It has been six years since Grandpa passed away, and seldom a day goes by that I don't think about him. He was a very special person who had a special purpose on earth. If the people who knew him wrote a character sketch of him, they would describe him as a Christian man. He was a man who lived his faith day by day, a man who served his fellow man, a man who was truly interested in others, a man of compassion, and a man with a great sense of humor. People who knew him would agree he had these qualities, plus many more.

As a young boy who spent every summer from 1945 to 1956 with him, I will testify that I never heard him utter a profane word or say anything bad about anyone. He was a great role model for his children and his grandchildren. He was a plain and simple man with only a limited education. He taught himself educational skills after he forfeited his formal education to help his father at home.

Conrad Knudson was born on December 15, 1893, in the Norse community, in a small house situated on the branch northeast of where his great grandfather Salve lived. Once while we were driving through that area, he pointed out the general location of the house where he was born. His father, George, bought land in the Mustang Community from Harry White Cattle Company and from H.N. Smith estate in 1893. George acquired a house from neighbor Ben Ammons. The old house sat on the bank of Mustang Creek, west of the location of today's homesite. George used a yoke of oxen to move the house to the present location. That old house was the first Knudson home, and in this house George and Olena lived and raised their kids. In 1905, George employed Martin Shefstad to build the two-story house that still stands today. This house has been the home for Knudsons for more than eight decades. George’s second child, Molden, was probably the first to be born on this place in 1896, and I was the last in 1939.

Conrad had a very difficult task awaiting him. His mother, Olene, died in 1909, when he was 16 years old. Her death left George with five children. George never really got over the death of his wife. He considered sending some of the children to live with relatives or friends who could help raise them. For periods of time, Molden went to live with his uncle, Hans Hanson. Different friends and relatives came to live with the family at different times, trying to help George and his family of Conrad, Molden, and four small girls as much as they could.

Conrad met and married Sadie Jubella Grimland. Sadie's father, A.C. Grimland, offered to give the newlyweds a farm, but Conrad turned down the offer and chose to take his bride to his father's farm and help the best he could. As it turned out, Conrad and Sadie took the four younger girls to raise. The newlyweds soon had two families, George's girls, and then Tirah, who was born in 1915. George sold the farm to Conrad and the home place remained his responsibility until selling it to his daughter and son-in-law in 1964. Conrad's sisters soon grew up and married. Conrad and Sadie's own family grew with Wade born in 1920, Carroll in 1922, Milburn in 1925, and Gene, the last of their children, in 1933. All of these children were born in the two-story house.

Conrad Knudson was a person with a keen sense of humor. He enjoyed the simple things in life. He found pleasure watching young animals such as pups, kittens, lambs, and even his grandkids learn the lessons of life. I remember one time he told about a young pup he had. The pup was as fond of Grandpa as Grandpa was fond of the pup. Everywhere he went, the pup had to tag along. Of course, the pup was right under foot most of the time, and at times he just got in the way. Pups about ten weeks to six months old are fun to watch because they are usually rather clumsy and many times find themselves in rather awkward situations. Grandpa said one day after dinner he went to check on the bees. The pup, for some reason, missed seeing him leave the house and later discovered Grandpa's scent and began trailing him. He said he saw the pup trailing him and got a kick out of just watching him make his way to where he was working with the bees. After a while the pup saw him and came running up to him and stuck his nose right in the opening of the beehive...YELP! YELP! The pup ran away with bees chasing him. The pup learned a hard lesson that day, and Grandpa got a good laugh over that little incident.

Grandpa had another fun pastime. While milking, he would catch a cat sitting not really paying attention, squirt him, and watch him jump. Boy! Could they jump! This fun could go on for some time because there were always many cats to squirt.

I remember once while Grandma and Grandpa were visiting us in Dallas. Grandpa and I were talking about the farm. (I was about eight or nine years old.) He told me that when I got to the farm we had to shear the goats. He said he had a big Billy goat with long curved horns that would really be keen to ride. He described in a very vivid fashion how I could sit on the goat’s back and grab his horns just like the handle bars on a bicycle and ride that goat all over the place. All I’d have to do would be to turn the goat’s horns to the right, and he would go right; turn them left, and he would go left. He made it sound really great. I could imagine myself riding that Billy all over the mountain or riding him to get the mail. I was really getting excited about the thought of riding the goat. Grandpa had a knack of making something like that sound like a lot of fun. I could hardly wait for school to let out for the summer. The next thing I knew it was summer, and I was at the farm. I could hardly wait for the day we got the goats up, and that day soon arrived. When I first saw the goat. he did not look the way I had imagined. That goat was 100% wild, and besides that, he had a mean look in his eyes. The horns were just as Grandpa said: they were long and they curved back over his shoulders, but they certainly did not look like bike handlebars to me. I was getting a bit apprehensive about that goat. I really did not want to ride that goat. All of those fantasies of riding the goat had suddenly disappeared. The next thing I knew Grandpa had that Billy by the horns and was hollering for me to come on over and mount up. I'm sure stark fear appeared on my face, but I knew I had to at least attempt to ride that ol' Billy. I remember well that the goat was so big that my feet barely touched the ground on each side. My heart was pounding in my chest...I was torn between trying to be brave and showing sheer terror. The goat's eye caught mine. He looked meaner than ever. Grandpa looked at me and said, "Are you ready?" I said, "Yes," and he turned him loose. When the goat bolted forward, I simply let go of his handlebars, and he ran right out from under me. I really felt relieved. Grandpa asked me if I wanted him to catch the goat again and try again. I said "No," and that was the end of my goat-riding career. I believe Grandpa knew from the start how my goat ride would turn out.

The time I spent with Grandpa and Grandma during the summers blessed me with wonderful memories. During the summers it was pretty much just the two of us. I was very lucky. I did not miss playing with kids my own age for I was content to spend all my time with Grandpa. I remember once we were at the old Gap bank when an old gentleman said to me, “Young man, that Granddad of yours is a prince of a man.” I have thought of that statement many times since, and as I grow older I am more assured that person knew what he was talking about.

JMW/April, 1984

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