Annie Christella Hansen Naylor

-By Cecile N. Jackson, 7-14-06

I am the youngest child of Christella. I was not quite 13 years old when she died, and had just begun to get to know her as a person, not just as “Mommy.” My memories of her, therefore, are mostly childish ones.

Two of my early memories occurred one summer when we came out to Utah as a family [everyone but Daddy,] to visit our western families. We were eastern city kids, and a summer in Boulder was quite an adventure. Since I was just three, most of my memories of that trip are vague, but I have two very clear ones:

First, I immediately fell in love with Uncle Franklin, and embarrassed Mama by asking if I could sleep in his bed with him. Disappointed on that score, I made up for it by following him everywhere.

The second memory involved a planned hike up the Sugar Loaf. Everyone was going, and I was excited to go too, although I didn’t know anything about climbing hills. I wanted to wear my sandals but Grandma Hansen insisted I could only go if I wore tennis shoes. We got into such a heated argument – woman vs. child – that Mama got very upset, and all three of us ended up staying home. I never did climb the Sugar Loaf.

Mama loved Boulder, and as we grew she often talked about her Boulder home, the ranch, her family, etc.; and we would laugh at her southern Utah accent: “feeding the harses carn.” Mama never did feel as comfortable in the big city as she did in her beloved Utah, but she had her family and her church, and she was content. She worked in Primary and Relief Society, and I remember as a preschooler, following her around to different meetings, especially when it was time to get ready for the annual Relief Society Bazaars.

Mama was an excellent seamstress, and made many of my clothes. She would often take dresses that one of my older sisters had outgrown and use the material to make something new for me. So instead of ordinary “hand-me-downs,” I received “remodeled-me-downs.” My one objection was that Mama was such a perfectionist; she would take a seam out and redo it several times until she was satisfied. I would get so impatient.

Frances was attending BYU when she got married, and Mama and I made the trip out to Utah on the train. This was a very special time for me. I remember when we changed trains in Chicago, Mama kept getting turned around in the huge Chicago train station, and I had to keep her headed in the right direction. I was extremely proud of myself.