HONORING THEIR STORY

Post by Doris McCraw
writing as Angela Raines
Copywrite 2020

 Honoring Their Story

The Headstone that started the research journey
Photo property of the author

Anyone who knows me, knows I spend a lot of time in cemeteries. No, I don’t have a morbid fascination with death. I simply have always been fascinated with the stories told on the stones. So much history, much of it day to day, yet special in its own way. In this post, I thought I’d share one of the stories I’ve found in researching what was written on the stones. Hopefully, the story will resonate with you as it did with me.

This story takes place in Bijou Basin in Colorado. According to enWikipedia, the town of Bijou Basin was situated in El Paso County near the border with Elbert County and looks to have had a train station and a post office that opened in 1869. The area also is known as Bijou Basin, in both Elbert and El Paso Counties was noted for the land that supported cattle and sheep growing.

Additionally Chief Black Kettle, John Charles Fremont, and Kit Carson were also known to have traversed this basin that is bounded by East and West Bijou Creek which meets to become Bijou Creek. This Creek flows north to join the South Platte River near Fort Morgan.

D.M. Holden was one of the first settlers in Bijou Basin along with Steven Holden, and Lewis Hayden who arrived around 1860. This is the story of D.M and his wife Isabel Hayden Holden.

Daniel M. Hayden was born in Antwerp, Jefferson County, New York on August 10, 1833. He arrived in Colorado in 1859, staying briefly in Denver. He died on August 12, 1896. He married Isabel Hayden in November of 1865.

Isabel was born on January 12,1847, in Elkhart, Elkhart County Indiana although other sources have her being born in Iowa. She did live in Iowa for some time before moving to Colorado. Her father was Lewis Hayden.

Photo of cabins near the area - the family may have lived in such a place
Photo property of the author

The couple remained in Bijou Basin until 1882 when they moved to Colorado Springs. They had a ranching concern in the Basin and after moving to town, title to the land seems to have been retained. Mr. Hayden was involved in ranching, banking, mining and owned property in both Colorado Springs and Colorado City. It was said, while no member of a specific church, he gave generously to the building of four different churches in town.

Isabel died in October of 1931 at the age of eighty-five. According to her obituary in the paper, she had six children, ‘lived through Indian troubles and the perils of pioneer life.’

The stories of these early pioneers can be found in newspapers, family journals, city directories and sometimes books. Wherever they can be found, the stories originate with the names and dates on the stones. It is the dashes in between that hold the gold.

These three novels take place in the fictional town of Kiowa Wells
east of the area covered in this post. All can be purchased from Amazon
Amazon

Bijou Basin News Article

Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet

Books: Angela Raines Books

Angela Raines FaceBook: Click Here

PIONEERING GRIEF - Susan Horsnell

Wow, I cannot believe how fast the past month has gone.

Unfortunately it has not been a good one for my husband and myself. First we lost my dear father-in-law, then my mum and dad’s beautiful Jack Russell passed away and in the last couple of days we lost my father. It started me thinking about family and the devastation of loss, especially for the Western Pioneers in the United States.

 

How did the women cope with the loss of their husband?

In these days the husband was often the sole provider. Research shows they turned to Prostitution, hurriedly married again – often to someone many years older who was willing to take on a widow and another man’s children or, the lucky ones turned to family who were willing to help. Times were hard though, and often parents were unwilling to accept the burden of a widowed daughter and her children. She was often turned away to fend for herself. I cannot imagine the sadness these women would have felt at such rejection.

How did parents cope with the death of a child?

It is a well-known fact, the mortality rate of children during these harsh times was so much higher than today. There were none of the medications we take for granted, infection was rampant and being the “Wild West” – accidents happened on a regular basis. Some women literally ‘pined’ themselves to death, men either broke down in unimaginable despair or chose to deny the child had ever been born. The more ‘stoic’ couples, looked to each other for the strength to push through such tragedy. I often wonder, how many small crosses were erected along these treacherous trails? Do we really have any idea?

How did survivors cope with the rest of their family falling victim to Disease?

During their travels west, Pioneers were affected by weather, famine and disease. Whole families could be struck down with Yellow Fever, Influenza or some other rampant and highly contagious disease but sometimes there could be a lone survivor. How would this survivor feel? Many questioned why they had been spared when the rest of their family had been taken. Young men who survived such tragedy would often turn to alcohol or crime and within a few years many ended up dead themselves. Young children who weren’t taken in by other pioneer families, would be dropped off at orphanages in the next town they arrived at. At this time, the cruel and desperate conditions in some orphanages, would have been likened to a ‘fate worse than death.” Their futures would have been dismal thanks to the attitudes of the day – most orphans were considered worse than street waifs. These poor little mites really had their chance of a successful life, reduced.

 

 

Do I wish I had been alive during such harsh times? Definitely not. I have the utmost admiration for pioneers in any country. They knew what it was to ‘do it tough’ and often did it without complaint. These days if our computer doesn’t boot up fast enough, we think we’re hard done by. We have a lot to learn about strength of character from these people, about conquering hardships and accepting what we cannot change. About accepting death and moving on.

We also need to learn to be thankful. In times of death we need to remember the deceased’s’ contribution to this world. We should celebrate their lives and try not to grieve and mourn our losses too badly. In both my father’s and father-in-laws’ cases, it was a privilege to have been related to men of such standing. They each loved their families dearly, worked hard to provide for their wives and their children and a rarity in this day and age – they each honoured their marriage vows for more than 60 years. Will they be missed? Deeply. But, I will smile when I recall the good times along with the things they did and said.

I am grateful for the fact that these days, people can pass away quietly, without pain, thanks to modern medicine.  How gut wrenching it must have been for some of the pioneering families to watch loved ones die in such agony.

So, next time you feel like complaining about a computer that won’t start, a car in front that is moving too slowly or the rain that bucketed down after you just finished washing your car – think of your forebears.

Until next month, God Bless and take care.

Sue

Susan Horsnell 
Western Romance Author

  
Website:    http://horsnells.wix.com/susan--1  

Blog:          http://susanhorsnell.com/

 

 

 

 

 

Pioneer Candle Making by Kathleen Ball

I am utterly fascinated as I research the lives of the American Pioneers. I don't know how they had time to get everything done. Much was done out of necessity. Flipping a switch to light a room is something I do without much thought but in the pioneer days having light in your house required planning and hard work. Most log cabins and sod houses had only one window if they had any. 

 Candlemaking was an important and vital household chore. Every housewife made a supply of candles in the fall. The Pioneer candlemakers followed in the footsteps of the candlemaking techniques practiced during the Colonial era. In the pioneer states of Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, the women had brought their knowledge of candlemaking to the frontier.

 All suet and fat from cows, sheep and pigs were conserved carefully.  Every housewife made a supply of candles in the fall. Candle rods, each with a row of wicks attached, were repeatedly dipped into big iron kettles of boiling water and melted tallow. It was all-day, back-breaking, smelly, unpleasant “women's work.” To make the wicks, women could either buy cotton twist, or use the silky down from milkweed pods.

Later, the tallow was mixed with powdered gum camphor. Finer candles with scent were made with wax from the bayberry or wax myrtle. These inventive women even achieved decorative effects by layering wax dyed with the red juice of poke berries, made green from wild nettles, or yellow from alder bark, as well as other natural dyestuffs.

So much hard work to exist out West. I admire these folks who packed up everything and made the move westward knowing of the dangers and hard work ahead of them.


I'm Kathleen Ball and I write Western Romance. You can find me at Http://www.kathleenballromance.com

I do have a free book Texas Haven available on Amazon
Thank you so much for stopping by!

MOVING AGAIN? HOW ABOUT THIS FOR A MOVE?

*Pardon me for posting an article I used some time ago on another blog. I couldn't help thinking of this article and the book from which it's taken during our recent move. Again today my family and I were discussing the difficulty of our move. I recall being grateful we had moving vans and neatly staking boxes for our things. Here's the article:

Linda Hubalek has graciously allowed me to quote from her book TRAIL OF THREAD, in which Dorothy Pieratt describes preparing for the trip West from Kentucky to Kansas:

We debated, but finally packed two wagons for each family. We felt it was better for the animals’ sake to limit the weight on each wagon to around 2000 pounds instead of overloading one wagon....Since we need six oxen per wagon, we bought extra animals a few weeks ago. John decided to use oxen instead of mules because the oxen are easily managed, patient, and gentle--even with the children--and not easily driven off or prone to stampeding like mules and horses...After much discussion, John agreed to hitch a cage of chickens on the back of the wagon.

Yesterday we sold everything that wouldn’t fit in the wagons at a public auction on our farm. The strain of the day is still on my mind. This morning I’ve been ready to fetch something and then I stop in midstep, wondering if it’s tucked in the wagon or was sold yesterday. It was hard to see most of the animals and all but a few chickens leave the place. But we can’t take everything along, and we need the money. [*My family members are holding a giant garage/moving sale this spring.]

New wagon beds were built using seasoned oak boards. Sides were jointed together. No nails were used that could work out along the bumpy road and spell disaster. Along the inside of the three-foot-high sides, John built long boxes running the length of the wagon for storage. These boxes will serve as seats during the day if the children want to ride inside. We just add boards cut to fit across the storage boxes, put bedding on top, and the wagon is outfitted for sleeping. The boards fit in a wooden holder that runs along the outside of the wagon. They can also be used to make a bench or table when laid across stumps, or, heaven forbid, as lumber for a coffin.

I had a big hand in preparing the wagons, too. The wagon beds were fitted with a framework of hickory bows high enough to give head clearance, and I hand-sewed long pieces of cloth together for coverings. It was quite an undertaking. It had to be tight, strong enough to withstand heavy winds, and rainproof so things inside don’t get soaked. Even though it was extra work, I ended up making them a double thickness to keep out the cold. A dark muslin went over the framework first, then a heavy white linen. The dark cloth cuts down on the brightness of the reflection as we walk beside the wagon. I coated the outside material with a mixture of hot beeswax and linseed oil for waterproofing. It turned the material a sand color, which should help the reflection, too. The covering is drawn together on the ends by a strong cord to form tight circles. End flaps an be buttoned on to completely seal the wagon top. My stitches and buttonholes will be tested by the first storm we run into. I even stitched pockets on the inside covering to hold little things like our comb, sunbonnets, and other personal things I didn’t want out of reach.

John borrowed a guidebook to Oregon and California from a neighbor, which suggested that for each adult going to California, a party should carry 200 pounds of flour, 30 of hardtack, 75 of bacon, 10 of rice, 5 of coffee, 2 of tea, 25 of sugar, 2 of saleratus, 10 of salt, a half-bushel each of cornmeal, parched, and ground corn, and a small keg of vinegar. We’re not going to California (unless the men change their minds), so we shouldn’t need that much per person, but we’ll need supplies until we get crops and garden planted and harvested. Who knows how long it will be until towns with stores get established in the new territory?

I’ll take one barrel of pickled cucumbers along to prevent scurvy...the decision of what kind and quality of item to trade for had to be made...The mill sells different grades of flour. I wish I could have bought the superfine flour, sifted several times...I bought the next grade, middlings, for our cooking. It’s much more coarse and granular, but it serves the purpose...The mill’s shorts, a cross between wheat bran and coarse whole wheat flour, looked clean, so I also bought 125-pound sack of it... [* My husband loves pickles with a sandwich and now usually says, "Have to keep from getting scurvy" when he eats a pickle.]

We can’t afford to carry the flour in heavy barrels, so it is mostly stacked in fifty-pound cotton cloth to cut down on weight. Because the flour is not kiln-dried, we double-sacked it in a leather bag. If the flower absorbs too much moisture, I’ll end up with a heavy loaf and will have to add more flour to my baking.

Sorghum molasses, our main sweetener, will make the trip in small wooden kegs...For special occasions, I bought three cones of white sugar. The New Orleans sugar we buy reasonably in the stores her may fo for top dollar on the frontier. The cones resemble pointed hats. They are molded atthe factory, and wrapped in blue paper. Usually I leave the cones whole and use sugar snippers, a cross between scissors and pliers, to break off lumps as I need them. To save space on the trip, I ground up the cones and divided the two types of sugar (the white sugar on the top gradually changes to brown sugar on the bottom), then sifted to remove the impurities. The storekeeper said I should pack it in India rubber sacks to keep it dry, but I decided not to add that extra expense. I tucked the cone papers in the wagon because I can extract the indigo dye from it to color yarn and material blue.

I also bought a small quantity of low grade brown sugar since it is ten cents cheaper than the cones. It’s dark, smelly, sticky, and sometimes dirty, but it still gives sweet taste to cooking.

Parched corn is another sacked commodity in the wagon. The kernels were sun dried last fall and I’ll grind them into meal with the mortar when I need it.

Smoked bacon was double-wrapped in cloth, put in wooden boxes, and covered with bran to prevent the fat from melting during the trip. I cooked the crocks of cut meat I had left into a thick jelly. After it set up in pans and dried, we broke it into pieces and packed it in tins. If I add boiling water to some, we’ll have portable soup on the trail.

Smaller sacks of beans, rice, salt, saleratus, and coffee are wedged around the whiskey jugs underneath the wagon seat. The medicine box, filled with tiny cloth sachets holding dried medicinal herbs and little medicine bottles, is wedged on top, ready for an emergency.

I put the sacks of yeast cakes, dried bead, and hardtack inside one of the long boxes, along with the box of homemade soap bars. I’ll have small sacks of each staple in the back box and refill them from the bigger sacks when I need to.

The back end of the wagon drops down partway on chains and will serve as a preparation table for food or for other jobs. The provision box faces the back so it can be opened up without hauling the box out of the wagon every time. It has my tinware, cooking utensils and small sacks of necessities for cooking everyday.

Wish I could have brought all my kitchen utensils, but I settled for two spider skillets, three Dutch ovens of various sizes, the reflector for baking, the coffee pot, the coffee mill, the mortar and pestle, a few baking pans, knives, and my rolling pin.

Walking out to the wagons for the umpteenth time, it struck me that they are starting to look like a peddler’s caravan. They are overflowing with items attached to the sides. The wooden washtubs and zinc washboard are fastened to one side of the wagon. The walking plow is lashed to the other side. Small kegs of water, vinegar, and molasses fit in where needed to balance the wagon. Everybody can see what we own because it’s hanging in plain sight.

The second wagon is packed even tighter than the first with household and farming tools we’ll need after we get to our new land. All the boxes are packed tight so they won’t slide around, rattle, or spill. I hope we won’t have to unpack it until we reach our destination.

You can learn more about Linda Hubalek’s TRAIL OF THREAD at www.lindahubalek.com

 Caroline Clemmons' latest release is THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP, Kincaids, book 3, and is available in print and e-download from most online stores. 

WHAT WAS IT REALLY LIKE IN THE OLD WEST?

I love to write about the Old West, about cowboys and ranchers and the exciting lives they led. Researching my stories gives me pleasure. Reading the historical romances of my friends brings me relaxation and satisfaction. They are a mental vacation from today’s stress.

But what was it really like to live in the Old West?

My work in progress features three adults and three children in an 1888 Texas dust storm. Any of you who have ever lived in the Southwest know how dreadful a dust storm can be. Not sand, but fine dust that seeps in through the tightest windows and doors.

Except for six years in California as a child, I grew up in West Texas. We had some doozy sand storms that would sting your skin if you happened to be outside. And this was in prehistoric times when girls could not wear jeans to school and we had to walk home with sand stinging our bare legs. Ugh, those were NOT the good old days. We also occasionally had a bad dust storm.

Dust storm at Midland TX

The first one I remember was when I had just turned eight. We had just moved back to Texas from Bakersfield and the dust started blowing in the afternoon. Because I was asthmatic, my mom wet sheets and hung them at the windows of my room. She didn’t bother to do the same in her and Daddy’s bedroom. The next morning when they woke, my mom started laughing at my dad. Fine gray dust covered his face, like grayish-brown talcum. When he raised his head, she could see the outline of where he’d lain. He asked her why she was laughing and she told him he looked as if he had on some kind of stage make up. He told her to go look in the mirror. She was shocked to see she looked the same and her brown hair was beige. I still remember the surprise of seeing their outline on the pillows before I was banished back to my room.

Lubbock, Texas

About ten years ago, my husband and I were visiting his mom in Lubbock, where she lived in a beautiful, new assisted living complex. The sky grew dark and we thought we were in for a thunderstorm. No, it was roiling clouds of black dust from who knows where? The dirt around Lubbock is reddish-brown and further west the soil is tan. This was black and fine, like tons of obsidian talcum powder smothering us. Her apartment had double-paned windows in metal frames. That storm must have sucked all the oxygen from the air, because I started choking up. I don’t have many asthma attacks now that I’m an adult and know what to avoid, but I had a severe attack then. We had to cut our visit short and hurry out of town or go to the emergency room. We left.  

Dugout in Indian Territory
Oklahoma Historical Society

From our family history, I have a transcript made from the oral interview of a woman born in 1890, a relative of my dad’s stepmother. This woman recounted a move from Texas to southwestern Oklahoma in 1899. They had a tent with them and found an abandoned dugout to use until their home was built. One of the boys had asthma and was just recovering from pneumonia. The musty smelling earth kept him from living in the dugout, so he remained in the tent. One day the women in the family had put all the bedding out to air. The father and boys came rushing home from the fields because they thought the black cloud on the horizon was a grass fire, a terrible thunderstorm . . . or the end of the world. These people lived in an isolated area with few resources. The wind struck and a terrible dust storm engulfed them. Afterward, they recovered the tent, some of their bedding up to a mile away, and never saw some of it again. Whew! And that was before the infamous Dust Bowl.

In my current story, THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP (to be released in October), the adults are as uncomfortable as you would expect of anyone caught in a dust storm on the prairie. But two of the children have asthma, one severely. This made me wonder about pioneers like those above from my step-grandmother's family. My husband and I have taken turns sitting up nights with our asthmatic children (or sitting with one child when they were both ill at the same time), we learned to give respiratory therapy to them, and we monitored their diets, shots, and medicines. With all that, we still felt helpless when they were sick.

How horrible it must have been to have a child gasping for breath with no help in sight. No emergency room, steroids, or modern medicines. No wonder so many children died in infancy.

I love to write and read about the Old West. I'm glad I missed out on the real Dust Bowl. I give thanks that I live in the New West.

HEADING WEST - LOAD THE WAGONS!

Recently, a friend and I were discussing travel by wagon, by coach, and by horse. Then friends and I discussed an early book on life on the range. These discussions reminded me of a post I did on another blog a couple of years ago. This information fascinates me, so I hope you will enjoy reading or re-reading this. I can’t imagine going through this experience. I’ve moved many times, but always knew I could return or visit whenever I wished. Not so with our ancestors who moved across the country.

Several things in the list included in the following excerpt surprised me. For instance, I shared with my husband that pickles prevent scurvy. I had previously thought greens had to be fresh. He loves pickles and often says he is preventing scurvy before he bites down on a crunch spear. ☺

Linda Hubalek graciously allowed me to quote from her book TRAIL OF THREAD, in which Dorothy Pieratt describes preparing for the trip West from Kentucky to Kansas. If you haven’t read this series, do yourself a favor and acquire a copy of at least the first book, TRAIL OF THREAD. One of the things the book pointed out that is not included in this excerpt is that women often had no say in whether the family moved or not. Men generally decided the family's fate. In this instance, the wife does not want to leave, but defers to her husband.

Here is the excerpt from Linda’s book:

We debated, but finally packed two wagons for each family. We felt it was better for the animals’ sake to limit the weight on each wagon to around 2000 pounds instead of overloading one wagon....Since we need six oxen per wagon, we bought extra animals a few weeks ago. John decided to use oxen instead of mules because the oxen are easily managed, patient, and gentle--even with the children--and not easily driven off or prone to stampeding like mules and horses...After much discussion, John agreed to hitch a cage of chickens on the back of the wagon.

Yesterday we sold everything that wouldn’t fit in the wagons at a public auction on our farm. The strain of the day is still on my mind. This morning I’ve been ready to fetch something and then I stop in midstep, wondering if it’s tucked in the wagon or was sold yesterday. It was hard to see most of the animals and all but a few chickens leave the place. But we can’t take everything along, and we need the money.

New wagon beds were built using seasoned oak boards. Sides were jointed together. No nails were used that could work out along the bumpy road and spell disaster. Along the inside of the three-foot-high sides, John built long boxes running the length of the wagon for storage. These boxes will serve as seats during the day if the children want to ride inside. We just add boards cut to fit across the storage boxes, put bedding on top, and the wagon is outfitted for sleeping. The boards fit in a wooden holder that runs along the outside of the wagon. They can also be used to make a bench or table when laid across stumps, or, heaven forbid, as lumber for a coffin. 

I had a big hand in preparing the wagons, too. The wagon beds were fitted with a framework of hickory bows high enough to give head clearance, and I hand-sewed long pieces of cloth together for coverings. It was quite an undertaking. It had to be tight, strong enough to withstand heavy winds, and rainproof so things inside don’t get soaked. Even though it was extra work, I ended up making them a double thickness to keep out the cold. A dark muslin went over the framework first, then a heavy white linen. The dark cloth cuts down on the brightness of the reflection as we walk beside the wagon. I coated the outside material with a mixture of hot beeswax and linseed oil for waterproofing. It turned the material a sand color, which should help the reflection, too. The covering is drawn together on the ends by a strong cord to form tight circles. End flaps can be buttoned on to completely seal the wagon top. My stitches and buttonholes will be tested by the first storm we run into. I even stitched pockets on the inside covering to hold little things like our comb, sunbonnets, and other personal things I didn’t want out of reach.

John borrowed a guidebook to Oregon and California from a neighbor, which suggested that for each adult going to California, a party should carry 200 pounds of flour, 30 of hardtack, 75 of bacon, 10 of rice, 5 of coffee, 2 of tea, 25 of sugar, 2 of saleratus, 10 of salt, a half-bushel each of cornmeal, parched, and ground corn, and a small keg of vinegar. We’re not going to California (unless the men change their minds), so we shouldn’t need that much per person, but we’ll need supplies until we get crops and garden planted and harvested. Who knows how long it will be until towns with stores get established in the new territory?

I’ll take one barrel of pickled cucumbers along to prevent scurvy...the decision of what kind and quality of item to trade for had to be made...The mill sells different grades of flour. I wish I could have bought the superfine flour, sifted several times...I bought the next grade, middlings, for our cooking. It’s much more coarse and granular, but it serves the purpose...The mill’s shorts, a cross between wheat bran and coarse whole wheat flour, looked clean, so I also bought 125-pound sack of it...

We can’t afford to carry the flour in heavy barrels, so it is mostly stacked in fifty-pound cotton cloth to cut down on weight. Because the flour is not kiln-dried, we double-sacked it in a leather bag. If the flour absorbs too much moisture, I’ll end up with a heavy loaf and will have to add more flour to my baking.

Sorghum molasses, our main sweetener, will make the trip in small wooden kegs...For special occasions, I bought three cones of white sugar. The New Orleans sugar we buy reasonably in the stores her may fo for top dollar on the frontier. The cones resemble pointed hats. They are molded atthe factory, and wrapped in blue paper. Usually I leave the cones whole and use sugar snippers, a cross between scissors and pliers, to break off lumps as I need them. To save space on the trip, I ground up the cones and divided the two types of sugar (the white sugar on the top gradually changes to brown sugar on the bottom), then sifted to remove the impurities. The storekeeper said I should pack it in India rubber sacks to keep it dry, but I decided not to add that extra expense. I tucked the cone papers in the wagon because I can extract the indigo dye from it to color yarn and material blue.

I also bought a small quantity of low grade brown sugar since it is ten cents cheaper than the cones. It’s dark, smelly, sticky, and sometimes dirty, but it still gives sweet taste to cooking.

Parched corn is another sacked commodity in the wagon. The kernels were sun dried last fall and I’ll grind them into meal with the mortar when I need it.

Smoked bacon was double-wrapped in cloth, put in wooden boxes, and covered with bran to prevent the fat from melting during the trip. I cooked the crocks of cut meat I had left into a thick jelly. After it set up in pans and dried, we broke it into pieces and packed it in tins. If I add boiling water to some, we’ll have portable soup on the trail.

Smaller sacks of beans, rice, salt, saleratus, and coffee are wedged around the whiskey jugs underneath the wagon seat. The medicine box, filled with tiny cloth sachets holding dried medicinal herbs and little medicine bottles, is wedged on top, ready for an emergency.

I put the sacks of yeast cakes, dried bread, and hardtack inside one of the long boxes, along with the box of homemade soap bars. I’ll have small sacks of each staple in the back box and refill them from the bigger sacks when I need to.

The back end of the wagon drops down partway on chains and will serve as a preparation table for food or for other jobs. The provision box faces the back so it can be opened up without hauling the box out of the wagon every time. It has my tinware, cooking utensils and small sacks of necessities for cooking everyday.

Campfire cooking with a kettle, although
pioneers would probably have used
far less wood to limit the flames

Wish I could have brought all my kitchen utensils, but I settled for two spider skillets, three Dutch ovens of various sizes, the reflector for baking, the coffee pot, the coffee mill, the mortar and pestle, a few baking pans, knives, and my rolling pin.

Walking out to the wagons for the umpteenth time, it struck me that they are starting to look like a peddler’s caravan. They are overflowing with items attached to the sides. The wooden washtubs and zinc washboard are fastened to one side of the wagon. The walking plow is lashed to the other side. Small kegs of water, vinegar, and molasses fit in where needed to balance the wagon. Everybody can see what we own because it’s hanging in plain sight.

The second wagon is packed even tighter than the first with household and farming tools we’ll need after we get to our new land. All the boxes are packed tight so they won’t slide around, rattle, or spill. I hope we won’t have to unpack it until we reach our destination.

Heading West

Whew, aren't you glad we live today instead of back with our pioneer ancestors? While it would be nice to visit for a day, I am happy to be living with modern conveniences.

You can learn more about Linda Hubalek’s TRAIL OF THREAD at www.lindahubalek.com

CANTANKEROUS TEXAS PIONEER, JAMES BRITTON BAILEY

While researching something entirely different, I came across a story about early Texas pioneer James "Brit" Briton Bailey, and it caught my attention. (So typical of me and my research tangents.) Bailey is a recurring name in my father's Johnson-Johnston-Johnstone family. Our ancestors migrated west from North Carolina, just as James Briton Bailey did. Hmm, so I checked my brother's extensive genealogical research (added to my earlier extensive research) of our family tree on www.Ancestry.com and, sure enough, old Brit was a relative. And my brother and niece, who used to live in Brazoria County and—in a sort of reverse migration—now live in North Carolina, have seen the ghostly lights on Bailey's Prairie. How weird is that? Small world, right?

James Britton Bailey

James Britton Bailey was a descendant of Robert Bruce, once King of Scotland. A veteran of the war of 1812 and a native of North Carolina, Brit Bailey moved his family to Kentucky where he served in the legislature and got into a fracas, then moved to Tennessee. Apparently unable to get along harmoniously with his fellow man, he kept moving, stopped in Louisianna long enough to wed his second wife after the death of his first wife, and ended up on the east bank of the Brazos River in March 1818 (in what is now the school district of Angleton, Brazoria County, Texas), two years before Stephen F. Austin’s first visit to Texas. The locale in which he settled still bears his name—Bailey’s Prairie.

Bailey received his league and a labor of land (4,587 acres) in a land grant from the Spanish government—at least that was his claim. Apparently no records exist to back up his assertion. After Mexico freed herself from Spanish rule, Mexico refused to honor Bailey’s supposed grant. He stayed on the property anyway. Then Bailey’s realm was included in Stephen F. Austin’s colonization grant from the Mexican government.

           Those who are not Texans may not recognize the significance of Stephen F. Austin’s Old Three Hundred settlers. Stephen F. Austin was known as the Father of Texas, as witnessed by naming the state capitol Austin, Stephen F. Austin University, an elementary school bearing his name in most Texas towns, a street by that name in most Texas cities, and so on. He led the second, but first legal and ultimately successful, colonization of the region by bringing 300 families from the United States.

Bailey was apparently a thorn in Austin's side, but they finally settled the question of ownership in Bailey’s favor in 1824, when he became one of Austin’s Old Three Hundred. Austin’s respect for—or maybe his desperation to get along with—Bailey resulted in Bailey's appointment as a lieutenant and then captain in the 3rd Battalion of the Militia.

Bailey's Oak no longer stands

In the fall of 1832, the Baileys were building their new house when Bailey became ill. Contrary to rumors that he died of "pure meanness," cholera took Brit Bailey in December of 1832. When he sensed that the end was near he issued directions that he be buried standing up so no one could say, "There lies ol' Brit Bailey." He said he'd never bowed down to any man and refused to do so after his death. He also asked to be buried facing west, as he had been migrating in that direction all his life; and he wanted his favorite rifles and pistols and enough ammunition to last him an eternity.

Asked why he needed such weaponry he replied, "I am a rude man, and know not whom I may meet in another world. I wish to be prepared, as usual, for all enemies."

As he had requested, Bailey was buried in the grove near the big red house beside his children who had preceded him in death, and in the manner described in his will. That is, standing upright, facing west, with his rifle by his side. But no jug of whisky. According to some, Mrs. Bailey had the jug removed and tossed it into the field. She said he had carried a jug of whisky most of his life, and he wasn’t going to meet his maker with one.

Almost as soon as Brit died, people started claiming to have seen his ghost. The couple that bought the old homestead swore they saw his apparition quite often. To this day, a strange light is said to haunt Bailey's Prairie and it's believed to be old Brit Bailey, looking for his jug of whiskey. Supposedly, the ball of fire rises from his grave and floats through the grove.

Whiskey Jug

Uncle Bubba, Bailey’s manservant who lived well past the century mark, claimed that the apparitions in the house and the periodic appearances of a fireball that seemed to rise from Bailey’s grave and moved across the prairie at night were his old master, carrying a lantern in search of the jug of whiskey Uncle Bubba had promised to place in his coffin.

The Texas State Historical Commission placed a state marker in Bailey's Prairie in 1970. The legend of Bailey’s light persists, and in addition to my brother and niece, there are others living in the area who have reportedly seen it on one or more occasions. All evidence of Bailey’s homesite have long since disappeared including this giant oak by the flag pond, toward which Bailey faces, flintlock at his side. There are still oak trees in the area, and it was in a grove of them that my brother and niece saw the light on several occasions. Was it old Brit looking for his jug of whiskey? Who knows?

Clay Coppedge, of the Country World staff, said, “The light sometimes follows people along the highway, and there is at least one reported shootout with the light, though there is no evidence that the light shot back. Maybe the light doesn't belong to Brit Bailey, after all. If Brit Bailey had anything to do with the light, I think it would have returned fire.”

Do you believe in ghosts, spirits, and haunting? 

Caroline Clemmons is the Amazon best selling author of western romance. Her latest is the poignant BLUEBONNET BRIDE, available at Amazon and other online stores. 

Sources: 

http://www.countryworldnews.com/news/texas-trails/1177-texas-trails-james-briton-bailey.html

Wikipedia

Texas State History Association, Handbook of History Online

Homesteaders by Lauri Robinson

While driving through Wyoming last year my husband and I talked about what it must have been like to migrate west with little more than a wagon and a dream and what visionaries those pioneers must have been...

The Homestead Act of 1862 allowed a person to claim as much as 160 acres, with the condition that they would improve the property, live on it for five years and pay a fee of approximately $30. Within a few short years over 20,000 pioneers had gone west to stake their claim, and within the next four decades a million more traveled westward to carve a life out of the vast lands. Over two million more purchased land from the railroads, land companies, and/or state governments. What some soon discovered was, though the land was cheap, everything else was expensive. At average, to start a homestead took a minimum of $1,000, translated into 2012 dollars, that would be about $25,000. This was mainly for livestock, equipment, and seed, not building materials for a home or food, etc. 

The influx of people brought new inventions such as special plows and equipment needed, but along with them came new costs, and on average, less than half of the homesteaders actually succeeded. 

Just as the railroad provided ways for cattle ranches to transport their animals, it gave the farmer a way to transport grain. Soon farmers discovered it was more profitable to grow one ‘cash’ crop, and a lot like the cattle barons, they started accumulating large tracts of land to increase profits, especially when John S. Pillsbury of Minneapolis perfected his flour-milling process and the demand for grain increased.   

This wave of homesteaders included women, who worked side by side the men to pursue their dreams, and that, along with the fact in some places there were 100 men for every 1 woman, women of the west were ‘granted’ more ‘privileges’ than those in the east. Land ownership, business ownership, and bringing charges against people or business who wronged them, were a few of the rights women sought and ultimately received in the west, which prompted more eastern women to move west. 

In 1890 the U.S. Census director officially proclaimed there was no more ‘frontier’ in America. 

I wish you all a blessed and happy Thanksgiving. 

www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com