49 Times

I went to Boise over the weekend for my uncle's wedding. A lot of my mom's family is there so it was fun to see them, it's been years since I was there. At my aunt's house I looked at a book she had on her coffee table about the Martin and Willie handcart companies. These are two groups of Mormon pioneers who crossed the plains and mountains from Missouri and Illinois to reach the Salt Lake Valley. Their story is tragic because many of them came by ship from Europe and thus started their over-land journey quite late in the season. They were poor and didn't have wagons, but pulled handcarts with their limited supplies of food, clothing, and shelter. Many died along the way, survivors weathered the cold, lack of food, and desperate circumstances. A group of my ancestors travelled in the Willie company. The book had their names listed. It was a collection of historical accounts and facts about their journey and about their rescue as well. When the Mormons in Utah heard that about the plight of those coming to join them they sent men and boys to help rescue those on the other side of the mountain before winter rendered them stuck. One rescuer made the trip 49 times. 49 times. Who will go? This guy went 49 times. Volunteering for such a dangerous rescue mission might cross my mind once, but 49 times is unreal. Rescuers are all heroes, but yesterday, when I saw that, it gave a whole new meaning to volunteering, to helping, to coming to the aid of those in need. 49 times.