Uncle Jack (Thompson), with his long curled, white mustache, set the broken bones, and always told jokes during the painful process. Uncle Jim (Thompson), the painstaking carpenter, made the caskets of native lumber and lined them with white outing. Sometimes he covered them with black or white velvet depending on what was available, but the dead never wanted for a neat, substantial coffin. Our needs were complete with short stocky Uncle Joe (Myler) who led the choir and fiddled for the dances. Of course the father of the ward was the bishop (John Jardine & Ben Ravsten) who was both lawgiver and interpreter of the will of the Lord, and whose word was supreme. He frowned upon undertakers and doctors and so everybody did. Both interfered with the natural processes of God, and were an uncalled for expense and luxury. We could take care of the dead and the sick ourselves. The store stocked castor oil, senna leaves, Epsom salts, asafetida, and "vermifuge" for worms in children, and that took care of our physical needs...

Our town was laid out in blocks, three north and south and three east and west, with houses on both sides of the road. The architecture of the homes was very similar. People built first a two-room house and as their family and finances increased they added a kitchen and dining room and connected them with a large L-shaped porch. In every back yard was a well with a bucket tied to a rope and fastened to the curb. There was a chopping block sprinkled with chicken blood and in the chips glazed rooster heads with half-open eyes bore mute evidence of many a fine dinner. In the corner stood a whitewashed privy with the convenience of a can of ashes and a Sears Roebuck catalog, and sometimes some old newspapers. Here one could retire with impunity and rest or read. Every lot had a row of plum trees. Under them sat a few farm implements profusely sprinkled with droppings of chickens and birds. Close by, the straw-covered stable provided shelter for a team and a scrub cow or two, and near this was a log hen house without windows. Five or six sleek porkers peeked up over a crude pen, and these with the dog, a few cats, and the roosters completed each barnyard orchestra.