Ep 20 Heber Jesse Meeks: 🐄 Milk Heist, Ghost🐎Horse, & Malt Beer🍺

From the life and times of Heber Jesse Meeks. While living a prominent and involved life at the turn of the 19th century Heber dealt with the nature of old horses, driving new fangled automobiles, and teaching children how to subtly but firmly deal with troublesome neighbors. Whether its devotion to spouse, love of family, or commitment to country, God, and small town traditions, Heber Jesse Meeks lived it to the fullest.

CHARACTERS:
Rose Hamblin
Mason Meeks
Dalton (Dot) Meeks
Heber Jesse Meeks
Mary Jane McCleve
Dr. Priddy Meeks
Clarissa (Clara) Amanda Bowers
Senator William Henry King
Elson Riggs
Burton McAllister
Brother Pugh
Brother Heaton


LOCATIONS:
Harrisburg, Utah
Saint George, Utah
Orderville, Utah
Kanab, Utah
Bullrush, Arizona
Pipe Spring Ranch (National Monument)
Moonshine Point
Mount Trumbull
Grand Canyon

Credits:
"Dog Barking, Single, A.wav" by InspectorJ (www.jshaw.co.uk) of Freesound.org
Jules Renard, Poetry
Winston Churchill, Quote
FJ Raymond, Quote
Jeremiah Seed, Quote


Voice Talents:
Macy Heaton

Transcript

Rose Hamblin once referred to Father as “a peacemaker”. Now that didnt mean that he didnt stand his ground when needed, it just meant that dad had an honorable and delicately direct way of handling things. For example…The bottom part of the lot we lived on would sometimes be planted in alfalfa or sometimes beets, but in the fall we would turn the cows in to graze. The neighbor that lived right across the street from us on the south got so after nightfall he would turn his milk cows into our pasture. My brothers Mason and Dot came home late one night and saw the neighbors cows in there. 

“Dad, we saw the neighbors cows in your pasture last night when we got home.” “Dot and I think you should put the cows in your corral so that he has to be embarrassed by coming to ask you for them. That’ll teach him a lesson.” 

“Hmmm. That is an idea Mason. But i wonder if there isn’t a better way to deal with this that will get the same message across without causing a ruckus. It is a fine pasture for livestock, and I’m guessing the milk from that grazing makes it creamy and sweet. I dont rightly own the milk cows, but we labored to put in that pasture and water it, and he shouldn’t be taking advantage of us that way. How can we retain whats mine while reminding the neighbor that my pasture isnt free range? Ahah….Dot, Mason….I think I have an idea on how to handle this. When it happens again here’s what we’ll do…..(whispers fade away)

The next night sure enough, the cows were turned in, so dad got up real early and went down and he milked those cows. Well, you can imagine how the neighbor felt when he got his cows back to his barn and there was no milk. (Barn sounds)

(Neighbor) Hmmm thats odd. Is that all you got ol girls. Wonder if they is sickly. 

It would’ve been quite the moment when he had to splain that milkless morning to his Mrs’s.

Can you just imagine that conversation as he brought an empty milk bucket back to the house…?

(Neighbor’s Wife) “Where’s the milk dear?” 

(Neighbor) Oh um, well you see, there just wasn’t any this morning. 

(Neighbor’s Wife) “Wasnt any? Like the cows just took the night off or what?” 

(Neighbor) “I guess so…its the strangest thing, its almost as if they were…already milked…. 

(Neighbor’s Wife) Already Milked? Why would someone else milk our cows?

(Neighbor) Yeah….right?!? I dont know….Them ol girls just didnt have it in em this morning…probably just a freak thing…I’m pretty sure it wont happen again. 

(Neighbor’s Wife) Whatever you say dear….i trust you.

Anyway, those cows never showed up in our pasture again. Dad always had a subtle way of handling things. Reminds me of a poem by Jules Renard, “It doesn't pay to say too much when you are mad enough to choke. For the word that stings the deepest is the word that is never spoke, Let the other fellow wrangle till the storm has blown away, then he'll do a heap of thinking about the things you didn't say.”

Dad, whose full name is Heber Jesse Meeks, was born in Harrisburg Utah, on the 9th of May 1869, to Mary Jane McCleve and Dr. Priddy Meeks. In December of 1889, 20 years later, he married our mother Clarissa Amanda Bowers in Saint George Utah. They lived and raised their large family in the rural Utah communities of Orderville and Kanab. 

Living in the high desert mountain valleys of southern Utah gave us lots of wiggle room. And for a family of 11 kids that wiggle room was appreciated and sorely needed. We chopped a lot of wood, milked numerous cows, had a team of work horses, several saddle horses for riding, and pigs we had to slop. There were always animals to feed, troughs to fill with water, stables to clean and a summertime garden to water and weed. We all shared stewardship in caring for the farm.

I’m certainly biased, yet I felt that father had just about as perfect a relationship as a husband could have with his wife. He fondly referred to mother as Clara. (Fireplace, popcorn, kids) When we sat around the fireplace as a family he wanted mama to sit on his lap so he could put his arms around her. Oh how we would giggle and smile seeing that kind of affection between them. Mother was so beautiful and father was so tall and strong. They were a great example to us of a loving marriage that appeared to seamlessly mix fathers work away from home, Mothers work in the home, and their obvious affection for one another and making a life of function and structure for us to grow up in.

Father did a lot of things in his work and career life to make him renowned, influential and respected…even famous to some, he served in the Utah State Legislature, was a Mayor, Stake President, President of the regional Cattle Growers Association, on the board of directors of Dixie College, and Vice President of the Bank of Piute, yet… what I find most honorable of him, is of all those roles he filled in the limelight… he taught us through his actions and words that as a homemaker, mother had the ultimate career. And that all other careers existed for one purpose only – and that was to support the ultimate career and role that mother fulfilled. Mother went above and beyond in showing support for fathers work and duties as well. (Dinner’s Ready) She fed & hosted the numerous visitors that our home saw over the years. And she always made our friends welcomed in our home. 

Father didnt just express love to us with words, though he did that as well, he also showed love by inclusion and personal attention.

Father loved to sing, but singing didn’t particularly love father. There were several holes in that ol bucket that father used to carry a tune in. Thank goodness mother would occasionally join in to get us all on pitch. 

Father stood at just over 6’1” and had a strong expressive personality and was a fine speaker. While he had a good sense of humor, off color conversation wasnt something he tolerated. And somehow he found the sweet spot between integrity and unsophisticated. I refer to it at honest simple living. Father had high standards around respecting everyone…and being respected. Why Senator King had once declared that father was “the most angelic man he had ever met”. And good heavens…thats saying something about a man. 

There’s a couple of stories that really showed father’s true colors in awkward circumstances and moments of mishaps. Father just seemed to have a good temperament about things, and never lost his head or dignity over a sticky situation. 

The first story of a “mishap” nature that comes to mind is when we were out to a place called Bullrush on the Arizona Strip on one of the cattle roundups. Bullrush is south of Pipe Spring Ranch about 10 miles. The views there are 360 degrees of breathtaking with Moonshine Point to the west and the Kaibab Mountain on the East, an entire horizon of vermillion cliff layers to the north on into Utah, and Mount Trumbull & the Grand Canyon to the south. The old rock house we build kept us out of the weather at nights and made for a pretty comfy base camp for our cattle operations. There is year round run off water and catchment from the storms and snow melt in the canyon next to the corrals. Water was the pivot point for everything in the Wild West. The roundups are a time where we gather the animals to brand the calves and separate the herds. Dad was a busy man with all of his community and church duties and trusted us to be delegated most of the work with the livestock. He gave us a few days head start in gathering and managing the cattle and then drove out one morning to check on how things were going. 

“Hey Dad”

(Dad)“Boys, would you saddle me up a horse so I can look over the herd?” 

“Sure thing father. Dot, will you get that ol bay in the corner and saddle her up for father. She’s got the best natured of the bunch.”

This was in the days when the saddles had a front and back cinch. Dad mounted the horse and headed over to where the cattle were when the front cinch broke. The other cinch worked back into the horse's flanks and he started to kick up and buck and just exploded on him. Dad was an excellent rider - one of the best in the country as a young man. Regardless of his ability, a bronc rider is only as good as his cinch, right? That ol bay mare bucked right out from under the saddle. I can still see dad in my mind sitting out there in the air in that saddle with his legs straight and his feet firmly in the stirrups…Like he was riding a ghost horse. When he landed on the ground, his only comment was “well I guess you noticed I stuck with the saddle.” And he did too - he was still sitting in that ol saddle. Rode it clear to the ground he did. Thankfully Father had a good sense of humor during those unfortunate events. 

To paraphrase the applicable wisdom of Winston Churchill in moments of harmless misfortune, “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at {and missed}.”

Of course FJ Raymond had an additionally humorous take when he added to that notion by stating “Next to being shot at and missed, nothing is really quite as satisfying as an income tax refund.”

Another time…Gosh it must’ve been around the year 1899 While we were still living in Orderville, I guess I must have been around 9 or 10 years old, Dad raised a patch of oats down in the field. The binder went in and cut the grain and bound it into bundles and shucked it up to where we were hauling it to Orderville and stacking it in our stack yard. We had hauled two or three loads and was just getting the stack started good. Dad was on the wagon placing the bundles, Wilford was on one side of the wagon throwing bundles up and I was on the other side throwing bundles and driving the team. When the wagon was loaded I told Dad we were ready to go. The team started up with a jerk, and he went over backwards. One of the boards on the bottom of the hay rack was a little short and his toe caught under it. When his toe broke loose, he went somersaulting through the air and out the back of the wagon onto the ground. He got up laughing so we all thought it was quite a joke. Anyway, we took the load on up to Orderville and unloaded it then went back to get another when his foot started to pain him. It got so bad we had to take him back home and it was two weeks before he could walk on that foot again. But you know what, he never yelled at me for that mishaps. It was clearly an accident and dad let it stay as such. Clare Boothe Luce once said “happiness consists of a solid faith, good health, and a bad memory.” I believe that.

The first time I ever tried drinking was on K-day. Elson Riggs, Burton McAllister and several others and myself, had gotten together and made some malt beer. We had been drinking a little of it when we were painting the K. When we got through painting it, we went down to the High School where the girls had fixed a nice lunch with some chili and things.

That night we proceeded to drink and had had a little too much by the time the evening was over. When I went home it was one or two in the morning. I guess dad knew what was happening, anyway, it was our watering turn the next day, which was a Saturday. Dad rousted me out of bed at 5 o’clock and reminded me that it was my turn to help with the watering. I had a headache that beat anything I could remember. We went down to the field and, generally, dad would let the water run out until we had one section all soaked, then we would move on to another. My job was to watch until the water got to the end of a section then, ordinarily, I could go lay under a tree between times and rest for awhile then check to see if the water was down. This time, every time I would head for the tree, dad would yell at me to check someplace. He just kept me running all day long. I didn’t get to set down for a minute. 

Along about the middle of the afternoon, here come Brother Pugh, Brother Heaton and some of the other good brethren to let dad know that I had been drinking the night before. I saw them coming so decided I would find out what was going on. I got in the ditch and slid up through the willows to where I could hear them talking. 

They were making it easy on dad by saying “they knew I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn't been with those other boys.” 

Dad said “I don’t think you need to blame the other fellows for what Athe did, he can do his own thinking - he didn’t have to do it. 

We got through watering about four or five in the afternoon. I had a date for the dance that night, but when I got home I flopped on the bed, went to sleep and didn’t wake up until the next morning when Dad woke me up to get ready for Sunday School. 

You know, Dad never said a word to me about drinking but I definitely got the message. He was one to talk to us about things, but he never would lite into us with harsh words.

When i think of Heber Jesse Meeks, the words of Jeremiah Seed come to mind, “We must consult the gentlest manner and softest Seasons of address: Our Advice must not fall, like a violent Storm, bearing down and making that to droop, which it was meant to cherish and refresh: It must descend, as the Dew upon the tender Herb; or like melting Flakes of Snow; the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the Mind”. 

Dad just seemed to know there was a better way of raising children without losing your mind or your temper over it. I always loved him for that.