Thomas R. Canova Family Organization

Musings of Olive Minerva Gould Boyer,
sister of Mary Emily Gould Canova

I'm the result of a great grandmother who wore seven petticoats and a brave grandfather who was thrown into a Missouri prison for religious principles.


When I was born, I became the present admiration of a gaunt old woman who walked across the plains. In my bones and sinews are the distant legacy of a soldier who served as an ensign in the War of 1812. In my blood is the pulse of an English woodcarver and hat maker. There is the faint scent about me of the chips of fragrant wood as they fell from his skillful knife, and a tintype of a stiff, starched woman who could make straw into hats for the women around her.


Out of my dreams rises the miasma of a town I have never known and the cobblestones of streets I have never walked. In my hair is the seaspray of an ocean voyage made for religious beliefs, and my fingers are sensitive to the feel of linsey-woolsey and fine silk.

I am a young man who defied a judge to help a Prophet of God; a young midwife who answered calls at all hours to help neighbors and friends. In me there is a farmers' pride in a row of golden corn and a stable of fine horses; a love of books and writings, and the smell of fresh home made bread.


I am the spirit of a holiday time around Grandmother's fireplace, and an old man praying aloud, and a boy on a mission for the Church.


On me are the marks of a thousand miles and bodies. I am part of a procession which can never begin nor end with me. For each of us there is a heritage of heart and hand.


How strange and wonderful it is to be the keeper of a temple.
Written by Olive Minerva Gould Boyer
February 12, 1972
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