This first story was actually printed in our church's children's Friend Magazine back in July of 1997. I only recently learned about this story from my Aunt Sally and thought it would be fun to share. Note: I am a descendant of David Cannon, but not through his wife Wilhelmina.
Shortly after the
pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley, a young man named David Cannon
brought his wife, Wilhelmina, to southern Utah to help start a
settlement. Wilhelmina, or “Willie” as she was called, was not at all
happy. She hated the hot, dry desert, and cried constantly. She pleaded
with her husband to take her back east, where plants and trees grew more
easily and the weather was more moderate.
“Everything is
so ugly here,” she complained. “If you can show me just one beautiful
thing in this place, I will make myself content and stop complaining.”
David went up
into the mountains and returned with a beautiful three-petaled blossom
with delicate colors. Willie honestly admitted to both David and herself
that it was indeed a thing of beauty. She never again complained but
went to work with her husband to make a productive farm and lovely home
in the St. George area, where they lived for many years.
Amazingly, the
same kind of plant that inspired one discouraged pioneer with its
blossom, saved the lives of countless others with its nutritious roots.
It was the sego lily.
In 1846, when
wagon trains were being formed at Winter Quarters, the Saints were told
to bring along provisions to last for eighteen months. Some did, but
most just brought what they had or what they could afford to buy. When
they arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, most of the pioneers had little or
no food. They had been without sugar and flour for months; their few
other provisions had also been used up on the long trip across the
plains. Many were reduced to eating whatever they could find—crows,
rabbits, wolves. One settler wrote that he made soup from water and a
piece of animal hide! They had arrived too late in the season to plant
enough crops, and they faced a long winter of cold and bitter weather
with empty stomachs.
Fortunately,
friendly Native Americans lived in the area, and they helped the
pioneers find food that was already there, including the sego lily,
which had a bulblike root, something like a radish. The Indians showed
the pioneers how to dig, cook, and preserve these roots.
It took a lot of sego lilies to make a meal for a family.
Although most of the root bulbs were about the size of a large marble,
some were only as big as green peas! Some people said that the sego lily
roots tasted like a turnip, and they were apparently better when
freshly prepared. One pioneer wrote in her journal that when the cooked
bulbs cooled, they became thick and stringy and looked like wallpaper
paste!
Some people
ground the roots and mixed them with corn meal or flour, if they had it.
When they had more than they needed for immediate use, they hung the
roots to dry, or stored them in a cellar for later use.
The bulbs had
to be dug up with a sharpened stick or a knife. It was backbreaking
work, but in those first few years, it meant the difference between
surviving and starving. Brigham Young said many times that the pioneers
would never have lived through that terrible first winter if it had not
been for the sego lilies. Eventually wheat and corn were grown, and
supply trains came from the east. But in the meanwhile, the sego lily
was truly a heaven-sent source of food.
For many
people, the sego lily came to symbolize the qualities of the pioneers
themselves. It could survive in poor soil with very little water and
still produce a beautiful flower and a life-giving root. It was hardy
and tough and grew with no care or attention.
While not
nearly as plentiful as it was in pioneer days, the sego lily is still
found in some valleys and foothills throughout the area that was once
known as the Utah Territory, which includes all of present-day Utah and
Idaho, and parts of Nevada, Wyoming, and Arizona.
In 1911, the
Utah Legislature formally designated the sego lily as the state flower.
This was a fitting gesture of respect for the humble plant that was
literally a lifesaver to the Latter-day Saint pioneers.
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