by her daughter, Elizabeth

 Lorenda Elizabeth Bronson Thompson, daughter of Leamon and Lucy Brass Bronson, was born December 23 1836, at Brownstown, Wayne County, Michigan. She was the youngest child of a family of eight, six brothers and one sister.

In 1842, the Bronson family, after having heard and accepted the gospel, as preached by the Latter Day Saint Missionaries, were baptized into the Church. (Typist's note: Lorenda would have only been 5 or 6. She must have been baptized later.)

In 1845, they moved to Nauvoo, Illinois right at the time when the Saints were enduring terrible persecutions due to mob violence. President Brigham Young had already decided that the people should seek refuge in the Rocky Mountains.

Grandfather Bronson was one of the first to join the traveling saints and in 1846, left what had been their home for only a year to come to Zion.

The journey was hard and grandfather decided to stop and locate for a while at Puncho, Iowa commonly known as Winter Quarters. They had been there but a short time when grandmother took sick and died in 1846.

Deep sorrow settled over the family and all interest in the home they had so recently established was gone. With heavy hearts they gathered up their belongings and joined the next company on their trek to Salt Lake City. (Typist's note: Left June 17, Capt. Daniel Spencer, 362 in the company.)

Mother was only ten years of age and all too delicate for such a hard trip. Although the provisions were rationed, she was allowed the privilege of eating whenever she felt most inclined.

Martha, her older sister, drove one of the ox teams in the second company to arrive in the valley. They reached Salt Lake City, September 19, 1847, and lived in the fort for some time.

Many were the hardships that first year and a half. Food was scarce and they were often hungry. Later, when grandfather was given land, he built a house and planted crops.

I have heard mother tell how happy they were when their grain began to grow and they felt that no more would they suffer hunger as there was prospects of an abundant harvest. Then came the crickets. Like a moving mass they covered the fields stripping the stalks and leaving desclation in their path.

For days they fought them with sticks,m beating and killing hundreds, but for every one killed it seemed a dozen came in its place. Sometimes with only a half slice of bread to eat, mother would fight the pests until exhausted.

One morning they looked up to see the sky black with sea gulls swooping down on the fields. They were in despair, thinking all was lost, but instead of eating the grain as they expected them to do, they devoured that army of crickets and saved the crops. They knew this was a blessing from the Lord to save them from starvation.

After their home was established in Salt Lake, Mother's health improved and grandfather seemed to look to her for encouragement and help and she never failed him, assuming responsibilities such as cooking, darning, patching and a thousand and one other home duties even though she was younger than her sister by two years.

Grandfather Bronson with Mother moved to Fillmore, Utah about 1852 and lived there until 1854, when he was called on a mission to Michigan, where he died.

At Fillmore, Mother met and married Daniel Thompson when she was only seventeen years of age. This was in 1853. She was very proud of her first home, a little log room with a bed made of posts stuck in the wall and supported at the front with posts. A goods box decorated with a curtain made by her own hands served as a dresser. A step stove on which she cooked their meals, which father seemed to think were unexcelled, especially her biscuits. A hove, it would be termed now; but in those pioneer days, a real home with hopes for future success. They were happy.

In 1854, they made the trip to Salt Lake City to the Endowment House to have their marriage solemnized for eternity.

A helpmate in every respect, Mother stood for all the things that go to make up a true Latter Day Saint and in that way was a tower of strength to Father in all his religious and civic activities.

Her early married life was devoted to raising her family more than to public service; but after moving to Scipio in 1867, when Father was called to preside as Bishop, she felt it her duty to help in building up the ward.

In 1870, Father organized the Relief Society and Mother was called to act in the Presidency. She served faithfully for thirteen years and was then called to the Stake Presidency, June 6, 1863.

How well I remember from the age of ten years and on, the yearly visits with Sister Elizabeth Yates and Mother to all the wards in the stake and the lasting impression their faith and courage and loyalty to duty, made upon me. I still meet people who say, "Oh, your mother's wonderful spirit when she spoke to us and admonished and encouraged us, gave us a desire to go on and on and try harder than ever before to really accomplish something." It made me very proud.

Father was in the presidency of the stake and consequently entertained all of the visiting church officials. It was Mother's task to scrub and clean our little log house and cook and arrange affairs to do honor to our distinguished guests. In fact, it seems I remember very few times as a child when our home was not filled with friends or strangers. This in itself was work enough.

Delcena, being the oldest girl, assumed much of the responsibility, thereby helping greatly to lighten Mother's load. As I look back now, it is a marvel to me to see how each child seemed to fit into a certain niche and carry a responsibility to which they were best fitted in some particular phase of the work.

Rosa pays a most beautiful tribute to her. I quote:

"The most impressive thing in my childhood days that Mother taught me was prayer. She washed we children nice and clean, put our white night gowns and caps on us, then we knelt at her knee and said our prayers and was then tucked in our warm trundle bed. In my girlhood days, when I clerked in the store, Mother would come up to see me. I would beg her to stay until all the customers had gone. Then I would walk across the square with her and tell her all my secrets. How we did enjoy each other.

"In my early married life, I waited and watched for her visits to my home. Her death was the greatest pang that ever came to me up to that time, but her noble character, upright and honest life, gave me the comfort and consolation that if I followed in her foot steps, I again would meet and associate with her."

Emily was the seamstress for the family. After working hard all day, she would come home and sew until 11 or 12 o'clock to keep everyone clad and looking neat.

Annie relates an incident in her early childhood that she says has stayed with her through life. She visited a little playmate and they had played house and had had an enjoyable time. On her way home, she spied a broken dish. he bright blue color took her fancy and immediately she picked it up and took it home. Mother told her how wrong it was to pick up anything that did not belong to her and insisted that she take it back to the lady's home and put it right where it was.

Such teachings could not fail to instill into our hearts the high principles of honesty and truthfulness.

A very amusing incident impresses me as I think of it now.

Mother asked me to bring her a glass of water. As I carried it to her, I raised it to my lips and took a sip. "That is not polite," she said. "Pour that out and bring me another glass." I did so, but I was either very thirsty or just a little determined as I tipped it again. It took the third trip before I realized I must obey, but I had learned my lesson in ettiquet. So many things to teach us, and so many of us to teach.

She was a frail little woman, never at any time weighing more than 98 pounds, yet she brought twelve children into the world, ten of whom lived to love, bless and respect her. Then when Wilmer's wife died, she took his three children. The baby died at the age of eleven months, but she raised the others from two and four years of age to young man and womanhood.

Through all this, she found time for service in God's work, not only in one position but many. Teacher in the Sunday School, Counselor to the President of the Mutual in the ward, all while she was still serving in the Stake capacity.

After twenty-one years of service in the stake, she was released in 1904, November 28th. The same year, she was called to act as President of the Mutual in the Scipio Ward, a position which she held until her death. Her last meeting was May 28, 1907.

Her memory still lives in the hearts of women who were then girls in her mutual classes and she is often now quoted and praised.

Frances took great delight in surprises. On some pretext or other, she very often stayed up after everyone else had retired for the night. When mother rose the next morning, the kitchen would be spotless. Swept, dusted, mopped and everything in perfect order.

With three log rooms and such a large family, it was easier to work with everyone out of the way, and so Frances chose this method as one way to be helpful. She loved to do it, because of mother's appreciation. She also traveled with her around the county and many times went with her to sit up with the sick.

Mother's love for the beautiful was largely satisfied when in 1900 we moved into our new brick home. By this time, Father had retired and he took pride in helping her to raise shrubs and flowers to beautify the yard. She was very happy.

Raymond used to say, if ever he displeased mother in any way, "Oh, if she would only scold me or punish me, I could stand it, but when she just looks at me so sad and never comments, I feel as if I would do anything to make amends and would never cause her to feel badly again."

She was a wonderful disciplinarian, very firm, at the same time generous and thoughtful of our pleasures.

If father was ever displeased with our actions, we were sent to mother for corrections.

We were punished quicker for quarreling among ourselves than most anything else. This taught us such respect and love for each other that today the bond is so strong, we are termed clannish.

From the time I was a child of nine or ten years of age, I was allowed much freedom. I could go out at night, but always with orders to be home at eight o'clock. As I grew older, 9 o'clock was the hour and so on. Very few times that she didn't wait up for me, but if she had retired was awake anxious to hear all that had happened.

She rejoiced in my pleasures, sympathized when I felt I had been slighted or hurt, but always encouraged me and taught me how to conduct myself to gain the respect of others. The most wonderful companionship grew up between us, which lasted until her death. It is the sweetest remembrance of my life.

One Christmas morning, after Wilmer's wife's death, he got up to make things happy for me and his children. His little daughter shouted, "Oh, papa, Santa Claus has brought you a present." Mother had hung up his stocking, and had filled it with candy and nuts and a present. Tears came into his eyes and he said, "The first time since I was a kid."

Henry's hair was auburn. Sometimes he was taunted about his "red hair". He would answer proudly, "Yes, the same color as my mother's".

William lived only a block from our home and never missed coming in once or twice a day. During her sickness and death, his devotion was all that a son could give.

She died June 21, 1907. Hers was a life of service to her home, her family and God. I wish every one could have had a mother like mine.