Mom

Moms are harder to describe, don’t you think? They are the child’s comfort, the teenager’s confidant, the steady heart and hand.

Like my dad, my mom also grew up in Orangeville. She was the oldest of 5 children by 4 or 5 years, three of her siblings were born after she was 12. She was the princess, and the mother’s helper. When she was young, her father ran a saw mill in the summer months up in upper Joe’s Valley. Their family would live in a small cabin up there most of the summer. There was a spring for fresh water, and they had cows and horses. When I was a child we would almost always spend a week in the summer up at the “old saw mill”, which was nothing more than a site and a overgrown road into the hills at that point. We would hike and fish, and drink water from the spring. We would usually borrow my Grandpa’s camper to stay in. I loved going there, except for the drive, because I would get carsick on the switch backs and the narrow dirt road up to the high mountain was scary and had steep sides.

My Grandpa VanBuren built his own house on a piece of land next to his parent’s house. They had a big garden, fruit trees, and a barnyard. When I was young, my grandparents had chickens and cows and pigs, and a tractor, which I got to ride on, and even got to learn to drive once. They harvested a lot of their own food. I loved eating the apricots and crab apples, raspberries, and fresh peas at Grandma’s house. My mom and grandma were always canning something when we were there.

When I was twelve, we moved from Bountiful, UT to Santaquin, but there was a delay in our new house being built, so we spent a summer in Orangeville. What an amazing summer that was. We slept out under the stars, spent hours floating in the canal until our lips were blue. We slid down slippery wet rock water falls. We played “Run my Sheepy Run” at night wandering through the town, and we turned in pop bottles for penny candy at a store with wooden floors. My grandma used to have an old washing machine that was two open tin tubs with an agitator in one side and a ringer which was two rollers that pressed the water out of the clothes on the other. I loved watching her use that. Spending time at Grandma’s was pure Americana.

Some memories are associated with smells. I’ve got mint growing in my yard. That smell reminds me of Grandma’s house, as do blackberries and asparagus, which grew along the ditch banks. Crickets also remind me of Grandma’s house, you could always hear them outside. All of these memories are part of my mom. This was where she grew up, her family.

My mom used to sing us lullabies, old songs that her father used to sing to her, like “Far Away Places” and “Lavender’s Blue". She would tell us stories that she listened to as a child, like “Little Black Sambo” and “Epimandus.” She always had us pray at the side of our bed at night, and she would bounce a little as she sang bedtime songs sitting on the side of the bed and rock me to sleep. I have always loved to rock and swing because of that.

My mom is a quiet person. She loves to read and she loves to be at home. She keeps an immaculate house. She cooks simple but delicious meals. She gardens and cans and quilts. She has been Relief Society President twice, Primary President twice, Stake Primary President, once. She has been a temple worker, and served with my dad in the Provo Temple Presidency for a time, as well as serving a mission with him.

Mom and Dad were a couple from the time they were about 12. She waited for him while he served a mission. She went to BYU for one year and worked in a bank in Provo for a few years before, and just after she was married. She is a devoted wife and mother.

Mom always listened to me. She never rushed me. If I was sad, she would let me cry and stay until I was finished and comfort me. She was my best friend through my growing up years, and is a steady support and listening ear whenever I need her. She is never too busy to help someone out.

Mom is the one who visited the widow neighbor and took her hot meals every day, who visits Grandma daily, who babysits the grandkids without pay. Hers is the house that people stop at to stay the night when they are passing through because you always are welcome and well fed while you are there.

Mom is my Dad’s treasure. She worries about things. She prays for people. She is my mom.