Description

Martin’s Cove

The plucky little ATV growled along the trail, chewing through the crusted snow. We had left the shelter of the ranch house and went deep er into the Wyoming sage. It was cold, somewhere below freezing. We traveled over the trail for a couple miles then we parked the vehicle and walked the remaining yards to the top of the hill. We stood looking out over a beautiful cove sheltered on three sides, a feeling of reverence and peace swept over us. We were standing in the quiet of Martin’s Cove, Wyoming. It was here that the pioneers of the Martin Handcart Company took shelter in November 1856. A gentle snow fell in the muted light as we walked around this hallowed place, absorbing the tranquility, and savoring the feeling.

I was shone the old fallen log on which President Gordon B. Hinckley sat and wept as he looked out over the Cove and pondered its history.

Here, in 1856, Isaac Wardle sat down to die. He was too tired and too weak to go any further. Perceiving his dangerous plight, men in the company urged him to get up and go chop some wood. He protested, but they continued until he got up and chopped the wood. That effort saved his life. I saw stumps there in the Cove dating back to 1856 that had been chopped with an axe.

There are trees all around on the hillsides and in the cove. In 1856, George Padley and Sarah Anne Franks were there. They had joined the Church in England and set out for Zion. They were betrothed, and according the accounts, postponed their marriage in order to be sealed by priesthood authority in Utah. They were the sweethearts of the Martin Company. By the time they reached this place though, the journey and the weather had so sapped their strength that both were failing. Sarah was taken into one of the sick wagons to ride. George had “overexerted himself in trying to help other members of the handcart company. He had gotten wet and chilled from the winter wind.” Suffering from hypothermia and pneumonia, George passed away there in the Cove. Knowing what the wolves would do to George’s body, Sarah asked that he be wrapped in the shawl that her mother had given her when she left England, and that his body be placed high up in tree. As she departed the Cove to finish the journey west, she would have looked over her shoulder and seen his body suspended in the gnarled trees—her hopes and dreams of a life with George seemingly ended.

Subdued, we walked out of that grove made sacred by sacrifice. As we did, I turned and looked back over my shoulder and up into those trees. There are not words to describe the hallowed feeling I felt. It is a place made holy by its history.  

Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin%27s_Cove

https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/learn/locations/martins-cove-mormon-trail-site?lang=eng

https://www.tellmystorytoo.com/member_pdfs/sarah-ann-franks_1042_351.pdf

https://www.familysearch.org/tree/person/memories/KWNK-NF5