Effie May Bills
by Lavern Stewart
I remember Grandmother Bushman best for her homemade cookies, root beer and sweet advice. “Don’t step in a cow pie,” she would say, “as you might get some splashed on you too.” And again she would say, “Make something of yourself and don’t be a nobody, be a somebody.” Well that was just good old Grandmother Bushman speaking when I was a little tyke, but the words kind of stuck with me and here I am writing about a “somebody grandmother.” Her cookies were something out of this world, rich mellow cookie dough plumb full of raisins. They seemed to melt in your mouth like ice cream. And that wasn’t the half of it, there was the tangy homemade root beer that she kept in her cool cellar, like an old ice chest, for the young ones to sample on when they came over on the weekend visits with the family. We all gathered around Grandfather and Grandmother on the porch while the younger ones played games on the big lawn under the cottonwood trees. “It took a long time to make,” said Grandmother, “but it was all worth it.”
In the fall it was apple picking time. Just east of Fairview, Grandfather’s neighbor, Colmand Pritchet, had an apple orchard. The families climbed into the wagons and headed out for the hills. As usual Grandmother had a box of her goodies, namely, raisin-filled cookies, a gallon jug of root beer and tuna fish sandwiches. The root beer was placed in a nearby stream to cool, to quench your thirst after the apple picking. Games were played by the children and a blanket placed under an apple tree to serve as a table cloth for the picnic. We all ate and drank until our tummies could take no more. Grandmother taught us a song about old Dan Tucker and we laughed till our sides ached. It was a fun time, but the next day was not quite so exciting. We each took our turn at turning the apple peeler, while the women were busy washing bottles, measuring sugar and stirring apples into sauce over a hot stove. Some of the apples were dried to later make sweet soup pudding and apple pies in the winter. After the day was over I didn’t care if I ever saw an apple again. I soon repented of this feeling after Grandmother made a fresh batch of homemade ice cream. It was the custom after such an event to sample the applesauce with some of Grandmother’s homemade ice cream.
In those days this type of get-together was about the only social or recreation to be had and it didn’t take much of an excuse to get a good party going. Grandfather would hook up the team and head for Amundson’s ice house for a block of ice (insulated in sawdust). The old ice cream freezer was pulled out and Grandmother’s own recipe for ice cream was about to begin. Fresh cow’s cream was added to sugar and vanilla, then cooked to a custard pudding thickness and poured into the ice cream container, then the lid and dasher was sealed down. Crushed ice and rock salt were added to make a quick slush and we each took our turn at turning the handle to make the batch hard. The aroma of vanilla filled the air and the Bushman home smelled like some rare French perfume. It was more than a feller could stand just waiting to sample the batch. After about an hour of cranking, Grandmother sampled the brew and said, “It’s enough,” or in other words, “It is ready!” Grandmother had also spent the day making a fresh batch of her famous raisin-filled cookies. A fresh jug of root beer was placed in Colmand’s well to cool off and the party was well on its way. There were big portions for adults and small ones for the children, a cookie for the topping and root beer.
Rubbie Pritchet had informed Grandmother that her husband Colmand was a little bit irregular with his stomach and hadn’t visited the little out-house for quite some time. Word soon got around to the women folks about the disaster and they all had a plan to help poor Colmand out. Well, Rubbie was the first to scoop Colmand a dish of ice cream and to stir in a chocolate covered laxative. Colmand didn’t pay much attention, thinking he was being served chocolate ice cream. At the second and third serving, the other women did the same. Colmand couldn’t help but comment how delicious his chocolate ice cream was, as chocolate ice cream was his favorite dish. He noticed the others being served white ice cream, but thought he was being given special consideration. The next day Grandmother inquired how Colmand was feeling. “Seems like Colmand was quite regular now,” was Rubbie’s reply. “He has taken up residence in the little back yard house.” This was a regular story around the Bushman home after that and Grandmother always got a chuckle from telling the story
I remember best Grandmother’s delicious meals with baking powder biscuits and butter and potatoes fried in that big cast iron skillet that hung behind the stove. Yes, and there was Grandfather’s self-cured ham that was smoked just to his liking. About twice a week Grandmother would make bread that filled the kitchen with an aroma the French would like to have purchased and bottled for perfume. Grandfather loved to spread some of her homemade raspberry or elderberry jam on his bread with a thick slice of fresh churned butter — biscuits would be made later from the buttermilk. Grandmother was a good cook and could make a good meal out of anything or leftovers. The little garden spot to the south of the house furnished all the vitals she needed for a quick meal which often included fresh creamed peas and new potatoes or Grandfather’s famous corn. All the neighbors got seed from his corn. It was a prize-blend that tasted like sweet honeycomb melted with rich homemade butter and a touch of salt. Grandmother always had a big kettle of corn on the back of the stove in case Grandfather wanted a snack. Her dried herbs such as sage and others added a spice taste that made the sausage taste out of this world.
Grandmother loved her flowers and had about every variety that was in town. If a new variety came into being, Grandmother had to get a start of it or when Mother’s Day came she received it as a present. On a typical day, Grandmother could be found down on her knees pulling out the crab grass and weeds in her flowers or pruning out the dead wood. When early spring came, all of her grandchildren had to have a bouquet of her pussy willows to take to school. Also when any neighbor was sick or there was a death, Grandmother was right there with a big bouquet of flowers.
To the north in the back of the house, Grandmother had a patch of prized raspberries that she irrigated once a week from the Fairview Irrigation Company. In the cool of the morning or late afternoon, she could be found picking raspberries to make jam for the winter. These were stored in her basement cellar where lined shelves of bottled goods could be found. The cousins loved to sneak her sugared crab apples and eat them out in back where Grandmother couldn’t see us, but she was wiser than we thought and knew what was going on all the time. Another storage place was the carrot pit back by the coal house. Grandfather had made a pit and placed carrots in it, then covered them with some sand and a few railroad ties to protect them from the elements. They sure tasted good as we rubbed them on our pants and crunched away like starved rabbits.
Great Grandfather Bills had a cane that he used while crossing the plains. Grandmother loaned the cane to her friend, Indian Jack, who lived at the poor house. He walked to and from Fairview every day using this cane. Uncle Lamar said he was 106 years old and still walking with the cane before he died. Bert and Afton Christensen, relatives of the family, were working at the poor farm when Indian Jack died. They brought the cane for Grandfather to use. Uncle Lamar’s daughter, Nelda, has the cane now.
In the winter we cousins loved to get together in the front room as Grandmother told us stories about the pictures in the big woven reed basket. Another favorite spot was the upstairs retreat. Grandmother was a bit worried that we might fall through the ceiling, as the upstairs was never finished. One day Reed and other grandchildren sneaked some of Grandmother’s potatoes, her cast iron skillet and hot plate upstairs. We had fried potatoes and all the time Grandmother kept complaining that someone was frying potatoes in the neighborhood, but couldn’t pin point where as her sinuses weren’t working just right. The next day she found the source and also her lost skillet upstairs as we didn’t clean up the mess. She also complained that her light bill would be going up. After that she kept closer watch on the grandchildren.
In Grandmother’s cellar was a bushel of delicious apples that she had saved up money from her egg money to purchase from the fall peddler. She didn’t have any apple trees and apples were a good commodity for hungry grandchildren when the cookies ran out. The only time she ever complained was when she found a bite taken out of an apple and the rest tossed away. “Apples are too expensive to waste,” she would say, “no more of this wasting.”
The old chicken coop served as a resource for Grandmother’s money. The granary was full of Grandfather’s harvest and raising chickens to get eggs was a good way of utilizing this produce. The chickens knew Grandmother, but they didn’t know the grandchildren. She always cautioned us to let her go in first, lest we disturb the hens and they fly around causing bloody eggs. At coop cleaning time she turned them out in the pasture while we cousins cleaned away. I remember itching for days after and sneezing continuously from the dust. Grandmother sprayed with Black Leaf Forty in her small hand pump, but it never seemed to do the job and get all the lice. The old two-seater outhouse right next to the chicken coop was a real monument. It stood there for quite awhile after the indoor plumbing was installed. The smell was just something even with the yearly splash of lime in the thing. It had to be passed to get to the chicken coop and one had to hold your nose until the coop door was opened.
After Grandfather’s death, the farm was sold and there was enough money to put in a new bathroom in the old wash room. I helped dig out the septic tank which was rather easy as we struck an old cellar that had been covered up. My father, Angus Stewart, put in the forms and drain pipes and cemented in the tank. Grandmother was as happy as a mother hen with new chicks. She let me be the first one to take a bath. She didn’t want a kitchen sink as she said she had become used to the old bucket and besides she needed the clean waste water to put in her two tea kettles on her new Majestic stove that she purchased from Dixon Taylor Russells at Provo. The old stove was taken to the ranch to cook on when Reed went out to plow and harvest the grain. Years later Uncle Ted visited the homestead only to find most of the stove missing, with only the hot water boiler and stove lids left which he took home as a keepsake.
When the threshing was through each day during the threshing season, Grandmother had a big dinner prepared for the threshers. In the little hut about 12′ x 18′, she cooked over the old Majestic stove all day to prepare for their dinner. Milk and water were stored in a dugout just north of the hut to keep it cool and it was probably here that the harvesters ate their diner in the shade of the hut on a makeshift table. This was old stuff to her as she did it many times on the dry farm.
When fall came, Uncle Ted loaded up the two horses with a creamery can tied to each of the horse’s sides and headed out for Bear Flat to pick berries. Uncle Archie’s herds fed off the area in the spring time and again later in the fall. There was a corral where the sheep were docked and stamped with lamp black for identification. It was a good spot for wild choke cherries and elderberries. There were two types of elderberries, red and purple. The red ones were much more tart and smaller, growing on short stalks about four feet tall. The purple ones were much bigger, hanging like grape clusters on taller stalks. The flats were named after the bears that loved to eat these berries when they were good and ripe in the fall. Uncle Archie told me that several bears had been killed by his herders in the area because they also loved sheep meat. When the cans were full, Ted returned home and Grandmother spent several days making jellies and jams. These were one of Grandfather’s favorite sweets and he loved to spread them thickly on Grandmother’s buttermilk hotcakes or baking powder biscuits. The bigger berries were just right for elderberry pies. I tried to persuade Uncle Ted to take me along on the venture, but all he would say was, “You’re too young and would only get lost or get in the way.” After much persistence, he told me stories about the bears and from then on I wanted no part of the venture.
During the winter months when it was too cold outside to dry clothes, Grandmother unfolded her clothes dryer in the front room and the house would be damp and smell of homemade soap. It wasn’t that soap was too expensive, but there was little money to purchase such luxuries. Drippings from any meats, fat from the butchering, pig rinds, or any type of fatty material was saved in a big drum. Each spring the big tub came off the wall and was placed over four big rocks under which a hot fire was kindled. All the fat was weighed out using a hand held spring scale and then dumped into the tub. An exact amount of lye per pound of fat was added to break down the fatty material. Water was added as needed and the mixture was brought to a boil. Constant stirring was required to keep an even flow of the mixture so as not to be burned. After several hours of laborious stirring it was enough or as Grandmother would say, “Just right.” The tub was then taken off the fire and allowed to cool and dry for several days. The mixture in the tub would often shrink to about half its size. The tub was then turned over on some old boards for further drying on the bottom side. A large cutting knife was used to cut the soap into desired sizes, which were then stored in the back room for future use.
Clothes were scrubbed well on an old scrubbing board using the soap, after which they were rinsed with an indigo blue in cold water, rung out on a hand ringer and hung up to dry. Sometimes the clothes made the skin a little itchy, but with hard work on a farm callouses soon formed and stopped the torment. Saturday night baths also consisted of using the soap. There was one tub of water for the whole family, until the water was too grey for further use. The oven door was opened on the stove to help us dry off on cold winter nights. If a person got too close, his back parts sometimes got a burn. The skin was usually a little reddish after such a bath, but Grandmother said this was a sure sign the skin was clean.
Water was a scarce item as the city didn’t have running water until the government-sponsored WPA works came into being. There was usually a well dug to serve a certain area and all the water must come from these wells or the irrigation ditch. The WPA was initiated about 1935 during the depression days. It was a system developed by President Roosevelt to help get money flowing again as people were losing their homes and property from lack of money. A worker would receive about two dollars a day doing public work and recreation projects. Grandmother rented out her bedroom to such a worker to get a little extra money to live on. Uncle Lamar and my father built a chimney for the cook stove to make the room rentable. Years later when Uncle Lamar married Aunt Ester they lived in this room while Uncle Lamar ran the farm. Water was piped in from springs in the mountains and stored in cisterns. Grandmother soon got her first taste of tap water from her own kitchen. A bucket was placed under the tap and any excess water was placed in the water tank at the end of the Majestic stove for future use.
As I mentioned above, Grandmother was a good cook and loved to please Grandfather. He didn’t have to say thanks, but she could always tell by the expression on his face after a meal if he was satisfied and that was all she needed. One morning she was up early as usual making baking powder biscuits, fried potatoes and bacon. She had the stove all fired up until you could hear the meat sizzling and crackling. The bacon wasn’t really thin but it had fried down to a window-like transparency. Grandfather always saved the meat to the last and ate it with his favorite horseradish. He said the taste stuck with him and lasted much longer that way. As he forked up a piece of bacon he looked at it puzzled-like and said with a sheepish grin, “What’s this, Effie? If I wanted to read a newspaper I could read it right through this piece, now how about frying me up a piece that I can taste and sink my teeth into?” That was all it took. Grandmother had been sweating over that hot stove all morning to prepare his meal. This was more than she could take in recognition and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Jake,” she said, “if you are not satisfied with my fixins’ you can fry your own meals from now on.” Grandfather got the message and let well enough alone. He only commented, “Got animals to feed that’s hungry too. Thanks for the breakfast, Effie,” and out the back door he went. This was his way of making peace. I never heard a bad word said during their marriage. Grandmother was always by Grandfather’s side in everything.
Grandmother was always baking something, and that old cooking stove had a belly like an alligator for using wood and coal. Lamar never let the wood pile get low. In the fall my father and Uncle Lamar hooked up Grandfather’s team to go after wood. Oak burned just as hot as coal and was free for the taking. Uncle Archie had a big patch of oak up on the last hill where the trees were at least six inches in diameter, which he gave permission to harvest for winter’s use. It was agreed that Grandmother got one load, my father one load and Uncle Marion (dad’s brother) one load. In return Uncle Marion sawed the wood with his Model T Ford that he had converted into a saw jigger, as he called it. Father cut the wood and Uncle Lamar delivered it to town. One load of coal from the local mines was all Grandfather could afford and this often took two or three days traveling to Carbon County to pick it up.
Grandmother was a good nurse and was often called as a midwife or to assist neighbors with other medical and sickness problems. She usually had a poultice to take out the infection or some herb to cure an ailment. She had all she could do, however, just to keep her family healthy, especially the time when Grandfather was hit on the side of the head with a railroad spike, but her nursing qualities soon had him back to his chores. Many a time she took care of the scratches, bruises and slivers of her grandchildren.
On one occasion she asked my father if he would take her back to the old homestead at “hilltop.” Sunday came and we all climbed in the back of the Model T Ford and headed out to the farm. Grandmother was all excited as she pointed out the homesteads of her neighbors that were now vacant shacks and sagebrush growing on the farm land. Each turn, bend and hill had a new story. When the one-roomed shack came into sight a big smile came on her face. Dad soon pulled up in front of the shack and Grandmother was full of stories to tell. The only flowers blooming up here now were cactuses and she wanted one to take home. After some searching, we found a big round one. We found an old piece of iron to act as a tool to dig it up. We cleared some dirt and I attempted to pull up the cactus, but it didn’t budge, so some more dirt was cleared and I gave it a second try. This time it came up sooner than I anticipated and backward I went sitting square on its neighbor. Grandmother took quick to her doctoring [and] as I bent over an old chair in the shack, she attempted to remove what spines she could. She used some old axle grease, left by Grandfather, to medicate and soften the spines not removed. The rest of the trip was not quite so comfortable, but Grandmother had her cactus that she wanted placed on her grave when she passed away. The next day she pulled out the rest of the spines with her tweezers and a coat of arnica salve. It felt a lot better after several days of her nursing. At her death Max and I dug up the cactus in her flower garden and placed it on her grave. It was still there until the city planted lawn and it was cast aside to grow again in the sagebrush.
During the depression there was a lot of bums or so-called tramps that hitched a ride on the box cars of the railroad going from town to town, looking for work or a handout. They camped just a few blocks to the north of the Bushman home in some old haw trees by the lumber yard. It seemed that Grandmother’s place was a good hit for those people. It didn’t make much difference who came, she never let them go away hungry. There was always plenty of wood that needed chopping and small chores around the place to do. She was a friend to everyone. I remember one such character stopped in town and set up a furniture shop for a spell. Grandmother had bought a couch during the World War I that had no springs in it as all the steel was being used for defense. Grandmother had him put in some springs that he found in the junk yard and she was happy as a lark with his work and her new soft springy overstuffed set.
During World War II, Uncle Ted was called into the army and served overseas where he was later in a jeep accident and he was sent to the hospital. Aunt Helen stayed with Grandmother to help keep them both company. I never did see any disagreement between the two during Helen’s stay.
Mother went to work at Manti making parachutes during the war, so I lived with Grandmother for some time. She acted as both a father and mother to me during this time, helping me with all my school lessons especially math that she was so good at (it was my bad subject). She took me to all the church affairs, especially my priesthood banquets and outings. Father wasn’t active in the church and wanted no part of it. Grandmother got a job with the school lunch program as she was a good cook. It was ten cents for a meal which usually consisted of a bowl of soup and a margarine sandwich. The margarine was white and not colored. Some kids said it was lard and it often tasted like it, so most of the sandwiches went to waste. I liked Grandmother’s bread however and never tossed mine in the garbage can. It was nice to have a grandmother cook for me at lunch time. I felt it was a little special.
I remember the problem of the lane that went between Colmand Pritchet’s property and Grandmother’s place. As the story went, Grandfather and Colmand both decided to take part of their property and mutually share the use of the lane to get to the corral area and feeding lot. The project worked well mutually for many years until Colmand’s first wife left him and he married Rubbie. After Grandfather died and wasn’t around to take Rubbie’s guff, Grandmother had the task. Grandmother had a piece of property next to the chicken coop that needed feeding off so she gave dad consent to have our feeder calf graze there. Well when I let down the entrance gate to the lane and started to drive the calf down, Rubbie came running with a stick and struck at the calf to chase it back. She made such a commotion that Grandmother looked out of the window to see what was going on. She saw Rubbie swinging the stick and Grandmother mistook it for a swing at her grandchild. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back and out she came. Words flew like sparks from a crackling fire, but it wasn’t any use, Rubbie wouldn’t budge an inch. She claimed that the city survey gave her the right-of-way, but anyone looking down the fence could see that the lane was evenly divided because [of] the way the fence joined at the rear. That day we took the calf through the small gate around Grandmother’s flowers and into the pasture. I can still hear Grandmother say, “Stir up cow pie and you probably will get some of it on you.” She was a peacemaker and would let good enough be. She said the next owners would have to iron out the problem, as she wanted no more of it between good neighbors. It was years before Rubbie came over to Grandmother’s, and at Grandmother’s death I think Rubbie felt a little sheepish because she had not been a good neighbor all those years and had not made life a little more pleasant for Grandmother. The next owner of her property had the same problem and finally had to give in and move the stakes over to give more property to make another lane to the back yard. Thus to this day there are two lanes side by side, both used separately. Rubbie is dead now and I often wonder if there is a lane dividing friendship over there. I am sure Grandmother shares her lane with her neighbors in heaven.
Grandmother had an old song book. You could tell that it was well used by the turned up edges where she had wet them with her finger as she turned the pages. I still have the old book as a keepsake. Many a time I paid a visit to Grandmother’s to find her singing from that old song book or listening to her small radio – her favorite program being the Amos ‘n Andy Show. She also loved to play solitaire cards. The deck was well worn and lay on her round oak table just as she had left them before her death.
She wanted to get a Patriarchal Blessing after Grandfather died, which she had put off getting, so the following Sunday she made arrangements to get one and was so happy with it. I don’t remember the whole blessing, but I do remember that she was blessed as a peacemaker. Another part was that when she was ready to leave this world, the Lord would take her. Mother was taking care of her at her home and each of the family members were taking turns staying with her. One weekend Uncle Denzil gave her a blessing but when I came home she wanted me to give her one also. During the blessing I was prompted to say that the Lord loved her and when she came to the point that she could endure no more, the Lord would take her home. The next week she died. My mother recorded that she had been trying to get Grandmother to eat a bite to gain her strength, but she could hardly raise up enough to swallow her food. Mother had just left Grandmother’s bedside to wash the dishes when she heard a slight commotion in the bedroom. She stepped to the doorway just as she saw Grandmother lift up her head and hands as if to be speaking and greeting some unseen person, then she heard a crisp small voice speak out saying, “Effie, Effie you are all mine.” With this Grandmother closed her eyes and passed away. She was again with her beloved partner Jake Bushman for all eternity. She had had enough, that part of her Patriarchal Blessing was fulfilled.
Grandmother had a big black book on the history of Sanpete County. There was a section about the settlement of Indianola by the Spencers and others. Old Jim Indian and Great Grandfather Bills met together to help form a peace treaty between the whites and the Indians. Grandfather Bills had helped settle Indianola and was friends with the Indians. When war started between the whites and Indians, Great Grandfather Bills was warned by them to get out. Another family was not on such good terms with them and they were massacred with only enough parts found to fill a shoe box. Grandmother wrote that incident on the back page of her book. The book became lost and the history was never found at her death. She might have loaned the book to some neighbor, but as yet it has not been found.
Grandmother talked so much about the Bills’ farm up Hobble Creek Canyon that Uncle Ted told Grandmother he would take her up there some time. One year late in June or early July, Grandmother and Aunt Helen prepared a lunch of the usual things, namely sandwiches, homemade raisin-filled cookies and root beer. Uncle Ted had a two-seater Model A Ford sedan at the time when the war was over and cars were hard to get, as were good tires for the car. At any rate the outing was prepared and we started out early before the sun came up after Grandmother insisted on having a prayer to protect us. On the way up we passed some cherry orchards to which Grandmother wanted a few as the peddlers hadn’t come around yet this year. Uncle Ted climbed the fence with a small empty lard bucket and got the bucket half filled when “Farmer Brown” made his appearance. Back over the fence Uncle Ted climbed and up the road we sped in high gear. We all had a good laugh as we munched and shared the cherries. About half way up the canyon the old Ford started to heat up so Ted stopped by a small stream to cool her off. As Grandmother looked around, she thought she recognized the stream that as a young girl she and Aunt Ann had crossed to get to school. Sometimes they rode the horse bareback and had to ford the stream during spring runoff. At these times their clothes were covered with horse hair and the wet horse made them smell. Some of the kids made fun of them, but outside at the hitching stand was many a horse tied, so some of their classmates must have smelled just as bad.
Just then a farmer came by and Grandmother inquired about the old home. The farmer had not lived there too long and was not quite sure if the log home was still there, but he knew of the property and the new owners. Grandmother was satisfied so we decided to have our picnic by the stream. The root beer was placed in the stream to cool while we kids went wading to cool off. I wish I could remember some of the other stories Grandmother told that day as she related many events about her early days up Hobble Creek. Grandmother had one of Grandfather’s red bandana handkerchiefs that she dipped in the stream and wiped across her forehead. The trip had been tiresome, but one she had really wanted to take. On the way home she was even more wound up as she pointed out where the school house used to be and told us all about her school life. By the time we got to hill top the stories changed to those about the old farm. About the time we passed the old Barker farm one of the back tires went sailing across the field and the Model A came to an abrupt halt. Uncle Ted hadn’t sufficiently tightened the lug bolts at the last tire replacement. Grandmother’s prayer for safety had again saved the day.
At the age of about 25 I had just bought a new Ford sedan. My friend, Robert Sanders, and I wanted to give it a try and drive down to the Southern Utah Canyons. I asked Grandmother if she wanted to come along. It didn’t take a second asking and she said she would prepare the lunch. I told her that I had an ice chest and we could get some ice to keep the orangeade. Early Saturday morning she had a cardboard box full of her favorite goodies. She was so thrilled all the way as she had never been there before. She kept us busy with stories all the way – now forgotten. After we had toured the park she said, “Let’s pull over and eat some lunch. I am hungry.” We just sat there on an old log by the road and ate to our heart’s content the lunch of a quart can of pork and beans, some orangeade punch, tuna fish sandwiches and her favorite cookies. She was pleased with all the sights, but was ready to go to her home which she loved. In all her life, she hadn’t been very far from her home where she had lived with her husband and raised her family. It was just a little heaven on earth to her. When she got home I could see that she was all tuckered out, but she never ceased expressing thanks for the trip. It was a pleasure taking her and I hope she is pleased with this history I have written about her.
Effie May and Jacob are buried in the Fairview, Utah Cemetery.