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Christina Matilda Petersen Tyler
Born August 14, 1880
Died November 5, 1954
CHRISTINA MATILDA PETERSEN TYLER
as given at her funeral
On the 14th of August 1880, in a small log cabin nestled against the hills of beautiful Bear Lake Valley, a baby girl was born. One of God's choicest spirits arrived on earth to bless the home of Anders Christian and Nina Marie Petersen. She was the fifth child and third daughter of a family of seven children. The small settlement of Ovid, Idaho where Tillie was born was a little colony of Danish Mormon pioneers. According to the plan given them by Brigham Young, the homes were grouped together in a village, with farms surrounding the settlement. The reason for this was to have more protection from the unfriendly Indians of the territory. In spite of extreme poverty Tilda or Tillie, as she was called, was a happy child. She found pleasure in the beautiful wild flowers, which she gathered on the hillsides and in the meadows below the village. So, as soon as she was old enough to wield a spade, she saved her precious pennies for flower seeds, and had a small garden in her own front yard. Even as a little child she had a green thumb and a generous heart, and her flowers thrived and bloomed to be carried to the homes of friends and neighbors in beautiful bouquets.
There wasn't any money to buy the pretty clothes which every girl's heart treasures, but by the time she was twelve Grandma had learned to sew well and could make nice dresses for herself out of old clothes and bits of pretty material and lace which a kindly neighbor liked to save for her. She had a beautiful voice, and as a tiny child she loved to sing. She liked to tell her own children how she sang a solo in church at the age of four, but she was so shy when she faced her audience, that she had to turn her back before she could sing a note. She didn't quite overcome this shyness, so she saved her talent for her own family, singing lullabies to her babies and entertaining her older children with songs she learned in her youth. It was especially fun to hear her sing in Danish, the language of her parents.
She was ten years of age when Idaho became a state. At this time the government decided to enforce the homestead law, which meant that in order to keep their farms, the people would have to live on the land for a few years. Anders Petersen built a small house on his farm, and leaving the mother in town most of the time, he would take one of the girls out to help him do the farm work and keep him company during the long winter days when there wasn't much to do except to sit on the homestead. Grandma was usually the one to go as she was handy in all kinds of work. Everything had to be done by hand, from sowing the seed to cutting the grain with a cycle, and tying it in bunches to thresh with horse powered machinery. During the long hours in the winter her father would read Danish books to her. Reading by candle light, they would sometimes read far into the night. Sometimes they would go down to the creek and fish, catching mostly whitefish. They would salt them down in a little barrel, and take them home to the family. They had very little to eat. Most of their meals consisted of bread and coffee. Sometimes they would have mush, or bread and milk. Grandma's mother knitted their stockings out of wool, and her father made many of their shoes of wood, like the Dutch people wear. She learned to weave willow baskets, to cord wool for spinning and for quilt bats. She also learned to spin and to knit stockings, mittens, and scarves. Those days spent on the farm in such close companionship with her father were a great factor in developing her character.
There was a big pole fence out in back of their house in Ovid. The children liked to sit on this fence and watch the long strings of Indians go by, usually heading for Jackson Hole, Wyoming in the spring, and coming back in the fall. Often they would stop and ask for food, which the Petersen family always shared with them. One day as Grandma sat on the fence watching some Indians pass, she heard a twig snap behind her, and turning quickly, she saw an old squaw with hands out stretched to grab her off the fence. She jumped from the fence so frightened she could hardly speak, but she managed to say, "Hello, I didn't see you before!" Then she ran into the house and got a big slice of bread and butter and brought it out and gave it to the Indian woman, who grunted, and went back to the tribe. Another time an Indian came to the house and asked for bread. There was none in the house, so her mother hurried to make biscuits while the Indian waited. The girls stood back shyly, admiring the beads on his moccasins. He noticed them, and motioned for Annie to come over and sit on the floor in front of him. He put his foot in her lap and reached for the butcher knife. While they all held their breath, he cut the beads off of his moccasins into her lap. (When I was a young girl, she had a book called "The White Indian Boy" which she let me read, and told me the story of. Nick Wilson, the author, had a trading post type of store in Ovid. As a boy he had ran away and lived for sometime with the Indians. They frequented his place, as he remained their friend. He told Grandma and other neighborhood children many of the stories that are in this book. [Jean Bowles Warner])
Grandma received a very meager education, attending school only two or three months out of the year. She was able to finish the third grade before the time came when she was considered old enough to get out and earn her own living. When she was in her early teens she went to Montpelier to find work. She worked as a house maid first for the family of a railroad engineer, and later for Dr. Hoover. The good doctor took quite a fancy to this capable young girl, and encouraged her to become a nurse. She wasn't able to afford the training and so he taught her as much as he was able to about the nursing profession. This was a great help to her in later life, not only in caring for her own family, but also in helping friends and neighbors in times of sickness.
In 1898 she came to the Snake River Valley to make her home with her sister, Annie. That first year it was her responsibility to make the bread for the sacrament, and carry it to the little old log church. She kept the linen and the dishes clean also. This was a service which she volunteered because she saw the need of it. She often spoke of the wonderful meetings they held there. It was not long before she met Dan Tyler, and on the 12th day of June 1900 they were married in the presence of friends and relatives from all over the valley. From that day on Grandpa and Grandma were a faithful team.
Children soon came to bless their home. First, Dan M, and then Glenn. How Grandma thrilled with pride as she gathered her two little boys in her arms. Sisters soon came to join them: Hazel, Pearl, and Alice; and then in December 1910 Glenn was taken from them. Other children came to fill their home, but there could never be quite enough. Mabel, LeMond, Stuart, and Nina, were all especially welcomed, but there was always a spot that could not be filled.
Others who needed a home from time to time always found a place with Grandma and Grandpa Tyler, even if it meant making beds all over the house. There always seemed to be room for one more. (Uncle Charles Tyler made his home with them following the death of his mother. The relationship he had with my mother was much like that of an older brother. [Jean] Relatives often sent their children to spend the summers on the farm. She never complained about the extra work. It was always good to have a full house.
In March 1913 they took their family and journeyed to Salt Lake City to have their marriage sealed for time and eternity. What a wonderful trip that was: four eager youngsters who had never been on a train before! How many questions they could ask! The hotel was a marvelous place with electric lights and running water! The 'Merry Widow' was playing at the Opera House, and they took the whole family to see it. Questions and still more questions, but not once did either of them lose their patience. There was a 'Five and Dime' store where they all went shopping. And some of them still treasure the souvenirs they purchased there that spring. Mabel was born two months later.
They built the new home with big living rooms and large windows, the window sills were designed especially to hold Grandma's beloved house plants. Hers was an especially green thumb, and her flowers were always a riot of color. One stormy night a traveler carried his sick wife in, and a bed was set up for her in the dining room. Upon awakening in the morning, she looked around at the beautiful flowers, and asked, "Is this heaven?" Grandma's home in Ririe is still filled with flowers, and they still remind one of heaven and of her.
She walked by faith as few people do. There was no wavering in the prayers she offered, and she accepted whatever came her way as His will. Many times she felt that she was prompted by a guardian angel, and she never hesitated to act upon these promptings. Once, when Pearl was a baby, she heard a voice urgently command her to get the baby. She dropped the work in her hands and ran to where Pearl was playing, just in time to snatch her away as a ton or so of clover seed, which was stored in sacks, collapsed on the spot where the baby sat.
Another time she felt she must go to a neighbor's house. She didn't have time to go--she was so busy, but the feeling was so strong that she started out without even changing her apron. She had gone only a short distance when she found the neighbor's baby floating in the ditch. With the help of her brother-in-law, Oliver Robinson, she applied artificial respiration, and in a few minutes returned the baby, now breathing normally, to it's mother, thankful that she had listened to the still small voice.
There are many other stories I could tell of her sublime faith, but let it be sufficient to say that she trusted her Savior implicitly for care and guidance. Once she laid a problem before Him, she felt it was mockery to ask again. He knew her need, and if it were His will, everything would turn out all right. Otherwise it was up to her to make the best of things as they were.
She was a visiting teacher in the Relief Society for many years, and as such she truly magnified her calling. She kept track of all her district, and ministered to the needs of the poor and sick as if they were her very own. She assisted with new born babies, and helped to prepare the bodies of their dead for burial, in a era before we learned to depend upon doctors and undertakers. I think it was George Robinson who used to call her Dr. Tyler.
It was a sight well worth remembering when she and Sister Hill went Relief Society teaching or to a meeting. They drove a team of balky mules that belonged to the Hills. Many times they would be seen, Grandma sitting calmly on the board seat, holding the reigns, and Sister Hill wielding a stick from her position, on her knees in the front of the buck board. I don't know how they did it, but somehow or other, they persuaded those mules to take them places for years.
She ruled her family by love rather than force. She expected the best of her teenagers, and of course they could never let her down. I don't believe she ever waited up for one of her children. That, she felt, would imply distrust. But, always, after a dance or a party, they would go to her room and visit for awhile before going to bed.
Her door was always open, and her cookie jar always full. Boys and girls just knew she was their friend. Even since she moved to Ririe (1947) she has had a host of young visitors. There were always toys and games to play at Grandma Tyler's.
Grandma never wasted anything. Her winters were spent sewing--making things over to fit her children, sewing carpet rags, and crocheting them into rugs, knitting mittens, and the stacks of quilts she used to make--carding her own wool.
Her grocery bill was never high, as she made her own soap, cheese, butter, and raised chickens, and had their eggs. Always she would take her eggs and good fresh butter to the store to trade for the necessary things. She canned beautifully, even peas, with no pressure cooker. The old timers will recall her special live yeast, which she freely gave starts of to people all over the valley. She was a wonderful cook. Her pies were excellent, her fruit cakes, cream puffs, cookies, and bread--always good. Oh yes, and her ice cream! There were so many things, we just can't mention all.
She always told us never to throw away anything, as much as a little bird would open it's mouth for. Even after she moved to Ririe, and had no cat or dog, she kept a little pan out by the lilac bush, in which she put all the edible scraps from her table, and the neighbor's cats and dogs would come and eat.
Her hands were never idle. The last few years when she could no longer get around, she knit hot pads, and crocheted pin cushions, for her friends. (She crocheted little bibs for the first baby each grandchild expected) Always, she treasured her friends.
By 1947, their family was all married, and had homes and families of their own, and Grandpa's health was beginning to fail. So, they sold the farm, and moved to Ririe. Summers they spent on the cattle ranch near Mack's Inn, and grandma's flowers always went with them. She was always starting new plants to give away, or to replace the old one that someone had admired so much that they found themselves carrying it away with them.
This spring (1954) she started new plants as usual, and had given away the large ones. Her things were all packed to go the ranch when Grandpa became ill. That was the last of May. His condition became steadily worse, and she was constantly at his bedside, until the morning of July 28, 1954, when he was called home. She stayed behind to gather up a few loose ends, always confident that she could soon be with him. After all, didn't her patriarchal blessing promise that she would live as long as life was desirable? And life without her beloved companion was no longer desirable.
It was a kind and just Heavenly Father who granted to her a release from her suffering, and called her home on the morning of November 5, 1954, which she could be reunited with Grandpa once again.