David Robert Horsley and Emma Holden Horsley

By Barbara Janet Sayre Jensen

I remember when my brother, Virgil and I took our turn at visiting the Grandparents for a week or two during the summer in Fontana, California. They lived in a brick home built by my grandfather, a bricklayer. It wasn’t a red brick house but a mottled beige and brown brick. They lived in the garage while the house was being built. They had a small garden with grapes near the garage and beehives. Near the unpaved driveway were olive trees. Grandma bottled the olives but always warned us that right off the tree they were poisonous. Across the street was an orange grove, and at the back of the lot was a huge chicken pen with separations making about three chicken runs.

I remember Grandpa showing me how to reach under the chicken to get the eggs. They were gathered twice each day. Behind the chicken coups through he windbreak was a vineyard. We kids would sneak some dark red wine grapes when no one was looking.

I remember Grandma would feed us carrot sticks between meals, also “cookies” which to her were graham crackers with powdered sugar icing between them. The kitchen stove, I have never the likes of seen anywhere else. It ran on liquid gas. The icebox was an ice-box cooled by ice brought by the iceman.

I remember the little egg-cup my Grandpa always ate his egg from at breakfast, and I was the one who sat next to him during meals, always.

There was a beautiful tall victrola in their house. It took a lot of manual winding to run. Grandma’s sewing machine was a pedal run. Can you imagine sewing along with your feet pumping? By the front door, as a doorstop, was a silver painted sphinx.

I remember spending Christmas at the grandparent’s house. They had an old couch with a beautiful wooden back and side arms which opened into a double bed. I slept (or tried to sleep) on Grandpa’s reclining chair. My sisters slept on the double bed-couch. The chair I occupied was very uncomfortable and that’s how come I learned for sure that there was no Santa Claus. I was very polite and pretended I was asleep.

The chandelier lights in the dining room were gas run, probably propane. At night or whenever they left the house, all the doors were locked: between the front room to bedroom, other bedroom door into hall, other bedroom, bath hall to kitchen, all locked, then the front and back doors.

I remember walking with Grandpa to the mailbox twice a day to get the mail. It was quite a walk along the country road lined with Eucalyptus trees beyond which were the orange trees. The walk seemed a long way, but I’m sure not as long as it seemed. When we were close enough to see the flag on the mailbox, sometimes we turned around because Grandpa said there was no mail.

When the Grandparents visited with the family and were leaving for home, Grandma would leave the scriptures open for my Dad to read. I guess is worked because he joined the church when I was seven years old.

When my Dad was the Stake Genealogy head, we went on excursion to the St. George Temple. Grandpa went with us. While the grownups were in the temple, Grandpa and I walked on the temple grounds. We went to a gift shop, and he bought me a small New Testament. It is about 2 x 3 inches. It was very special to me and I have taken great care of it, keeping it in its box. Except for the cracking glue, it is like new.

My grandparents loved me, especially Grandpa, always having the time to give me their attention.