Spring City, Utah
Sample story
Gorden’s Gift
My dad would have been 87 years old two days ago (July 10th). He passed away 12 years ago. As I reflected on his life, many great memories came back to me.
My father was a World War II veteran and was on the ship heading to Japan when the war ended. He was part of the first occupational troops in Japan. When he returned from the war, he soon married my mom and started life as a dairy farmer. The life of a dairy farmer is not for the weary of heart as it takes a year round commitment of hard work.
Those 15 head of cows had to be milked twice a day, 365 days a year. He was also the milk man that went around the county and picked up the 10 gallon cans and hauled them to the local creamery where they made cheese. One of my fondest memories of my Dad was the gift he gave me when I turned 12 years old.
At this age my Dad would give me and my three brothers a calf. We then were given the responsibility of caring for that calf until it got old enough to start producing milk. We then were able to sell the milk produced from our cow. I remember the very first check I received from my cow. It totaled $24.55. I thought I was the richest kid around. For being in the early 70’s, this was a lot of money.
Over the years, I was able to earn and save close to $4000 from my cow. Not only was it a great way to earn an allowance, growing up on a dairy farm taught me many lessons of the value of hard work.
Thanks Dad for giving me such a precious gift!
Originally shared as Dad of the Week — “Gorden’s Gift,” July 2012
Senior year, 1975
Dale · North Sanpete High
I was a senior at North Sanpete High in 1975. Drove in from Spring City before the sun was honest, Dad’s truck, heater stuck on or off. Hawks across the jacket. Shop first period if I could swing it. Mr. Christensen let me build Mom a little pine table. I held the iron too long and burned the underside. Still there. Nobody turns it over.
Friday the gym smelled like varnish and popcorn. Coach ran us up the hill behind the school until our legs forgot they belonged to a farm. I asked Kathy to homecoming and she said yes like it was no trouble at all. After, we sat on the tailgate on State Street. The mountain was just a black shape. Radio between stations.
Graduation was those same folding chairs. They called my name. Dad came in his church shoes and did not say much in the lot, which is how I knew. Monday I was back with the cows. The diploma did not change the milking. Some of the boys went to the service that summer. I stayed. Somebody had to take the truck when Dad’s back went out in July. I was eighteen and already late for being a kid.
Kathy went to Snow College. I saw her at the Fourth of July parade two years later and we waved like the truck had not meant anything. It had. Mom put a doily on the table so you cannot see my work. That is all right. I know what is under there. When I tell it now I can still hear the bell and the gravel in the student lot. Senior year does not last. The mountain does.
Sample cover. Family name on a matte kraft-look print.
The plates go in the sink. The stories stay.
After supper, the good story comes out. Speak it at the table. We put it in a booklet with your family name on the cover, and send it home.
The Sorensen booklet is an example. Family name on a matte kraft-look cover, cream 60# pages, 5.5 × 8.5 inches, saddle-stitched with two staples. Not a PDF. A keepsake for the good drawer.
One private table and one booklet, mailed to the host.
How a gathering works
A private room on the phone. These stories are not a feed.
Guests get one URL. You get a host desk. Neither is listed. Audio does not start until the person at the table agrees. You approve before anything is printed. The object is a printed booklet meant for the good drawer, not a feed.
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1
You open a private gathering
Name it Sunday after the pie, or the family name itself. You get one protected link. Share it at the table after dessert, or send it to a sibling who cannot drive in. Same link, same booklet.
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2
People speak. Typing is optional
Pass the phone. Consent first, then record, or upload a clip already on the phone. Two cream prompts wait for anyone who would rather write. Nobody has to type for the booklet to exist.
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3
You choose what is printed
Spoken audio becomes story candidates. Keep, edit, or hold back anything that should stay in the room. Nothing is printed raw. Nothing is posted.
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4
Print, mail, drawer
Family name on a matte kraft-look cover. Cream pages, saddle stitch, mailed to the host. Usually 2 to 3 weeks from the moment you approve. Tracking when it ships.
It is for the person who already sets the table. Siblings still alive, still telling the same story. People who would rather speak than type. Far cousins on a table night. You name the gathering, share the link, and approve what belongs.
Protected links. Family drawer.
Before you open one
Straight answers, then the gathering.
The mountain is going russet. The dishes are in the sink. These are the questions people ask before they pass the phone. Open one if you need it, then name the gathering.
What do I actually buy?
One private gathering and one saddle-stitched booklet, mailed to the host. $49 will open checkout when keys land. Your family name prints on a matte kraft-look cover. Not a subscription. Not a feed.
Who should open a gathering?
The person who already sets the table. Siblings still telling the same story. Far cousins who would rather speak than type. If you have been meaning to keep the canoe story, this is the quiet way to do it.
Do people have to type?
No. Pass the phone after dessert. Consent first, then record, or upload a clip already on the phone. Two cream prompts wait for anyone who would rather write. Nobody has to type for the booklet to exist.
How private is it?
Guests get one URL. You get a host desk. Neither is listed or searched. Audio does not start until the person at the table agrees. Nothing is posted. You approve before anything is printed.
Can far siblings join?
Yes. Choose table night. Same private page, a scheduled hour, same booklet. They speak from their own kitchen. You still approve what belongs. One gathering, one ship-to.
What if a story should stay in the room?
Hold it back. Spoken audio becomes candidates, not the booklet. Keep, edit, or leave it at the table. Only what you keep goes to print.
What happens to the recordings?
They stay on the private gathering so a spoken memory can become a page. They are not published. The object you keep is the printed booklet.
When do I pay, and what is included?
$49 when you open the gathering. That holds the private page and the booklet path. One booklet ships to the host address you give. You still approve the stories before anything is printed.
How long until it arrives?
Usually 2 to 3 weeks from the moment you approve. Lulu prints, the carrier delivers, tracking is emailed when it ships.
What if nobody wants to talk?
That is all right. The prompts are there. Someone can write. You can leave the gathering open for a few Sundays. Nothing is printed until you approve. If the table stays quiet, the booklet waits.
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Tell us you are interested. We will email when Stripe and Lulu keys are in. Preview the demo host desk anytime.