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Our first stop this morning is the Homestead Museum in Beatrice. This museum is dedicated to the homestead process int he US that resulted in over 270 billion acres of government land (the government claimed over a billion acres of land) being given away. With the exception of Texas, Hawaii and most of the original 13 states, land in every state of the US was available for homesteading. The original Homestead Act allowed a family to claim 320 acres, and required them to build a house and develop some type of agricultural operation with five years of filing the original claim. When they had "proved up" their claim they could file for a patent that gave them title to the land.
It is an interesting question of why Texas was excluded from homesteading. Presumably, when Texas became part of the United States there was some agreement that land in Texas would not be owned by the United States but would remain the property of Texas and perhaps of private landowners of the time. This is different from the situation in other western states which became part of the US under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo which recognized the ownership of land granted by the Spanish or Mexican government land grants, but did not recognize any other claim to lands, so all the lands covered by the treaty became part of US government land.
The Homestead Museum has many interesting artifacts illustrating the attempts of the homesteaders to develop their land, and survive on it. A substantial percentage of the homesteaders were unsuccessful in finally getting a patent for their land - some probably tried but failed, some probably tried but could not satisfy the requirement of the law, some probably just gave up, and some moved on as the western expansion continued.
The museum contains everything from old time fire fighting equipment, to farm implements, to ephemera from local citizens. It just shows what you can do if instead of a small closet or large basement, you have a very large barn to accumulate stuff from your own life but also from the lives of all of your neighbors. Every neighborhood should have such a facility - it is fascinating.
We leave the Homestead Museum and proceed southeasterly into Kansas. Our
first stop is Marshall's Ferry in Marysville where a replica of a rope ferry which
was originally located in this area has been constructed. Located on
one of the three rivers that immigrants had to cross in this area, the
Big Blue River, .rope ferry was connected to a pulley along a rope
stretched from one bank to the other. The large wheel in the center of
the ferry allowed the rope to be adjusted so that the current and
tension on the rope would work in concert to guide the boat from one
side of the river to the other. Sing the ferry was an expense that
many of the travelers could not afford - at this site and others along
the various routes west. Many people tried to cross without resorting
to the ferry that was available, and many lives were lost in the process. Grave sites along river crossings attest to the difficulty in
getting a wagon, it load, and the animals and people across the river
safely.
Scott's Spring, in Westmoreland, is out next stop. This was a favorite rest stop for the travelers, and the roadside stop has a nice replica of a covered wagon and Ox and an inventory of supplies necessary for a family of four - 2400 pounds to pack into the wagon to get to Oregon.
Our next stop is in St. Marys, Kansas, at what is called the Indian Pay
Station Historic Site and Monument. Another memorial to the long and
arduous between the immigrants from Europe (the politically correct
designation now is "Euro-Americans") and the Native Americans as the
westward expansion of the United States continued. This particular site
involved the Potawatomi Indians who had been moved to this area from
their original homelands in the the upper Midwest area and given land in
Kansas. As frequently happened it was not too long before the land
they were on in Kansas desired by the Euro-Americans headed west, so the
Potawatomi were offered payment for their lands in Kansas if they would
agree to move. The Indian agency was set up in the building which now
houses the museum and payment was made to the Indians who agreed to
move. We arrived at the museum at the normal closing time, but a woman
was working in the garden an agreed to show us around. It turned out
that she is the chief cook and bottle washer of the museum so we got an
depth look at the Pay Station - a rather rustic stone building - and
the adjacent barn in which she, and a couple of her predecessors, have
accumulated a large amount of material from the local community.
We proceed from here to Topeka for the night.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Day 14 -- Ft. Kearney to Beatrice -- Monday, June 10, 2013
See photos
We camped at the State Park near Ft. Kearney last night. It was a very large camp ground amidst several small lakes. Adjacent to some of the lakes was a small cabinet in stilts at the water's edge. The doors at each end wee louvered, presumably to adjust air flow through the cabinet. There was an electrical socket inside and some two pieces of black tubing that disappeared into the ground under the cabinet. We speculate that this may be something for drying fish, or ?? We did not see anyone we could ask. The the morning we took off to find the grave sight of Mary Haile which is located a few miles of the paved road. As we traveled to the grave site we saw these huge piles of what appears to be sawdust, some of which had the ends of logs exposed with most of the log buried in the sawdust - another mystery. We have no idea what this is for. Mulch? Press board? Decoration?
As we drove along we saw some typical country sights, including the inevitable automobile and farm equipment graveyard. This is such a staple of agricultural economy that it is hardly deserving of a photograph because 100 yards from this rusty assemblage was a very nice, modern house with several relatively new outbuildings and vehicles parked around. But I guess you never know when you'll need the piston rod from the '49 Chevy to keep the farm in operation.
We found the grave site of Susan Haile - one of the thousands of tragic stories along the trail. Susan was a 35 year old mother of 6 children who died at this location. According to the markings on her gravestone, she died after eating water that had been poisoned by the Indians. Maybe, but I'm betting on cholera - the scourge of the overland trails. With thousands of people and more thousands of animals traversing the same pathways, cholera was an ever present danger. Stories abound of people becoming violently ill and dying within a few hours. There was not much that could be done - people did not understand the nature of the bacterial infection, nor how it was spread. Calomel, bleeding, and various patent medicine potions were all that could be offered when there wasa, by chance, a physician available. It seems to me more likely that cholera was Mary Haile's enemy - not the Indians.
Mary's children were adopted by a relative who was on the same wagon train, and apparently all arrived safely in Oregon after the death of their mother.
As we wondered around in these rather remote roads we saw some interesting sights. I was driving and at one point I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a HOUSE coming at me from behind - with a tow truck leading the way. I pulled well to the side of the road and there were not one, but two, houses being moved down this rural road. In the same area, we saw a house that looked like something right out of the Deliverance, including the Confederate flag - I decide not to stop and get their view on the current political situation.
We found another site we were looking for in the area - the site of the Smith-Simonton attack. In the attack in 1864, 6 teamsters taking a group of wagons along the Oregon trail to Denver were killed, apparently by marauding Indians. The Indians were taking advantage of the US Army's involvement in the Civil War to make an attempt to drive the newcomers from their lands. This situation, and other attacks during the period, are described on a Oregon Trail marker in the area. The trail in this area is also the Pony Express route and the riders are remembered in some metal silhouettes on the hilltops in the area.
As we contiues east through the land of cornfields and silos we fouind ourselves, not entirely by accident, in Dechler, Kansas. I was lunch time, so I went across the street to a place called the Bar & Grill. When I walked through the door I almost caused serious injuries to the old boys sitting at the bar and some others playing cards at a table. They turned around so quickly I was afraid there would be a sprained neck or a fall from the bar stool. They stared. I said, "A stranger just walked in." They chorused."Yup." Luckily the bar is right next to the Rustler, the Dechler weekly newspaper, so these strange events could be widely reported for the edification of the natives.
I inquired if it might be possible to get a meal. They said, "We don't have food." I wondered why then they had, or said they had a grill, but did not ask. They said they used to have a cafe in town, but, after some discussion, the general consensus was that it had closed, and moved to Circle J (or some such name) gas station "on the highway."
So we continued on to Beatrice (pronounced Bee-a'- trice (the "a"as is "ant")where we found a campground and spent the night.
We camped at the State Park near Ft. Kearney last night. It was a very large camp ground amidst several small lakes. Adjacent to some of the lakes was a small cabinet in stilts at the water's edge. The doors at each end wee louvered, presumably to adjust air flow through the cabinet. There was an electrical socket inside and some two pieces of black tubing that disappeared into the ground under the cabinet. We speculate that this may be something for drying fish, or ?? We did not see anyone we could ask. The the morning we took off to find the grave sight of Mary Haile which is located a few miles of the paved road. As we traveled to the grave site we saw these huge piles of what appears to be sawdust, some of which had the ends of logs exposed with most of the log buried in the sawdust - another mystery. We have no idea what this is for. Mulch? Press board? Decoration?
As we drove along we saw some typical country sights, including the inevitable automobile and farm equipment graveyard. This is such a staple of agricultural economy that it is hardly deserving of a photograph because 100 yards from this rusty assemblage was a very nice, modern house with several relatively new outbuildings and vehicles parked around. But I guess you never know when you'll need the piston rod from the '49 Chevy to keep the farm in operation.
We found the grave site of Susan Haile - one of the thousands of tragic stories along the trail. Susan was a 35 year old mother of 6 children who died at this location. According to the markings on her gravestone, she died after eating water that had been poisoned by the Indians. Maybe, but I'm betting on cholera - the scourge of the overland trails. With thousands of people and more thousands of animals traversing the same pathways, cholera was an ever present danger. Stories abound of people becoming violently ill and dying within a few hours. There was not much that could be done - people did not understand the nature of the bacterial infection, nor how it was spread. Calomel, bleeding, and various patent medicine potions were all that could be offered when there wasa, by chance, a physician available. It seems to me more likely that cholera was Mary Haile's enemy - not the Indians.
Mary's children were adopted by a relative who was on the same wagon train, and apparently all arrived safely in Oregon after the death of their mother.
As we wondered around in these rather remote roads we saw some interesting sights. I was driving and at one point I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a HOUSE coming at me from behind - with a tow truck leading the way. I pulled well to the side of the road and there were not one, but two, houses being moved down this rural road. In the same area, we saw a house that looked like something right out of the Deliverance, including the Confederate flag - I decide not to stop and get their view on the current political situation.
We found another site we were looking for in the area - the site of the Smith-Simonton attack. In the attack in 1864, 6 teamsters taking a group of wagons along the Oregon trail to Denver were killed, apparently by marauding Indians. The Indians were taking advantage of the US Army's involvement in the Civil War to make an attempt to drive the newcomers from their lands. This situation, and other attacks during the period, are described on a Oregon Trail marker in the area. The trail in this area is also the Pony Express route and the riders are remembered in some metal silhouettes on the hilltops in the area.
As we contiues east through the land of cornfields and silos we fouind ourselves, not entirely by accident, in Dechler, Kansas. I was lunch time, so I went across the street to a place called the Bar & Grill. When I walked through the door I almost caused serious injuries to the old boys sitting at the bar and some others playing cards at a table. They turned around so quickly I was afraid there would be a sprained neck or a fall from the bar stool. They stared. I said, "A stranger just walked in." They chorused."Yup." Luckily the bar is right next to the Rustler, the Dechler weekly newspaper, so these strange events could be widely reported for the edification of the natives.
I inquired if it might be possible to get a meal. They said, "We don't have food." I wondered why then they had, or said they had a grill, but did not ask. They said they used to have a cafe in town, but, after some discussion, the general consensus was that it had closed, and moved to Circle J (or some such name) gas station "on the highway."
So we continued on to Beatrice (pronounced Bee-a'- trice (the "a"as is "ant")where we found a campground and spent the night.
Day 12 -- Glendo, Wyoming to Scott's Bluff, Nebraska -- Saturday June 8, 2013
See photos
After a stormy night which finally drove me inside the van we left Glendo Reservoir with its primitive play structure for toddlers and drove around the lake a little to see some the the large lake that seems to be in the process of filling. As we continued our drive east we are following the rote of four different trails: The Oregon Trail, The California Trail, the Mormon Immigrant Trail, and the Pony Express Trail.
Marker A18 in the trail guide is called Cold Springs and Rifle Pit Hill. This area was a popular campsite along the trail due to the availability of water and grass for the animals. Ruts from wagon trains are well worn into the side of the hill. Apparently there were depressions in the earth near the top of the ridge with stone walls long the rims. There are believed to be rifle pits for the use of soldiers who were protecting the wagon trains. The site of these pits is now on private property and access is restricted. It is worth noting that there are a number of areas whee the trails cross private lands. The NTP had documented these areas and found out some facts about them, but the are not all accessible - some require advanced permission, and some are open to the public. The sites that are on government land - generally state, National Park, Bureau of Land Management, or National Forest are open to the public.
At a rest stop at near the town of Guernsey the interpretive signs explained the mission of the army to protect the travelers heading through Indian country. A number of battles were fought between the army and Indians (Sioux, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Gros Ventre, and others) in this area. A umber of soldiers and an unknown number of Indians were killed in these battles, one such being Lt. Caspar Collins. Lt. Collins' father was an army officer after whom another Fort Collins had been named so the new fort was designated Fort Caspar - the city of Casper, Wyoming, is on the site of Fort Caspar (and why the spelling was changed no one seems to know).
This information was found at Ft. Laramie - the Fort is well preserved as a National Historic Landmark, and has an excellent museum with interesting grounds. Thee are many interesting exhibits detailing he conflicts with the native residents of the area and travelers passing through on their way to Oregon.
One such story is of the young Indian woman, Mni Akuwin, the daughter of Chief Spotted Tail. She had been a witness to an 1854 Indian vs. Army battles and had become interested in the ways of the White soldiers. She spent a lot of time around the Forts, and when she died she requested to be buried at the Fort. Her request was granted and with due ceremony her body was buried in the traditional manner on a raised platform with various artifacts, including the heads of her two favorite ponies, to be with he in the next world. In 1876 her relatives requested that she be reburied on their reservation, so he remains ere moved. But then in 2005 her relatives asked that her remains be returned to place where her family was buried at Fort Laramie, and that was done. I was touched by the story as one more in the long saga of the relations between the newcomers to this land and the people who call it their home.
Our next stop was Register Cliff. This rocky outcropping, A16 in the trail guide, served as a landmark for the travelers headed west, and an opportunity for them, and for those who have come o the site more recently, the record there passage in stone. Unfortunately for those who expected to be memorialized for all time by their art work, the rather soft rock has suffered the consequences of wind, lichens, and later travelers so some of the earlier efforts have been obliterated. Some effort has been made by means of a chain link fence to protect the areas where there are good 19th Century names, but he more recent markers are overwritten and otherwise damaged. As those who have done the cave drawings in France apparently realized it is better for future generation to do your artwork in dark caves with no lighting. At least they are available for later researches to wax poetical about the artistic merits of prehistoric teenagers.
After leaving Register Rock it was beyond lunch time so we entered the small town of Lingle, Wyoming, looking for a place to tide us over until evening. Grandpa Chuy's establishment seemed to be a likely candidate, so walked in, were invited to sit anywhere (of which there was quite a bit), and provided with a menu. Chuck decided that among the gourmet choices presented by the menu the "green chili with meat" seemed like it was, at least, something to inquire about.
"Is the 'green chili with meat' like Chili verde?" he inquired of the waitress.
"No. it's like chili with. . .you know. . .uh. . like. . .", she hesitatingly replied.
Sensing that the young lady was a little out of her depth, a man who I assume is the owner (he did not look like Grandpa Chuy, rather more like cowboy Bob) came up and said, "Do you have a question, sir?"
Chuck asked again, "I just want to know if the green chili with meat is like chile verde?"
"No, it's like green chili with meat," was the expanded explanation from Grandpa Chuy.
Chuck gave up. "OK, I'll have that."
Well, it turned that the grayish-green gruel that momentarily appeared from the kitchen more had Chuck than Chuck had it. The van's supply of all variety of indigestion medications was soon exhausted. Chuck said that the dish was nothing like he had ever seen or eaten before (and remember he just got back from Southeast Asia).
Our final stops for the day were Scott's Bluff and Chimney. Both of these landmarks were well document to lead the way to South Pass, which we did not visit on our trip. Both of these places wee visible for many miles, some say 50 to 100 miles, from the very flat prairie. As we were photographing chimney rock, two long freight trains came by, both headed in the same direction on parallel tracks. It looked like a race.
After that, we hit the road again.
After a stormy night which finally drove me inside the van we left Glendo Reservoir with its primitive play structure for toddlers and drove around the lake a little to see some the the large lake that seems to be in the process of filling. As we continued our drive east we are following the rote of four different trails: The Oregon Trail, The California Trail, the Mormon Immigrant Trail, and the Pony Express Trail.
Marker A18 in the trail guide is called Cold Springs and Rifle Pit Hill. This area was a popular campsite along the trail due to the availability of water and grass for the animals. Ruts from wagon trains are well worn into the side of the hill. Apparently there were depressions in the earth near the top of the ridge with stone walls long the rims. There are believed to be rifle pits for the use of soldiers who were protecting the wagon trains. The site of these pits is now on private property and access is restricted. It is worth noting that there are a number of areas whee the trails cross private lands. The NTP had documented these areas and found out some facts about them, but the are not all accessible - some require advanced permission, and some are open to the public. The sites that are on government land - generally state, National Park, Bureau of Land Management, or National Forest are open to the public.
At a rest stop at near the town of Guernsey the interpretive signs explained the mission of the army to protect the travelers heading through Indian country. A number of battles were fought between the army and Indians (Sioux, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Gros Ventre, and others) in this area. A umber of soldiers and an unknown number of Indians were killed in these battles, one such being Lt. Caspar Collins. Lt. Collins' father was an army officer after whom another Fort Collins had been named so the new fort was designated Fort Caspar - the city of Casper, Wyoming, is on the site of Fort Caspar (and why the spelling was changed no one seems to know).
This information was found at Ft. Laramie - the Fort is well preserved as a National Historic Landmark, and has an excellent museum with interesting grounds. Thee are many interesting exhibits detailing he conflicts with the native residents of the area and travelers passing through on their way to Oregon.
One such story is of the young Indian woman, Mni Akuwin, the daughter of Chief Spotted Tail. She had been a witness to an 1854 Indian vs. Army battles and had become interested in the ways of the White soldiers. She spent a lot of time around the Forts, and when she died she requested to be buried at the Fort. Her request was granted and with due ceremony her body was buried in the traditional manner on a raised platform with various artifacts, including the heads of her two favorite ponies, to be with he in the next world. In 1876 her relatives requested that she be reburied on their reservation, so he remains ere moved. But then in 2005 her relatives asked that her remains be returned to place where her family was buried at Fort Laramie, and that was done. I was touched by the story as one more in the long saga of the relations between the newcomers to this land and the people who call it their home.
Our next stop was Register Cliff. This rocky outcropping, A16 in the trail guide, served as a landmark for the travelers headed west, and an opportunity for them, and for those who have come o the site more recently, the record there passage in stone. Unfortunately for those who expected to be memorialized for all time by their art work, the rather soft rock has suffered the consequences of wind, lichens, and later travelers so some of the earlier efforts have been obliterated. Some effort has been made by means of a chain link fence to protect the areas where there are good 19th Century names, but he more recent markers are overwritten and otherwise damaged. As those who have done the cave drawings in France apparently realized it is better for future generation to do your artwork in dark caves with no lighting. At least they are available for later researches to wax poetical about the artistic merits of prehistoric teenagers.
After leaving Register Rock it was beyond lunch time so we entered the small town of Lingle, Wyoming, looking for a place to tide us over until evening. Grandpa Chuy's establishment seemed to be a likely candidate, so walked in, were invited to sit anywhere (of which there was quite a bit), and provided with a menu. Chuck decided that among the gourmet choices presented by the menu the "green chili with meat" seemed like it was, at least, something to inquire about.
"Is the 'green chili with meat' like Chili verde?" he inquired of the waitress.
"No. it's like chili with. . .you know. . .uh. . like. . .", she hesitatingly replied.
Sensing that the young lady was a little out of her depth, a man who I assume is the owner (he did not look like Grandpa Chuy, rather more like cowboy Bob) came up and said, "Do you have a question, sir?"
Chuck asked again, "I just want to know if the green chili with meat is like chile verde?"
"No, it's like green chili with meat," was the expanded explanation from Grandpa Chuy.
Chuck gave up. "OK, I'll have that."
Well, it turned that the grayish-green gruel that momentarily appeared from the kitchen more had Chuck than Chuck had it. The van's supply of all variety of indigestion medications was soon exhausted. Chuck said that the dish was nothing like he had ever seen or eaten before (and remember he just got back from Southeast Asia).
Our final stops for the day were Scott's Bluff and Chimney. Both of these landmarks were well document to lead the way to South Pass, which we did not visit on our trip. Both of these places wee visible for many miles, some say 50 to 100 miles, from the very flat prairie. As we were photographing chimney rock, two long freight trains came by, both headed in the same direction on parallel tracks. It looked like a race.
After that, we hit the road again.
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