Happy 24th of July!!!

Today my Mother would have been 97 years old.  She has been gone for 15 years.  My Dad (I always called him Daddy) died on her birthday 31 years ago.  I was standing by his bed when he died and my Mother thanked him for the birthday gift!  He was suffering and it was so hard on her to witness that she took that as a gift that he was no longer hurting.  There are a lot of milestones in my life on the 24th of July.  I look forward to seeing my parents in the next life.

I did not realize that there were children that crossed the plains.  alone.  I couldn't figure out how to put the site on my blog so I put it on FB.  Actually it reminded me of people sending their children by the droves to the USA.  This story really grabbed my heart.  Made me think about adoption.  You know me, endlessly sniveling and super selfish with my adopted boys, so I felt the pain of the wonderfully compassionate Sioux woman.   The father was evidently a man of great compassion also and did bring George back to see her.

On that sort of whiny type note I say....Enjoy the 24th of July and I hope all the youth on our Stake trek are having a super time.  The sun is shining here, the cold of night is over, they have already crossed a river so I'm hoping and praying, they are all safe and having a spiritual experience.   I have my Laurels, and future Laurels on that trek!!!

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                                           George Staples-Taken in by the Indians

Fourteen-year-old George Staples was not found nearly so soon. He had been the only one of his family to leave England, sent ahead while his parents lingered to raise money for themselves and the rest of the children. They knew it would be a long time before they could join him and that the boy would have to fend for himself, but a chance to send one of their family was not to be missed.

He left in 1848 with a company of Saints and made it as far as the Sioux country, where, delirious and tormented by mountain fever, he could travel no farther. The company was perplexed about what to do for him. Endangered by warring Sioux, they dared not tarry, but it was clear the lurching of the wagon was unbearable to the boy, who seemed only hours from death. It was the kind of dilemma faced by many during the gathering-impossible to stop and just as impossible to leave him behind.

Finally, they determined that the kindest thing to do was leave him with a trapper with whom he could spend his last few hours in peace and comfort. The trapper agreed to care for him and then bury him, marking the spot with a permanent identification.

That afternoon a friendly band of Sioux greeted the trapper and noticed the sick boy. A squaw, looking at the tormented young man with tenderness, asked if she could take him. In the days that followed, she and the tribal doctor nursed him with Indian remedies, for the mountain fever that was so strange to the settlers was more common to them.

The delirious boy rose in and out of consciousness, but finally the searing pain in his head and the wild expression in his eyes settled down and he realized with some delight where he was. His loneliness and sickness were replaced by the mothering of a squaw and the attentions of a friendly people who seemed delighted to have him among them. They didn't seem to understand when he told them he had to find the white people, they simply broke camp and moved on.

As the months passed and turned into years, George enjoyed his life among the Sioux.  His Indian mother made him beautiful buckskin clothing, and when the braves were on the warpath, they left him behind with the women and children, telling him to take care of the camp. He thought less and less about any other life. Then one day a group of pioneers saw him with the Sioux and carried word to the Salt Lake Valley. Not long after, a group from the valley came looking for him.

Among them was a familiar and beloved face. With a wild whoop, he fell into his father's arms. James Staples had received word in England that his son had died two years before, but when he brought the family to Salt Lake he heard the story about the spotting of the white boy among the Indians, and grasping at a straw, came looking for him. "Could this be my son? Please let this be my son." It was a sweet reunion for an emotional father and son, but George's Indian mother was devastated, weeping inconsolably at the loss of her adopted boy. James took him with the promise that he would be back to visit, and four years later the promise was kept. The Indian mother greeted George with all the emotion of a mother who had been deprived of a dear sight for too long.