Grandpa Edward

Today’s story is a tragedy.

As often happened in the early days of the pioneers . . .

I love the stories of my pioneer ancestors.

The things they accomplished under often harrowing circumstances. Stories of strength, patience.

Perseverance.

But their stories very often end tragically--including that of my Great-Great-Great Grandfather, Edward Tuttle.

Edward had been a baker in the town of Nauvoo, Illinois.

But when (over religious differences) he and his people were driven out in the mid-1840s, they settled in a place called Winter Quarters, Nebraska. Living, at first, in a dugout, they later moved to a small, hastily-finished house with makeshift cupboards on the wall. Cupboards that will play a significant role later . . .

In true ‘pioneer’ fashion, they carried on. Edward worked a lot with the livestock. A very necessary skill at a time when your animals could mean your survival.

Or something very different . . .

You have to know that Bulls (male cattle) can be particularly cantankerous. Living in close proximity with humans, they have more deaths to their credit than grizzly bears.

True fact.

One day, while he was working with the community’s cattle, Edward was badly gored in the abdomen by a particularly vicious specimen of the breed.

Unlike many others who had been similarly injured, he survived.

Though in considerable pain, he began to heal. A slow process.

One day in mid-August, 1847, while still in a rather delicate condition, Edward insisted on being up and around, though not capable of moving very fast.

Remember when I mentioned the cupboards and the fact that they were ‘make-shift’? That becomes significant now . . .

One of the cupboards started pulling away from the wall. Instinctively, Edward tried to catch it.

His action re-opened his terrible wound.

This second injury proved fatal.

He was buried there in Winter Quarters on August 17, 1847.

I’m grateful for every single one of the men and women who has gone before me.

Though often tragic, their experiences are inspiring.

I would love to have their strength and perseverance.

Though maybe not those actual experiences . . .

Sunday's are for ancestors. Tell me about yours!