household, Good Grandparents are needed more than ever.  They have lived enough life to be full of wisdom and knowledge and kids are often times more likely to take their advice over their own parents.  I am so grateful for the help my Grandparents gave to me.  I still have one left here in town, Grandma Nielsen, who i believe is the oldest person in town at 97 years old!  Grandparents are truly a blessing in our family circles.  It is the phase of life that we have the ability to make lasting impacts on our posterity.  I invite all to remember your own Grandparents and try to be like them.  Even if you weren't blessed with Grandparents close by or perhaps their lives were cut short, always remember you still have the power to be a caring, loving Grandparent to your grand kids.  As you take the time to share your lives with these kids they will listen and remember the many lessons taught and love shared, and it will create an echo throughout your posterity forever! An echo of love, peace and joy!  Grandparents are wonderful gifts of God!