Christmas in Canterbury

My traveling companion Mary and I left Calgary in December 1968 for our European adventure. After a short stop in Halifax to visit her family, we arrived in England. Dave and his brother Roger Powell met us in London on a cool foggy Tuesday morning in December 1968. Dave had been a Pen Pal of Mary’s ever since high school. Having someone meet you when you arrive at a place you have never been before is a nice feeling, especially on your first big trip and this far from home.
Big Ben

Once we got settled in at the YWCA, we got a quick tour and located the underground, which we would need later in the week to go to Canterbury to spend Christmas with Dave, Roger and their parents. What a warm wonderful gesture it was for this family to invite us, almost complete strangers, to share their family, friends and home at Christmas time.

Trafalger Square

But, Christmas was 2 weeks away, and we had sights in London we wanted see and things do before that. I also wanted to meet my cousin Ernie, who worked for the Department of External Affairs for the Government of Canada, at Canada House in Trafalgar Square. Ernie was my Uncle Bart’s son and I had only met him as a young child when he was visiting my grandfather’s house. I remembered Ernie wearing his navy uniform – so handsome!

Carnaby Street

It was a cold, cold, damp ache that got into my bones that first week. I spent one day in bed at my cousins then we were back out walking mile after mile in London. There were so many museums, historical buildings, 60’s cultural icons to see, and we didn’t want to waste any time. Dave took us to a party in the student union room of his college one night, and during the days when weren’t inside, we explored the parks of London even though it was a bit chilly. At night we found warm pubs and rubbed elbows with the locals.

When we met Ernie at Canada House and he invited us to come to his house in Bromley (Hayes) to stay for the weekend. Rhoda and Ernie had a lovely home with central heating which was a nice change from the YWCA and the Earl’s Court Youth Hostel where we had been staying. Their 5 kids were quite small at the time; however they were well traveled and had lived most of their lives abroad.

We had a lovely time with my cousins, and they treated us to dinner on Saturday night along with another couple from the embassy. This was to be an embarrassing night for this small town girl, who never really ate out in a lot of fancy restaurants at this point in her life. As we were eating our steaks, I was being so careful to not look like a pig. So I tried to cut my cherry tomato in two, instead of popping the whole thing in my mouth, and much to my surprise according to the look on my face, the tomato jumped right off of my plate flew across the table at lightning speed and hit Ernie’s tie dead center, then dropped into his lap.

London Train Station
It was 3 days before Christmas and Mary and I met Dave and Roger at Victoria Station in London before catching the train to Canterbury. I loved riding the train, it was so “old movie” to me. My first impression of Canterbury was that it was quite a small city and I didn’t think there would be enough to keep us occupied for 5 days. I was actually quite anxious to get Christmas over with and get on with the adventure “on the continent”. We spent the next several days sleeping in, taking in the local sites like the Cathedral, and shopping for small Christmas gifts for our hosts.

It was interesting staying in a private home in England. Dave’s family did not have central heating, but individual heaters on only in the room which were in use in the old three story house. The halls and stairwells were cold and you had to hurry into a warmed room and quickly close the door. This was impressed upon us rather quickly.

As Christmas Eve arrived we went out to the Bat and the Ball and the Phoenix pubs, which were full of party goers. I was surprised to see so many people out on Christmas Eve, obviously a tradition we were not accustomed to. We had a really nice time in the pubs and came back late.

There was snow in London on Christmas Day, but in Canterbury it rained. Except for the weather, Christmas Day in England was very traditional, including turkey. At the dinner table we pulled Christmas crackers, wore the silly hats and read the corny jokes. Around the table at 2PM we all raised our glasses to make a toast to all of the family members who were not present. At other locations in England and Wales the Powell’s extended family was making the same toast. I thought this was a very touching tradition. Like other families around the world we spent the afternoon watching movies. “Some Like it Hot” with Tony Curtis, Jack Lemon and Marilyn Monroe was playing on TV.

I still treasure the leather Canterbury bookmark with the city crest and monogrammed handkerchief which I received from our host family that first Christmas away from home. I thought of my own family in my home town of Magrath, Alberta and wondered if they could imagine the sights I was seeing and the hospitality I was receiving this Christmas day so far away.

On Boxing Day, after dropping Dave and Roger off at their riding academy just outside Canterbury, our host Mr. Powell drove us to Dover to catch the ferry to France.
White Cliffs of Dover

Maetaman Rafting and Elephant Camp

On a wet Monday morning in Oct 2001, the Going Solo Travel group from Calgary was exploring the northern regions of Thailand. We start our day in Chiang Mai, a wonderfully picturesque city with walls and moats, and head into the countryside to go river rafting and ride elephants. From Chiang Mai, a city of 200,000 we headed north on highway 107, then west on route 1096.

Driving through the countryside is always interesting, and I spend as much time a possible looking out the bus windows to see how the local people live. On this particular day I noticed a creative and industrious man working in a ditch of muddy water about 5 feet wide and probably 3 or 4 feet deep. The “fisherman” had constructed a small shelter to keep him out of the sun and dry during the rain. This would also allow him to keep an eye on his traps both day and night. A net had been constructed from one bank to the other. He must have had some sort of success fishing in this dubious water before; because you couldn’t even see if there were any fish as the water was thick and a murky tan color.

When we arrived at the Maetaman Rafting and Elephant Camp we went to the display and training area. The trainers, who bond with the elephants for life, put the elephants through a series of activities which simulated the tasks of a “working male elephant”. Some of these exercises consisted of lifting, pulling, nudging and kicking soccer balls (surprisingly far).


The elephants eat a vast amount of roughage each day, which was evident by the abundant droppings all around the compound. Our contribution to the daily diet were bunches of bananas which we purchased for a few baht, the Thai currency. There are still pockets of working elephants in Thailand, as we saw some of them on the roads in the Northern provinces.


Our elephant was outfitted with a Sudan type chair. To get in the seat, the elephant it was led up beside a platform the height of her back. We climbed the stairs and waited our turn. I was paired up with John one of my fellow travelers. Our trip would take us into the jungle on a loop up the side of the hill near the camp. The path was very muddy and slippery. I was a bit concerned about the animals slipping or getting stuck in the mud, but much to my surprise these lady elephants were very graceful, sure footed and never missed a step. Each elephant stepped into the footprint of the elephant before her, swaying back and forth as they lumbered up and down the paths between the tall trees. There was so much traffic over this route that the footprints were well worn, full of water and appeared to be about a foot or more deep.


When the elephant s became pensive about their next step they came to a stop and used their trunks to smell/feel out the placement of the next foot. I especially noticed this when it was really muddy and boggy or steep.










After our hour of swaying through the trees, the elephants were fed and treated to a swim in the river. Normally the river meanders through the quiet valley at a peaceful speed, but today after the rain the river is high, muddy and is running too fast for the small bamboo rafts. The starting point did not look too bad but further downstream there were some switchbacks where the river narrowed and sped up. So, after a fair bit of discussion and delays, the local river guides determined that it was not safe to proceed with rafting. Although we were very disappointed, I was glad that we erred on the side of safety, for everyone’s sake.

Torremolinos, Spain 1969

It all started off innocently enough with an off handed comment by Frank, one of the geophysicists in the data processing office in Calgary where Mary and I had been working for about a year. “Hey, why don’t you guys travel somewhere warm next winter – you know sun and sand.” Who us, we thought, a couple of land locked Alberta prairie girls traveling to the south pacific, what WAS he thinking? However, Frank’s little off the cuff remark soon set my wheels in motion, and they have never really stopped since. However, in the spring of 1968 both Mary and I were ready and willing for some adventure. Frank’s seemingly meaningless office chit chat was just the spark we needed to get us out of the work-a-day world and into the real one.

Over the next several weeks the destination for our impending adventure moved from the south pacific to Europe. Both Mary and I had a keen interest in art and we each had contacts in England, so we changed our plans and started to check out maps and plan our way across Europe, to take in the prominent galleries and works by the masters. But in the end we decided that a structured “tour” was not what we wanted, so we decided to go to England first and visit my cousin Ernie at the Canadian Embassy in London, and her pen pal Dave in Canterbury. After that we would head south to Spain for the next few months where it was warmer. We left our itinerary very loose so we could take in what was interesting, bypass what was not and travel at a leisurely pace; after all we had given ourselves a year to explore Europe. We were to discover that many of the “flower children” of the late sixties were on this same quest.

I gave up my bachelor apartment in the Beltline area and moved into Mary’s rooming house just a few blocks away for a few months so we could save more money, and to see if we could stand spending so much time with one another. We had been quite diligent in saving and selling what we could for our travel fund. Our original thinking was to travel and work if the opportunity came up. Our current employer, Geophysical Services Incorporated also had an office in Croydon near London, and although we couldn’t be officially transferred, we did have in hand recommendations from our Calgary supervisors which would help us in Croydon. However, we really didn’t want to work if at all possible. I think by the time we left I had saved a total of $1500.00 for the trip.

We pooled our money, packed our bags and on December 10th, 1968 we started our big adventure. After our first Christmas away from home in Britain and New Years in France, which I will share at a later date, we were finally on our way south and to the warmth of the Mediterranean.

Our first experience with the Spanish people was a warm welcome we had not expected. Shortly after we crossed the French border into Spain, the Volkswagen van started making awful noises and eventually the noise was so bad we had to stop. There we were in the middle of the country side with no town or garage in site. It was getting late and so we decided that we would just sleep by the side of the road again, and so we started making preparations for a night under the stars. From across the road a family, who operated a small pension, saw what we were doing. The lady of the house insisted that all 8 of us to come into her home. She fed us and found us places to sleep, for free. In the morning her husband, who happened to be a mechanic of sorts, worked on the van and we were on our way by 1 pm. Wow, I was really impressed with the friendliness of these Spanish people. As we were leaving these wonderfully generous people, I’m thinking to myself if this is what Spain is like; I think I’m really going to love this place.

You may be wondering exactly what Mary and I were doing in this VW van, where we got it and who the other 6 people in the van were… well I’ll back up just a bit and fill you in. It was an early January morning in Paris; we were just about to leave the Youth Hostel when we met Sam and Jan two girls from Vancouver. They said that there was a Canadian fellow from Prince George BC who was going to Spain later that day, and if we waited around until noon we could join the group, split the gas costs and get a ride to Spain. Sounded like a good deal to us, so we waited for everyone to gather and at 6 PM we were on our way. Our new traveling companions consisted of Sam and Jan, Gary from Prince George the VW owner, Dave from Vancouver and his girlfriend Linda from England, and yet another Dave from South Africa. Dave and Linda had been to Torremolinos the year before and it sounded like our kind of town, so we decided on Torremolinos as our next destination. The first night traveling in the VW was more than a little rough, as we drove all night sitting upright. There just wasn’t enough room to do it any other way. Imagine 8 people and all of our baggage crammed into that VW van. It still ranks high as one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life! This was the last night we all shared the VW, the next night 3 slept in the van and 5 slept on the beach.

It was a mostly an uneventful trip to Torremolinos, except that due to South Africa’s apartheid policy at the time, we had to delay our border crossing into Spain so that Dave from South Africa could get a special entrance visa. We made lots of stops on our way along the south coast of Spain. In Barcelona we stopped at the American Express office to see if Dave from Vancouver had any mail and for a bite to eat. The bakeries in Europe are fantastic!
I took this photo in Barcelona

In 1968 Torremolinos was a mere sliver of what it is today. Yes, it was an international tourist destination with 7-8 high-rise apartments on the road to Malaga, and more hotels being built. However, the small fishing village of Carihuela to the south was picturesque and very quaint, and except for a few old beach bars and small guest houses was basically undeveloped. Still, there was a very active night life and tourist trade up the hill in Torremolinos. Passengers arriving on the weekly flights from Germany and Sweden quickly filled the bars and restaurants along Calle San Miguel the main tourist street. It was very evident that the “tourist community” was an eclectic assortment of vagabonds from various origins, sprinkled with some locals to make a very interesting mix. It was possible to experience some of the local Spanish people in the bars - dancing, singing, playing guitars, clapping rhythms, - not for the tourists, but because that’s how they spent their evenings. We didn’t feel like the European tourists here for a weeks’ vacation. We were here to experience life, and not just a week at a time. In our group, according to Mary and I, Sam and Jan were “The Tourists”, Dave and Linda were “The Hippies”, and Mary and I… well we were just there to have a good time, and that’s just what we did.

After we arrived in Torremolinos, Gary the VW owner and Dave the South African ventured on to other places, which left the tourist, the hippies and us. So we checked around and rented an apartment in a local neighbourhood, just a few blocks from all the action on Calle San Miguel. Our apartment, which was in a modern building, came completely furnished including kitchen wares and linen, at a cost to us of $8.00 a month – each! We appeared to be the only “foreigners” in the complex, which consisted of 5-6 six story whitewashed buildings. Some of the buildings had retail business on the main floor such as a drug store. Our building had a bar.

Mary and I didn’t waste any time in getting to know where the good night spots were, as we had met Pepe on the beach our very first day in town. He was a local bar tender and our personal nightlife guide. We never paid for a single drink in The Bousito Club as long as Pepe was behind the bar – more Spanish hospitality. After all Pepe and his friend had treated us to a steak dinner that very first day, and took us to the very popular Tina’s Bar and the El Copa – what a guy…with ulterior motives.

What a sweet sound - “Welcome to TIIIIIINAS’s, in TORRRRRRRE-MOLINOOOOOOOOS” …the night was about to begin; Kevin and Tina would pick up the microphones and sing along with Marvin Gaye.



This Photo of Sam, Jan Willie and Jose was taken outside of Tina's Bar

Tina: One can have a dream, baby
Kevin: Two can make that dream so real
Tina: One can talk about bein' in love
Kevin: Two can say how it really feels
Tina: One can wish upon a star
Kevin: Two can make that wish come true, yeah
Tina: One can stand alone in the dark
Kevin: Two can make the light shine through

It takes two, baby
It takes two, baby
Me and you, just takes two…

“It Takes Two” is still one of my favorite songs, as is Gordon Lightfoot’s “Early Morning Rain” and Aretha Franklins “Natural Woman” which were also part of the repertoire. Tina’s Bar was always an exciting place to me as it had “live karaoke music” by Tina and Kevin, an international feel, lots of interesting people and everyone interacting. We were all strangers in a common situation, away from home, on holidays and wanting to have a good time.

Over the next month and a half we made many friends, played cards and chess, celebrated birthdays, sang, danced, walked down town and down to the beach. We partied all the time, only with a rare “day off” to catch-up on sleep. On the Costa del Sol very night was Saturday night. We usually got up in the early afternoon and headed out to the bars by 9 PM, and sometimes didn’t make it back to our apartment until 6:30 in the morning as the sun was coming up. We went to the popular discos of the day, Tiffany’s and The 27 Club. But mostly we hung out at Harry’s Bar, El Copa and Tina’s. In Harry’s bar they actually played Johnny Cash and even had an Ian and Sylvia record which we used to request the bartender play, it was just like being at home.

The famous American writer James A. Michener chose Torremolinos as the scene of one of his most famous best-sellers, "The Drifters." (Random House, published in 1971) The novel is about Torremolinos in the sixties as a favorite place for conventional tourists and young bohemians who were looking for an idyllic place to hang out. Like our little band of travelers, the characters in the novel also happen to arrive in Torremolinos in a VW van, so of course it was of particular interest to me. In researching the book, Michener is reported to have spent quite a bit of time in Torremolinos. This appears to be the case, as we often went to Harry’s Bar, and I would notice a small nondescript man sitting by himself in a quiet corner near the door, saying little, just observing. Many years later, after I had read The Drifters, I recognized the detailed descriptions of the décor of the bar in the novel, which were curiously similar to the furnishings and interior design of Harry’s Bar. When I viewed photos on the book jacket, and I believed this quiet, observing man, whom I saw in Harry’s bar all those years ago, to be none other than James A. Michener. If I had only known then!

Part of our ritual was going for the mail, this usually happened late in the afternoon as this was when we rolled out of bed and started our day. Everyone I met travelling always looked forward to getting mail from home with a passion. It took weeks for Mary and me to get our first bit of mail from home, because it went first to the Canadian Embassy in London first, then they forwarded it to us in Spain or where ever we requested it be sent. The embassy would just address it to us c/o Poste Restante (or General Delivery hold for pick-up) in Torremolinos. Sam and Jan had sent a sample of the toilet paper they had got in England to their family in Vancouver telling them that “things were a little rough”. By return mail c/o Poste Restante Torremolinos they received 4 rolls of Lady Scott, the best toilet paper brand of the day. The contents of this parcel, which were very soft and magically white, disappeared into their room as soon as it was unwrapped and displayed to us, ‘the deprived”. In my personal experience Sam and Jan had been too kind in their description of the texture of the British toilet paper. It was more than just a little rough it was like tracing paper and downright scratchy!

Although we were on the Mediterranean, the weather in the winter of 1969 was not all that great. We had lots of overcast days, a few sunny quite warm days and a fair amount of rain. However it was wonderfully warm compared to a Canadian winter, and as we slept most of the day anyway, the weather was of little or no consequence to us. The apartment had no heat, but we were warm enough. On the cooler stormy days we just added a layer.



It was not unusual for us to meet people in the bars in Torremolinos that we had previously met on a plane, in a youth hostel or on the road. It seems like everyone migrated to the Costa del Sol in the winter, ready to party on. There was no “Girls Gone Wild” in those days, and most of the time we felt very safe, even though in 1969 we were aware that General Franco the dictator of Spain had declared Martial Law, and many political leaders had been arrested and thrown into prison. Universities and militant students were treated with harsh repression so we were mindful of this situation as we had heard some stories of other “tourists” being jailed. We were affected because it was required by “the government” that all foreigners were to carry their passports at all times. If you were stopped by the Civil Guard, the police with the funny black patent leather tricornio hats, you could be taken to jail without cause. Dave, a long haired hippy, was constantly being asked for his ID. In the stores or supermarket he was told to leave the shoulder bag he carried at the door, as they thought he would shoplift.

There was an abundance of relationship opportunities in a party town if you wanted to participate, but for the most part we were a group of friends and spent a lot of time going out with different groups of people, mostly Canadians, Americans, local Spanish guys and those British blokes, who were a lot of laughs. Some of the guys we hung out with had apartments, cars and boats in Torremolinos and we got to know some of them. There was way more young guys travelling than women, and we actually did not meet any local Spanish women, but their men sure did like to come out and play!

La Carihuela, the picturesque old fishing district of Torremolinos was a popular place for the hippies. A beach bar called Smugglers was filled with huge dripping candles in bottles. One step out the back door of Smugglers and you were on the beach, out the front door and you were in a small village with donkeys and old men. If you got up early enough, it was a great afternoon to walk down through the whitewashed houses with their curtained doors, and zigzagged brick patterned sidewalks, for some conversation and a few drinks or whatever your recreational vice was. They were such relaxing and idyllic days.

Some of the local characters we met in the bars were very interesting. Like Rafael, a young man who showed a particular interest in me. He took me fishing, dancing and for lunch, bought me drinks and flowers, but when he told me he was the son of the chief of police, he was dropped like a hot potato. After all we did not want a visit from his father, or for Rafael to get “wind” of some of our social activities. Sam and Jan had also attracted the attention of a couple of local guys, Jose and Willy who they met in their first days in Spain, the locals continued to show the Vancouverites the town, take them on short excursions and were very hospitable. We had an interesting house guest for a while in the person of a tall dark and handsome American draft dodger Dave, who with a 12 string slung over his pinkish cape, struck quite a figure. The very first time I heard the Beatles tune “Rocky Raccoon”, was when draft dodger Dave played it on his 12 string while sitting on our living room floor. I’ll never forget that candle lit night, as Dave sang many of the popular and protest songs of the day, it was very magical evening.

At the end February, 1969 our stay in Torremolinos had come to an end, for now. The lifestyle was a memorable experience, and we knew it could not go on forever, so reluctantly we started making plans for our next leg of the journey. I have always remembered my time in Torremolinos as one of the “best times of my life” and one I think of with fondness. I’m finding that the mindset is quite similar to being retired, except without the night clubs and all the drinking. The mantra “Possibly Mañana” is, what Martha Stewart would categorize as a “good thing,” and very easy to assimilate to – then and now.

Rick and George, a couple of geologists from Winnipeg, arrived in Torremolinos about the time we were ready to go to Morocco. So for the next part of our little adventure we decided to hook-up with them because they were nice guys and tons of fun. Mary was a bit more adventurous than I and was game to go to Morocco by ourselves, but I didn’t feel good about going without some male presence. So, George and Rick agreed to come with us and it turned out to be a good arrangement. I will write about our Moroccan adventures in a later installment.

Hasta Luego,

Delane

Rememberance Day

On Rememberance Day we honor all active duty military personnel, and especially the veterans in our family, who traveled around the world and fought for our freedom and PEACE.

Pte. Lynn MELDRUM (Father deceased)

Royal Canadian Army Services Corps
England, Belgium, France, Holland
Truck Driver/Mechanic / Chauffer to Col. Rocky Stewart

Dad was very proud to serve under the Canadian Ensign. One of his favorite poems follows this tribute.



Sgt. Lois (Phillips) BROWN (Aunt deceased)

Canadian Women’s Army Corps
Calgary, and Trenton Ontario

Steno Pool

Tudy, along with 6 others girls, formed a Hockey team on their own, as they could not get the necessary approvals from the Army.

Sgt. Melville BROWN (uncle deceased)

Royal Canadian Air Force
Lancaster Pilot baded in England
Flew missions in the European theatre

Mel was the youngest pilot to serve in the RCAF during WWII





Francis Wayne PHILLIPS (uncle deceased)

Royal Canadian Air Force
Leading Aircraftman
served in Yorkshire England


Wayne didn't want to join the Army " No way" he told his friends, "Where I go I'm going to ride"



Ernest (Ernie) MELDRUM (cousin)

Royal Canadian Navy (Retired)
Canada Foreign Affairs
Communications Officer
Canadian Embassy’s London, Germany

Col. Tom PHILLIPS Retired (U.S. Air Force)

A Pilgrim in Unholy Places: Stories of a Mustang Colonel. By Thomas D. Phillips, USAF-Ret.
The book traces the story of a “Mustang” officer show career encompassed the Cuban crisis, the cold War, Vietnam, the Gulf War, and the Balkan conflict. During his nearly four decades of service, he led an isolated unit through a terrorist raid, held a key position during Operation Desert Storm, commanded one of the most unique organizations in the Air Force, and led some of the first American troops into Sarajevo.

And last, but leased and still on active duty


Master Cpl. Steve Williams (son-in-law to Phillip Brown and Julie Aherne)

Canadian Forces
Communications Instructor
Kingston, Ontario




In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
between the crosses, row on row,
that mark our place; and in the sky
the larks, still bravely singing, fly
scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
loved, and were loved,
and now we lieIn Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
to you from failing hands we throw
the torch, be yours to hold it high.
if ye break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

The poem was written by a Canadian - John McCrae, a doctor and teacher,
who served in both the South African War and the First World War.

Condor over the Grand Canyon

The California Condor, Gymnogyps californianus, is a species of North American bird in the New World vulture family Cathartidae. Currently, this condor inhabits only the western coastal mountains of the United States, Baja California, and the Grand Canyon. It is the only surviving member of the genus Gymnogyps, though fossil members are known.

It is a large, black vulture with patches of white on the underside of the wings and a largely bald head with skin color ranging from yellowish to a glowing red, depending on the bird’s mood. It has the largest wingspan of any bird found in North America about 9.5 feet, and is one of the heaviest weigh 17 to 25 pounds. Adult condors stand at a height of 45-55 inches. The condor is a scavenger and eats large amounts of carrion. They are one of the world’s longest-living birds, with lifespans of up to 50 years.

Condor numbers dramatically declined in the 1800s due to poaching, lead poisoning, and habitat destruction. Eventually, a conservation plan was put in place by the United States government that led to the capture of all the remaining wild condors in 1987. These 22 birds were bred at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and the Los Angeles Zoo. Numbers rose through captive breeding and, beginning in 1991, condors have been reintroduced into the wild. The project is the most expensive species conservation project ever undertaken in the United States. The California Condor is one of the world's rarest bird species. As of 2005, there were only 273 individuals including 127 in the wild.

The condor is a significant bird to many Californian Native American groups and takes an important role in several of their traditional myths.

Source: Wikipedia

The following pictures were taken at Mather Point, Grand Canyon on October 11, 2007 by Delane

Arizona Wildlife

Yes - we saw both Wylie Coyote and the Roadrunner, BUT the roadrunner was just too quick, thus no picture. This picture was taken near Lee's Ferry, Az

This Coyote was near Lake Havasu on the California side

These wild donkeys felt quite at home as they leisurely walked across the road, near the Parker Dam.

Finding a cool place in the trees.

The wild turkeys were in Bryce Canyon National Park. There were actually 6 or 7 of them just eating in a meadow by the roadside.

I was surprized to see the amount of wildlife in Arizona. Especially the wild donkeys and turkeys.

1890 Crossing the Colorado River at Lee's Ferry

It was late in the day when we arrived at Lee's Ferry, now a popular rafting spot. The setting sun was changing the river water into a brilliant rusty hue. I quickly searched for the places where I thought the original ferry was located from my previous research (A steel wire cable basket for Park Service use now crosses the Colorado River at the old ferry site). Note the tower on the far side of the river. I also searched for the route out and remembered the rough rocky climb my great grandmother had described. All of the cliffs went straight up, except for one section where it was possible. There it was ....the route to the other side!

These are the words of Nannie Emelia Anderson my Great Grandmother.

I was happy and contented in our new home but not for long. My husband felt we should return to Arizona and fulfill that mission we had formerly been called on. I did not want to leave my comfortable home and, also, my mother’s health was very poor and I hated to leave her. As Always I let him have his way. I had two sisters and their families living in that part of the country and they wanted us to come out there. In the spring of 1890 we sold our home and farm, fitted up two wagons and driving several head of milk cows we started our long lonesome journey with just our children. We cooked our meals over the campfire, using the “Dutch Oven” to bake our bread in.

When we arrived at the Big Colorado River at Lee’s Ferry we found that the ferryboat had been washed down stream. Mr. Johnson the man who ran the ferry was building a new boat and it would be two or three more weeks before it would be finished. My husband felt he could not wait that long, so he persuaded Mr. Johnson to take us across in just a small rowboat. Mr. Johnson did not like the idea. He said he was risking his own life as wall as ours. But he finally consented. It took a whole day to get all of our stuff across. The wagons had to be taken apart and a few pieces taken at a time. The animals had to swim across. One of the men in the boat held the rope, which was tied around the animal’s neck.


One old cow refused to swim when about half way across. It looked as if they would have to let her go down stream as she was pulling the boat past the landing and below were rapids. However, with determined effort they got across. It was a great relief when we got everything across, our wagons assembled and loaded and ready to continue on our journey.

The road out of the river bend was very steep and two teams had to be hooked on one wagon. The horses seemed to be afraid of the river and almost backed the wagon into the river. Then we crossed what was known as Lee’s backbone, a rough rocky ridge. On days when the road was very rough I walked as much as I could possibly stand. I was in a delicate condition and one time in particular, I had walked until I became so tired I could not walk and more. I had to ride reguardless of how I felt. That night I thought sure my baby was going to be born. Out on that desert, hundreds of miles from a living soul we made preparations for it. But I am sure the Lord heard and answered our prayers for I was spared that terrible ordeal.

Finding Brigham City

When I was a teenager living in Southern Alberta, I was given a copy of my great grandmother Nannie Emeila Anderson's story. Over the years I have read and re-read these 13 pages many times, always knowing that some day I would see the places she described and walk in her "footsteps". I would imagine the Andersons in the desert when the Navajo or Hopi would approched looking for food, or building 1 and 2 roomed houses again and again as they moved from one place to another looking for a better life for their children. This courageous couple sailed from Sweden and Denmark to the Americas then overland to Utah as children. As young adults they married then homesteaded in Utah, Arizona, Idaho and eventually ended up in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. They worked hard even as young children, and learned skills that would later help them to survive the wilderness. The Anderson's along with a their 12 children, and many other families just like them, paved the way for us who follow in their footsteps. Including me. Friends often comment on my worldly travels, well... I guess I came by my wanderlust honestly from my not to distant ancestors.

When my friend Peggy asked if I was interested in going on a road trip to southern Utah and Arizona, I jumped at this long awaited opportunity. After the Antelpoe Canyon tour and Horseshoe Canyon hike in the morning, the drive from Page, AZ, and "doing" the Grand Canyon in one afternoon, we headed south toward Flagstaff at dusk. I was tired and ready to give up going to Brigham City, now known as Winslow Arizona. It was another 50 miles to the east on I-40 to find Brigham City, but that darn Eagles song kept running through my head. I was standin' on a corner in Winslow Arizona... It was getting late, and Peggy said she was still OK to drive, so we kept on driving in the dark to Winslow.

Early the next morning we asked around and checked maps with some locals in a coffee shop, but we didn't have much luck in getting directions to Brigham City. As a matter of fact all of the people we talked to hadn't even heard of Brigham City. How discouraging was that! However,and quite by chance, when we WERE "Standin' on the corner in Winslow Arizona" chit chatting with a handsome dude on a bike, using his camera to take a picture by the Eagles statue to show his family, we stopped a woman who was taking her dog for an early morning walk. She gave us the first good clue ... apparently there was a "plaque" she had seen while walking her dog. This plaque had been placed in a spot north of town and she gave us general directions. When we got to the general area, we noted that I-40 had been constructed almost on top the older local roads, and with the lights and intersecions, it became confusing to me. But it was mostly thanks to Peggy's determination of driving the night before, and going down one more road on the outskirts of town, that we found the Brigham City site. Thanks Friend, it means a lot!
















Here is some of what Nannie wrote about her journey.


Nannie Anderson Peter Anderson

Then the call came from the leaders of the church for the settlers to go to Arizona. We were among those called. It was a sad parting for me to leave my father, mother and dear ones to go and pioneer a new country. I was young and our baby was just a little over a year old. We left on February 11, 1876. We left in the middle of winter so that we could reach there in time to plant crops. We were three months on the way. I can recall only part of the names of the company. Our captain’s name was Ballanger. In addition there were Charles Witting and his brother, Mr. Hoit, Rastus Wakefield, Mr. And Mrs. Perry, Mr. Isaacson, Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Johnson, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, as well as several others whose names I do not remember.

Our traveling outfit consisted of two wagons, one trailed behind the other, and two teams. One wagon was made into a sort of a camp with a small stove and quite comfortable bed, the other was loaded with seed grain, potatoes and provisions. When we were near the boundary line of Arizona the roads became very heavy because of the amount of snow. Some of the men had to go ahead and break trail for the teams. Some days we traveled only one mile and finally we had to leave one of our wagons by the roadside. Of course it had to be the one with the stove and bed in it. Also we had to leave some of our provisions. The remainder of the trip we had to sleep on top of our load and cook over the open campfire. I often wondered how little Amelia stood the trip because at night when I put her to bed her feet were so very cold from being on the cold ground. Traveling without our wagon with the stove and bed we surely had a hard journey. We arrived at our destination at the end or April 1876. It was a desolate looking place. There were only a few women in the company as most of the men came to look at the country first before bringing their families out to a new place.

My husband went back to get the wagon we had left, but found someone had taken everything that was in it. When he returned with it we put the box on the ground and this was our bedroom. We gathered some rushes and put them in a tick. We had a very hard bed with this mattress and only boards for springs. We built a little yellow shanty for our kitchen and cooked over the campfire.

At times I became very homesick and longed for my mother and dear ones at home. My husband was not much of a man to stay at home with us in the evenings. He usually went to some of the other camps and talked with the men. Night after night I would take little Amelia and go to bed and cry myself to sleep. I was not feeling very well as we were expecting another baby in a few months. I worried a lot about it because I know that I would have to go through it with just the assistance of my neighbour and keep my trust in my Heavenly Father.

The people were planning a pioneer celebration on the twenty-fourth of July. My neighbour said she was going to see that I got out to this celebration for I had been staying close to home. When the day came I celebrated all right – a fine son was born to us, and as a consequence broke up the party. He was the first baby born in the camp. We named him Lewis Le Roy.

Our little settlement was called Brigham City. It was built on the banks of the Little Colorado River. During the summer the men built a dam across the river so that they could irrigate their land, but the high water washed it out. They built a second one, but it too was washed out, so the crops were a total failure. A wagon load of provisions was sent out to us by the church. The wagon had to cross the Big Colorado River on a ferry. While making this part of the journey the wagon tipped off. One man, bishop Roundy was drowned. Daniel H. Wells, the man who performed our marriage ceremony was one of the men who continued the journey. We were certainly glad to see them, even if our provisions were lost. They encouraged us to live the gospel and try to be contented and make permanent homes. We felt much better after their visit although the outlook for the winter was anything but promising. Our food was getting low, our crops had perished, and there were no paying jobs. Flour was twenty dollars per hundred pounds and the other things were in proportion. With no money to buy anything the majority of the company thought it advisable to leave there, for the present at least. I didn’t want to go, for I felt we had been called to settle that country, by the leaders of our church, and we ought to stay.

I dreamed a number of times of going back home and of being shunned to our families and friends, but on our return we found them glad to see us, and they welcomed us back.

The remains of Brigham City, maintained by the city of Winslow.