While I was about 6-7 years old, we lived in our second home while my dad built our third home.

This was a busy time for my dad. He would work all day long and then  come home and work on the house until it was dark, sometimes he would work until after dark. I have no idea how he did it. How he came up with the drive to go and go like that, but he did. He did the majority of the work by himself. In his personal history, my dad said that he had help from the Elders Quorum (church group) putting up the huge 30 foot beams, no cranes were available to help lift them into place.

I remember missing my dad while he built this home, because it felt like he was always gone. Our second home was just down the hill from where my dad was building, and I remember before I went to bed looking up the hill and seeing the light on, knowing that he was still working so hard. My mama was always holding down the fort. She was the one who was always there, and supporting my dad and his dream of building a home himself. I have wonderful parents then, and now.

Finally, we were able to move in. It was such a nice home. It had beautiful fireplaces made with used bricks. Some of the walls were made with old barn wood. It was very beautiful and unique. It was a solid, well built home that had so much of my dads time and love in it.

The most fond memory I have from living in that house was that there was a creek across the street. No other homes nearby. I would spend hours there, playing by the creek. I was alone a lot, there were only a few friends, and they were not close by. I don’t mind being by myself for periods of time even now, and I’m thankful for my time alone there.

I will always look back on my time in our third home with happy memories and a love and respect for my parents who sacrificed so much for our family.