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Morgan Family Pioneer Heritage
Jennie Ryset

The youngest child of Frank and Priscilla Ryset


In the picture above are, left to right: Sarah Jane Ryset, Sarah Priscilla Morgan Ryset, Jennie Ryset.


Jennie with sled.


Left to Right: Priscilla Morgan Ryset (mother), Jennie Ryset Borg, Axel Edward (Eddie) Borg. Woman on right unkown.


By Jennie Ryset Borg

I was young when Daddy left; but he left me the memory of a man with a vision, undaunted faith, wisdom, and the power to transmit these gifts to others.

He was a man of his word - we children all knew that. One word of discipline from Dad was all that was needed. I remember receiving only one spat. My parents didn't rule with an iron rod, but with a deep respect for the Masters word.

Dad showed a deep, sincere pleasure in sharing the best he had with his fellow men, this left him a poor man as worldly possessions go; but I am sure he was spiritually very rich.

My father was a tall gaunt, bald-headed man with a mustache and blue blue eyes. Not always a handsome fellow, but distinguished when well groomed. He had a powerfully strong voice. When he preached he used many gestures and pounded on the pulpit in his eagerness to be understood.

Many times I too find it necessary to raise my voice to my children. Did this man of vision see the weak faith in his youngest child? For he expounded in my memory a line of one of his speeches - that bit of scripture "And upon this rock I shall build by church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." Long since I have memorized the story he must have told, and words that ring in my ears are the part of the scripture that follows (Christ talking to Peter saying) "And I will give unto thee the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven; and what so ever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in Heaven."

There are many stories revealing Dad's great visions of things to come. Grandpa Morgan, my father's stepfather (Thomas Morgan) was near death. Something of great importance was on his mind - something Frank must know. He must not die before they talked. Frank, my father, was thirty miles away. Thirty miles of mountinous rough roads. In those days it was a good days ride on horseback. Frank would never have seen this man alive again had he not met the rider half way with the words. "He hasn't gone yet, but we'll have to hurry." The rider had come to give that message to Dad, but this man of vision already knew.

Mother was a real pal to her children. She played with them. Laughed with them and cried with them. She was happier in their company than with anyone else. Yet she got along well with people, and was loved by all. Mom was beautiful with her black laughing eyes, smiling lips and even features. Her faith in God was not to be questioned. He lived and she knew it.

She often repeated to us (not exactly as the author wrote them) but like this from that old Mormon song:

Lift up your hearts,
Fresh courage take
God will never you forsake
For soon you'll have this tale to tell
All is well; All is well.

My earliest memory of Mother, connected with church work, was our trips to Primary. Sometimes we would have the team hitched to a vehicle and take the long way around (3 miles) picking up other Mothers and children on our way.

Or sometimes we would walk for one mile straight through fields. On this route we jumped ditches (not always in one jump) climbed fences, sometimes while being chased by strange four legged beasts. We seldom arrived in as good a condition as we left home, but we always got there.

I am sure that in the spirit world I chose my brothers and sisters. And never could one of them have been replaced by anyone more wonderful or dear to me. I think I could write a book on the constructive lessons each have taught me through the years.

And this dear Ellen, is a short reminisce of my family.