Nothing Came Easy


Sarah Ann Elliott Skidmore, my 3x great grandmother, had a life that honestly sounds more like a novel than a normal pioneer story.


She was born in Philadelphia in 1833. When she was about three years old, her aunt — who could not have children of her own — kidnapped her and raised her as her own daughter. For years, Sarah Ann’s real mother had no idea where she was.


Her aunt was wealthy and raised Sarah Ann in comfort near what is now Jersey City, NJ. She attended a strict Quaker girls school and grew up refined, educated, and completely separated from her real family.


Meanwhile, her older sister Mary spent years trying to find her. She worked jobs just to afford visiting schools one by one, hoping to recognize Sarah Ann among the students. Finally, when Sarah Ann was around eighteen, Mary found her.


The reunion was almost unbelievable. Mary invited her to visit home, and when Sarah Ann walked through the gate, something felt familiar. Then she saw her mother and suddenly remembered.

“You are my mother.”


After years apart, the family was finally reunited.


Not long after, both sisters joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after hearing missionaries preach in Philadelphia. Sarah Ann knew it would cost her inheritance from the aunt who had raised her, but she joined anyway, later saying the Gospel mattered more to her than money.

At nineteen, she married Henry Brett Skidmore and helped raise his young daughter from his first marriage.


Then came the journey west.


In 1855, they crossed the plains to Utah. Sarah Ann had grown up educated and sheltered, but frontier life hit hard. She barely knew how to cook and had never dealt with the rough realities of survival. When Henry packed salt pork for the trip, she asked what the “awful looking stuff” was. By the end of the journey, she was grateful for every bit of food they had.


The trip was brutal. Supplies ran low. Shoes wore out. By the time they reached Utah, their feet were blistered and bleeding from walking over rocks and thistles.


At one point during the journey, Henry spotted a group of painted Native warriors approaching the wagon at night. The men wanted food — and then noticed Sarah Ann. Henry refused to give her up. To calm the situation, Sarah Ann offered bolts of fabric she had brought west. The warriors tied the cloth to their horses and rode away with it streaming behind them across the prairie.


Life in Utah was not easier.


Sarah Ann sewed clothing by candlelight late into the night, sometimes for soldiers at Camp Douglas and sometimes for church leaders. She became one of the first teachers in East Mill Creek and walked miles to teach school. She delivered babies for neighbors without accepting payment and spent years caring for sick families in the community.


While pregnant and nearly starving in early Salt Lake, she became desperate for bread. After walking miles trying unsuccessfully to buy flour, she headed home sick and discouraged. Along the moonlit road, she suddenly noticed a white pile on the ground. It turned out to be flour. She filled her apron with enough to make bread and later said it was the best bread she ever tasted.


Over the years, she learned everything pioneer life demanded:


She had thirteen children of her own while also helping support the community around her.

After decades of hardship, her health declined. In 1910 she moved to Burley, Idaho, to live with her daughter Lucy, and died there in 1911. Her body was returned to Salt Lake City for burial.


Her story stands out because she experienced almost every extreme of 19th century American life:


And somehow through all of it, she became known not for tragedy, but for service, endurance, and helping hold her community together.