I’m evidently not the only one who was touched by the vignette of Jens Nielson and his family as we hiked up Rocky Ridge and rested. It was a warm but pleasant day; we’d started by waking up at 4:30 that morning on the Wyoming plains and dressed in our pioneer outfits, broke camp and loaded buses with our sack breakfasts and lunches. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits later that morning as nearly 400 of us made our way 15 miles up a rocky trail pushing our handcarts in the August sun. But still, the break felt good as we listened to our trail leader tell the story of a man who had walked this path years ago in 1856 with his handcart company.
*October 23 was a day of heartbreak for Jens and Elsie. A blizzard and the long trek over Rocky Ridge challenged them every step of the way. Tragically, both young Niels Nielson and Bodil Mortensen died that day. Jens wrote of the excruciating circumstances at their camp in Rock Creek Hollow, where Niels and Bodil were buried: We had to dig a hole and bury [13] bodies of our number, and my only son was among them, and a girl who I had along for Brother Mortensen. I told you there were five men to the tent, but now the four were dead and I was the only man left, so I had to ask some of the largest and strongest women to help me to raise the tent, and it looked like we should all die.
Jens was also becoming weaker, and it seems that he was prepared to die. Elsie was reportedly less than five feet tall, but she had a spiritual stature and courage that matched Jens’s frame of over six feet. One of their descendants, Jay P. Nielson, told of Elsie’s courageous strength when Jens could no longer walk: “The end appeared to be near and certain for Jens. His feet became so frozen he could not walk another step, which caused his right foot to be at right angles the rest of his life. At this point Jens said to Elsie, “Leave me by the trail in the snow to die, and you go ahead and try to keep up with the company and save your life.” If you believe men have a monopoly on strength and courage, then pay heed to Elsie’s immortal words when she said, “Ride. I can’t leave you. I can pull the cart.”
It is not known how long Elsie pulled Jens in the handcart. One family history suggests that it was at least a day. Jens did not record the incident in his history. Instead, he recalled a covenant he made with God at that time. It was a covenant that Jens and Elsie were united in keeping for the rest of their lives: “I remember my prayers as distinctly today as I did then. If [the Lord] would let me live to come to Salt Lake City, ... all my days should be spent in usefulness.… How far I have come short of this promise I do not know.… Speaking of the hardships of the handcart company—no person can describe [it], nor could it be comprehended nor understood by any human living in this life, but only [by] those who were called to pass through it.
My reaction to this story and vignette surprised me. I hadn’t really felt that much different on the trek up to this point. Maybe because their stories are so familiar to me, they’ve been my heroes for as long as I can remember. So although it was great to actually walk and camp where they’d been, it didn’t necessarily change me, sad to say. But my tearful reaction to this re-enactment startled me. I think they came because my heart was touched seeing a woman in the same figurative situation as so many friends.
The women’s pull had the same impact on me. This was a time when the women and girls were separated from the men and the boys and were each given a little inspirational talk. Then the men and boys lined the hillside on either side of the trail with their hats off while each ma and daughters pushed their handcarts up the steep, curved, sandy embankment. They were silent and reverent. And some were even tearful.**
As we waited our turn at the bottom of the hill in the line of handcarts, I had the chance to talk with our four daughters. We had to decide where we each stand since some were little and others stronger, I let them choose. We also had to decide whether we wanted to do it on our own or if we would signal we’d like help. They all wanted to do it alone as a family without extra help. But they all wanted to help the other carts. I told them that’s not the way it works in life. If they want to help others, we need to allow others to help us. In this instance, we felt strong enough to do it on our own, as can be the case with today’s trials; sometimes we’re ok, we just need to be ok with asking for help when we’re not. I loved these few tender moments alone with my daughters. Our 11 year old daughter told me how much she was going to miss trek because she had never felt the spirit as strong or had such spiritual experiences. Totally warmed my heart.
We had another thought-provoking experience with coming to one anothers’ aid while we crossed the Sweetwater River.
The passage of the Sweetwater at this point was a severe operation to many of the company. . . . It was the last ford that the emigrants waded over. The water was not less than two feet deep, perhaps a little more in the deepest parts, but it was intensely cold. The ice was three or four inches thick, and the bottom of the river muddy or sandy. I forget exactly how wide the stream was there, but I think thirty or forty yards. It seemed a good deal wider than that to those who pulled their handcarts through it. (John Jaques)
After they [Martin Company] had given up in despair, after all hopes had vanished, after every apparent avenue of escape seemed closed, three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue, and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of the ill-fated handcart company across the snowbound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child…. (Solomon F. Kimball) ***
Most of us preferred to plow ahead on our own pushing our handcarts. But some women and girls allowed the young men of our company to carry them across the river, a humbling time for the participants as well as the onlookers.
But I think each of these situations was a good reminder for us. Most of the time we do prefer to just work through hard times as a family and keep things sort of private. But I realized one of the hardest parts of these particular experiences was the fact that so many others were watching. It made me think of how often that’s the case. It’s one thing to deal with a divorce or a loss or a health issue quietly with close family members, but it changes when the news is out and everyone seems to be watching for your reaction and how you’re coping, what you’re doing about it. I hated that I was huffing and puffing during the women’s pull, that I was struggling so much. I know the women who were carried across the river weren’t that thrilled about being seen as weak. No one likes to be viewed as helpless or incompetent. Even though it was a short-lived experience in all three cases, during the women’s pull I keenly felt like I was on display, that I was making a very poor showing; I was so self-conscious. And I felt empathy for those who struggle daily with all of us watching.
During the women’s pull, some of the groups were quite small, few in number or with very young girls. I felt fortunate to have a 15 year old, two 12 year olds and a sweet 11 year old beside me—a strong group of healthy, able-bodied girls. But some had to make it with far less support. I was humbled and touched as I watched women and girls who had just made the trek themselves run back down to offer support and to lighten the loads of those following them. It makes me think of cancer survivors or others who have lived through tough times and how they run to the rescue of others dealing with the same issue through fundraising, support groups, or just talking one on one with women they’ve never met. What powerful examples of goodness and compassion in both cases, in our pioneer re-enactment as well as regular life.
I felt the same during the women’s pull and at the Sweetwater Crossing as I did watching the Niels Jenson family. At one point our friend, who was depicting Niels’ wife Elsie, was pulling the handcart all alone up Rocky Ridge until our leader told the kids in her family they could run and help. They were just as tired and worn out as the rest of us, but they eagerly raced to their mother’s aid, just as the women and girls did during the women’s pull.
I couldn’t help but think of all the single mothers I know as I reflected on these experiences. Taking away the men represented the death of so many of the husbands and fathers on the trail, but also earlier in the migration many were gone serving in the army, leaving families to take care of themselves in addition to watching over others such as the orphans and widows. I thought about this in terms of our modern lives. Some men are decidedly absent for similar reasons today, but more often than fighting in wars, the absent men are emotionally detached or have lost their faith or have demanding jobs or church callings that take them away from their families. For myriad reasons, many households then and today are left in the care of the women who must necessarily carry these heavy loads on their own. Even with men in the home, so many of my friends are working moms who have jobs and schoolwork besides needing to take care of the home and children. These loads, in my mind, are every bit as heavy as those pulled by women years ago.
What I loved about these experiences was the reassurance I felt that we are never alone. I loved the visual of the kids running to the rescue, noting what an impact good, helpful children can make in a family. It wasn’t just the big sister or brother of the group either; all ages and sizes pulled together to encourage and strengthen their families—just as we see so many young people doing today. We have friends who will come to our aid if we let them. We have families and even angels to assist us. And of course God and Christ will never desert us.
I know it’s been several weeks since we visited the sites of the pioneers, but the lessons I gleaned are still with me. The loads we toted across the plains were heavy, our carts were laden down with the necessities for the day, just as so many of our loved ones’ and friends’ carts are today. But because I went, I’m more aware of those who are pushing alone. Especially the seemingly strong ones. Because they rarely ask for help or look like they even need help; they’re always the ones serving others. But I love how even my strong friends allowed others to carry them across the river and to help push their carts up the steep embankment.
President Spencer W. Kimball taught this concept when he said: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other.” Brothers and sisters, we each have a covenant responsibility to be sensitive to the needs of others and serve as the Savior did—to reach out, bless, and uplift those around us. (President Uchdorf)
So as we washed our pioneer clothes and stored them in totes on the top shelf in the garage, I refused to pack away these valuable insights and lessons I learned. I hope we are all better people for having walked where these heroes walked. I hope their trials weren’t in vain, that their lives and untimely deaths will etch themselves in our hearts, that we will continue to live our faith and help each other along the trail just as they did so courageously and generously. And I hope we’ll never forget what it means to be a pioneer.
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