Visited yesterday, beside a stream we had to cross, between the protection of tall mountains, a flat fertile field, once cleared, now covered with upstart mesquite and cedar, a debris field of brown rough rock stones that could've held the log cabin, a well, stacked rock walls behind, from clearing that field, keeping in the livestock. The old road, the one on the treasure map, finally found through cleared trees to the east, crossing the stream once, maybe twice. Did he, they, the family move on...their old home, this dry stack of rocks standing vertical over 100 years, sleeping in rough country that has to date been silent to the next generations?
Farther east, seeking a second homesite, a neighbor once, according to the map, X marks the spot, another road, easily visible here and there, up wrapping the tall hill, still visible mostly, a strange place for a cabin really, not much in the way of flat but a million-dollar view, maybe a pioneer who needed lead time should visitors show up, connecting to this road, the one that led to this first homestead. We didn't find much or really anything left behind from this second cabin...some old felled tree stumps, a couple of "don't belong" holes, like ones to the east at the neighbor's, cisterns or cellars or where tree root balls fell, laughing later at our rich imaginations.
A good morning. November 28, 2014. The first homestead, undated, late 1800s based on another neighbor, an almost twin I've seen above six miles away. On a survey named after a man whose homestead this is not. His farther west, up on the rise, also still there, mocking the pavement who slithers nearby, in a hurry, with a purpose, unaware.
Same story, another frontier chapter...I hope they made it where they were going. Or were happy here, somehow, an equal then growing mystery.
No comments:
Post a Comment