The following was written by Emma Jane Hubbard McBride on March 27, 1935:
Our lives were very much like most children's are--work and play with some schooling. We lived on a farm and milked cows, fed pigs, harvested hay and grain. Also, my father owned a thresher and threshed grain all over the valley. That made a good deal of work for all, especially for the older boys, Moore and Paul. Mother and Minnie (my oldest sister), were brought in on the labor also, for if it rained or the thresher got broke, the threshing crew was at our home, and, oh, my, the cooking that had to be done. We youngsters had some pretty good times, too. There was more cake, more pie for us, for somewhow, we got to share. How our parents kept us all filled, I don't know, but they managed to do it. Little did we know the sacrifices they made, and all we can do to repay them is to live good, do as much good as we can and as little harm, make our parents glad they stayed true to the trust given them, that of rearing so many, 7 boys and 5 girls. Becky, however, died when a baby, September 12, 1891. The rest grew to be quite good sized children--eleven of us. How our parents took care of us and did as well as they did with us, I don't know.
At first, when we were small, if we went to anything, we had to go to Pima, but soon enough people settled there (Hubbard) to start a school The town was named Hubbard, as with our family and my elder brother, Free Hubbard's family, there were so many they decided to name it for the most population. (Free Hubbard was the son of Elisha Freeman Hubbard and Agnes Archibald, my grandfather's first wife noted earlier. The preceding sentence is my, Willard C. McBride's, note of explanation.) In the first school, thirteen was the number, not many compared to the number now with more than thirty to a class even; but we learned and a had a good time anyhow, climbing the foothills and sliding down them, making play houses in the mesquites in Wests' field, and playing ball, dareline, and stealsticks was our pasttime at recess and noon. The first year, the older children (two) were appointed to clean the house and get drinking water. This water was brought from the big ditch in a bucket then. I remember that rusty old dipper we all drank from. When through, it was dropped in the bucket, sometimes slobbers and all, for it wasn't very funny to carry the water, so we must not waste it. But that water tasted good as soda water or other fancy drinks we get now. If we got it fresh, it was plenty cool, and if it had run through Wests' field where herds of stock watered, never mind, though there wasn't ever anything wrong with the kids, and if anyone would have told us people were cut open, a poison appendix taken and out and sewed up in eleven minutes, well, we would have tried to swallow a lizard or something to try to see how it seemed. But ignorance is bliss, so let it stay that way. For it is not only folly but inconvenient to be wise sometimes.
The Hubbard Ward was organized with my father being made Bishop. Here came added responsibilities for all, especially my father and mother. In due time, Sunday School and Primary were organized. This brought in all who would work. But that is the thing about these small wards, everyone who will has opportunities--young girls twelve years of age were chosen to be Primary and Sunday School teachers. It develops leadership. Life moved along. Finally, the ward was reorganized--someone else put in as Bishop. But there was always plenty to do, thanks to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It gives us all jobs.
Note: The following was taken from personal and ancestral history of Willard C. McBride. I have left it as his mother, Emma Jane Hubbard McBride, wrote it.