One Sunday we camped to shoe the cattle and reset the wagon tires. Mother took two teamsters to make fires while she washed her wearing apparel. They knew I was no cook, but left the job for me. I built a fire after gathering buffalo chips, and getting it started, the wind playing with it as it pleased. I put the dutch oven on to heat, with the cover by the side of it. I made a pie of dried apples. Putting it into the oven, the lid still heating, I turned toward the wagon, several yards awat [away] from the fire for safety. A nice cow sneaked up and helped herself to the pie when a young girl called me to come look to my rice. I had a hard time cooking the biscuits as I was jumping in and out of the wagon, climbing over the provision box, watching my baby girl, getting what the doctor wanted, as it was his misfortune never to find anything he was looking for. The fire had its own way of burning and I thought, O Zion, will we ever reach thee?