My paternal grandfather, born to a pioneer family in 1881 on the plains of Kansas, wrote a book for our family, a collection of his memories of a life that spanned a time when he still saw Indians water ponies in the creek to seeing a man walk on the moon. The following is pulled from the introductory pages from the book. It is a glimpse of a world unknown to us, a little picture of why so many of our ancestors were willing to risk all and sacrifice much to come to America, and their struggles to build a home in the wilderness.

My father was born on January 8, 1831, in Luxemburg, a small country. I believe it lies between France and Germany. In those days an education was not considered important at all. My father and older brother spent much of their teenage years working in a stone quarry from early until late for ten cents per day. Naturally, they became discouraged and decided to come to America and look for something better. After borrowing a few dollars from their uncle, they got passage on a ship, and by working at anything they could find, they finally landed at Leavenworth Kansas.

There being no railroads then, my father walked from Leavenworth to our old farm. In 1854 he homesteaded it and was required to spend the summer months improving it. Through the winter months he would walk back to Leavenworth where he worked in a store. He did this for several years.*

The story of my mother also reaches back far into the nineteenth century. Near Mattoon, Illinois, a little town about 150 miles east of St. Louis, there lived a little colony of unsettled poor farmers. They were my mother’s parents and four other families. My mother was born in Illinois, February 14, 1842. Mother was the middle one of the three girls, and grandfather always made her the boy of the family to help with the outside work. Later in her life this proved to be a blessing. There were at that time many farmers heading west and hoping to find a place they could call home and make a living. After much consideration, they decided to move westward too.

Grandfather had a team of horses, one large draft horse and a pony. The other four each had a yoke of oxen. So after much preparation they loaded their wagons with food, grain, and all of the necessities that they thought such a trip would require. They started during the summer months with five wagons and several milk cows that were driven behind the wagons. The children took turns at that. They arrived at the Missouri River late that fall. I have forgotten the name of the little town south of Kansas City.

They thought it best not to continue their long journey during the winter months so they camped there until early spring. As there were no bridges then, they planned to move on while they could still cross the river on the ice. They had found out by the time they had reached the Missouri line that with their heavy loads, they were compelled to move very slowly. So before they crossed the river they thought it best to leave a part of the heavier things in Missouri and just take the things that they must have. Later part of the men would return for them.e

After a long time and many painful experiences they reached Juanita–a little store, post office, and a crossing of the Blue River about one-half mile below Casement Ranch. There still is a memorial marker there. Grandfather went up McIntire creek a few miles and found a farm to his liking. The other four found farms up and down the Blue Valley. Then everyone got busy hewing logs and building log cabins, and preparing for the coming winter.

After getting their families settled, they decided Grandfather and three of the other men would return to Missouri for the remainder of their goods. One of the men would stay and provide wood, food, etc.

This all happened during the Civil War and flour and feed of all kinds of everyday needs were very scarce. All the farmers had was corn and they had to ford the river and go to Manhattan to have that ground. Mother used to tell us about one of their experiences fording the river with an ox team. They had gotten part way across when one of the oxen refused to go any further and she had to get out on the tongue of the wagon and prod the steer before he would move on.

Well, in due time the four men started on their return trip to Missouri to pick up the remainder of their belongings. Everything went well until they were well on their way back. Crossing the long reaches of bare prairie land, they sometimes found themselves far from any human being, and often far from water too. Well, during one of those times one of the men took suddenly sick, so sick that they had to stop and care for the ailing man. By this time he was suffering from a high fever and was begging for a drink of water, but there was none to be had. Finally they decided that two of the men would go and search for some water and the other one would remain with the sick man. After what seemed to be many hours, the men had found water but it was too late. The sick man was beyond help. He had what they called cholera then. It was much like pneumonia or typhoid fever of today. It was late in the evening by then and the three men still were facing a serious problem. They knew that at their slow mode of travel they could not take the body back with them.

The sun was just setting in the West and looking far across the hills and prairie toward the sun, they could see a man on horseback. After waving and much shouting they were able to draw his attention and as if the hand of God had intervened, the man proved to be a minister. After a hurried consultation, they dug a hole out there on the lonesome prairie, and with the minister’s assistance, he was laid away. Early the next morning the sad and heavy hearted comrades again moved on toward their loved ones. What those expected to be a very happy homecoming was anything but that.

Well, so far as I can remember, everyone of those determined, industrious families remained on their farm, did much to help build the communities where they lived, and later on passed their homes on to the next generation in their families, until Tuttle Creek dam took over every farm that they owned. At least two or three families have now reached to five or six generations.

Soon after their little cabins were completed, the civil war broke out and a goodly share of the men were taken into service. During the next few years, those broken families saw some very difficult times. Because the war came so soon after their arrival, they had very little land broken out and no reserves to carry them over. Grandmother used to tell us kids how she and the girls knitted socks and sold them in Manhattan. Manhattan at that time consisted only of tents and little old shacks. Food of any kind was very scarce and hard to get. They had no flour or even wheat so they had to ford the river with an ox team in order to get to Manhattan where they had corn ground into corn meal.

He continues to describe life in the little community, as seen through his mother’s eyes. Perhaps we will have an opportunity to continue the story one day. The book is not a sequential story, but a collection of reminisces and tales of life on the prairie in frontier day, glimpses into personal moments, snapshots of a life long gone.  In the beginning of the story, where he talks about it proving fortunate that his mother was chosen to do the outside “boy” chores by her father, he refers to the fact the his mother would be widowed young, with a house full of children, the oldest a boy about thirteen, and the youngest, my grandfather, the author, about three years old. His mother and the oldest boy took over running the farm, and the oldest girl ran the home and cared for the children. This book was written in 1965. I have left my grandfather’s words intact. Sometimes he capitalizes the Civil War, and sometimes he doesn’t. It was almost more than my Southern sensibilities could take to leave that as is.

*Note by Menagerie: as best I can tell by checking this on a map, it is a distance of around 107 miles, give or take.

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Menagerie, thank you for sharing your Grandpa’s story today! Love it. Weed has an MBOB on standby as well – Texan59 is in the lineup – and Dan is working some posts for us.

Thank you for the stories! -Sharon