We turned the wagon due north out of Denver about mid-morning. (Pioneers on the trail didn't have clocks.) Ma spent the morning regaling the children with tales of the Sager children, orphaned on the trail when their folks died and then adopted by the company of travelers they were with until they reached Washington and the Whitman Mission. That of course led to the tale of the Mission and the events that led to the terrible massacre that took place there. We read some fun facts Grandma had written down for us to share on our journey and discussed why people would choose to leave their homes and travel, mostly on foot, thousands of miles across a dangerous and unknown land for the promise of something they only hoped existed on the other side.
Boy, I had them hanging on every word! Even Joe was listening and asking questions! I'm a pretty big history buff, like my pops, and sharing all this with my family made me so grateful that we didn't fly to Oregon!
And then we arrived in Guernsey, WY and saw for ourselves the still visible Oregon Trail, where wagon wheels had carved deep ruts into the limestone rock.
We were deep into this thing now. (Wink, wink.) The girls were so excited! The weather was beautiful. We walked the ruts for a while until Pa called us back. We found the grave marker of Lucindy Rollins, buried on a small knoll overlooking the North Platte and thought about what our same journey must have been like 150 years ago. Then, it was time to load up and hit the trail. Alas, we had far to go before making camp again.
I had some serious catching up to do as far as hours behind the wheel were concerned, so Pa took a long nap while I drove the wagon west.
I loved the landscape. Green and hilly, mountains off in the distance ahead of us. We passed many landmarks; Register Cliff, Independence Rock, Devil's Gate, Ice Slough, and Soda Springs. Ali hounded me for more stories, more information, more explanations and I kept them coming until I ran out knowledge and they fell asleep.
Devil's Gate was of particular interest to Ali after I told her about three young adventurous girls in their late teens who climbed the cliffs while their company camped below. One of the young ladies fell from the rocks and died. (True story.) Ali became totally hung up on the details of the tragedy...
We kept on until we reached the Shoshonee Indian Reservation and Ma saw a sign that indicated that Sacajewea's resting spot was nearby. That resulted in an hour's detour while we investigated two Indian burial grounds. It was a great opportunity to talk a little about respecting Native American culture (or any culture) and being quiet and respectful in a cemetery with the girls. They enjoyed reading the headstones, which Pa thought was creepy. He stayed in the car.
We eventually found the marker, so I regarded the wasted daylight as totally worth it. (Until I was clutching the side of the wagon as Pa negotiated hair-pin turns down the Grand Tetons in complete darkness.). Sacajewea was the remarkable 16 year-old Indian Guide of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, in case you forgot. Xoxo
The last part of this leg of the journey took us away from the original trail and up into the mountains. At dusk. There was wildlife everywhere. By this time, I had happily relinquished the reins to Pa after redeeming myself with a 10 hour stretch in the driver's seat. We passed the Continental Divide at about 10 pm (based on the position of the moon) (wink, wink) and made our way into the safety of our cousin's home in Rexburg, Idaho at about midnight.
Thumbs cramping. FYI. Internet still not hooked up.
Stay tuned for The Expedition Part 4- Crazy Idahoans.
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