A SPECIAL EDITION
The Leavitts, a seventh-generation family descended from Utah Lake shoreline settlers, have contributed a remarkable record of vital relationships to an ever-present body of water. We have left much of the ancestral writing in its original wording and presentation. Yes, we ask you to read and consider troubled paradigms of cultural and environmental collisions, and to consider effects and contemporary reversals. But, well beyond, our purposes here turn toward real human lives in their (surprisingly recent) times, in vivid interaction with a living desert lake. Respect for the lake and its environment rings through every narrative. The Clinger, Johnson, Barlow, and Leavitt descendants speak with love and authority for the restoration of the place they have called home for well over 150 years.
Utah Lake Through Six Generations
Adele Clinger Leavitt
Utah Lake is a multi-generational part of my life. Paternal second-great grandparents settled in Lake View and farmed west and east of Geneva Road. For them, Utah Lake was part of their sustenance and survival. Utah Lake is a part of who I am.
I grew up in Lake View (also spelled Lakeview), a farming community on the east side of Utah Lake. I had a beautiful, unobstructed view of the lake. Our home had a large picture window that framed the fields and Utah Lake. The lake was often the first thing I looked at in the morning and it provided many happy memories and adventures as I grew up.
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In the late 1950s my dad, Herschel J. Clinger (1906-1985), took my brothers and sisters and me down to Utah Lake to ice skate. It was down by Provo boat harbor. There were a lot of people on skates or sleds. I was on a sled. I was surprised my father was graceful on skates and could do “tricks” even while pulling me. He wore hockey skates, not figure skates, but he moved beautifully. We skated in other areas of the lake, below our house and by our friends’ home in Vineyard. After I was married my father gave my sister and me each a pair of his early skates. The oldest pair had a screw that he would turn in the heel of his boot so the blade would stay on his foot. I received this first pair. He said they were much easier to use.
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When I was ten years old the ice on Utah lake was quite thick – eight to twelve inches thick. It was early March and there had been some warmer weather and a heavy wind. Winter’s ice was broken up and the wind stacked it in huge piles up to thirty feet high along the east shore. On our way to the hospital where I was to have my tonsils out, we went to Provo Boat Harbor where we could climb on the ice. It was amazing to see the ice crystals and how they would shatter. I loved being so close to them.
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On one fishing outing around 1963 we were slow getting home and it was getting dark. We saw fireflies that night. The fireflies were exciting, but it was scary to me to be walking home through the marshes in the dark.
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Our family didn’t own a boat, but a couple of my older cousins did. They were good to take me waterskiing with them. On one skiing trip a storm came up and I learned firsthand that Utah Lake should be respected.
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One summer, when the lake was low, Dad came into the house and said there was a sandy beach by the lake. He had built a bridge out of railroad ties across the channel where it crossed our land so he could drive the tractor to the water. He attached the silage cart to the tractor and my four older siblings climbed in. I was too little to see out of the cart, so I got the prime seat. I got to sit on top of the “H” tractor close to my dad and have the best view. Along the lake’s beach we found a large clam shell. I was jealous that my sister, who was two years older, got to keep it.
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We have enjoyed beautiful sunsets Utah Lake has enhanced and magnified. As a mom I have loved driving around the lake with my student driver children and savoring the reflection of the mountains on its glassy surface.
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Utah Lake has provided many things for generations. It has provided food, easy transportation, entertainment, beauty, and adventure. Utah Lake has helped bind families together through shared stories and shared activities. It has increased people’s appreciation for nature, its requirements and respect. Utah Lake should be preserved for future generations to enjoy, and it should be cared for by the current generation to maximize its natural potential. It should not be exploited for financial gain. That would be a heavy cost and cause irreparable damage to the valley.
Adele Clinger Leavitt was born and raised in Lakeview, Utah, a beautiful farming community. She is a fifth generation Clinger in the area and a fourth generation Johnson: “I loved growing up on our dairy farm and being close to nature. Utah Lake was always in my sight. I have lived in Utah, County most of my life and have always delighted in Utah Lake.”
My Feelings About Utah Lake
Don R. Leavitt
I am 68 years old and was born and raised in Utah County. I spent most of my youth growing up on the Edgemont bench just south of Provo Canyon. I could see both Timpanogos and Utah Lake from my home. As I roamed the undeveloped foothills and mountainside east of my home, looking out and seeing the splendor of Utah Lake was as much a part of my living as breathing. Mount Timpanogos, the east foothills and mountains, and Utah Lake all defined my identity and my love for the beauty of where I lived then, as well as where I live now.
In those growing up years, as well as in adulthood, I have often hiked in the foothills and mountains of Utah Valley, thrilled at the splendor of the lake that defines my Utah soul. My mind is filled with views of Utah Lake from Timpanogos Highway north of Utah Lake, and from the north mountains above Alpine where I live now. I have gazed toward the water from the east mountains, including the top of Timpanogos and the Rock Canyon overlook. I have taken in the views from the east beach in Lakeview; from the mouth of the Provo River; from the south including Lincoln Beach and West Mountain. I have stared from the west while driving along state highway 68 and from the slopes of Lake Mountain.
I have fished for catfish from the shores of Utah Lake. As a teenager I waterskied and enjoyed boating across the water – sometimes smooth, sometimes turbulent, always beautiful.
Utah Lake is the heart of Utah Valley. It provides residents like myself, as well as visitors, with spectacular views from every point around the lake. On still days the morning views from Utah Lake's east shores, with the cloud-bespeckled blue sky reflecting in the Lake, are breathtaking. From the west, the afternoon views of North Mountain, Timpanogos, and the other Wasatch mountains continuing south provide even more breathtaking views.
Similarly amazing views of the lake are seen from the south and north ends. Then you have all the views of Utah Lake from elevated benches and foothills, as well as unprecedented views of Utah Valley with its wonderful heart – Utah Lake – in the center, enveloped by the mountains. Utah Lake is a breathtaking sight from just about any angle, if we take the time to look.
This lake is sacred to me. The vast lake, much of it still free and devoid of human development, is a source of rejuvenation and peace.
Don Leavitt is a lifetime Utah Valley native who regards Utah Lake as the heart of his homeland identity.
Memories of Herschel J. Clinger
Compiled by Adele Clinger Leavitt
1906 – 1985
(My father) Herschel farmed close to the lake. He baled the bulrushes. The dry bales were light but if they got rained on they were super heavy. We used them for bedding for our dairy cows. Dad also planted Reed Canary Grass that did well. We grazed our young cattle in the fields.
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One winter in the 1940s, Herschel and friends– Edna, Elvin, and Luana – went down to Utah Lake ice skating. The lake was like a sheet of glass. They could throw a chunk of ice and it would glide for miles it seemed. Herschel wondered about rolling a dollar. Luana had one and gave it to Herschel. He rolled it like a wagon wheel. They tried to follow it but they never could catch it.
Another day Herschel and Elvin went down to the lake, south of the river. The ice was getting rotten. There were about 100 people skating. Elvin and Herschel skated out. The ice felt pretty good but it was rotten. First thing they knew people started screaming. It was open water where the river came down. A chunk of ice about two acres in size had broken loose. There were 50 to 75 people on it. They were getting frantic. They wanted to find someone with a boat. Two or three jumped off and waded in (the water was just above the knee). The rest of the group stayed on the ice. The current and the wind soon changed and blew the chunk of ice back so the rest of the group skated off. Herschel and Elvin were about 75 yards away watching. All at once Herschel said, “We’re floating!” A kitchen sized piece of ice had broken loose. Herschel was close to the edge so he just stepped across. Elvin tried to get off but the piece broke in the middle and he went into the lake. Elvin was glad the lake wasn’t as deep then as it was in about 1987.
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When my father was in his final illness, his hospital bed was in the living room where he could look out the picture window and see his fields, Utah Lake, and Lake Mountains. Although he was very sick, his heart was warmed by this familiar scene he had cherished all his life.
Memories of John Johnson
Compiled by Adele Clinger Leavitt
Herschel J. Clinger told variants of this story (about his friend John Johnson) to his children:
One February, in 1917 or 1918, shortly before Uncle Marion moved to Idaho, there was a Utah Lake crossing that made an impression on a lot of people. During the winter, when the lake was frozen solid, people would cross the lake with their teams. They started somewhere by the Provo River. February was considered late to be crossing but Uncle Marion, Grandpa Johnson, Dad, and Uncle Alf started a trip to the other side of the lake to get cedar posts. On the way across they met a man coming toward Provo with a mule team and a load of hay or posts.
After they got to the west side of the lake it got warmer. There wasn’t very much snow on the ground but they had to gather and melt it for the horses to drink. Grandpa Johnson laughed because Uncle Marion’s horses were large and needed more water than his. They got their posts at Hell’s Canyon (it was so named because it was hotter than hell in the summer). As they started back, they couldn't agree which way to go because of ice conditions. Grandpa Johnson said, “Here’s where we cross the lake. We’ll be home by dark.” Uncle Alf said he would do whatever his dad did. Uncle Marion said, “Bishop Johnson, I’ve done everything you asked in the past (he had been counselor to Grandpa Johnson in the Lake View Ward.), but I will not cross the lake tonight.”
The other option was to go over to Goshen, around Genola and home.
Grandpa Johnson had a long-legged team. It was faster than Uncle Marion's. It got dark and there was a lot of mud in Goshen. Grandpa Johnson’s team couldn't pull all their posts so Uncle Marion took part of the load. There was mud until they reached Genola. Grandpa Johnson had to unload more of his posts along the way. By this time they were two days later than expected. After the news that the man with the mule team had broken through the ice and drowned, Aunt Rebecca, Grandma Johnson, and Mother worried sick. When Grandpa Johnson and the group reached Payson, they were able to phone home and tell them they were okay.
Grandpa Johnson crossed the lake thirteen times that year to get posts.
From John Johnson’s personal journal (original spelling is left intact):
February 5, 1895. “Went acrose the Lake with a load of Hay to Oliver Sederstrom, brought back a load of wood that he had brought downe for me.”
February 8-9, 1895. “Went over to Pelican Point with a load of hay for Oliver Sederstrom, went up after a load of wood which he had cut and smoked-out got back to the Point stoped all night. Alfred was along. (Feb 9th) Came home with my wood it was snowing a little got home about 11 a.m. In the afternoon snowing and blowing very havy from the north Inger went up to Olsens to sit up with his Children who are sick”
February 16, 1899 “Went out on the Lake togather with J. L. Allen and helped fish”
January ll, 1900 “Went a fishing out by Geneva John Madsen sained and caught about 1500 lbs”
January 23, 1915 “Alfred & I took horses and buggy we drove across the Lake over to Pelican Point to see Oliver about seder posts we went from there to Mosida kiled 5 rabbits drove from there home where we arrived at 5 p.m. ther wer 14 inches thick ice on the Lake”
January 25-26, 1915 “Alfred & I went over to Mosida efter seder posts got there at 2 p.m. we got our loads of 106 posts on one sled & 101 on the other for which I paid 15 cents a piece $3l.05 there were 10 teams there from Provo efter hay a phone masige came from Provo in the evening that a pair of mules & a load of hay had brock through the Ice and for us not to com back across the Lake. the team belonging to Andrew J Steward (26th) Three of the teams loaded with hay went around the south end of the lake home and nine teams crossed on the Ice which was badly cracked up but by being careful we got over allright taking some of the posts to bridge across one seme”
January 29-30, 1915 “Went over to Pelican point after posts August (John’s youngest son) went along (30th) Came home we went by land as we did not consider the ice safe we gat 34 posts we had snow and rain nearly all the time roads very soft”
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A newspaper article entitled “Ice Escapade: A vignette from the life of John Johnson” written by his granddaughter, Jewel A. Bartholomew, retells one of his ice crossings.
“Cascade Mountain was silhouetted by the gray of approaching dawn. It was a calm, clear morning in early February. Frost coated the trees and bushes from the mist hanging in the air. As the light broke over the mountain, the ice crystals sparkled and shimmered and announced the start of a crisp, chilly day. The Johnson family were busying with the morning chores. The animals must be fed and watered and breakfast prepared for the family before they started for school and work. John had made a particularly early start as he had a long trip to make across the lake with a load of hay. The lake was frozen solid and the trip would be made by sleigh.
“The day before he had received a message from the Cedarstroms across the lake. They were running short on hay for their livestock and wondered if John had any to spare. John and his girls, Ellen, Josephine and Julia had loaded the hay onto the sleigh the afternoon before so all that remained was to hitch the horses to the sleigh. When the harnesses were on the horses and they were hitched up, John skillfully used the horses to rock the sleigh first left then right to break the runners away from the frozen snow, then, clucking to the horses he set off for Utah Lake to make the crossing.
“The Johnson farm in Lakeview was only three-quarters of a mile from the lake and from there the journey would be on ice rather than snow. John enjoyed the crisp air, blue sky and winter landscape as he made an uneventful trip west. By the time he reached Cedarstroms the winter sun was high in the sky. The short period of daylight in winter precluded much socializing and the men hurriedly unloaded the hay and reloaded the sleigh with cedar posts so John could get back across the lake before dark. It was a little more than half-way across the lake when John heard an ominous loud and sharp splitting sound. Ahead of him opened a long seam in the ice. Too late to go around, it was getting close to sunset and too far to go back. John faced a dilemma. What to do! Being from Norway he had some experience with ice in his boyhood. He quickly made a decision and backed the team away from the icy water. He jumped onto the posts in the sleigh and began unloading them. He threw the posts into the water between the two edges of ice. Then, backing the team to a good distance away from the water, he whipped the team into a dead run right at the floating logs. The team cleared the seam and the sleigh glided right across the logs. As quickly as possible, the reachable logs were reloaded and John, with heart still racing, headed for the shore and home as fast as the horses could pull the sleigh. He had never been more happy to reach home than he was that night.”
Excerpts from Autobiography of Cleo Clinger Johnson
Compiled by Alta Clinger Leavitt
My early childhood years contained nothing beyond the ordinary routine of mud pies and dolls. Many times after church the cousins and neighbors would come to our house and make Lumpy Dick, a custard eaten with cream and sugar and cinnamon, popcorn or stretched taffy candy. My grandchildren are missing so much fun by spending their time watching television.
How glad we were when Uncle Andrew Sward, my Grandma Johnson’s brother, came to visit us. He would walk from Provo to Lake View. He was a ventriloquist and mimic. One time when we were down to the Little Lake, Uncle Andrew threw his voice and it sounded like someone talking from the middle of the deep pond that was near the Little Lake. He told us it was the devil speaking so that has always been called “The Devil’s Hole” and we were afraid to go near it. He would mimic birds and it sounded as if they were in the very top of the trees. He would also mimic animals and they sounded so real.
I spent the summers working in the field with my brothers and later Alta joined us, thinning and hoeing beets, corn, tomatoes, garden. We would sit in the shade of the willows by the canal to eat our lunch, bur part of the time I would sit in the burning hot sun because I was afraid of the worms on the willows.
Many times after hoeing all day, we would walk down to the lake and go swimming. Time would get away from us and before we would make it back home it was getting dark. Mother would get so worried she would come to meet us or stand on the front porch and call. One time she called and after we answered she said she could hear the coyotes howling and believe me it didn’t take us long to get home.
Many times on a winter night Herschel, Morris and I would go out on the front porch and listen to the coyotes howl. It would make my blood tingle. Sometimes at night one would raid the chicken coop. There was such a commotion between the coyotes and our old yellow dog, Watch, and the chickens, that papa was awakened from a deep sleep. The coyotes would come across the lake on the ice.
I had a lot of fun walking the mile and a half to and from school. During the winter when I was in the first grade my cousin Wallace Clinger in 4th would walk ahead of us and make the trail for us through the deep snow. Many times coming home from school we would walk on top of the snow drifts that covered the fence posts. Sometimes we would fall through the snow and would have to be pulled out.
Throughout the grade school years we looked forward to the “May Day” hike through the pastures picking the purple violets that were in bloom. The winding of the May pole, the special programs we were in and the fun practicing for them. In the nursery rhyme program I was Little Miss Muffet and had to sing all by myself.
One of the big highlights in my young life was the Johnson family reunion held at the Saratoga Springs west of Lehi on the northwest end of the Utah Lake. This was as important to [us] kids as the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was held every year on the 7th of June (Grandpa’s birthday) or the 13th of June (Grandma and Grandpa’s wedding anniversary). Mother always served the first picking of new peas and new potatoes from our garden, spring fryers, and strawberries along with other goodies. Oh how good the new creamed potatoes and peas, fried chicken, salads, home made ice cream tasted after our swim in the warm pools.
Herschel was always so good to take me and my girlfriends to the games and dances when we didn’t have a way up, even when he had a date he would take us. I couldn’t ask for a more considerate brother and he would always dance with me.
I attended the Halloween dance October 31, 1934 at the Utahna and May Jensen introduced me to Karl Johnson. I had two dances with him and was really impressed. He was tall, nice looking, good manners, clean talking, a good dancer. He was everything I wanted. We were married in the Manti Temple on June 23, 1937 by temple president Robert D. Young. We came home the next afternoon and moved my bedroom set to our first home which was in part of Karl’s parent’s home on 1443 West 6th South in Provo which we later purchased. On March 19, 1943 we moved to Lake View. We purchased the old Clinger home and farm, where I was born.
Excerpts From Autobiography of Mary Williamson Clinger
(recorded by her daughter Lillie May Clinger Sumsion between 1907-1931)
It was only through providential strength and courage that we endured until we arrived in Salt Lake City the last day of Conference in October 1866 with only five dollars in the purse. The next day the company scattered in all directions.
Our family went to Provo to Bishop Peter Madsen’s home. At first I was very homesick and cried often. I didn’t know how to talk the language. I had to go to work, my first experience as a domestic. Oh, it was a trial, but the people were good to me and I gradually became accustomed to the people and learned how to talk.
My Mother’s skill as a midwife soon became known and she was called out far and near and her services graciously received, but she never charged for her work. She was so sincere and so devoted to her calling that she often fasted and prayed over her problems.
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I was married to James H. Clinger at his sister Martha’s home by John R. Riggs, on February 9, 1868. My wedding ring had been made out of a bone button by my sweetheart. Our wedding cake was a molasses cake made by Martha. We stayed at her home that night. The next morning my husband left for the canyon to cut ties for the railroad company. Later he worked for Thamer Bunnell, who gave us a little step stove.
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One evening I came out of the door of the log home holding the baby in my arms, when I was frightened by a shot and then a thud of something dropping beside me. It was a wildcat. It had been on the roof of the cabin ready to pounce on to me, when my husband saw it in time to shoot it before it leaped down on me.
Excerpts From Autobiography of James Henry Clinger
(recorded by his daughter Lillie May Clinger Sumsion between 1907-1931)
We arrived in Salt Lake City the latter part of September in 1852. Not withstanding all of our hardships, we rejoiced and thanked the Lord for sparing our lives, to come to the promised land of Zion. When we arrived here we had provisions for three months. My father worked at anything he could get to do and laid breadstuff in store for the future.
My parents decided to move to Ogden. Here we suffered hardships as the grasshoppers destroyed our crops and we were forced to live on segos and greens. Occasionally father would kill a rabbit, which would be a feast for us. We lived on rations until the next harvest by following Brigham Young’s advice. We left Ogden and moved south to Provo to what is now called Lake View. We settled on a farm and lived in the frontier to do the best we could.
There were very limited chances for schooling, so I had to be taught by my mother to read and write. I grew to manhood without much of an education. I was generally with my father and learned how to work. At the age of fifteen I worked for others. Many times my sister, Martha, and I went into the fields and gleaned wheat or worked for fifty cents a day.
About this time the Indians became very troublesome …We had to protect ourselves as best we could by moving into town and building sod forts.
We guarded our homes, the lives and property of our brothers and sisters. We farmed and worked in the canyons hauling out lumber and wood to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. The Indians became very hostile. I iced on the Provo River, on the north side, now called Lake View.
The red men came to the river to fish and dry their fish for the winter. I made many friends of the Indians as I was good to them and fed them. I also gave them many small trinkets which had been given me by my parents. Therefore, the Indians were good to me in return. Nevertheless, we did not always agree.
I worked for Thamer Bunnell one year on the farm. He was a hard master. I also worked for Peter Madsen fishing, one summer, and then went to Bunnell’s and worked again. I went to school three months in the winter. I had to walk three miles and wade the Provo River many times as there was no bridge. It was cold and much ice. Finally the beavers gnawed off a cottonwood tree, which fell across the river and the Indians made a bridge out of it by piling willows on it. They told me of this bridge and gave me permission to use it, which of course, I gladly accepted. This saved me many trips through the cold water.
Fishing With Grandpa
Alta Clinger Davis
Grandpa Johnson came to live in our home several years before he passed away. It was a good experience for us. So many times he would tell of his early day experiences ... Oh! How I regret I didn’t write them down at the time. Now I have forgotten all details. He loved to sing. None of our family being singers, we didn’t hear much of that in our home until he came to live with us. There were several songs he was continually singing. The ones I remember best were “Come, Come Ye Saints,” “Hard Times Come Again No More,” and “The Sword of Bunker Hill.” Grandpa was a big tease which I must admit didn’t set too well with a young girl. At the last it became quite a trial for all of us in a way, especially for Mother.
Grandpa loved fishing. He wanted someone to take him down to Utah Lake at the mouth of the channel which ran from the Little Lake … located just west of our home, and empties into the big lake. Dad and the boys were always so busy with the farm work, they didn’t have time to take him to I said I would.
The day arrived … Grandpa put on his hip boots and got his fishing gear all ready. We got into “John”—that was the name we had given to Grandpa’s Model T Ford that we girls drove. I cannot remember exactly how old I was at the time, probably nineteen or twenty and Grandpa was eighty-four or eighty-five. We headed south for Uncle Will Taylor’s lane that led to the lake. After opening and closing several wire gates, we reach the lake shore and drive north as far as we could to the channel.
We walked toward the lake along the side of the channel. The water in the lake had gone down a lot that summer and we soon found ourselves walking in sticky mud before reaching the water of the lake where Grandpa said the fishing would be best.
Grandpa was a large, heavy man and very determined. Even though we were sinking in the mud, he was going on. All of a sudden he found himself into the mud midway to his knees. He wasn’t able to pull his foot out. I tried to help him. He put his hands on top of my shoulders and only succeeded in pushing me down into the mud. It was all I could do to get myself out.
I was frightened and knew we needed … help to get him out. I have never uttered a more sincere, silent prayer than I did then. I told him I would go up on shore and try to find some boards … I asked him to please stay as quiet as possible and not even try to move until I returned. Well, I ran as fast as I could up to the fence and alongside of it. Fortunately, I was able to find four flat boards long enough to be helpful. With them in my arms, I rushed back to him. By the time I got back to him, he had sunk in well above his knees. I was able to work two of the boards down past his knees and put the other two in front of him. By bending over and putting his hands on those boards, it took some of the weight off his feet. I got down in the mud and was able to gradually lift his feet up, one at a time, until he was kneeling on the boards. Then, slowly, bit by bit, I was able to move the boards forward and make progress. By the time we reached solid ground we were both exhausted. I helped him stand and walk to a bank where he could sit down and rest awhile before going on to the car.
Oh! How grateful I was that my prayer had been answered and he was safe. We were both covered with mud. It was a silent drive back home. It had been quite an experience for both of us. Grandpa had had enough! Never did I hear him mention again of wanting to go catfishing at the mouth of the channel. Not Ever!