James Franklin Jensen met Laura Estella Whitmill, the daughter of Henry Roland Whitmill and Luna Estella Searle, before he went on his mission. After his return they were married 6 September 1899 in the LDS Logan Temple. Laura was born 22 April 1880 at Salt Lake City, Utah. She was baptized 12 August 1888 by Bishop A. 0. Inglestrum and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by John Amor. She was a small pretty woman, who took pride in her appearance, so was always clean and neat.
Their first child, a son, was born 22 July 1900 at Basalt, Idaho. He was named James Roland Jensen. He must have been a special child as they were only allowed to have him for a short while. He died 12 December 1900.
They were blessed with a baby girl 23 March 1902. She was named Roxie Estella. Roxie after Eliza Roxie Snow. Two more sons were born to them; Melvin Ernest born 12 August 1904 and Mark Franklin, born 20 October 1906.
Laura suffered from asthma and died at the tender age of almost 29 with pneumonia. She died 21 February 1909, leaving her husband with three small children.
(The following is an excerpt from the auto biography of Laura's daughter, Roxie - "One Grain of Sand". This is what she remembered about her mother's death.)
Pa was very busy conditioning all his farm work in the month of January 1909. This was because he was going to Beaver, a town in southern Utah, to do some prospecting. He had previously found several pieces of ore down there, and he wanted to go back. Our window sills were decorated with these lumps of rock with sparkling, glistening "lights" shining out of them. Gold or silver, I knew not what it was, but Pa had dreams of finding something of value.
It was very cold that February while he was gone and a blizzard blew snow madly through the air. Ma's brothers, Lee, Seymour and John, came over and did all the outdoor chores, yet there was still a lot for Ma to do.
I was only a month from my seventh birthday while he was gone. Just a few days after he left, Ma choked up with asthma. She soon began taking severe chills. Someone called Dr. Cutler in Shelley on Grandma's telephone. He came as fast as he could, but on a winter day when snow was deep and blowing and riding in a buggy, it took a long time for him to make the trip.
Grandma and several relatives were already there, whispering and buzzing around, doing what they could. Grandma's eyes were red from loss of sleep and worry. My Ma at this time was putting forth great effort just to breathe.
"She has pneumonia," Dr. Cutler announced. "Better get James Frank back home as fast as you can " A telegram was sent immediately and they were fortunate enough to reach him. He boarded the first train home.
I stood resting my head against the frosty window pane while the doctor was still there and was so frightened that I began to cry. Dr. Cutler came over to me and asked, "Why are you crying, Roxie?"
I said, "Don't let my Ma die I'm so afraid she will die " I clung onto his trousers looking up into his face, pleading for him to make her well. The tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Now don't you cry anymore, my dear. Your Ma isn't going to die. She will get well in just a few days," he assured me.
We had a big collie dog named Rover and the next evening he was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the wooden platform in front of our kitchen door. He began howling like a lost wolf when the door suddenly burst open and Pa came rushing in. He knelt down by Ma's bedside. She was laboring and fighting for every breath. I stood at the foot of the bed with my feet on the old iron bedstead, watching her constantly. Pa gently put his arms around her and tears began blurring his eyes.
"Oh, Laurie . . . my dear, dear wife. I love you so . . . I'm home now, and I'll never go and leave you alone again," he sobbed.
I was watching. I saw her head drop, her eyes roll up into her head and she turned awfully white. Pa went all to pieces and kept crying and saying, "Don't leave me, Laurie. Don't leave me, please . . ."
When I realized that my Ma had died [February 21, 1909], I cried so hard that Grandma had to pry me from the bedstead and take me out into the kitchen. She sat down in a rocking chair and took me in her arms where we both wept tears of deep fruitless longing while she tried to comfort me.
"Oh, Grandma What will we do now? We can't live without Ma We will all die Oh Grandma, I want my Ma " I was frantically crying.
Grandma tried to console me, "Now, baby, of course you won't die What do you think grandmas are for? You have lots of aunts and uncles and most of all a grandma and grandpa who love you very much. We will take care of you and Mark and Melvin."
She took the three of us over to her house and put us to bed, and then went back to sit up with Pa and help take care of my Ma. I cried until I was utterly exhausted and then fell into a deep sleep.
Several days later I rode to the funeral at the Mormon Church at Basalt with Grandpa and Grandma in their white-topped buggy. Basalt was a tiny town just three miles from our farm. It was cold and windy and the wheels sunk deep into the drifting snow. Grandma heated flat irons on the stove and wrapped them in gunny sacks to put at our feet and wrapped quilts around us which helped to keep us warmer. I walked in the procession into the chapel clinging onto her hand. She loved me so much and would say with quivering lips many times that I looked just like my Ma when she was a little girl. I don't remember who spoke or sang at the service. All I do recall is that the church was packed with people and that at the end of the funeral they opened up the coffin and everyone passed by to take one last look at my beautiful Ma. Grandma gently lifted me up so I could kiss her goodbye, and I'll never forget the feeling I had when I felt her hard, cold lips against mine. After that experience, I repulsed at the idea of kissing anyone who had died. I just wanted to take a last look, but never would I touch or kiss them, for it gave me no comfort.
I stood up shivering in the buggy while they lowered my Ma into the grave at the Basalt Cemetery. But when I saw the men shoveling big hard clods of frozen dirt and rocks down on top of her coffin, I thought my heart would break It was so very cold and wet that day and there was such a piercing wind, I felt like I couldn't stand to see them do such a terrible thing to her. I screamed and screamed so loud that Grandma had to climb up into the buggy. She took me gently into her embrace, trying desperately to calm and comfort me in my inconsolable grief And I could feel her body shaking with her own pain and anguish as I clung to her, while she silently begged God for strength.
Somehow we managed through the chill of the remainder of that winter. Nature with her paintbrush ushered in the new spring season restoring new life all around us. Grandma, May, Bell or one of our other aunts, proved their devotion and love by coming over to clean up our house, bake our bread and try to fill the empty place in our lives with our Ma gone.
God in his mercy understands how to heal the wounds and the silent pain of broken hearts and souls. Although we do not forget, He gives us the strength and courage to go on and face each new day as it comes.
Their first child, a son, was born 22 July 1900 at Basalt, Idaho. He was named James Roland Jensen. He must have been a special child as they were only allowed to have him for a short while. He died 12 December 1900.
They were blessed with a baby girl 23 March 1902. She was named Roxie Estella. Roxie after Eliza Roxie Snow. Two more sons were born to them; Melvin Ernest born 12 August 1904 and Mark Franklin, born 20 October 1906.
Laura suffered from asthma and died at the tender age of almost 29 with pneumonia. She died 21 February 1909, leaving her husband with three small children.
(The following is an excerpt from the auto biography of Laura's daughter, Roxie - "One Grain of Sand". This is what she remembered about her mother's death.)
Pa was very busy conditioning all his farm work in the month of January 1909. This was because he was going to Beaver, a town in southern Utah, to do some prospecting. He had previously found several pieces of ore down there, and he wanted to go back. Our window sills were decorated with these lumps of rock with sparkling, glistening "lights" shining out of them. Gold or silver, I knew not what it was, but Pa had dreams of finding something of value.
It was very cold that February while he was gone and a blizzard blew snow madly through the air. Ma's brothers, Lee, Seymour and John, came over and did all the outdoor chores, yet there was still a lot for Ma to do.
I was only a month from my seventh birthday while he was gone. Just a few days after he left, Ma choked up with asthma. She soon began taking severe chills. Someone called Dr. Cutler in Shelley on Grandma's telephone. He came as fast as he could, but on a winter day when snow was deep and blowing and riding in a buggy, it took a long time for him to make the trip.
Grandma and several relatives were already there, whispering and buzzing around, doing what they could. Grandma's eyes were red from loss of sleep and worry. My Ma at this time was putting forth great effort just to breathe.
"She has pneumonia," Dr. Cutler announced. "Better get James Frank back home as fast as you can " A telegram was sent immediately and they were fortunate enough to reach him. He boarded the first train home.
I stood resting my head against the frosty window pane while the doctor was still there and was so frightened that I began to cry. Dr. Cutler came over to me and asked, "Why are you crying, Roxie?"
I said, "Don't let my Ma die I'm so afraid she will die " I clung onto his trousers looking up into his face, pleading for him to make her well. The tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Now don't you cry anymore, my dear. Your Ma isn't going to die. She will get well in just a few days," he assured me.
We had a big collie dog named Rover and the next evening he was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the wooden platform in front of our kitchen door. He began howling like a lost wolf when the door suddenly burst open and Pa came rushing in. He knelt down by Ma's bedside. She was laboring and fighting for every breath. I stood at the foot of the bed with my feet on the old iron bedstead, watching her constantly. Pa gently put his arms around her and tears began blurring his eyes.
"Oh, Laurie . . . my dear, dear wife. I love you so . . . I'm home now, and I'll never go and leave you alone again," he sobbed.
I was watching. I saw her head drop, her eyes roll up into her head and she turned awfully white. Pa went all to pieces and kept crying and saying, "Don't leave me, Laurie. Don't leave me, please . . ."
When I realized that my Ma had died [February 21, 1909], I cried so hard that Grandma had to pry me from the bedstead and take me out into the kitchen. She sat down in a rocking chair and took me in her arms where we both wept tears of deep fruitless longing while she tried to comfort me.
"Oh, Grandma What will we do now? We can't live without Ma We will all die Oh Grandma, I want my Ma " I was frantically crying.
Grandma tried to console me, "Now, baby, of course you won't die What do you think grandmas are for? You have lots of aunts and uncles and most of all a grandma and grandpa who love you very much. We will take care of you and Mark and Melvin."
She took the three of us over to her house and put us to bed, and then went back to sit up with Pa and help take care of my Ma. I cried until I was utterly exhausted and then fell into a deep sleep.
Several days later I rode to the funeral at the Mormon Church at Basalt with Grandpa and Grandma in their white-topped buggy. Basalt was a tiny town just three miles from our farm. It was cold and windy and the wheels sunk deep into the drifting snow. Grandma heated flat irons on the stove and wrapped them in gunny sacks to put at our feet and wrapped quilts around us which helped to keep us warmer. I walked in the procession into the chapel clinging onto her hand. She loved me so much and would say with quivering lips many times that I looked just like my Ma when she was a little girl. I don't remember who spoke or sang at the service. All I do recall is that the church was packed with people and that at the end of the funeral they opened up the coffin and everyone passed by to take one last look at my beautiful Ma. Grandma gently lifted me up so I could kiss her goodbye, and I'll never forget the feeling I had when I felt her hard, cold lips against mine. After that experience, I repulsed at the idea of kissing anyone who had died. I just wanted to take a last look, but never would I touch or kiss them, for it gave me no comfort.
I stood up shivering in the buggy while they lowered my Ma into the grave at the Basalt Cemetery. But when I saw the men shoveling big hard clods of frozen dirt and rocks down on top of her coffin, I thought my heart would break It was so very cold and wet that day and there was such a piercing wind, I felt like I couldn't stand to see them do such a terrible thing to her. I screamed and screamed so loud that Grandma had to climb up into the buggy. She took me gently into her embrace, trying desperately to calm and comfort me in my inconsolable grief And I could feel her body shaking with her own pain and anguish as I clung to her, while she silently begged God for strength.
Somehow we managed through the chill of the remainder of that winter. Nature with her paintbrush ushered in the new spring season restoring new life all around us. Grandma, May, Bell or one of our other aunts, proved their devotion and love by coming over to clean up our house, bake our bread and try to fill the empty place in our lives with our Ma gone.
God in his mercy understands how to heal the wounds and the silent pain of broken hearts and souls. Although we do not forget, He gives us the strength and courage to go on and face each new day as it comes.
James Franklin Jensen met Laura Estella Whitmill, the daughter of Henry Roland Whitmill and Luna Estella Searle, before he went on his mission. After his return they were married 6 September 1899 in the LDS Logan Temple. Laura was born 22 April 1880 at Salt Lake City, Utah. She was baptized 12 August 1888 by Bishop A. 0. Inglestrum and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by John Amor. She was a small pretty woman, who took pride in her appearance, so was always clean and neat.
Their first child, a son, was born 22 July 1900 at Basalt, Idaho. He was named James Roland Jensen. He must have been a special child as they were only allowed to have him for a short while. He died 12 December 1900.
They were blessed with a baby girl 23 March 1902. She was named Roxie Estella. Roxie after Eliza Roxie Snow. Two more sons were born to them; Melvin Ernest born 12 August 1904 and Mark Franklin, born 20 October 1906.
Laura suffered from asthma and died at the tender age of almost 29 with pneumonia. She died 21 February 1909, leaving her husband with three small children.
(The following is an excerpt from the auto biography of Laura's daughter, Roxie - "One Grain of Sand". This is what she remembered about her mother's death.)
Pa was very busy conditioning all his farm work in the month of January 1909. This was because he was going to Beaver, a town in southern Utah, to do some prospecting. He had previously found several pieces of ore down there, and he wanted to go back. Our window sills were decorated with these lumps of rock with sparkling, glistening "lights" shining out of them. Gold or silver, I knew not what it was, but Pa had dreams of finding something of value.
It was very cold that February while he was gone and a blizzard blew snow madly through the air. Ma's brothers, Lee, Seymour and John, came over and did all the outdoor chores, yet there was still a lot for Ma to do.
I was only a month from my seventh birthday while he was gone. Just a few days after he left, Ma choked up with asthma. She soon began taking severe chills. Someone called Dr. Cutler in Shelley on Grandma's telephone. He came as fast as he could, but on a winter day when snow was deep and blowing and riding in a buggy, it took a long time for him to make the trip.
Grandma and several relatives were already there, whispering and buzzing around, doing what they could. Grandma's eyes were red from loss of sleep and worry. My Ma at this time was putting forth great effort just to breathe.
"She has pneumonia," Dr. Cutler announced. "Better get James Frank back home as fast as you can " A telegram was sent immediately and they were fortunate enough to reach him. He boarded the first train home.
I stood resting my head against the frosty window pane while the doctor was still there and was so frightened that I began to cry. Dr. Cutler came over to me and asked, "Why are you crying, Roxie?"
I said, "Don't let my Ma die I'm so afraid she will die " I clung onto his trousers looking up into his face, pleading for him to make her well. The tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Now don't you cry anymore, my dear. Your Ma isn't going to die. She will get well in just a few days," he assured me.
We had a big collie dog named Rover and the next evening he was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the wooden platform in front of our kitchen door. He began howling like a lost wolf when the door suddenly burst open and Pa came rushing in. He knelt down by Ma's bedside. She was laboring and fighting for every breath. I stood at the foot of the bed with my feet on the old iron bedstead, watching her constantly. Pa gently put his arms around her and tears began blurring his eyes.
"Oh, Laurie . . . my dear, dear wife. I love you so . . . I'm home now, and I'll never go and leave you alone again," he sobbed.
I was watching. I saw her head drop, her eyes roll up into her head and she turned awfully white. Pa went all to pieces and kept crying and saying, "Don't leave me, Laurie. Don't leave me, please . . ."
When I realized that my Ma had died [February 21, 1909], I cried so hard that Grandma had to pry me from the bedstead and take me out into the kitchen. She sat down in a rocking chair and took me in her arms where we both wept tears of deep fruitless longing while she tried to comfort me.
"Oh, Grandma What will we do now? We can't live without Ma We will all die Oh Grandma, I want my Ma " I was frantically crying.
Grandma tried to console me, "Now, baby, of course you won't die What do you think grandmas are for? You have lots of aunts and uncles and most of all a grandma and grandpa who love you very much. We will take care of you and Mark and Melvin."
She took the three of us over to her house and put us to bed, and then went back to sit up with Pa and help take care of my Ma. I cried until I was utterly exhausted and then fell into a deep sleep.
Several days later I rode to the funeral at the Mormon Church at Basalt with Grandpa and Grandma in their white-topped buggy. Basalt was a tiny town just three miles from our farm. It was cold and windy and the wheels sunk deep into the drifting snow. Grandma heated flat irons on the stove and wrapped them in gunny sacks to put at our feet and wrapped quilts around us which helped to keep us warmer. I walked in the procession into the chapel clinging onto her hand. She loved me so much and would say with quivering lips many times that I looked just like my Ma when she was a little girl. I don't remember who spoke or sang at the service. All I do recall is that the church was packed with people and that at the end of the funeral they opened up the coffin and everyone passed by to take one last look at my beautiful Ma. Grandma gently lifted me up so I could kiss her goodbye, and I'll never forget the feeling I had when I felt her hard, cold lips against mine. After that experience, I repulsed at the idea of kissing anyone who had died. I just wanted to take a last look, but never would I touch or kiss them, for it gave me no comfort.
I stood up shivering in the buggy while they lowered my Ma into the grave at the Basalt Cemetery. But when I saw the men shoveling big hard clods of frozen dirt and rocks down on top of her coffin, I thought my heart would break It was so very cold and wet that day and there was such a piercing wind, I felt like I couldn't stand to see them do such a terrible thing to her. I screamed and screamed so loud that Grandma had to climb up into the buggy. She took me gently into her embrace, trying desperately to calm and comfort me in my inconsolable grief And I could feel her body shaking with her own pain and anguish as I clung to her, while she silently begged God for strength.
Somehow we managed through the chill of the remainder of that winter. Nature with her paintbrush ushered in the new spring season restoring new life all around us. Grandma, May, Bell or one of our other aunts, proved their devotion and love by coming over to clean up our house, bake our bread and try to fill the empty place in our lives with our Ma gone.
God in his mercy understands how to heal the wounds and the silent pain of broken hearts and souls. Although we do not forget, He gives us the strength and courage to go on and face each new day as it comes.
Their first child, a son, was born 22 July 1900 at Basalt, Idaho. He was named James Roland Jensen. He must have been a special child as they were only allowed to have him for a short while. He died 12 December 1900.
They were blessed with a baby girl 23 March 1902. She was named Roxie Estella. Roxie after Eliza Roxie Snow. Two more sons were born to them; Melvin Ernest born 12 August 1904 and Mark Franklin, born 20 October 1906.
Laura suffered from asthma and died at the tender age of almost 29 with pneumonia. She died 21 February 1909, leaving her husband with three small children.
(The following is an excerpt from the auto biography of Laura's daughter, Roxie - "One Grain of Sand". This is what she remembered about her mother's death.)
Pa was very busy conditioning all his farm work in the month of January 1909. This was because he was going to Beaver, a town in southern Utah, to do some prospecting. He had previously found several pieces of ore down there, and he wanted to go back. Our window sills were decorated with these lumps of rock with sparkling, glistening "lights" shining out of them. Gold or silver, I knew not what it was, but Pa had dreams of finding something of value.
It was very cold that February while he was gone and a blizzard blew snow madly through the air. Ma's brothers, Lee, Seymour and John, came over and did all the outdoor chores, yet there was still a lot for Ma to do.
I was only a month from my seventh birthday while he was gone. Just a few days after he left, Ma choked up with asthma. She soon began taking severe chills. Someone called Dr. Cutler in Shelley on Grandma's telephone. He came as fast as he could, but on a winter day when snow was deep and blowing and riding in a buggy, it took a long time for him to make the trip.
Grandma and several relatives were already there, whispering and buzzing around, doing what they could. Grandma's eyes were red from loss of sleep and worry. My Ma at this time was putting forth great effort just to breathe.
"She has pneumonia," Dr. Cutler announced. "Better get James Frank back home as fast as you can " A telegram was sent immediately and they were fortunate enough to reach him. He boarded the first train home.
I stood resting my head against the frosty window pane while the doctor was still there and was so frightened that I began to cry. Dr. Cutler came over to me and asked, "Why are you crying, Roxie?"
I said, "Don't let my Ma die I'm so afraid she will die " I clung onto his trousers looking up into his face, pleading for him to make her well. The tears were streaming down my cheeks.
"Now don't you cry anymore, my dear. Your Ma isn't going to die. She will get well in just a few days," he assured me.
We had a big collie dog named Rover and the next evening he was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the wooden platform in front of our kitchen door. He began howling like a lost wolf when the door suddenly burst open and Pa came rushing in. He knelt down by Ma's bedside. She was laboring and fighting for every breath. I stood at the foot of the bed with my feet on the old iron bedstead, watching her constantly. Pa gently put his arms around her and tears began blurring his eyes.
"Oh, Laurie . . . my dear, dear wife. I love you so . . . I'm home now, and I'll never go and leave you alone again," he sobbed.
I was watching. I saw her head drop, her eyes roll up into her head and she turned awfully white. Pa went all to pieces and kept crying and saying, "Don't leave me, Laurie. Don't leave me, please . . ."
When I realized that my Ma had died [February 21, 1909], I cried so hard that Grandma had to pry me from the bedstead and take me out into the kitchen. She sat down in a rocking chair and took me in her arms where we both wept tears of deep fruitless longing while she tried to comfort me.
"Oh, Grandma What will we do now? We can't live without Ma We will all die Oh Grandma, I want my Ma " I was frantically crying.
Grandma tried to console me, "Now, baby, of course you won't die What do you think grandmas are for? You have lots of aunts and uncles and most of all a grandma and grandpa who love you very much. We will take care of you and Mark and Melvin."
She took the three of us over to her house and put us to bed, and then went back to sit up with Pa and help take care of my Ma. I cried until I was utterly exhausted and then fell into a deep sleep.
Several days later I rode to the funeral at the Mormon Church at Basalt with Grandpa and Grandma in their white-topped buggy. Basalt was a tiny town just three miles from our farm. It was cold and windy and the wheels sunk deep into the drifting snow. Grandma heated flat irons on the stove and wrapped them in gunny sacks to put at our feet and wrapped quilts around us which helped to keep us warmer. I walked in the procession into the chapel clinging onto her hand. She loved me so much and would say with quivering lips many times that I looked just like my Ma when she was a little girl. I don't remember who spoke or sang at the service. All I do recall is that the church was packed with people and that at the end of the funeral they opened up the coffin and everyone passed by to take one last look at my beautiful Ma. Grandma gently lifted me up so I could kiss her goodbye, and I'll never forget the feeling I had when I felt her hard, cold lips against mine. After that experience, I repulsed at the idea of kissing anyone who had died. I just wanted to take a last look, but never would I touch or kiss them, for it gave me no comfort.
I stood up shivering in the buggy while they lowered my Ma into the grave at the Basalt Cemetery. But when I saw the men shoveling big hard clods of frozen dirt and rocks down on top of her coffin, I thought my heart would break It was so very cold and wet that day and there was such a piercing wind, I felt like I couldn't stand to see them do such a terrible thing to her. I screamed and screamed so loud that Grandma had to climb up into the buggy. She took me gently into her embrace, trying desperately to calm and comfort me in my inconsolable grief And I could feel her body shaking with her own pain and anguish as I clung to her, while she silently begged God for strength.
Somehow we managed through the chill of the remainder of that winter. Nature with her paintbrush ushered in the new spring season restoring new life all around us. Grandma, May, Bell or one of our other aunts, proved their devotion and love by coming over to clean up our house, bake our bread and try to fill the empty place in our lives with our Ma gone.
God in his mercy understands how to heal the wounds and the silent pain of broken hearts and souls. Although we do not forget, He gives us the strength and courage to go on and face each new day as it comes.
Inscription
(1)Wife of James F Jensen. Age 29 yrs. Like a flower she passed away, A voice we loved is stilled. (2)With true love & faithfulness, Thou our home did truly bless.
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