Happy Birthday Easton!!!

Hi Easton:

This is another special birthday for you. Grandma and Grandpa love you very much. You are 6 years old today so we found a story about a 6 year old boy that we thought you might like.
Peter Howard McBaride - 6 years old - Martin Handcart Company. When Peter was a little older he wrote this story about what had happened when he was 6 years old.
Peter was born May 3, 1850 in Scotland. He came to America with his family. He had four brothers and sisters. From Peter's and his sibling's writings, we pick up some of the stories of what they experienced on their heartbreaking trek across the Plains:
"We had to burn buffalo chips for wood, not a tree in sight, no wood to be found anywhere. Just dry earth and rivers. We children and the old folks would start early so we wouldn't be too far behind at night. A great many handcarts broke down, oxen strayed away, which made traveling rather slow. Quite and undertaking to get nearly one thousand persons who had never had any camping experience to travel, eat, and cook over campfires. It took much patience for the captain to get them used to settling down at night and to get started in the morning.
We saw a great many buffalo as we traveled up the Platte River. The people were forbidden to kill them, as it made the Indians angry. One time our company met three thousand Sioux Indians, all warriors and all in war paint. Our people were much frightened, fear held the whole camp in its grip as they all expected to be killed. But their fears were groundless. They told our interpreters they were going to fight the Pawnee tribes. They wouldn't hurt us because we were mostly squaws and papooses. It would be cowardly to fight us, so they let us go by.
"My baby sister and I were really hungry. Our teams gave out and died, and we were glad to eat the meat. I remember some men passed us one day and stopped to talk. They gave my baby sister some cookies. She carried them in her little pocket, and I was always with her and would tease for a bite. She would give me a taste once in a while, and it was so good. The exposure to cold, rain, snow, and ice, pushing carts all day, the scarcity of food and wood caused many strong men to die.
"My parents both became very ill. It was very difficult for this young family of children to take care of each other, as well as their sick parents, and the brunt of the responsibility fell on the two oldest siblings who were Janetta 16, and Heber 13.
On October 19, 1856, as the company crossed the Platte River for the last time, it began to snow. Peter's father made the supreme scarifice here. Even in his weakened condition, he worked all day pulling, pushing, and wading through the icy water. He made an estimated 25 trips across the river, helping to get all the people and carts across. By the next morning there was 6 inches of snow on the ground. Peter's father was so ill he could hardly sit up. "We had to travel that day through the snow and we managed to get Father into one of the wagons that morning. That was the last we saw of him alive. We only made one mile, as it began to snow very hard. When we camped the snow was getting very deep. My sister and I had to pitch our tent and get some wood. After we had made Mother as comfortable as we could, we went to try to find Father. The wind was blowing the snow so bad, we could not see anything and the wagons had not yet come into camp. It was then dark, so we did not find him that night. The next morning, the snow was about 18 inches deep, and awfully cold. While my sister was preparing our little bit of breakfast, my older brother went to look for Father. At last he found him under a wagon with snow all over him. He was stiff and dead. It felt as though my heart would burst. He was buried the next day in a common grave with 14 other men who had died.
We camped at the Sweetwater River and it was decided that we could go no further, the snow was so deep and no food. We were doomed to starvation. They gave me a bone of an ox that had died. I cut off the skin and put the bone in the fire to roast. And when it was done some big boys came and ran away with it. Then I took the skin and boiled it, drank the soup, and ate the skin, it was a good supper"
"The next day we had nothing to eat but some bark from trees. Later we had a terrible cold spell; the wind drifted so much I knew I would die. The wind blew the tent down. They all crawled out but me. The snow fell on it. I went to sleep and slept warm all night. In the morning I heard someone say, 'How many are dead in this tent?' My sister said, 'Well, my little brother must be frozen to death in that tent.' So they jerked the tent loose, sent it scurrying over the snow. My hair was frozen to the tent. I picked myself up and came out quite alive, to their surprise.
"That day we got word that some teams were coming to meet us from the Valley. Three teams came that night. No one but a person having gone through what we had suffered can imagine what a happy moment it was for this belated handcart company. Men, women, and children knelt down and thanked the Almighty God for our delivery from certain death. It put new life into all the Saints. The next day several more teams arrived, and there was room for all to ride.
"We finally arrived in Salt Lake City, November 30, 1856. All my life I have worried for fear my children might get as hungry as I was, but thank goodness they have never wanted for food.
Peters family settled in Ogden first, then later in Eden. He grew up and became the father of 22 children. He later moved with his family to Gila Valley, Arizona, where they had a 160 acre farm and he taught vocal classes at the St. Joseph Academy in Thatcher. He served in the bishopric for 20 years.
We hope you enjoyed this story Easton. Peter was just your age when he was a pioneer in a handcart. We love you very much and are happy that you had an "awesome" birthday.

Love, Grandpa and Grandma