On the 27th of July 1912, Edmund and I drove to the ranch to visit Annie and look after business, taking Elva and Vernon with us. Madge, then 14 years old, was left in charge at the home in town. Next morning, just at daybreak, we were awakened by the sound of a galloping horse whose rider came with an order from the stake authorities that all the Mormon colonists were to flee to the United States for safety. Mexican rebels had surrounded Colonia Dublan and were expected be upon Diaz at any minute. Our concern was not for the property we were leaving, but for the safety of our children and families, part of whom were in the upper colonies, including my daughters Edna and Lenore. Hastily we left the ranch to hurry to our frightened children in town. On the way we met droves of cattle and horses, hogs and chickens wandering off through the mesquite brush to begin to shift for themselves. We also had released all our own livestock.

In town, not a person was to be seen on the street. Everyone was busy packing and getting ready to leave. When we reached home we found Madge had gone right ahead with preparations to leave. She had got sour milk from Lily Sanders and made biscuits to pack in the lunch, and I wish you could have seen the table piled high with them! There was enough to last a regiment of soldiers. While Madge was busy in the kitchen, the little girls had made preparations with the clothes. Dresser drawers, trunks and whatnots were emptied into sheets and tied with the four corners. Much of the packing had to be done over. We took the children into our arms and all went in the bedroom to kneel and ask God for protection and guidance in this crisis and to comfort the part of our family in Juarez. I hurried for my baby, Lamar, to bathe him once more in his own home and look after his comfort as best I could before we left. I held him close to my heart and wondered how we could keep him well and fed in such a crisis.

At nine o’clock the town began the line-up. Some adjustments had to be made in order to provide transportation for those who had none. After repacking, we drove off and left all our best shoes sitting in the back yard. But this was a small item compared to all the rest we left on that fateful 28th of July, 1912. Edmund and a few other men were detailed to stay in the town and care for things as much as possible while awaiting developments. Scouts were patrolling the outskirts of town in order to avoid a surprise attack from the rebels, and also flanked the caravan as we drove away.

Edmund and a few other men were detailed to stay in town and care for things as much as possible while awaiting developments. Scouts were patrolling the outskirts of town in order to avoid a surprise attack from the rebels, and also flanked the caravan as we drove away. Edmund, with his excellent language, was able to stop the rebels from following after the caravan. He warned them that the colonists were prepared to defend themselves if they were approached.

Sundown found us ready to camp at Corner Ranch just over the U.S. border, eighteen miles from home. Just as most of us were preparing supper over the campfires, a sudden rainstorm began. It seemed that the clear sky just opened and poured great sheets of water. We watched our meal, dishes, utensils and even pillows and larger things float away down the hill. The next day, as we stopped at Dog Springs, we encountered an equally severe storm.

When we reached Hachita, New Mexico, the United States government gave us army tents and supplies and organized a camp under military regulation. Commodities were issued according to the size of the family from a large tent called the commissary. At first, I had the only stove in camp (Edmund brought it out of Mexico), so I baked bread for everyone I could. The oven was filled with bread practically 24 hours of the day.

Hachita stored its city water in a large railroad tank sitting high on four pillars. As we were about one-fourth mile from town, it was hard to get water to camp. Madge, Floss and Lola and Susie Jacobson pulled barrels of water to camp in a little cart and sold it for ten cents a barrel. Edna and Lenore worked in Hachita and Annie did dressmaking by the day.

From Hachita we moved to the Corner Ranch in January, 1913, were we helped salvage some cattle from Mexico. Since we planned to remain for at least one winter Edmund hired Elmer Johnson to come and teach our children. Several Diaz families filed on land north of the Corner Ranch, so we had quite a little community besides our school.

Sister Hardy had been Lamar’s wet nurse and when she left Hachita my poor baby began feeling the hardships of pioneering. The weather was hot, the tents were no protection from heat or insects and he became very ill. We called Dr. Thornberry from Hachita and he did all he could but, Lamar grew steadily worse. His eyes swelled up until they were like apples sitting on his cheeks. Edmund had been calling to El Paso after he came out of Mexico, so I was alone with my baby a great deal of the time.

The doctor told us that Lamar couldn’t last another day, but as he lingered, the doctor would say, “Is that baby still alive?! I can’t see how it happens.” Of course we had the baby administered to and were all praying for his recovery. We carried him around on a pillow for months. Edmund came and did all he could, but the poor baby suffered very much. When he recovered enough to sit up, he held his little head on the side, and was so weak he couldn’t sit for long. The doctor said he was suffering from malnutrition and food poisoning.

When we moved into a house at the Corner Ranch, Lamar began to mend rapidly, but has never been well and strong as my other children had been after they were old enough to eat. The Exodus took a greater toll from Lamar than any of the rest of us. I am sure that if we had remained in Mexico Lamar would have been as well as could be. He has never married but has earned a place in our love, and his patience and suffering have been a factor in making for unity in our family.