Lenoir

Ash Hallow

The day before California Hill the weary animals were allowed to rest. The hill would be the first of many substantial hills they would have to go up. It was over 200 feet of climb to the plateau settled between two river forks.

Clarence looked over the animals and contents of the wagon. Making sure that every beast was healthy. Double checking if any weight could be dropped. Carefully, he decided the order in which to hitch his oxen and connected all six together in harness. The task smelled of hot sweaty coats and leather oil. Brutus leaned a shoulder into Clarence as he got scratches.

East of O'Fallon's Bluffs, the group followed the South Platte River. The men had to decide where they wanted to move the wagons across the South Platte. Most wanted to travel across the North Platte River, towards Fort Laramie, Wyoming. The South Platte looked shallower but there were stories circulating on the trail that the South Platte was guarded by quicksand and often killed trespassers. Great birds sat on the sandbars catching fish and sunning themselves on their own private islands.

Some of their party could afford a few rides on ferries or marches over tole bridges, but a few of their group planned to boat across in caulked wagon boxes or simply swim. Those who could ferry also had some time for repairs and leisure while they waited for the rest of the party to arrive and get their belongings across in multiple crossings of the shockingly cold river. In Early June the river was swollen with mountain runoff.

Occasionally it would be the other way around, where those who took the ferry or bridge would have to wait days before they could cross while other long trains ahead of them crossed. Bottlenecking happened on the trail when there was a blockage to the way west in any form. A wagon broke down could force a normally two lane road into a one way for some time, a bridge being repaired, a landslide, fallen rocks, flooding, fires. Calamities were common.

The Oregon and California trails ran right over the top of the 20 mile (32km) section of bluffs known as O'Fallon's Bluffs that ran along the southern side of the Platte River. This area of Nebraska had alkali soil and water and very little vegetation. Prickly pear, wilting poppies, and the occasional scruffy sunflower dotted the otherwise hot, dry, beige landscape.

In 1846 the Donner Party had left Independence, Missouri and had gone this way as a party of eighty-seven reached California a party of forty-eight after having been trapped on a snowy section of trail in the Sierra Nevadas for months. Members of that group had turned to cannibalism before rescue could arrive. Lenoir tried not to think of such gruesome reports but it was difficult sometimes when the trail showed a person gruesome things every day.

Over 50 miles west of O'Fallon's Bluffs, they finally took a decent rest at Ash Hallow. Nestled in the North Platte River Valley.

They needed a rest after helping the wagons down the steep hill from the plateau with ropes and chain. From the summit they had blocked the rear wheels from turning, tied them to a small tree they had cut down. It would provide firewood later. A hefty chain was connected to the wagon and wrapped around a thick tree, something that wouldn't pull out if the hillside. Then they had guided the wagons down the hill with two oxen and used more oxen uphill to lower the wagon slowly. This was always a dangerous and stressful project.

The men found a well used campsite from the flood of emigrants traveling this way and circled the wagons amongst the dwarf cedars and ash trees.

An old and once abandoned trappers cabin had become the post office here. Those in their party who could write could get letters home to loved ones or send accounts of their journey to newspapers or business associates. Clarence thought about who he might write. No one in his old world seemed important enough to him to write to. But he asked Lenoir if there was anyone she might want to contact. Delighted, she had asked him to write to her family about the good, wholesome things about her trip across the continent. She wished he would tell her sisters that she loved and missed them. She wasn't sure where they could write back to yet, but wouldn't they be surprised to get a letter from Lenoir. It made her happy to think about.

There were many signs of the great migration here. Some burned stumps were carved with the names of fellow travelers. May they fare well. Near the top of the hill was a piano that someone finally decided to leave behind. Of course there were tears and curses and prayers haunting the hallow. As sure as broken wagons lay on the slope above them.

In Ash Hallow they mended iron tires and hearts, they greased axels, shod animals, gathered pure water, and took stock.

Lenoir leaned her head against Clarence's shoulder and breathed deep. Calming breaths, trying to melt into him, to feel a less stressful connection to the world.

They sat on a colorful quilt at their cook fire, full from their meal. They had splurged a bit tonight and eaten well. Venison, vegetables, bread with butter, and milk. Lenoir had made sweet pies for desert that Clarence particularly liked. He had a sweet tooth.

The sun had recently gone down and the stars were coming out. So many stars. With little light pollution other than the occasional campfire to compete with, the stars were brilliant.

He looked down and rested his head on top of hers. A deep sigh of contentment saying all that needed to be said.

A shooting star shot over them in the night sky and Lenoir smiled. It was wonderful.

Gradually the sounds of day were replaced by the sounds of night. They heard an owl looking for its mate, flying into the distance.