How it all Began. . . .

I was born in the little Mormon town of Panaca, Lincoln County, Nevada, at 10:20 in the morning of May 26, 1931. I was the fourth daughter and sixth child of the seven children born to James Allen and Lois Stewart Wadsworth. The other children born to this union were Theresa born October 6, 1918, Edna Myrtle born April 27, 1920, James Leo born May 21, 1922, Martha born March 9, 1925, David Nephi born February 14, 1929, and Delores born June 22, 1933. James and Lois were wonderful parents, loving, gentle, and understanding. They were hard working, industrious individuals. No task was too trivial, nor problem too small that it did not get their full attention. No undertaking so hard that they did not stick with it until it was accomplished. We were a happy family.

And so began a happy, carefree childhood for a little girl nestled in the arms of love and living in a beautiful little town where she could run and play with complete joy. That little girl was me, Ina Mae Wadsworth. I loved my life. I loved my family. And, I loved Panaca.

I can see it still, the Panaca of my childhood. Peaceful and serene she nestles snugly in her green valley. How smug she looks and how content. I am not surprised at her demeaner as I reflect on those glorious events of her birth and growth into the home of the child and the young woman who was "Growing Up Ina". I prefer to remember the Panaca of that time before progress and modernization dressed her in different clothes; a time when the lane from the "Y" into Panaca and through town was lined with beautiful big trees spreading their branches in a cool canopy over street and sidewalk alike; when the bubbling brooks that served as irrigation ditches rushed merrily alongside the country streets and sidewalks and a child could wade with delicious abandon in the cool stream all the way from home to Dad's store for a treat.

I can still hear the whirr of the mower and smell the new mown hay as Delores and I run ahead to watch for bird's nests and rabbit burrows, ready to call a warning to our father so they could be protected from harm.

I can smell the autumn leaves burning and somehow the smell is intermingled with the smell of turkey and dressing, rolls, pies and tarts, as Mother prepares Thanksgiving dinner.

I can picture a little girl sitting with her parents and siblings in church. Her hair is in bouncy ringlets and she is dressed in the lavendar dress her mother just finished sewing for her and Delores. She is content and thrilled as she listens to her father's beautiful tenor voice as he sings, "Come, Come, Ye Saints".

So begins an odyssey filled with love and laughter, joy and sorrow, and unconditional love as I began my journey through life.

To be continued. . . .