One day my friend Ezra Meeker was on his farm in Washington, D.C. He was sitting with his ill wife, Eliza Jane; his seven year old son; and me, his good friend Samuel. I looked at his son and wife and then I noticed that they were crying. They had the saddest faces in the whole world because Ezra wanted to leave their family, friends, and home in Washington DC. They were trying to be strong and brave because Ezra believed that moving West would make their lives better. Ezra knew his wife was in danger of dying at any time. He needed money to help her heal, and he beleived going west was the only way to get it.
"It has taken 30 years to create our live here. Our crops are growing, we have friends and family here. Why do you want to leave?" Eliza Jane asked.
"California is the land of riches. The land of milk and honey!" Ezra cried. His only thought was to save his ill wife and give his son a better life. He was thinking about going West to find gold and riches.
Finally, his family agreed and they left for California. They dreamed of gold and a cure for Eliza. But they also all wanted to stop in Nebraska to stay with family for a time. They missed their family in Nebraska. His family really wanted to make Ezra stay with them in Nebraska. His father said, "Now Ezra, you know the grass isn't always greener on the other side! You have family here and we know the land. Stay with us."
But he already had bad news for them. "We are going to California. I know that California will save my wives life. If some of you want to come with me, please tell me now. We will return to Nebraska one day, after Eliza is cured and we are rich!"
After a year on the Oregon trail, the Meekers finally made it to California. Ezra sent his father a letter telling him of their arrival. While he was excited, he did admit that they were really struggled to make a living. "We left for Nebraska to search for a better living, but things were even worse there. We are coming home." In Nebraska, Eliza, Ezra and his son and Samuel all moved in with Ezra's parents. Once there, Ezra went from being a farmer to a protector of his family. Although Eliza was not cured in California, she did get stronger and stronger in Nebraska. Later Ezra told me, "My beautiful wife was cured, not by riches and gold or the sunshine of California. She was cured by the love of her family."
Ezra learned that the grass is not always greener in California! He learned that nothing - not gold or sunshine - can replace the love of family. And he learned that sometimes you have to learn these lessons for yourself along the Oregon trail.
~by Roberto
Showing posts with label HF Story: Oregon Trail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HF Story: Oregon Trail. Show all posts
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Oregon Trail ~ by Elyssa
Oregon Trail Story!
It all started in 1840 when 900 immigrants started to cross the Oregon Trail during the Great Migration. For 25 years, people pulled up stakes day after day, moving West. In one decade, 12,000 people made it across the Oregon Trail. My family and I soon headed West with the Migration. I am the oldest of two other kids, my younger brother Christopher and my youngest sister Libbie. Christopher and Libbie were very important to me. I wanted to give them a lot of attention because my mom and dad had frightened them when they told us about the dangers that could happen on the Oregon Trail. They were the loves of my life. I wanted them to know that I loved them and wanted them to be happy. I tried to help them not think about our parents' warnings.
It was tricky packing up our life because our wagon had to be strong and not too heavy. As we traveled, we had to leave things behind. Sometimes it was an easy decision, but other times it was hard. When we decided to leave the rolling pin behind, my mother cried. "Do I have to? It was my mother's. I remember she always used it to roll out her biscuits, and they were awful good biscuits, " she sobbed. The 2,000 mile journey would soon change my family and many others.
In effort to make her feel better, I told her, "We can't give up trying to find our way. But we have to remember that sometimes it takes bending to avoid breaking."
Mom smiled and hugged me.
Before Mom and Dad were sick, and before I felt hopeless, we had many adventures along the trail. They all reminded me to not give up trying to find our way. I had to keep reminding myself that it takes bending to avoid breaking. I prayed that I would not break before getting to Oregon.
Once my father was driving a nail into the wagon to hold a pail for water, the nail flew out and struck me in the eye. Without thinking, I grabbed the nail and pulled it out. I then covered my eye; it was throbbing with pain. I thought that I was never going to be able to see again. Screams filled the air. My dad ran to me, picked me up, and repeatedly asked, "Are you OK? I am sorry! I am so so sorry." I knew he did not mean to do anything to me. I knew my dad felt really bad. "Maybe we should go home," he muttered as he walked away.
I forgave my father for what he did. It caused nearly total loss of vision in my right eye. Now, I can barely see out of it, but luckily, I can still see perfectly out of my left. That was close to a breaking point, but we didn't stop.
Three months later, my brother accidentally chopped off one of my fingers while chopping wood. I look down at my hands everyday. At first I worried that I would not be able to hold my little sister or my little brother. I also thought that I would not be able to do anything with my little siblings because they would be scared of my missing finger. I wanted to avoid seeing people in case they stared. It turns out that I was lucky, it only changed little things in my life. I can still play with my siblings, and do everything I did before without the finger my brother chopped off. Again, I had to remind myself that it takes bending on the Oregon trail, and sometimes it takes losing things that are important!
There were 10,000 deaths that occurred on the Oregon Trail between 1835 to 1855. While people talked about Indian attacks, only four percent of the people who died were killed by Indians. Almost all of the families ran out of food and water . While we were still traveling on the trail, both of my parents got ill with a fatal sickness called Typhoid. My mother recovered from the sickness, but my dad did not. Two months after we left, he died. He left my mom with me, Christopher, and Libbie. I was really sad and I know everyone else in my family was also. My mom and I cried many times a day. Christopher and Libbie were too young to know what was really going on. All they knew was that our dad was gone and was not coming back. "Where is Daddy?" Christopher would ask. "When is he coming back to play?" Libbie would question. Tears would run down our faces as Mom and I would try to comfort them.
We traveled one month after my dad died. It was really hard for my mom after my dad died because he left my mom with Christopher, Libbie and I. When Christopher was only six, we stopped along the Oregon Trail. Suddenly he was gone. Before Christopher disappeared, he told me he would be back in a hour or so. I reminded him, "Make sure you are with a partner. Always go places with someone a little older than you."
"No, no, I will be safe," Christopher promised. Christopher did not want to tell my mom that he was going to go with some Indians to get some help and some food for everyone. He did not want to tell me. All he said before he left was, "I know there is someone that can help us." I didn't listen closely, but when he didn't come back I knew that he had gone with the Indians. He had gone to get some help and trade for food to bring back.
After two days had gone by and my brother was still not back to camp, I was starting to panic. "Is he Ok?" "Is he still alive?" My mother did not want to go look for my brother because she was scared of what she would find. I felt very sad that my mother would not go look for my brother with me. But I had to understand that she was fragile. I realized that my mother was afraid to look because of what happened to my dad and now what she feared was happening to my brother. So I waited, too.
Finally, I gave up hope my brother would come back. I went to look for him in the dim morning light. When I found him, he was laying face down on the ground. The Indians had left him alone with the wolves, and he was torn to pieces. I thought that I had already experienced enough suffering for the whole trip, but when I found my brother dead, not far from the camp, so close to us, my heart shattered. If we had only looked sooner, could we have saved him? What am I going to do without my brother? How will I tell Mom? I also felt fear, who is going to die next? Is it going to be my mom, my sister, or me? It was the first time I felt anger swelling. I was kinda mad at my dad for making us go West. None of this would have happened if we weren't on the Oregon Trail.
Through my tears, I dug a shallow grave. I placed my brother carefully inside and covered him with the dirt from the trail. I said a silent prayer and watered the grave with my tears. I prayed that my brother was in a place where he could play and no longer look for food. I walked slowly when I returned to the trail. I felt broken.
My mother could not go on. We made it to the next settlement and stayed. We lived with other broken souls, too tired and sad to continue on.
Eighteen years later, in the spring of 1858, my mother met and married a man named Elijah Utter. He was a widower with six children. A year later a new baby girl was born. My mom and step-dad often talked about calling Oregon their ''home." We would settle there with numerous families who were ready to continue on. On May 1st ,1860, we were ready to leave, we were ready to brave the trail again.
Everyday we were nearing the most dangerous part of the journey. The wagon train would soon take the California cutoff. We had learned tricks to protect ourselves. When the Indians came, we would get into a large circle, protecting ourselves like we had seen the bison do against the wolves. One time when we were trying to get the last wagon into the circle and he did not make it, he was shot. An arrow killed him. We learned to share food. Many adults were so hungry that they would dig up the graves along the trail, especially of the the young children, with the intention of eating them. My family refused to participate in this practice. They also ate two of the dogs that followed us to Oregon. It was not a place anyone felt comfortable. It was scary. But I kept telling Momma, "Never give up. And never, under any circumstances, think about the facts. We must continue on."
My mom, my little sister and I were sitting in the wagon looking through our supplies for items we could leave behind so our wagon would be lighter. At the same time, our eyes landed on some things that were my dad's. When I saw the clothes that belonged to my father, I started to get teary-eyed. Then I looked at my mom and little sister; they were also teary-eyed. Then my mom started sobbing. She said, "I miss him; I miss him so much! Why was he the one that got sick and did not recover? Why wasn't I the one who did not recover? Why him? Why not me?"
I yelled, "Don't say that. It is not your fault that he did not recover and you did. So...just don't say that."
Thirty-minutes later Elijah walked up and said, "Are you ready to leave?"
My mom wiped her face and said, "Yes, we are ready." Before we left, Mom placed my father's belongings on the ground, next to the trail. "Hopefully, someone will get good use of these." I ran and got my sister and brought her to my mother. We hugged my mom so tightly, she had to tickle us to get us off.
I kept thinking how we were getting closer and closer to Oregon and how it was going to get harder and harder. While I wasn't feeling courageous and I had a lot of fear, I was focused on our future! The most important thing to the rest of my family was getting to Oregon safely, without any more deaths. I wondered about our future, would it be worse or better? I was hoping it was going to be better than on the Oregon Trail. It's important to remember, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." For us, Oregon kept us going.
By ~ Elyssa
It all started in 1840 when 900 immigrants started to cross the Oregon Trail during the Great Migration. For 25 years, people pulled up stakes day after day, moving West. In one decade, 12,000 people made it across the Oregon Trail. My family and I soon headed West with the Migration. I am the oldest of two other kids, my younger brother Christopher and my youngest sister Libbie. Christopher and Libbie were very important to me. I wanted to give them a lot of attention because my mom and dad had frightened them when they told us about the dangers that could happen on the Oregon Trail. They were the loves of my life. I wanted them to know that I loved them and wanted them to be happy. I tried to help them not think about our parents' warnings.
It was tricky packing up our life because our wagon had to be strong and not too heavy. As we traveled, we had to leave things behind. Sometimes it was an easy decision, but other times it was hard. When we decided to leave the rolling pin behind, my mother cried. "Do I have to? It was my mother's. I remember she always used it to roll out her biscuits, and they were awful good biscuits, " she sobbed. The 2,000 mile journey would soon change my family and many others.
In effort to make her feel better, I told her, "We can't give up trying to find our way. But we have to remember that sometimes it takes bending to avoid breaking."
Mom smiled and hugged me.
Before Mom and Dad were sick, and before I felt hopeless, we had many adventures along the trail. They all reminded me to not give up trying to find our way. I had to keep reminding myself that it takes bending to avoid breaking. I prayed that I would not break before getting to Oregon.
Once my father was driving a nail into the wagon to hold a pail for water, the nail flew out and struck me in the eye. Without thinking, I grabbed the nail and pulled it out. I then covered my eye; it was throbbing with pain. I thought that I was never going to be able to see again. Screams filled the air. My dad ran to me, picked me up, and repeatedly asked, "Are you OK? I am sorry! I am so so sorry." I knew he did not mean to do anything to me. I knew my dad felt really bad. "Maybe we should go home," he muttered as he walked away.
I forgave my father for what he did. It caused nearly total loss of vision in my right eye. Now, I can barely see out of it, but luckily, I can still see perfectly out of my left. That was close to a breaking point, but we didn't stop.
Three months later, my brother accidentally chopped off one of my fingers while chopping wood. I look down at my hands everyday. At first I worried that I would not be able to hold my little sister or my little brother. I also thought that I would not be able to do anything with my little siblings because they would be scared of my missing finger. I wanted to avoid seeing people in case they stared. It turns out that I was lucky, it only changed little things in my life. I can still play with my siblings, and do everything I did before without the finger my brother chopped off. Again, I had to remind myself that it takes bending on the Oregon trail, and sometimes it takes losing things that are important!
There were 10,000 deaths that occurred on the Oregon Trail between 1835 to 1855. While people talked about Indian attacks, only four percent of the people who died were killed by Indians. Almost all of the families ran out of food and water . While we were still traveling on the trail, both of my parents got ill with a fatal sickness called Typhoid. My mother recovered from the sickness, but my dad did not. Two months after we left, he died. He left my mom with me, Christopher, and Libbie. I was really sad and I know everyone else in my family was also. My mom and I cried many times a day. Christopher and Libbie were too young to know what was really going on. All they knew was that our dad was gone and was not coming back. "Where is Daddy?" Christopher would ask. "When is he coming back to play?" Libbie would question. Tears would run down our faces as Mom and I would try to comfort them.
We traveled one month after my dad died. It was really hard for my mom after my dad died because he left my mom with Christopher, Libbie and I. When Christopher was only six, we stopped along the Oregon Trail. Suddenly he was gone. Before Christopher disappeared, he told me he would be back in a hour or so. I reminded him, "Make sure you are with a partner. Always go places with someone a little older than you."
"No, no, I will be safe," Christopher promised. Christopher did not want to tell my mom that he was going to go with some Indians to get some help and some food for everyone. He did not want to tell me. All he said before he left was, "I know there is someone that can help us." I didn't listen closely, but when he didn't come back I knew that he had gone with the Indians. He had gone to get some help and trade for food to bring back.
After two days had gone by and my brother was still not back to camp, I was starting to panic. "Is he Ok?" "Is he still alive?" My mother did not want to go look for my brother because she was scared of what she would find. I felt very sad that my mother would not go look for my brother with me. But I had to understand that she was fragile. I realized that my mother was afraid to look because of what happened to my dad and now what she feared was happening to my brother. So I waited, too.
Finally, I gave up hope my brother would come back. I went to look for him in the dim morning light. When I found him, he was laying face down on the ground. The Indians had left him alone with the wolves, and he was torn to pieces. I thought that I had already experienced enough suffering for the whole trip, but when I found my brother dead, not far from the camp, so close to us, my heart shattered. If we had only looked sooner, could we have saved him? What am I going to do without my brother? How will I tell Mom? I also felt fear, who is going to die next? Is it going to be my mom, my sister, or me? It was the first time I felt anger swelling. I was kinda mad at my dad for making us go West. None of this would have happened if we weren't on the Oregon Trail.
Through my tears, I dug a shallow grave. I placed my brother carefully inside and covered him with the dirt from the trail. I said a silent prayer and watered the grave with my tears. I prayed that my brother was in a place where he could play and no longer look for food. I walked slowly when I returned to the trail. I felt broken.
My mother could not go on. We made it to the next settlement and stayed. We lived with other broken souls, too tired and sad to continue on.
Eighteen years later, in the spring of 1858, my mother met and married a man named Elijah Utter. He was a widower with six children. A year later a new baby girl was born. My mom and step-dad often talked about calling Oregon their ''home." We would settle there with numerous families who were ready to continue on. On May 1st ,1860, we were ready to leave, we were ready to brave the trail again.
Everyday we were nearing the most dangerous part of the journey. The wagon train would soon take the California cutoff. We had learned tricks to protect ourselves. When the Indians came, we would get into a large circle, protecting ourselves like we had seen the bison do against the wolves. One time when we were trying to get the last wagon into the circle and he did not make it, he was shot. An arrow killed him. We learned to share food. Many adults were so hungry that they would dig up the graves along the trail, especially of the the young children, with the intention of eating them. My family refused to participate in this practice. They also ate two of the dogs that followed us to Oregon. It was not a place anyone felt comfortable. It was scary. But I kept telling Momma, "Never give up. And never, under any circumstances, think about the facts. We must continue on."
My mom, my little sister and I were sitting in the wagon looking through our supplies for items we could leave behind so our wagon would be lighter. At the same time, our eyes landed on some things that were my dad's. When I saw the clothes that belonged to my father, I started to get teary-eyed. Then I looked at my mom and little sister; they were also teary-eyed. Then my mom started sobbing. She said, "I miss him; I miss him so much! Why was he the one that got sick and did not recover? Why wasn't I the one who did not recover? Why him? Why not me?"
I yelled, "Don't say that. It is not your fault that he did not recover and you did. So...just don't say that."
Thirty-minutes later Elijah walked up and said, "Are you ready to leave?"
My mom wiped her face and said, "Yes, we are ready." Before we left, Mom placed my father's belongings on the ground, next to the trail. "Hopefully, someone will get good use of these." I ran and got my sister and brought her to my mother. We hugged my mom so tightly, she had to tickle us to get us off.
I kept thinking how we were getting closer and closer to Oregon and how it was going to get harder and harder. While I wasn't feeling courageous and I had a lot of fear, I was focused on our future! The most important thing to the rest of my family was getting to Oregon safely, without any more deaths. I wondered about our future, would it be worse or better? I was hoping it was going to be better than on the Oregon Trail. It's important to remember, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." For us, Oregon kept us going.
By ~ Elyssa
Oregon Trail - A Dog's Story - by Ca80!
Crossing The Dalles September 26th, 1843-
Trying to keep my body above the water's edge, my little gray paws paddled the cold black water. I heard Jenna screaming my name. I caught a quick glimpse of her. Her dirt colored hair stuck to her face like caked mud. Her brown chocolate eyes spilled teardrops. In the storm, it was hard to tell if she was crying, or if her face with wet with streaks of raindrops. I tried to bark for her for her but my weak voice wasn't loud enough. My small, filthy legs were getting pulled down into the oozing, gooey water of the Dalles.
Suddenly, I could see Jenna no more. The water pulled me beneath its icy surface. I closed my eyes and kept trying to paddle to Jenna. I wanted to feel her warm body close to mine and to know that everything would be OK. I wanted hear her call my name with her voice of the sound of sweet birds. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to run next to her fast, fast, fast, while we chased jackrabbits and grouse through the warm prairie grass. I wanted Jenna. I was Jenna's dog. Not Ma's or Pa's, Jenna's. Nothing would ever change that. Reluctantly, I gave up. I would never see my Jenna again. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. She might have to go on without me... She would have go on without me.
Leaving My Home-
It was the springtime of 1843. Flowers were blooming around me in all sorts of colors. Pink, red, yellow, green, and white. The sun shone bright and hot on my gray fur. I loved everything about being a dog. But I wasn't just any dog. I was Jenna's; and Jenna was the very best. Jenna was trudging far in front of me. I scurried to catch up with her as we walked along the Oregon Trail.
Many months I had stayed awake deep into the night resting on Jenna’s lap with only the candle light to keep us warm in the cold of the winter night. We listened to what Ma and Pa discussed.
"A remarkable journey," Pa had said. "These brave people have decided to go ahead of us and try to make our life better. Please allow our family to go. We will not leave without you. The girls and Ned will love Oregon. If we stay here our family will be all alone, abandoned here with no friends!" he would finally yell angrily.
Ma would refuse him again and again. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave my home, my farm, my friends, and my life. I am fine being the only family left here. Honey, this is my life, and I don't know if I can leave it," she would whimper.
"Think about the rest of us. We all want to go. Honey please...," Dad begged. Then, they would stop the conversation and go to sleep. Night after night this would happen. Pa had planned to leave today. They had had their talk last night and then surprisingly, had another one this morning. Before the talk, Pa woke Ma and held out a small gift.
Many hours later, we left the town, all seven of us together. Pa had bought Ma a golden necklace to persuade her to go. The golden necklace was very expensive and Ma put it around her neck immediately. When Pa gave it to her, her eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you. I will never let it leave me ever!" she cried. Ma and Pa sat together on top of the wagon bench. Pa drove the horses and Ma worked on her quilt.
I scurried along the worn path after the wagon. This may sound easy for a dog, but my legs got tired quickly and the wagon moved fast compared to my slow-as-a-snail speed. I felt bad when Jenna would pick me up and carry me for a while because I was walking so slowly. But, Jenna didn't seem to mind. Jenna walked beside me, and every once in a while, we would run off the path a little bit and chase the plump grouse and jack rabbits. We wouldn't let ourselves go too far, or else we would lose the wagon and be stuck out here forever. The warm prairie grass tickled our legs and then we ran back on the path to catch up with the wagon.
Five weeks went by and we had passed Fort Laramie, Chimney, and Courthouse Rock. I loved Chimney Rock. It was tall and beautiful. Jenna along with many others wrote about it in their journals. She described it as looking like a haystack with a pole running through it. I thought it was just a rock and couldn't understand the haystack part; however, I never helped Pa in the fields since I was not a work dog like all of the others. I loved being the only non-work dog in all of Independence because everyone loved me.
Independence Rock July 4th, 1843-
This morning I got to help Jenna with her chores. We milked the cow, got water from the near by stream, helped cook breakfast, washed dishes, collected buffalo chips, shook out blankets, hung beef to dry, and collected wood for tonight’s fire. Even though I was a dog, Jenna had done this before so she was fast and I grew tired quickly. We had to get a lot of supplies for tonight as it was the 4th of July, and we were having a party. Ma and the others made lunch, and Pa and the other men went out on a buffalo hunt. There hadn't been many places with buffalo so they went out today in hopes of a big kill. The pioneers before us had said that Independence Rock was home to many buffalo. We had begun to come low on meat. Ma had started to worry so Pa went out to hunt with all of the other men.
After chores, Jenna changed into her new dress that Pa had got her in Missouri. The cloth was soft and navy blue. Small red flowers were sewn into the top of it and white stems grew them up to the top. And then we went to the party. After the party, we all grew tired and fell fast asleep under the stars cozy in the blankets that Ma had wrapped in oilskin. When she wrapped them, we all had thought that was a stupid idea because it had been hot all week. At midnight we realized what a good idea it was as rain came streaming down. Jenna had snuggled me up in her blanket. I loved hearing the beat…beat...beat... of rain on the blanket above us. It reminded me of our old home in Independence. When the rain would fall, we would run out to the barn and play. The rain was especially loud in the barn. It echoed through the large room, and Jenna and I would hide in the tall haystacks and play. Silently, I fell asleep that night thinking about the memories of the old barn lying on the hillside of Missouri.
Soda Springs 1843-
There it was, Soda Springs. The third to last landmark on our way to Oregon City. Soda Springs was a place with many small pools of carbonated water. Jenna and I skipped to the small spring and drank some of the water. The bubbling pool of water Jenna chose was small and only big enough for a girl and her dog. The land around it was mucky and my paws turned brown. There was no grass or even weeds to wipe my paws off. Jenna picked me up and gently washed my paws off in the water. Soon, they became gray again. Then, as we started to walk back to the wagon, my tummy experienced a sick feeling. Too much bubbling carbonated water for me.
Traveling Some More-
"Ma, I don't feel good," Nellie said as we walked next to the wagon. Ma gave her a nod and Nellie jumped into the back of the wagon. I figured that she drank too much water from Soda Springs, but then I began to realize that it was more than that. She didn't look good; her face was pale. She was coughing. Sweat was dripping down her face, and goose bumps were creeping up her arm. It made me feel sick just looking at her. Jenna stood and waited for me, and I still thought of poor Nellie as Jenna swooped me up from the dirt and carried me. Being a dog was harder than I thought. I was tired but I was also excited to get to Fort Hall tonight.
Fort Hall was located along the Snake River, and most of the fur traders had stopped there to trade with the Indians that had moved near. I couldn't believe that some pioneers before us had abandoned their wagons and animals. They had continued on to Oregon without all their had possessions. Pa had told Jenna that there was a lot of trading there. Pioneers who had left their wagons also had left the things inside them. The pioneers who got there next could either take some of the (?). Ma and Pa had been in the wagon ever since we got here in Fort Hall with Nellie. Pa would come out every now and then to check on us. Then, he would rush back up to the wagon. Nellie had ridden in the wagon all day and quickly fell asleep after she got in the wagon. They said she got malaria. I felt that everything would be OK tomorrow. Ma and Pa returned to the campfire and sat on a spot on the log across from us. Everyone came to them.
"How is Nellie?"
"Is she OK?"
"Will she ride in the wagon tomorrow?" A tear rolled down Ma's cheek and I finally realized what had happened. I looked out to the wagon sitting in the dark. A night breeze curled up my back and the candle had gone out.
The next day we buried Nellie in Fort Hall. Our family was so sad that everyone but Pa rode in the wagon. Even I got to! Inside the prairie schooner there were so many things! I was amazed that the wagon had not cracked yet with all of it. I tried to be happy and cheer everyone up, but it was a gloomy day on the prairie, and probably tomorrow too and the next day and the next. It was going to be a gloomy trip for the next little while.
The Dalles 1843:
Weeks went by and then months. We had finally got to The Dalles River. We'd heard so many stories of this landmark. We knew that this was the river we would have to cross. After this crossing, all we had left was to to go up a little hill, and down to arrive at our destination. I couldn't believe that we had come over 2,000 miles and we were almost there! The day was warm and the sky was blue. We had to wait in a line with hundreds of other people. Our wagons had been sailed across the to the other side and once we got off, we would get them. There was only one boat to ferry people, and only eleven of us could fit on it at one time. The fur traders named it Dalles. Pa had said it was the French word for gutter. I had no idea how he knew French, but evidently he did.
Many minutes went by and finally, it was our turn to get on. It was crowded on the ship and so I decided to curl up and nap for a moment on top of a barrel of sugar. When I woke up, the sky was black and cold winds blew on me. Rain pounded down. Waves crashed against the small raft. We rocked back and forth. People would run around trying to stay on. Jenna was holding tight to Pa. I ran over to her. Just as I saw her hand reach out to me, I slid off the raft!
"Nickel! My dog! Someone help him! Nickel!" Jenna cried. I was trying to keep my body above the water's edge, my little gray paws paddled the cold black water. I heard Jenna screaming my name. I caught a quick glimpse of her. Her dirt colored hair stuck to her face like caked mud. Her brown eyes spilled teardrops. In the storm, it was hard to tell if she was crying, or if her face with wet with streaks of raindrops. I tried to bark for her for her but my weak voice wasn't loud enough. My small, filthy legs were getting pulled down into the oozing, gooey water of the Dalles. Suddenly, I could not see Jenna anymore. The water pulled me beneath its icy surface. I closed my eyes and kept trying to paddle to Jenna. I wanted to feel her warm body close to mine and to know that everything would be OK. I wanted hear her call my name with her voice of the sound of sweet birds. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to run next to her fast, fast, fast, while we chased jackrabbits and grouse through the warm prairie grass. I wanted Jenna. I was Jenna's dog. Not Ma's or Pa's, Jenna's. Nothing would ever change that. Reluctantly, I gave up. I would never see my Jenna again. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. I hoped that she knew I loved her and that I wanted her to go on. For me. She might have to go on without me... She would have go on without me.
By ~ Caitlin
Trying to keep my body above the water's edge, my little gray paws paddled the cold black water. I heard Jenna screaming my name. I caught a quick glimpse of her. Her dirt colored hair stuck to her face like caked mud. Her brown chocolate eyes spilled teardrops. In the storm, it was hard to tell if she was crying, or if her face with wet with streaks of raindrops. I tried to bark for her for her but my weak voice wasn't loud enough. My small, filthy legs were getting pulled down into the oozing, gooey water of the Dalles.
Suddenly, I could see Jenna no more. The water pulled me beneath its icy surface. I closed my eyes and kept trying to paddle to Jenna. I wanted to feel her warm body close to mine and to know that everything would be OK. I wanted hear her call my name with her voice of the sound of sweet birds. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to run next to her fast, fast, fast, while we chased jackrabbits and grouse through the warm prairie grass. I wanted Jenna. I was Jenna's dog. Not Ma's or Pa's, Jenna's. Nothing would ever change that. Reluctantly, I gave up. I would never see my Jenna again. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. She might have to go on without me... She would have go on without me.
Leaving My Home-
It was the springtime of 1843. Flowers were blooming around me in all sorts of colors. Pink, red, yellow, green, and white. The sun shone bright and hot on my gray fur. I loved everything about being a dog. But I wasn't just any dog. I was Jenna's; and Jenna was the very best. Jenna was trudging far in front of me. I scurried to catch up with her as we walked along the Oregon Trail.
Many months I had stayed awake deep into the night resting on Jenna’s lap with only the candle light to keep us warm in the cold of the winter night. We listened to what Ma and Pa discussed.
"A remarkable journey," Pa had said. "These brave people have decided to go ahead of us and try to make our life better. Please allow our family to go. We will not leave without you. The girls and Ned will love Oregon. If we stay here our family will be all alone, abandoned here with no friends!" he would finally yell angrily.
Ma would refuse him again and again. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave my home, my farm, my friends, and my life. I am fine being the only family left here. Honey, this is my life, and I don't know if I can leave it," she would whimper.
"Think about the rest of us. We all want to go. Honey please...," Dad begged. Then, they would stop the conversation and go to sleep. Night after night this would happen. Pa had planned to leave today. They had had their talk last night and then surprisingly, had another one this morning. Before the talk, Pa woke Ma and held out a small gift.
Many hours later, we left the town, all seven of us together. Pa had bought Ma a golden necklace to persuade her to go. The golden necklace was very expensive and Ma put it around her neck immediately. When Pa gave it to her, her eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you. I will never let it leave me ever!" she cried. Ma and Pa sat together on top of the wagon bench. Pa drove the horses and Ma worked on her quilt.
I scurried along the worn path after the wagon. This may sound easy for a dog, but my legs got tired quickly and the wagon moved fast compared to my slow-as-a-snail speed. I felt bad when Jenna would pick me up and carry me for a while because I was walking so slowly. But, Jenna didn't seem to mind. Jenna walked beside me, and every once in a while, we would run off the path a little bit and chase the plump grouse and jack rabbits. We wouldn't let ourselves go too far, or else we would lose the wagon and be stuck out here forever. The warm prairie grass tickled our legs and then we ran back on the path to catch up with the wagon.
Five weeks went by and we had passed Fort Laramie, Chimney, and Courthouse Rock. I loved Chimney Rock. It was tall and beautiful. Jenna along with many others wrote about it in their journals. She described it as looking like a haystack with a pole running through it. I thought it was just a rock and couldn't understand the haystack part; however, I never helped Pa in the fields since I was not a work dog like all of the others. I loved being the only non-work dog in all of Independence because everyone loved me.
Independence Rock July 4th, 1843-
This morning I got to help Jenna with her chores. We milked the cow, got water from the near by stream, helped cook breakfast, washed dishes, collected buffalo chips, shook out blankets, hung beef to dry, and collected wood for tonight’s fire. Even though I was a dog, Jenna had done this before so she was fast and I grew tired quickly. We had to get a lot of supplies for tonight as it was the 4th of July, and we were having a party. Ma and the others made lunch, and Pa and the other men went out on a buffalo hunt. There hadn't been many places with buffalo so they went out today in hopes of a big kill. The pioneers before us had said that Independence Rock was home to many buffalo. We had begun to come low on meat. Ma had started to worry so Pa went out to hunt with all of the other men.
After chores, Jenna changed into her new dress that Pa had got her in Missouri. The cloth was soft and navy blue. Small red flowers were sewn into the top of it and white stems grew them up to the top. And then we went to the party. After the party, we all grew tired and fell fast asleep under the stars cozy in the blankets that Ma had wrapped in oilskin. When she wrapped them, we all had thought that was a stupid idea because it had been hot all week. At midnight we realized what a good idea it was as rain came streaming down. Jenna had snuggled me up in her blanket. I loved hearing the beat…beat...beat... of rain on the blanket above us. It reminded me of our old home in Independence. When the rain would fall, we would run out to the barn and play. The rain was especially loud in the barn. It echoed through the large room, and Jenna and I would hide in the tall haystacks and play. Silently, I fell asleep that night thinking about the memories of the old barn lying on the hillside of Missouri.
Soda Springs 1843-
There it was, Soda Springs. The third to last landmark on our way to Oregon City. Soda Springs was a place with many small pools of carbonated water. Jenna and I skipped to the small spring and drank some of the water. The bubbling pool of water Jenna chose was small and only big enough for a girl and her dog. The land around it was mucky and my paws turned brown. There was no grass or even weeds to wipe my paws off. Jenna picked me up and gently washed my paws off in the water. Soon, they became gray again. Then, as we started to walk back to the wagon, my tummy experienced a sick feeling. Too much bubbling carbonated water for me.
Traveling Some More-
"Ma, I don't feel good," Nellie said as we walked next to the wagon. Ma gave her a nod and Nellie jumped into the back of the wagon. I figured that she drank too much water from Soda Springs, but then I began to realize that it was more than that. She didn't look good; her face was pale. She was coughing. Sweat was dripping down her face, and goose bumps were creeping up her arm. It made me feel sick just looking at her. Jenna stood and waited for me, and I still thought of poor Nellie as Jenna swooped me up from the dirt and carried me. Being a dog was harder than I thought. I was tired but I was also excited to get to Fort Hall tonight.
Fort Hall was located along the Snake River, and most of the fur traders had stopped there to trade with the Indians that had moved near. I couldn't believe that some pioneers before us had abandoned their wagons and animals. They had continued on to Oregon without all their had possessions. Pa had told Jenna that there was a lot of trading there. Pioneers who had left their wagons also had left the things inside them. The pioneers who got there next could either take some of the (?). Ma and Pa had been in the wagon ever since we got here in Fort Hall with Nellie. Pa would come out every now and then to check on us. Then, he would rush back up to the wagon. Nellie had ridden in the wagon all day and quickly fell asleep after she got in the wagon. They said she got malaria. I felt that everything would be OK tomorrow. Ma and Pa returned to the campfire and sat on a spot on the log across from us. Everyone came to them.
"How is Nellie?"
"Is she OK?"
"Will she ride in the wagon tomorrow?" A tear rolled down Ma's cheek and I finally realized what had happened. I looked out to the wagon sitting in the dark. A night breeze curled up my back and the candle had gone out.
The next day we buried Nellie in Fort Hall. Our family was so sad that everyone but Pa rode in the wagon. Even I got to! Inside the prairie schooner there were so many things! I was amazed that the wagon had not cracked yet with all of it. I tried to be happy and cheer everyone up, but it was a gloomy day on the prairie, and probably tomorrow too and the next day and the next. It was going to be a gloomy trip for the next little while.
The Dalles 1843:
Weeks went by and then months. We had finally got to The Dalles River. We'd heard so many stories of this landmark. We knew that this was the river we would have to cross. After this crossing, all we had left was to to go up a little hill, and down to arrive at our destination. I couldn't believe that we had come over 2,000 miles and we were almost there! The day was warm and the sky was blue. We had to wait in a line with hundreds of other people. Our wagons had been sailed across the to the other side and once we got off, we would get them. There was only one boat to ferry people, and only eleven of us could fit on it at one time. The fur traders named it Dalles. Pa had said it was the French word for gutter. I had no idea how he knew French, but evidently he did.
Many minutes went by and finally, it was our turn to get on. It was crowded on the ship and so I decided to curl up and nap for a moment on top of a barrel of sugar. When I woke up, the sky was black and cold winds blew on me. Rain pounded down. Waves crashed against the small raft. We rocked back and forth. People would run around trying to stay on. Jenna was holding tight to Pa. I ran over to her. Just as I saw her hand reach out to me, I slid off the raft!
"Nickel! My dog! Someone help him! Nickel!" Jenna cried. I was trying to keep my body above the water's edge, my little gray paws paddled the cold black water. I heard Jenna screaming my name. I caught a quick glimpse of her. Her dirt colored hair stuck to her face like caked mud. Her brown eyes spilled teardrops. In the storm, it was hard to tell if she was crying, or if her face with wet with streaks of raindrops. I tried to bark for her for her but my weak voice wasn't loud enough. My small, filthy legs were getting pulled down into the oozing, gooey water of the Dalles. Suddenly, I could not see Jenna anymore. The water pulled me beneath its icy surface. I closed my eyes and kept trying to paddle to Jenna. I wanted to feel her warm body close to mine and to know that everything would be OK. I wanted hear her call my name with her voice of the sound of sweet birds. I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to run next to her fast, fast, fast, while we chased jackrabbits and grouse through the warm prairie grass. I wanted Jenna. I was Jenna's dog. Not Ma's or Pa's, Jenna's. Nothing would ever change that. Reluctantly, I gave up. I would never see my Jenna again. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. I knew that Jenna would be heart broken. I hoped that she knew I loved her and that I wanted her to go on. For me. She might have to go on without me... She would have go on without me.
By ~ Caitlin
Oregon Trail ~by Heather
Oregon Trail Story!
A cold winter day was turning to evening in Independence, Missouri. I'm 12 years old and my ma and pa said they had big news for me. I didn't know what they meant; but I assumed that the news was going to be good. After I walked inside, I put my coat and hat up on the wooden coat hook my grandfather had made. His name was William Frank. He died just three years ago while crossing a river to save his family stranded on the other side. I was only 9 years old; and I lost my best friend that day. I knew what was happening and could do nothing to stop it, and I still felt miserable. I couldn't believe that he was gone. I walked over to the chair that my Ma was sitting in. It was a little pink chair with tiny white poca-dots on it. She had a big grin on her face, and they both started to tell me why they had gone to go see our neighbor John Andrews.
John Andrews had gone to school to be a doctor. He is good at his job, too. Whenever I am sick, my ma always turns over to him for help when needed. When they were finished talking, they confirmed my suspicions that soon our family would be growing. "We are expecting a baby." I thought they were kidding, but I guess not. You see, I am an only child. I like being the only one, the center of attention. But sometimes I have wished that I had someone to come home to play with, to take care of. One time I even told my parents that I wanted a baby brother or sister, but I never expected them to go this far and actually have one. It was a long time ago and I'd changed my mind. I was furious. I couldn't believe this, so I screamed, "I don't want this."
6 months later: 1843
Even though it has been 6 months since the night I found out that my ma is having a baby, I still think about it every day. I'm still angry. When I, used to get bullied at school, my Ma would tell me to wipe it off and pretend that it was a bullet that just couldn't break through my skin, that couldn't hurt me. But this news had. The bullet has gone straight through my heart. I knew I couldn't keep feeling this way.
I walked over to my Ma and said, "I don't want a baby. I don't want another person added to our family."
She had a stern look on her face, and I knew that she was very disappointed in me. I didn't know what to say after that, so I walked out of the room. Soon after, I felt remorse about what I had said to her. I returned to her side and said, "I'm sorry, Ma." I returned to my room and waited for dinner.
After dinner was over, and all of the dishes were dried, I turned to look over my left shoulder and this time I saw my pa in the chair crying like I had never seen before. He face was red, and I saw anger holding his heart tightly.
I rushed over and I asked, "Papa! Why are you crying? What..."
Before I could finish, he screamed out, "It's time. We are leaving and never coming back!" I was about to ask him why we had to leave, but he blurted out, "The trail. We are leaving, and we are going to be a part of a large group of people. I heard John saying it over and over today. He is calling it the The Great Migration. I'm sorry." I could hear behind me my ma yelling and pleading with him, hoping that he wasn't serious. She seemed to understand exactly what he was talking about, and what that would mean for our family. When my Pa stood up to go over and talk to her, she quickly ran upstairs despite her pregnant state. She slammed the door behind her. I went up to her room to talk to her. I needed to understand what they were talking about; and soon the message was clear. We were going to be traveling on the Oregon Trail in less than a week.
1 week later
It was time. It was time to pack up and say goodbye to our home, and the only place I had ever known. I didn't want to leave, but I had to, and there was no turning back now. I didn't understand why we had to, and I wanted this all to stop. We walked down to the local store about a 1/4 of a mile away from our house. I knew that I would never see it again. With all of our boxes packed in our wagon, I saw a crowd of people standing in a big circle waiting for the clock to turn to12:00. Taht was the time that all of us would be leaving. My Pa said that there were going to be about 900 of us leaving together. I was surprised that 900 people would soon be traveling together on this dry and hot desert-like trail. I didn't think that all 900 people were going to make it, but soon the thought stuck in my mind, "The more people that go, the safer we will be."
I kept walking forward, and soon I caught a glimpse of a little girl. I realized that she had no one standing next to her. She had boxes in her hands, and she had pillows and a couple of blankets, but no family. She was just standing there looking around, and didn't seem like she knew what to do. I slowly sauntered closer to the girl who looked to be about my size and age. When I could see better, I figured out that the little girl was my best friend Chloe. I had known her all of my life, ever since I was three. I was confused, and I had a lot on my mind. I said to her, "Chloe! Why are you here?" I knew she was a foster kid.
She replied, "Hey, Molly Sue! I am here because I snuck away from my foster family. My little sister told me I would have a better life if I traveled on the Oregon Trail."
"Why did she tell you that?"
"I don't know. But I am going to see if she's right!"
"Well, I'm proud of you for doing what you think is right."
She nodded and turned back to the store. I heard a loud roaring noise behind me . I turned and to my surprise, I found a dozen wagons approaching the crowd. I assumed that it was almost time to leave our little town, our home. Our family had our own wagon. It was brought from the Cowboy Ranch down the street. When I got in, it smelt like tobacco and cigars. While my Pa was loading our boxes in the back, I looked over my shoulder and saw Chloe standing about 15 yards away from our wagon. She looked sad, disappointed and confused. I told my ma the whole story about her sneaking away and wanting to have a better life living on the Oregon Trail. I asked her if we could take Chloe in, if she could live with us. I could see that she was thinking about it.
Soon she blurted, "Well, I'm sorry, Molly Sue. With all of our supplies and boxes, I don't think we have enough room for her and her boxes."
My heart threatened to break and I could feel my stomach churn. I screamed at her, "But Ma! This is her only chance to live. She deserves to see what life could offer! She deserves a chance. Don't you want that for her? Don't you want me to do the same think when I get older?"
Her face looked like a lot different than before. She then said, "All right Molly Sue. If this is what you really want to do for Chloe, then I am allowing you to invite her to come along on the trip. I know her foster parents are having trouble providing for her. I'll ask them to allow her to join us. Perhaps this will be the best for all of us." I was about to scream in excitement and I felt my stomach come alive again, but before I could run over to her, she grabbed me and said, "Wait, if I see any attitude from you or you scream at me again, she is off. I will ask another wagon to take her and you will do what I say. You have to promise to teach her everything about traveling on the trail, and she must learn to fetch for food and to wash clothes. I will talk to your father about our agreement. Don't worry." The whole time she was telling me this, I had a big smile upon my face. I soon agreed and I sprinted over to Chloe, and soon it was like she became apart of our family.
Finally, we were off, and I could hear whipping of the horses and the yelling of my father to keep the wagons moving. At times it seemed like it was almost ear piercing. Chloe and I were able to sit in the very back of the wagon where there wasn't a lot of room because our boxes took up more room than we thought. We were able to fit though. The wagon still smelt like cigars and tobacco, but once we were started on the trail, I soon forgot about it.
A long day passed, and we pulled into a camping area. Some wagons went a mile down the road to a different campsite, and some went a mile and a half down the road or maybe even further. Chloe and I went out into the woods near our camp to get some logs or sticks, anything we could find to help my pa with the fire while my ma was unrolling our mats back at camp.
Pa said that Chloe and I would have to walk alongside the wagon tomorrow. I asked him why and he soon answered, "So that we can have some room for your mother to sit and so our boxes don't fly off the back! Why can't you listen for once Molly Sue?"
His rage scared me so I left. I felt horrible. My stomach churned and all of a sudden, my heart went shooting down to my stomach. I didn't want to talk to him until morning. But I had to or else my ma would ask what is wrong and my pa would convince her to take his side. She always took his side. I felt that the trail was making us all shorter with each other.
I grabbed Chloe, and I pulled her further into the woods. She looked scared, the way she always looked when we were alone. But this time was different. I had never seen her look at me like that. Her face was red. The way she stood told me something was wrong. She had both of her knees bent inward. Her arms were folded. Her face was wet. The way her blue eyes looked, told me that she was terrified. The heat was rushing at me. It hadn't rained the entire time we were on the trail. It was so dry. That was when I started to wonder why people wanted to come to the dry dessert? Why did they leave their homes for this? When I turned back around, I could see why Chloe was crying. I followed her eyes and finally understood. I saw the 6-foot snake, and realized that it had bitten her.
Ma had warned that there were many deadly snakes where we were staying. She told us to be careful, but I didn't believe her. Now, I was screaming in terror. I saw the venomous slithering devil slide past me, creep under a log. Chloe still couldn't talk. My ma and pa heard me, and they came running. My ma had her cooking knife because she was in the middle of making supper and my Pa was chopping up wood and guarding our camp from Indian attacks. Once Chloe saw them, she tried to run but her right leg just wouldn’t move. She kept screaming. By the way she was screaming, I could tell she was in extreme pain. The screams were horrifying. And I knew that if my family and I didn't act fast, I would lose my best friend Chloe.
We grabbed Chloe and took her back to camp. My ma and pa on each side of her while I comforted her and kept telling her that everything would be ok. When we reached camp, we sat Chloe down next to the campfire while ma fetched a bucket of water to wash her leg off. Chloe was still screaming extremely loud and I was starting to get a headache, but I didn't mind because I was more focused on whether my best friend was going to live or not. My father sucked the poison from the wound and spit it to the ground. The wound started to We finally got Chloe to stop screaming after a long 15 minutes. What seemed to be an hour was over and Chloe and I could finally go to sleep. Or so I thought. Pa said that he and ma were tired and needed to go to bed. So he simply asked me to stay awake with Chloe and attend to her every need.
I tried to stay awake, but the events of the day were too much and I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, I saw Chloe lying in her bed dead. I guess everything wasn't going to be ok. After the loss of another best friend, I didn't think I had any power left. Once I started screaming, Ma and Pa woke up. We all cried. After a period of time, Dad said, "We have to continue." We would have to quickly buried her by the side of the trail before we left. I couldn't believe we had to leave her behind. So my ma said, "We should leave something with her grave. She needs something to be remembered. People should know her as they travel by."
We put one of her blankets around her. We made sure she was comfortable. We then had a small and short funeral for her. As we were about to get ready to leave, I heard ma crying behind the wagon. Pa and I rushed to her side. She had both of her arms on her stomach, and that is when I knew that Ma was having her baby. Pa tried lifting her into the wagon, but she wanted to be left on the ground. I was looking around for John Andrews. The doctor that went to see. But he had already left on the trail and was to far ahead of us it would be impossible catch up with. So Pa and I were going to have to deliver Ma's baby by ourselves.
After a good and long five hours, a baby girl was born. The look on her face made me smile. I stopped crying, Ma stopped crying, and Pa stopped crying. Ma had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. "What are you going to name her, Ma?" I asked while holding my new sister.
"Chloe," she replied, "so that we will never forget."
I smiled. While I always want a happy ending, the trail taught me the hard way that life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it. I looked down at Chloe and I whispered to her, "This is only the beginning of the battle."
By ~ Heather
A cold winter day was turning to evening in Independence, Missouri. I'm 12 years old and my ma and pa said they had big news for me. I didn't know what they meant; but I assumed that the news was going to be good. After I walked inside, I put my coat and hat up on the wooden coat hook my grandfather had made. His name was William Frank. He died just three years ago while crossing a river to save his family stranded on the other side. I was only 9 years old; and I lost my best friend that day. I knew what was happening and could do nothing to stop it, and I still felt miserable. I couldn't believe that he was gone. I walked over to the chair that my Ma was sitting in. It was a little pink chair with tiny white poca-dots on it. She had a big grin on her face, and they both started to tell me why they had gone to go see our neighbor John Andrews.
John Andrews had gone to school to be a doctor. He is good at his job, too. Whenever I am sick, my ma always turns over to him for help when needed. When they were finished talking, they confirmed my suspicions that soon our family would be growing. "We are expecting a baby." I thought they were kidding, but I guess not. You see, I am an only child. I like being the only one, the center of attention. But sometimes I have wished that I had someone to come home to play with, to take care of. One time I even told my parents that I wanted a baby brother or sister, but I never expected them to go this far and actually have one. It was a long time ago and I'd changed my mind. I was furious. I couldn't believe this, so I screamed, "I don't want this."
6 months later: 1843
Even though it has been 6 months since the night I found out that my ma is having a baby, I still think about it every day. I'm still angry. When I, used to get bullied at school, my Ma would tell me to wipe it off and pretend that it was a bullet that just couldn't break through my skin, that couldn't hurt me. But this news had. The bullet has gone straight through my heart. I knew I couldn't keep feeling this way.
I walked over to my Ma and said, "I don't want a baby. I don't want another person added to our family."
She had a stern look on her face, and I knew that she was very disappointed in me. I didn't know what to say after that, so I walked out of the room. Soon after, I felt remorse about what I had said to her. I returned to her side and said, "I'm sorry, Ma." I returned to my room and waited for dinner.
After dinner was over, and all of the dishes were dried, I turned to look over my left shoulder and this time I saw my pa in the chair crying like I had never seen before. He face was red, and I saw anger holding his heart tightly.
I rushed over and I asked, "Papa! Why are you crying? What..."
Before I could finish, he screamed out, "It's time. We are leaving and never coming back!" I was about to ask him why we had to leave, but he blurted out, "The trail. We are leaving, and we are going to be a part of a large group of people. I heard John saying it over and over today. He is calling it the The Great Migration. I'm sorry." I could hear behind me my ma yelling and pleading with him, hoping that he wasn't serious. She seemed to understand exactly what he was talking about, and what that would mean for our family. When my Pa stood up to go over and talk to her, she quickly ran upstairs despite her pregnant state. She slammed the door behind her. I went up to her room to talk to her. I needed to understand what they were talking about; and soon the message was clear. We were going to be traveling on the Oregon Trail in less than a week.
1 week later
It was time. It was time to pack up and say goodbye to our home, and the only place I had ever known. I didn't want to leave, but I had to, and there was no turning back now. I didn't understand why we had to, and I wanted this all to stop. We walked down to the local store about a 1/4 of a mile away from our house. I knew that I would never see it again. With all of our boxes packed in our wagon, I saw a crowd of people standing in a big circle waiting for the clock to turn to12:00. Taht was the time that all of us would be leaving. My Pa said that there were going to be about 900 of us leaving together. I was surprised that 900 people would soon be traveling together on this dry and hot desert-like trail. I didn't think that all 900 people were going to make it, but soon the thought stuck in my mind, "The more people that go, the safer we will be."
I kept walking forward, and soon I caught a glimpse of a little girl. I realized that she had no one standing next to her. She had boxes in her hands, and she had pillows and a couple of blankets, but no family. She was just standing there looking around, and didn't seem like she knew what to do. I slowly sauntered closer to the girl who looked to be about my size and age. When I could see better, I figured out that the little girl was my best friend Chloe. I had known her all of my life, ever since I was three. I was confused, and I had a lot on my mind. I said to her, "Chloe! Why are you here?" I knew she was a foster kid.
She replied, "Hey, Molly Sue! I am here because I snuck away from my foster family. My little sister told me I would have a better life if I traveled on the Oregon Trail."
"Why did she tell you that?"
"I don't know. But I am going to see if she's right!"
"Well, I'm proud of you for doing what you think is right."
She nodded and turned back to the store. I heard a loud roaring noise behind me . I turned and to my surprise, I found a dozen wagons approaching the crowd. I assumed that it was almost time to leave our little town, our home. Our family had our own wagon. It was brought from the Cowboy Ranch down the street. When I got in, it smelt like tobacco and cigars. While my Pa was loading our boxes in the back, I looked over my shoulder and saw Chloe standing about 15 yards away from our wagon. She looked sad, disappointed and confused. I told my ma the whole story about her sneaking away and wanting to have a better life living on the Oregon Trail. I asked her if we could take Chloe in, if she could live with us. I could see that she was thinking about it.
Soon she blurted, "Well, I'm sorry, Molly Sue. With all of our supplies and boxes, I don't think we have enough room for her and her boxes."
My heart threatened to break and I could feel my stomach churn. I screamed at her, "But Ma! This is her only chance to live. She deserves to see what life could offer! She deserves a chance. Don't you want that for her? Don't you want me to do the same think when I get older?"
Her face looked like a lot different than before. She then said, "All right Molly Sue. If this is what you really want to do for Chloe, then I am allowing you to invite her to come along on the trip. I know her foster parents are having trouble providing for her. I'll ask them to allow her to join us. Perhaps this will be the best for all of us." I was about to scream in excitement and I felt my stomach come alive again, but before I could run over to her, she grabbed me and said, "Wait, if I see any attitude from you or you scream at me again, she is off. I will ask another wagon to take her and you will do what I say. You have to promise to teach her everything about traveling on the trail, and she must learn to fetch for food and to wash clothes. I will talk to your father about our agreement. Don't worry." The whole time she was telling me this, I had a big smile upon my face. I soon agreed and I sprinted over to Chloe, and soon it was like she became apart of our family.
Finally, we were off, and I could hear whipping of the horses and the yelling of my father to keep the wagons moving. At times it seemed like it was almost ear piercing. Chloe and I were able to sit in the very back of the wagon where there wasn't a lot of room because our boxes took up more room than we thought. We were able to fit though. The wagon still smelt like cigars and tobacco, but once we were started on the trail, I soon forgot about it.
A long day passed, and we pulled into a camping area. Some wagons went a mile down the road to a different campsite, and some went a mile and a half down the road or maybe even further. Chloe and I went out into the woods near our camp to get some logs or sticks, anything we could find to help my pa with the fire while my ma was unrolling our mats back at camp.
Pa said that Chloe and I would have to walk alongside the wagon tomorrow. I asked him why and he soon answered, "So that we can have some room for your mother to sit and so our boxes don't fly off the back! Why can't you listen for once Molly Sue?"
His rage scared me so I left. I felt horrible. My stomach churned and all of a sudden, my heart went shooting down to my stomach. I didn't want to talk to him until morning. But I had to or else my ma would ask what is wrong and my pa would convince her to take his side. She always took his side. I felt that the trail was making us all shorter with each other.
I grabbed Chloe, and I pulled her further into the woods. She looked scared, the way she always looked when we were alone. But this time was different. I had never seen her look at me like that. Her face was red. The way she stood told me something was wrong. She had both of her knees bent inward. Her arms were folded. Her face was wet. The way her blue eyes looked, told me that she was terrified. The heat was rushing at me. It hadn't rained the entire time we were on the trail. It was so dry. That was when I started to wonder why people wanted to come to the dry dessert? Why did they leave their homes for this? When I turned back around, I could see why Chloe was crying. I followed her eyes and finally understood. I saw the 6-foot snake, and realized that it had bitten her.
Ma had warned that there were many deadly snakes where we were staying. She told us to be careful, but I didn't believe her. Now, I was screaming in terror. I saw the venomous slithering devil slide past me, creep under a log. Chloe still couldn't talk. My ma and pa heard me, and they came running. My ma had her cooking knife because she was in the middle of making supper and my Pa was chopping up wood and guarding our camp from Indian attacks. Once Chloe saw them, she tried to run but her right leg just wouldn’t move. She kept screaming. By the way she was screaming, I could tell she was in extreme pain. The screams were horrifying. And I knew that if my family and I didn't act fast, I would lose my best friend Chloe.
We grabbed Chloe and took her back to camp. My ma and pa on each side of her while I comforted her and kept telling her that everything would be ok. When we reached camp, we sat Chloe down next to the campfire while ma fetched a bucket of water to wash her leg off. Chloe was still screaming extremely loud and I was starting to get a headache, but I didn't mind because I was more focused on whether my best friend was going to live or not. My father sucked the poison from the wound and spit it to the ground. The wound started to We finally got Chloe to stop screaming after a long 15 minutes. What seemed to be an hour was over and Chloe and I could finally go to sleep. Or so I thought. Pa said that he and ma were tired and needed to go to bed. So he simply asked me to stay awake with Chloe and attend to her every need.
I tried to stay awake, but the events of the day were too much and I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, I saw Chloe lying in her bed dead. I guess everything wasn't going to be ok. After the loss of another best friend, I didn't think I had any power left. Once I started screaming, Ma and Pa woke up. We all cried. After a period of time, Dad said, "We have to continue." We would have to quickly buried her by the side of the trail before we left. I couldn't believe we had to leave her behind. So my ma said, "We should leave something with her grave. She needs something to be remembered. People should know her as they travel by."
We put one of her blankets around her. We made sure she was comfortable. We then had a small and short funeral for her. As we were about to get ready to leave, I heard ma crying behind the wagon. Pa and I rushed to her side. She had both of her arms on her stomach, and that is when I knew that Ma was having her baby. Pa tried lifting her into the wagon, but she wanted to be left on the ground. I was looking around for John Andrews. The doctor that went to see. But he had already left on the trail and was to far ahead of us it would be impossible catch up with. So Pa and I were going to have to deliver Ma's baby by ourselves.
After a good and long five hours, a baby girl was born. The look on her face made me smile. I stopped crying, Ma stopped crying, and Pa stopped crying. Ma had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl. "What are you going to name her, Ma?" I asked while holding my new sister.
"Chloe," she replied, "so that we will never forget."
I smiled. While I always want a happy ending, the trail taught me the hard way that life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it. I looked down at Chloe and I whispered to her, "This is only the beginning of the battle."
By ~ Heather
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