William Henry Facer--My Grandpa

I love having memories of things I never experienced.

Two of the sweetest memories in this category are about my Grandfather--William Henry Facer. On one occasion he came to Missouri to visit my parents. I was either on my mission or perhaps just already on my way in life. Mom told me about taking Grandpa to see Maramec Spring, one of our favorite places in all the world. Maramec Spring (which we always called Maramec Springs) was prolific in its giving of water--about 93,000,000 gallons a day average flow (I remember that amount because it was a very similar number to the distance the earth is from the sun). Everything about this place was delightful--the pristine setting, the trout hatchery, the beautifully-kept park, the fabulous fishing, the perfectly-groomed trail, the playgrounds and old ironworks. Now Grandpa was born in Willard, Utah, a small, dry Northern Utah town that sat at the base of the mountains. Water was hard to come by there for the life of a farmer. Mom and Grandpa took a walk on the beautiful trail that goes around this spectacular spring that bubbles up from deep within the earth with crystal-clear, cold water. At one point, and Grandpa must have been in his late 80's, he stopped, just starring at the immense spring, and he said, "Imagine a desert boy like me seeing a scene like this." I love that memory.

One other memory I love came from a conversation I had with my precious Uncle Norman, my Mother's youngest brother. Norman came to Mom's house one day in Provo and I happened to be there so we sat down at the table in the kitchen and just talked for a while. I was asking Norman about some of his memories of growing up and his time in Star Valley, Wyoming. I have never been to the ranch there that they called "Rocky Acres." He was telling me that farming there was really tough, mainly due to the unpredictable weather and the rugged landscape with fairly poor soil (hence the name Rocky Acres). He said, almost casually, "But Grandpa and Grandma's crops were always a few inches taller than the farms nearby." I said, "Do you know why that was the case?" He said, "I know exactly why." My attention was rivoted upon Norman. "There was a little spot of ground at the knoll of a hill that looked over a lot of the spread. I used to watch Grandpa and Grandma go out there and kneel in prayer and plead with the Lord that He would bless their crops and increase their harvest. That's why the crops were taller." The Spirit was so strong as Norman told me about his parents we were both in tears. That memory was indelibly inscribed in my mind, though I was not an eyewitness and though I have never been to Rocky Acres, I claim that memory as part of my earth-life experience. It was one of the sweetest experiences of my life--and certainly the dearest I ever had with Uncle Norman. This is my heritage and the "faith of my fathers."