A Quest West
In The Begining
We stepped onto the majestic prairie schooner and set sail through the dust. I almost regretted having to leave our farm and friends behind, but I just couldn’t wait to see the land that was so full of gold it must have shone in the light of day. Many of our friends were also leaving to try their luck in the famed unknown. The wooden wheels clicked as they made their first turn and we were one step closer to living like royalty. Peter leapt on with the last of the supplies and looked at the rest of us. I couldn’t quite read his expression. Something seemed to portray an ignorant fear, or a hopeless optimism that I couldn’t fit to the situation. It was just all too great to think of anything but the joyous future.
The oxen trudged along slowly, I wished we had brought a mule instead for speed but Dad said that oxen were much more loyal and there would be no danger of them running away. Whether that was true or not, he continued to inform us of how we would have to gather the wagons into a circle at resting time to create a corral for the animals, and other information that I tried to pay attention to although most of it was forgotten right after it was noted.
The trail was incredibly bumpy so we mostly have to travel alongside the wagons during the day. Mom insists that we all keep diaries, Peter prefers to call his a journal and Ann is simply ecstatic, she always has enjoyed writing.
“I’ll keep a record of the details of every day,” she says while clutching it tightly. The true pride of a typical nine year old in her eyes.
“I’ll likely use the pages for kindling,” Peter responds in a tone mocking hers. He hasn’t quite been the same since we left home. Mom believes it is for the reason that his dog was too old to make the journey, I think there is something else that he may know that we don’t. Maybe he only thinks he knows it, but I still become uneasy when I see his blank expressions. I truly worry about him sometimes, even before we left. Mom then asks us to share our first diary entry. Ann begins so fast she stumbles over her own written words.
“Dear Diary… Today was new and exiting. Every day is new and exiting. I am still not used to the routine so every morning continues an adventure. I pretend to be something different every day so this never becomes boring, and I doubt it will, even through the six month expedition. Though what could even be more exiting than what we actually are? Exploring a new land! I cant wait for the end of today simply so I can see what will happen tomorrow. Love Ann.” She finishes with a little squeal and looks at me after calming down. I hesitantly begin.
“Another extremely boring day traveling through dust and prairie grass. The oxen are so slow I could walk to Oregon faster. Actually, we are basically walking there. I suppose it will be worth it when we get to that place so magical that I couldn’t begin to describe the possibility. However, right now I would rather be home. Gathering buffalo chips doesn’t have the same (sarcastic) charm as farm work. Until tomorrow, Laura.” I casually edit out the parts expressing my annoyance toward Ann and concern for Peter.
“That reminds me,” say Peter, “I should go get some bison droppings for tonight’s fire.” We all pester him until he opens his book and reads some. It is a quick paragraph that seems to be a combination of the main points Ann and I have made. I can tell he is making it up as he goes along, and as he closes the pages and scurries to his part of our little camp, I catch a glimpse of a very intricate picture sketched in. I didn’t know he could draw.
The oxen trudged along slowly, I wished we had brought a mule instead for speed but Dad said that oxen were much more loyal and there would be no danger of them running away. Whether that was true or not, he continued to inform us of how we would have to gather the wagons into a circle at resting time to create a corral for the animals, and other information that I tried to pay attention to although most of it was forgotten right after it was noted.
The trail was incredibly bumpy so we mostly have to travel alongside the wagons during the day. Mom insists that we all keep diaries, Peter prefers to call his a journal and Ann is simply ecstatic, she always has enjoyed writing.
“I’ll keep a record of the details of every day,” she says while clutching it tightly. The true pride of a typical nine year old in her eyes.
“I’ll likely use the pages for kindling,” Peter responds in a tone mocking hers. He hasn’t quite been the same since we left home. Mom believes it is for the reason that his dog was too old to make the journey, I think there is something else that he may know that we don’t. Maybe he only thinks he knows it, but I still become uneasy when I see his blank expressions. I truly worry about him sometimes, even before we left. Mom then asks us to share our first diary entry. Ann begins so fast she stumbles over her own written words.
“Dear Diary… Today was new and exiting. Every day is new and exiting. I am still not used to the routine so every morning continues an adventure. I pretend to be something different every day so this never becomes boring, and I doubt it will, even through the six month expedition. Though what could even be more exiting than what we actually are? Exploring a new land! I cant wait for the end of today simply so I can see what will happen tomorrow. Love Ann.” She finishes with a little squeal and looks at me after calming down. I hesitantly begin.
“Another extremely boring day traveling through dust and prairie grass. The oxen are so slow I could walk to Oregon faster. Actually, we are basically walking there. I suppose it will be worth it when we get to that place so magical that I couldn’t begin to describe the possibility. However, right now I would rather be home. Gathering buffalo chips doesn’t have the same (sarcastic) charm as farm work. Until tomorrow, Laura.” I casually edit out the parts expressing my annoyance toward Ann and concern for Peter.
“That reminds me,” say Peter, “I should go get some bison droppings for tonight’s fire.” We all pester him until he opens his book and reads some. It is a quick paragraph that seems to be a combination of the main points Ann and I have made. I can tell he is making it up as he goes along, and as he closes the pages and scurries to his part of our little camp, I catch a glimpse of a very intricate picture sketched in. I didn’t know he could draw.