The Homestead - Part One
Posted: Friday, July 16, 2010
by Richard Radtke
http://www.cottagebythelane.com
The wagon creaked along the ground slowly, the bed swaying a bit above the axles as it moved slowly over the bumpy ground. He and she sat in the high seat at the front. The canvas top was spotted with the dirt of the many miles it had traveled in the last few months. But the oxen that pulled it forward were still strong, and it moved with a slow grace across the land.
The wagon was hauled up close to a creek, the oxen tethered close by grazing. Smoke rolled up from the still burning embers of last nights fire. A pot of coffee, steam curling from its spout was sitting on the spot where the embers still glowed hot, and the man stood, a cup of coffee in his hand, looking off to the east watching as the first light of a new born day creeped across the land. The light fingered its way, highlighting each rise, shadowing each depression on the undulating surface of the land. He stood watching as the first sliver of the sun appeared above the eastern hills, as it slowly rose revealing more and more of itself, until full and round, it seemed to squat upon the land and then with a heave it began its ascent into the new found day. As it rose higher the excited songs of birds rose greeted it, the dew covered, tufted grass that stretched between it and him, seemed to dance in greeting too, although he knew it was only the wind that pushed and played among it. He turned, taking in the slow curling smoke of the dying fire, the wagon where his wife still slept, and the hill that rose up behind it. He listed absently to the noise of the creek nearby as it moved busily on, it uncaring that they were here only doing what it had always done, move on. Sometimes in a rush with the melting snow of spring, or the downpours of spring, sometimes with a slowness as the heat of summer dried out the land, but it moved on, as it always had, to meet the river and disappear. The day moved on.
After she awoke, the fire was rekindled and breakfast served and eaten, they took stock of the land around them, the man showing her this and that, giving voice to his plans, his thoughts. She stood silently alongside, sometimes nodding in agreement, sometimes shaking her head no. He pointed to the creek, so close to where they had camped last night, talked of how the hill would protect them from the winter winds, and the rich land that spread to the east, unclaimed and waiting, would grow full, bountiful crops, and together they decided this spot would become their home, their place.
The summer was spent building a home, shelter for the animals, and clearing some of the land. He planted though it was to late in the year for a big crop. Friends were made of people nearby who visited, and in turn were visited. A trip was made to town for supplies in the fall, to sell what small crop there was and to purchase supplies to carry them through the winter to come.
The home they built that first year was a rough structure, but it was solid and snug. He began by marking out the site, and clearing the area down to the ground, The door would open to the east windows set off on each side of another window would face the south to allow the breeze to blow in and let in light, and another to the west. The fireplace would sit on the north end. The cabin itself was roughly 18 by 14 feet. It was set off the base of the hill close to the creek. The logs were cut from the woods on the hill and some came from down by the river. He pulled them to the place using the oxen. It was slow, hard work getting them there. Once they were close to where they would eventually be assembled into the cabin he used an adze and ax to hew each one of the logs as square as they could be. They were then fitted together at the corner with notches cut into the ends where another log would lock into it. The logs were built up until the walls were just over six feet high. The gable ends were built up higher still, using shorter and shorter logs pinned together with wooden dowels. Once they reached a peak a long heavy ridge log was set across them, spanning the cabin. four more, less substantial logs were placed lower down on each of the staggered gable sides and pegged in. Smaller logs were run horizontally across these strengthening the roof structure. Finally the entire roof was covered with long hand split shingles. The gaps that were inevitable between the logs were chinked with long wedges of wood split from other logs, a mixture of clay from the river bank and wild growing grass was used as a plaster to seal over them. The fire place was built from stones hauled up from the river. It was built with a wide hearth and a chimney that was easily 8 feet higher than the roof. The floor was left dirt for the present, although the plan was to plank it in when there was time. But for now it was a comfortable cabin and when the wagon was unloaded and what furniture there was brought in it began to look like a home. And it would be over the years that were to come .
The first winter was a hard one, the snow came down heavy, blanketing the land. There were cold winds that blew in from the north, game was scarce but there was enough. With the change of season to winter the days were short and nights were long. Many evenings were spent sitting by the fire, talking, reading, or just watching the flames dance in the light. Outside in the cold of winters grip the land slept.
There finally came a day when the wind was not so cold, and the creek by the house began to rise a bit and the ice that covered it began to break up. The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter, and warm the land. As spring approached the land awoke from its deep slumber. As the snow disappeared, melted and was gone, the first buds began to appear, and grass began to sprout from the now thawed ground. Birds not seen or heard since the last days of fall were once more heard in the woods upon the hill, and the breeze that blew was fresh, warm, and full of promise of what was to come. The land itself awoke with the coming of spring.
He was out on the land, with the oxen harnessed to the plow. It was the first time this land had felt it, the deep bite of the steel plow as it turned the land, cutting it deep. The land fought the bite of the plow, the tangled roots of grass that had grown, thick and deep, made the job a hard one. The team never faltered, but it was slow, in the end the acres of wild growing grass were gone, in their place the hand of man had turned the rich soil, and planted corn and wheat to grow under the sun, here for the first time. It was only a small change, one like so many others, the land knew it for what it was, something temporary in the great scheme of time.
It was fall, the crops were full, hanging heavy in the afternoon heat. Life had become routine, as routine as it can be here in the country. Improvements had been made on the place, a small barn had been built to replace the lean-to that had served for protection to the animals during the cold winter. Fences had been put up, a garden planted, a root cellar dug, it was truly beginning to feel like home now. She stood by the window and watched him work in the field as she had many times before. As she watched she felt a kick, knew the child that she carried was due any time now. Her husband had already made a cradle, and it sat there in the corner next to their bed, ready, waiting for the new life that was on the way. But that was yet to come, today there was work to do
She had the garden to tend, onions were ready to pull, the beans were still growing on the plants, not as plentiful as they were but they were still there. The pumpkins were almost ready to pick and get stored. She thought how nice it would be this year with the root cellar. It was already beginning to bulge with some of the vegetables stored in its cool, dark recesses. She had dried berries and crabapples picked from the bushes and trees on the hill, and they had been placed and sealed in crocks that were now stored on shelves hanging from one wall here in the cabin. There were eggs to collect, something that at times seemed to be more aggravating than rewarding, some of the hens having a tendency to lay in places other that the hen-house, but eggs were always welcome and the extras could always be sold in town. The cow they had bought earlier in the year needed to be milked again, a job she found a bit harder each day with the growing child she carried, but they were things that needed to be done. She sighed, and turning away from the window, went back to living her day.
Their son was born later in September, a neighbor and his wife were there along with the town doctor, who had been fetched by the neighbor. It was a strong boy, who cried heartily at his birth. The doctor pronounced him fine, and said she would be fine too, which was a great relief for all as a first birth was sometimes filled with problems. Shortly after the boy was born, the husband held him for the first time, tentatively, gingerly holding him close to his chest in his broad arms. She was tired, but she watched her husband and son, smiled at the scene that was playing out before her, her husband so strong, silent, meeting his son for the first time. It would be a memory that would last her a lifetime
Over the years to come there would be more children, four at the end, two boys and two girls, they would grow up on the home place, and in so doing, each would learn to appreciate the land. They would learn that life in the country can be hard, but they would also learn that it can be good. Cities were far-a-way places they only heard about. The town they visited once in a while were big to them, the streets, the stores that lined them. Some of the houses in the town were different to, built with milled lumber, ornate porches sprouting from the fronts, painted in bright colors and beds of bright flowers that grew in the sun. The towns were so unlike the farm, Not better, but different, as though they had traveled to different land.
As they grew up under the country sun, grew on the land that was so familiar, the days of hard work in the fields matured them. Eventually the girls married and moved away to begin their own lives with their husbands who were farmers too. The eldest moved far-a-way, she and her husband went west to fresh lands, lands that lay over the horizon. Lands that seemed to be on the other side of the setting sun when it fell below the crest of the hill that overlooked the home place.
The youngest daughter, to another place just a short distance away. The young man who courted her had grown up here in the area, and her dad knew his dad. It was a match that everyone assumed would be and really did not talk about. When the day came that the young man asked her dad for his daughters hand, the gruff answer was only "about time" from then it was just a a short time until she too moved away.
The two boys stayed with the farm, a farm that had grown over the years, from an eighty acre homestead to one hundred twenty acres. They had grown with it too, from small boys who played in the creek, or ran through the fields on those hot summer days, to tall, strong men who walked with a purpose. Men, who like their father, worked the land.
The parents grew older in those years, they aged with grace. Each passing year bringing a new wrinkle or line to their faces, but they were happy. When she died on a cool summer night they buried her up on the hill, and he followed her not long after. It was as it had always been, what is given by the land is usually given back in some measure, over the span of a lifetime, and forever in death.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)This is another kind of epic saga, evocative and picturesque.Thank you, it is what will become the beginning of the Home Place, a few generations removed.
richard, nicely descriptive and good visualizations, especilly in the first pages.it would be nice to see more writings like this on SW. is this to be expanded as a book? -bingIt will be hopefully, actually it is the beginning of the story called "The Home place" posted on here already. Mind you I guess a better description would be its the lead in to that story, although that story was written first. Anyway now that I have rambled on for so long, just let me say thank you to you for your comments.
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