Anna Caroline Wintsch Muhlstein Autobiography

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I, Anna Caroline Wintsch, was born January 12th, 1851, in a small village of Aussersheil, near Zurich, Switzerland. My father was Caspar Wintsch, born on January 30th, 1803. He was the son of Martin Wintsch and Regula Sauermann. My mother was Anna Wylimann [also spelled Weilimann], born on May 30th 1807, daughter of Kaspar Wylimann and Regula Mader. I was christened in a big cathedral in Zurich. My father's parents died before I was born, so I never got to see a grandfather or a grandmother.

While I was a small child, father bought a home on a little farm at Altsteten, a few miles from Zurich. The new home was built of wood and plaster with a seicel [pronounced see-e-kel] roof. Seicel is a kind of burned brick or tile, 1 inch thick and 12 inches long. The top of the tile was molded into a hook to fasten onto the row above. This made a very durable roof and a good waterproof covering.

This house had four rooms downstairs and a hallway for the stairs. The kitchen was on the northwest corner. The living room was the largest room. It was on the northeast and mother's bedroom on the southeast. There was a boys' bedroom in the southwest corner. The upstairs rooms were the same size as those downstairs. The girls slept upstairs. Directly under the stairway leading up was a stairway going into the cellar. One day in my excitement of playing, I opened the cellar door and fell down the stairs into the cellar. I was not badly hurt, but thoroughly frightened. What a fuss I made! They thought I was nearly killed!

In the corner of the kitchen next to the living room was the stove and oven. The cooking hearth was on the kitchen side; it was made of sandstone and there were steps on it that we could warm our feet on. The living room side of the stove was very pretty, being furnished in a colored, glazed tile. The top of it was flat and large enough to make a bed on it if necessary. The bread was baked in the huge oven in this stove. It was heated by bundles of faggots. When hot, the embers were swept out and the bread put in and baked with the stored heat.

I started school when I was six. My older sister, Louise, and I went to school at 8:00 every morning. Our teacher was a musician, and we learned to sing many beautiful songs.

Mother had to get up long before 8:00 in the mornings to get my brothers Jakob, and John off to the city to work. They worked at a big iron works in Zurich. Mattie, my older sister, had to work in the silk factory in the village. She had a nice Sunday dress of gray wool and an every-day dress of coarser material. She didn't spend money on pretty things, but gave every cent she made to our father. She would sit in her room and crochet lace to sell for sheets for a little spending money. [All the sheets had lace on them.]

After mother had gotten all of us off to our various destinations she had to go out in the fields and work, or carry large baskets of stuff to the city. Besides all this, she had to come in and cook dinner at about 11:00 a.m. for Louise, Mattie and me. The boys did not come home for dinner. Mother never had time to clean up the house so Mattie, who got off early from the factory every Saturday, had to do the scrubbing and other cleaning. She scrubbed the floors with sand, which made it white as snow.

After school Louise and I, when Louise wasn't working at the factory, had to get potatoes from the cellar and cook them for supper. Jakob and John came home from their work, Mattie from hers, and Mother and Father from the fields, and we all sat down to a big table of potatoes, with no butter and no meat. We had to dip our potatoes in salt, and sometimes we had a little coffee with milk in it. We didn't have to decide what to was always potatoes. The potatoes that were left from supper ad to be sliced and ready to be warmed for breakfast, as mother did not have time to cook.

Sometimes, after school, I would run over to the factory to see what Mattie was doing. The factory was not far away, being in the same village. One time at noon, Mattie's boss said to her, "You don't have to go home and gnaw on any bones". Mattie replied, "Thank you. I don't have any bones to gnaw". We never had meat except on Sundays, and luxuries of any kind were unknown to us. [I did not know what preserves were!]

Father raised peas, beans, carrots, and potatoes, parsley, turnips and cabbage. We had to buy our flour because our farm was too small to raise wheat and rye. He bought lean cattle, fattened them, and then resold them. We always had plenty of milk and sweet butter, which was mostly used for cooking. Mother raised flowers for the market; I remember tulips, such pretty tulips...double piks, dahlias, six-week stalk, and one I don't remember. She arranged them in bouquets, placed them in a large flat basket, and carried them to market on her head. Mother was a very straight lady, and very pretty.

About twice a year a seamstress was hired to come to our home to make clothes for mother and the girls. These were made from native linen and imported cotton. Once a year a village tailor came to sew for the men. I can see him now perched upon the table with his needles, thread and cloth around him. It looked awfully funny to me.

Many of the poor people were employed as weavers in cold, damp cellars, or to go to the fields to cut wheat with a sickle. Their backs were so bent with labor that they never could straighten up. They were so poor they could not get milk for their babies, so many of them died. It was no wonder that many of them wanted to emigrate to Utah when the Gospel found them. Dr. Fred V. Taylor has often said to me, "How could you leave such a beautiful country?" I told him it was only beautiful for the rich. The poor or even the middle class people had no chance to grow or enjoy the country.

My father's first wife, Dorethea Wylimann, was a sister to my mother. She died leaving 3 children: Barbara, Henry and Rudolf. [Rudolf died very young.] My mother went to keep house for them, and married my father about a year after her sister died. [Actually, if the records are accurate, they married 3 months after Dorethea's death.] My parents had 6 children:

  1. Jakob, born on 29 August 1837
  2. Maggie, or Magdalena, born on 3 March 1839
  3. Hans Ulrich, born on 3 Mar 1843
  4. Elisabeth, born in 1846
  5. Louise, born on 13 February 1849, and
  6. Myself

Both Hans Ulrich, born in 1842, and Elisabeth died when they were still very small.

Barbara married Henry Housheer and lived between our house and the city, near some small lakes. It was a very beautiful place, just like a garden everywhere. Hills covered with grapes, large, picturesque purple bunches, and half hidden among these there could be seen a house with green shutters. Sometimes Louise and I would walk to Barbara's, but we were never allowed to go further for fear we would get lost. On the way to Barbara's we had to pass over the bridge which connected our village with the city. Just as we got inside the gates we had to turn and go up a hill and around a lake, as Barbara's house was built near the lake. She would give us nice large apples and apricots to eat. Barbara could not understand Mormonism.

Henry married Anna Burkhard and had 4 sons born in Switzerland. He and his wife both accepted the Gospel and came to Utah. Both died in Manti, Utah.

In 1855 Aunt Verena Bryner [we just called her "Aunt Bryner"] Father's sister, heard the Gospel first. She lived by the big city of Zurich. Aunt Bryner told us about the Gospel and Mother and Mattie often went to church with her. Her son, Ulrich, who was married, had an accident and became blind. He was killing a pig when the knife slipped and cut his eyes. The doctors could do nothing for him. His mother went into his room three times and said, "Don't feel so bad that you are blind. It is good for some reason, but we can't see it". And, so it was, for it was the means of bringing them to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. While my cousin Ulrich was laying in bed pondering his plight, he heard there were some Mormon Elders in the city. He told his sisters, Barbara and Frena to go find them; but, they couldn't find one. He sent them out again and they brought Brother Myers back with them. He came and administered to him and he was able to see a little, but it all vanished again. However, he knew he had heard the truth. He asked his sisters how the man looked. They told him and he said such a man had appeared to him when he was very sick. When he was going to school his school mate died of Typhoid fever, and Ulrich was not expected to live. At this time a man appeared to him and told him he would have to go through some fires. Of 16 children, he saw only 2. He raised some fine sons and daughters. Through all this, my dear parents gained a testimony of the Gospel.

My mother and Mattie joined the Church a long time before Father and the rest of us. Father never spoke anything against it...he let mother go to her meetings, and later, when they had no place to hold their meetings, he let them hold them in our house. He stood up for the Mormons. He loved the Elders and studied the Bible faithfully. One night Elder Miller came to our house after we younger children had gone to bed. He asked Father if he was ready to be baptized. Father told him he was. He awakened us children and we all went to a big reservoir that had been made by a railroad by digging gravel. That night, Father, Louise, the boys and I were baptized. On the way home it didn't seem to me that my feet touched the ground. I seemed to be flying. I was so happy I ran all the way. Louise was 12 years old and I was 10. Oh, how I rejoiced to be a Mormon, and when the school children called us names I didn't care, I was so glad I was a Mormon. And, my dear mother was so happy. She got to looking younger and stronger than she had been for years.

As soon as Father was baptized, the spirit of gathering came upon him. He sent Mattie to Utah in 1861 with the Lehmann's one year before we came. I rode on the train with her for a short distance when she was leaving. I thought it was wonderful!

Finally, our turn to immigrate to America came. A storm came up suddenly one day. We all rushed down into the cabins and the portholes were closed up. For three days we were locked up in the cabins. It was air, no light, no cooked food. When they tried to cook, the kitchen caught on fire and a little twin girl, about four or five years old got frightened and hid behind some boxes. Everyone hunted for her, they thought she was burned or drowned. They were so relieved when she popped out from behind the boxes that they all sang.

The trunks bumped from one side of the cabin to the other, so we couldn't sleep and anyhow, we were afraid of falling out of our bunks because the ship tossed and rocked so much. The Captain had let the anchor drag to keep the ship from going backwards, the wind was so strong. When the storm was over we went on deck and the waves came over and pretty near washed us overboard.

In spite of all the ravishing, Louise and I had some fun running wild on deck. We made up a game with the waves. We would stand by the railing and chant as the waves came toward us: "This one will go over and this one will break! Sometimes when they broke, they would splash all over the deck and get us wet.

My brother, Jakob, took sick and couldn't take the sick and old people on his back to take them up on deck anymore. He got so sick they had to pack HIM up on deck!

Our ship had been delayed by the storms. Everyone was anxiously waiting for the first sight of land, and when a small black spot came above the water a great shout went up. "Land, land, once more land!" My, what a noise! Everyone screamed. Some of the people laughed and cried for joy. We were as glad as Columbus and his sailors. It was just a little black spot, and as we watched, it grew bigger and bigger, and BIGGER!

At last we arrived in New York City. We had such a back wind we never would have gotten in if they had not pulled our shop into the harbor with a steamer. I'll never forget how beautiful the world looked after seeing nothing but water and the ship for five weeks.

We were quarantined at Castle Gardens in New York City. Father thought that the greatest treat he could give us was a supper of bread and milk, but the baker's bread was a disappointment to us.

Then came the journey through the United States. From here our journey to the Mississippi was by train. The cars had no comforts, no upholstered seats. They didn't even have water. Whenever the train would stop for water we would get off and fill everything we could with water from the railroad tanks. One day Jakob took tow bottles to fill. He was the last one to get back to the train and it started before he could reach it, so he had to throw the bottles away to jump on the train. He was sick and too weak to jump on and hold onto the water, much as he needed them. So, on and on, day and night, until we got to St. Louis. Then, we went on a steamship across the Mississippi River and up the Missouri River. Jakob Ballif was the agent, and he took care of the company. He put us in the machinery room, which stunk of oil and was very unpleasant. My brother, Jakob had been sick on the ship, and kept getting worse. My poor mother began to wear out from tending him day and night, along with all of the hardships of the voyage. There was no place for her to rest so she had to lie down under a workbench where the machinery was. Father could hardly stand it to hear his dear ones suffer so terribly, and he could do nothing to comfort them.

Our destination was Florence, Nebraska. My Father thought he could make the sick ones more comfortable there, but to our surprise there were no houses to be had. A half a mile away was a house, and a half a mile away in the other direction was another house. This was Florence!

A man met the steamer with a wagon and team. The sickest of the company, which included Jakob, who lay prostrate, were put in the wagon. The rest of us walked up from the river in the night and the put us in the only place they had, a stable where the government kept horses for the soldiers who had to protect the people from the Indians. It was clean, and clean straw was put down for our beds. And, it was dry! The people were glad to get under the shelter from the drizzling rain; however, some complained. Finally a woman spoke up and said, "Wasn't the Savior born in a manger? Who are we to complain? We should feel honored!" After that there was no more complaining. There were no stoves, so we learned to cook on campfires, and get ready for the long journey across the plains.

We had to stay in Florence three weeks, and all this time my poor mother and my brother, Jakob lay prostrate on the floor. And, it was so hot! Then, my youngest brother, John, took sick. My poor father felt awful because he could not make his sick more comfortable. We didn't know whether to go on with friends or stay in Florence without friends. Mother and Father knew Jakob could not live, but they finally started out with their friends. We were just one day out when Jakob died on July 1st, 1862. Father was able to get a hardwood coffin for him at Florence.

Father had to hire a man to drive the oxen, and a girl to cook for us. Mother had to lie on the trunks inside the hot wagon cover all day. At noon they had to take her out and lay her under the wagon to get a little air, and then drag her back unto the wagon to be jolted over the rough roads. One night father woke us up. He said mother wanted to tell us goodbye, and kiss us, so after we all kissed her she passed away on September 4th, 1862, on the plains.

Oh, my poor father felt so lonely! He had always had the hope of seeing our sister, Mattie, who had emigrated in 1861. What hurt Father most was that he couldn't get a coffin for mother. They had to sew her up in a blanket and sheet. Brother Ballif, our president, told them to make the grave deep, and make a kind of shelf they could put some willows on, so dirt wouldn't lay on the body, and so no wild animals could scratch it up. Then we had to go on.

My brother, John, was still very sick with Mountain Fever. At last he began to get better, but was awfully weak. There was nothing for him to eat. We couldn't make light bread. All we had was hardtack and bacon, and he couldn't eat that. So, it was a good thing we fetched a cow with us from Nebraska. She gave a little milk and that was what brought back his health and strength. Poor cow, she had to be driven along with the oxen and there wasn't much for the oxen and cows to eat. Everything was getting pretty dry, but we were glad we had a little milk for my brother.

We had gotten provisions at Omaha, Nebraska, enough to last us until we reached Salt Lake City. The provisions consisted of flour, sugar rice, dried apples, bacon, and coffee. Sometimes we had to drink our coffee black to save the milk for our brother, John, which was all that kept him alive on that long journey.

Father bought two charter-oak stoves. He paid $25.00 apiece for them. In Salt Lake City they were $100.00 each. He wanted to buy a step-stove to attach to the wagon to make it more convenient to cook, but brother Bailiff advised him not to do so. Afterward, he was sorry he had not bought one. He also purchased some farm implements. We had to depend on others for everything, as we could not speak English. At Winter Quarters we were fitted out to cross the Plains. We had two wagons and three yoke of oxen. Brother Henry had to yoke of oxen and two cows. One of the cows gave a little milk, but sometimes we had to yoke her up with the oxen.

We traveled on and on. A few miles before we reached Emigration Canyon our company stopped and repacked. My nephew, Henry, who was about 10 years old, and I watched with much interest. After a while, one of the people noticed us and asked what we were doing and why we weren't with our own people, because they were going another way, to Provo, and not to Salt Lake City. We looked around then and saw that our wagons were gone. We got scared and began to run, but we couldn't see our wagon train, and it began to get dark. We kept on walking, and were so tired. Every noise made us jump. We were so afraid we would meet a bear, or some Indians. I kept saying, "Let's sit here, I can't walk any further." Finally we saw a campfire a long way off. There were two camps. We didn't know which way to go. One might be Indians, but we didn't dare stop. We went toward the nearest fire. It was our camp, and they were eating supper. Some of them were getting ready to hunt for us. They were so relieved to see us that we didn't get the whipping we expected.

The next day a man came, a two-day journey from Salt Lake City, to meet us. He was my dear sister's husband, John Mathis. He told us the Mattie had died in Dixie, Utah. Oh! What a shock! I ran and told it to some of the people who knew her well in the old country. The girls said they knew it a long time ago, but Brother Bailiff, our president, forbid them to tell us the bad news until we reached the Rocky Mountains, as we had so much trouble. He thought it would be too much for my poor father, for he wanted to see her so much. It was a shock for all of us. I felt that if we had her, she would take the place of Mother and we wouldn't be so lonesome. She was such a good girl, and my sister Louise and I surely needed a mother.

We were a sorry looking crowd when we reached Salt Lake City; weary, dirty, ragged, with chapped hands and burnt faces. We were going on to Dixie, but we couldn't travel any further. For one thing, our oxen were weak and poor, and for another thing, my older brother, Henry, had three boys, ten, eight and six years of age, and his wife had been very sick during the last part of the journey. She was still very weak, so we stopped in Lehi for the winter, thinking we would go on to Dixie in the spring. But, Father had a chance to buy a farm and a house, so we never went south. My brother's wife gradually got better. Two sisters, Sister Bushman and Sister Zimmerman, nursed her back to health, and she was able to finish raising her three boys. She lived to see them married and with families. They moved to Manti, Utah, and lived there.

My father married Margaret Kuhn, a young woman we knew in Switzerland [she stayed with us for 3 months in Switzerland]. She had paid us rent for her loom and she had woven silk in our home. My sister, Mattie had slept with her and talked about Mormonism with her. She had a lot of trouble in the old country, so she had come to Utah as soon as she could. After Father married her I used to help her spin and weave.

Father still had some money and loaned it out to the Swiss people so they could come to Utah. A Swiss immigrant, John Liechty, living in Provo, came to our house. He met Louise and fell in love with her. Father gave his consent to their marriage. Soon after, my brother John was married. He had gone to Salt Lake City with my father and they brought some immigrants back with them. Among them was an English girl, Francis Sarah Smith, and her mother. The moment John looked into her eyes he fell in love with her. They were married soon after and were very happy until she died in childbirth on November 4th, 1867. Two years later he married Elizabeth Boshard. They had 10 children, but lost them all in early childhood. Elizabeth was a wonderful woman, and though she had been so unfortunate with her own children, she adopted and raised a daughter.

Father died 4 years after we came to Lehi, on August 30th, 1866. He didn't see his and Margaret's second child. I was lonely after he died, so I went to Provo to see my sister, Louise, who had a young baby. One of their Swiss friends, Nicolas Muhlestein, needed a hired girl. I took the place. I did not mind the work, for I liked Mrs. Muhlestein very much. She was a fine looking woman...even when old, her figure and skin were just about perfect. For two years I lived with them.

About this time Patriarch Smith came to Provo to give Blessings. Father Muhlestein persuaded me to get mine. Patriarch Smith told me to go on as I was doing; that the Lord was pleased with me, and that many trials and blessings were in store for me. This set me to thinking. I was just about to listen to some young people who were having what they called "A Good Time", but I knew it was also a wild time.

I married Brother Muhlestein in the Endowment House, on April 18, 1868. His wife, Mary and I were sealed to him the same day. Another room was built onto the house for me, and an upstairs added over the original home. This house, when I first knew it had a dirt roof. I remember once when it rained, there wasn't a dry place to lay the baby in the whole house.

Brother Muhlestein's older children were boys, and so Brother Leichty and he took up adjoining homesteads at the mouth of Rock Canyon. The first wife and older children went to live on the farm. I was left in town with the small children. My oldest daughter, Mary Ann, was at the farm. She had to work awfully hard for a little girl of eight.

Before I went up to the farm all the children had the measles. They were all up in the attic, which was so low they could hardly move around without bumping their heads. Water was brought up to them in a large bucket. However, it was almost all gone before the last one was reached, so my poor little Mary Ann, who was in the farthest corner, almost died.

About this time there was a terrible wind storm from the east. Trees were uprooted here in Provo and along the canal which is now 8 miles north. The first wife had left two of her babies with me and had gone to the farm to help, as the children up there were all sick. I was alone with the babies, and I worried about those at the farm. I was so frightened of the storm I wouldn't put the babies up in the attic to sleep for fear the wind would blow the roof off.

I stood the separation as long as I could. One morning, unable to stand it any longer, I put my baby in the buggy with what else I could carry, and walked with my four younger children to the farm. It took all day. I told my husband I would rather live with my family and eat bread and potatoes than live in town and be separated. So, I stayed at the farm. At this time I had six children:

  1. Mary Ann
  2. Louise
  3. Louise
  4. Esther
  5. Enoch
  6. Brigham, and
  7. Israel

It was in 1885 that I went up to the farm to join the family. Ida was born there about seven months later on March 6th, 1886. Mary Ann was helping my sister Louise at the time. The other girls went "ground cherrying" in the summer. These little berries had to be scalded, then dried. They were sold to the mining camps. I had some chickens brought up from town. A year later we planted some strawberries and vegetables.

While Mary Ann and Louise were staying at my sister's house her boys had typhoid fever. Enoch, one of her boys, had been peddling and came down with the fever. He died shortly after and then Frederick took the fever and followed him. Barbara Rickenbach, a young woman from Switzerland who at the time was staying with us, went to the funerals for Enoch and Frederick. Afterward, she went up to the house. She came home and immediately took sick. However, she got better. But my youngest child, Ephraim, took the fever. He was very ill for a long time. Ida came down with it in the summer, during July. It was so hot in the house we kept her out under the trees. About a year later Mary Ann and Louise came down with the same fever, and were sick for a long time. Louise nearly died. They were at my sister Louise's house.

Ephraim was a baby and Ida only two years old when the trouble first came up about polygamy. The officers came up on horseback looking for my husband. They had come before, but his particular time we were alone. As soon as we saw them my husband went down into the cellar through a trap door, and I dumped potatoes we ha sacked onto the floor. The men came in and looked all through the house, even up in the attic and in the children's bed. They did not discover the trap door to our relief!

Another time I remember them coming for my husband. Brother Liechty was sitting by the window on a bench. We heard the officers outside. One of them said, "There he is now. See him by the window?" They were disappointed to find it was only Brother Liechty, sitting calmly fixing his clock.

It became impossible for my husband to live at the farm, so he and I went up to Peay's Mine. We lived there one whole winter. In order to get to this mine we had to climb high ledges, clear up to the limestone ledges. We had to leave Epraim with the first wife; the other children, also. I had to dress in men’s clothing to climb up to the mine. The boys had to carry food up on their backs over the ledges as it was too steep for the horses. One night, Joe, one of the first wife's children, brought us some mutton. We smoked it and it certainly was good. We made him a sort of bunk as he couldn't go down that night. He had been reading the Book of Mormon before going to bed. Suddenly we heard a noise and got up to see what was happening to him. He had been dreaming that a Lamanite was after him with a long knife. He was scrapping with him and had fallen out of his bunk. His bed was behind a shaft which had been boarded up. That is why we were so frightened. We thought he had fallen into the shaft. In the summer my husband often hid in a rock house up on the mountain east of the farm.

For two years we kept hidden away, but the officers caught up with him and he had to serve two months in jail. They let him off easy as some of the officers of the church had to serve a year or more.

I have eight children living: four sons and four daughters. One child died when nine months old. I have 37 grandchildren and 2 great grandchildren living. I was 76 years old when I wrote part of this history. Since then I have added more.


As Grandmother stated, she started this history in 1927 when she was 76 years old. She died on April 23rd, 1934, at the age of 83. Since this history was written, three of her children have died. They were: Enoch, Brigham and Louise; and, there are many more grandchildren and great grandchildren.

There is a great deal that could have been added to this history, and I would like to add just a little...some of the things that I remember.

Grandfather died on June 9th, 1916. He was 86 years old. Grandmother was left alone, as all of her children were married. She stayed on the farm the rest of that summer. Her youngest son, Ephraim, and his wife stayed with her until the next spring. During the summer of 1917, I remember the old home on Wolf Flat, and was privileged to stay there the biggest part of the summer with Grandmother. She had several of her grandsons and granddaughters with her and kept us all busy on the farm.

Grandmother often told us stories, and once she told us that they raised rye one summer...dry-farmed it. In the fall they had some of it stacked in the house. They would pick out or drew the straw out of the hull, so they had only the clean, white straw. This was braided into hats. All the girls learned to braid the straw. A lady from Switzerland, Sister Mary Keppler, had learned to sew hats in the old country. She made some beautiful hats for the girls.

They had water piped down from a spring in Rock Canyon. The Liechty boys and my uncles dug trenches and piped the water down, keeping the pipe in repair. They had a continual flowing well of cold spring water. This water was also used to water a lovely flower garden, which had to be fenced in so the cattle and horses wouldn't trample it. Thy were brought up to the water trough to b watered, when there was no water in the irrigation ditch which ran near the barn.

Grandmother bought a place in town in 1917, and had her daughter Mary Ann, come to live with her with her 4 children. Mary Ann's husband had died on November 13th, 1916.

Grandmother spent two years in Canada with her youngest daughter, Ida M. Conrad. She loved the flat plains country of southern Alberta, near Tabor. It seemed unusual for her to like it so much as she had always lived where there were mountains; but, she often said that she believed that when Christ comes to this earth there will be no more high mountains, only rolling hills similar to the country around Tabor. She often talked of how lovely the earth will be at this time.

She was indeed thankful to her Heavenly Father for having heard the Gospel, and to her parents for bringing her to this land of America. She was a faithful and active Church member. She held offices in Relief Society, and the Genealogical Society. At the time of her death she was chaplain for Camp #1, daughters of Utah Pioneers. She did a great deal of temple work on her side and on Grandfather Muhlestein's lines. She also did work on the first wife, Mary Hauenstein's line. She was always ready to instruct or advise her children and grandchildren, and instilled in their hearts the true principles of the Gospel. She really was a great teacher, she was gifted as a storyteller, and most of the stories she told were from the Bible. She knew her Bible. She said this was because as a little child she had to memorize a great deal of it. She could also tell stories from the Book of Mormon and D & C. She left a glorious heritage to all of her posterity.

Grandfather's first wife, Mary Hauenstein, died in 1892, so my grandmother was the only grandmother her family knew. As children, we didn't know there were two families; and, as we grew older, it made no difference to us. Grandmother treated us all alike. There never was any partiality shown in Grandmother's house.

Written by Anna C. Wintsch Muhlestein
Addendum written by Bertha Hooks Ramsey
Recopied by Dianne Elizabeth on 7 November 1987

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Web Site: Dianne Elizabeth's Family History, Created July 17th, 1999
Page Title: Anna Caroline Wintsch Muhlestein
Page Created: January 3rd, 2000
Revised: July 21st, 2000