Prairie Trail - 1912 -p2-

by
Isabel Carmichael

It was pitch dark on the night of April 12, 1912, when we arrived at Cadogan, Alberta, the nearest stop to our future homes. For some reason, not courtesy, the train went beyond the station platform, jerked to a halt, and we were told to get off there. Someone took my hand and helped me down the steps, then let go, and I rolled down the steep, stoney grade among the trampling feet of those waiting, my screams of fright piercing the confusion. Such was my introduction to the prairie. When one of my aunts shared the same fate, someone got a kerosene lantern and held it high above our heads. It was a dim beacon in the dark, but passengers and baggage landed safely, and we were hustled off to the home of Mr. John Findlay, a mile distant. These pioneers had come from from our neighbourhood in Quebec four years earlier. How gratefully we remember their hospitality during the the week we stayed with them, while the men trekked goods and livestock the twenty-four miles south to our new homesteads.
We set out for our settlement early one morning. Our wagon train consisted of two democrats, buggy, buckboard, and men on horseback showing us the way. It was a warm spring day, ideal for the picnic lunch we enjoyed at noon near Sounding Lake. This was the land of the Poynter Ranch, and we were to hear much about this lay-out, and the famous horse, Grey Ghost, which later bucked his way through many stampedes.
In the evening our weary eyes spotted piles of lumber on a level place in the distance. My father and Uncle were putting up the frames of their houses adjacent to the line-fence, an arrangement which meant much to our two families in the untamed wilderness about us. A little farther on we came to the encampment prepared as temporary quarters. There was a hastily constructed wooden cook-house, which also housed two beds, and beside it three white tents. Our animals were grazing the fresh green grass, and were soon joined by the tired horses which had brought us. This tiny settlement remained intact for two weeks until the building of three houses was far enough advanced to make them habitable. During this time we children had chicken pox, which was very inconvenient even though there were no complications. Here too my father experienced his first loss when our best horse, Nellie-grey, stepped in a hole and fractured her leg.
We broke camp on May sixth. Three families moved into their new unfinished houses, and the single men got work on the railroad being constructed through Consort and Monitor. When the farmsteads were made comfortable, and time permitted, custom work with their teams of horses brought in some much needed cash. They did not attempt to grow a crop that first year. Some had sold their farms in Quebec for a few hundred dollars, but money was scarce, and "time", meaning credit, was the magic word for the necessities of the moment.
The first implemenmts bought were breaker ploughs to prepare the land for the crops the next year. Disheartening attempts at turning the first furrow in the tough prairie sod challenged the most enthusiastic. Young as we were we felt the despair, and saw the concern on the faces of our strong pioneers. Finally, working together, they learned the trick of hitching and driving extra teams in the plow, until literal horsepower ripped the stubborn sod. We children walked bare-footed in chocolate-coloured furrows until weariness forced us to rest on a grassy knoll. At a distance, the outfit resembled a picture of Santa and his reindeer in "The Night Before Christmas" book an aunt had sent from Connecticut. The analogy ended there, however, for this was no child's play, and certainly the suggestion never entered the heads of our elders. Furrows stretched to half a mile, and as we walked something of the wide, free spaces became part of our beings, for by comparison, a small room or an acre clearing in the woods seems very cramped.
The rich virgin soil gave a fair yield in spite of being stunted by a vicious hail storm early in June. How we feared these ominous, destructive onslaughts. A bumper stand of wheat ready to cut was lost in 1916, with no insurance. The storm wakened us with a roar like an oncoming train, and when it struck we had to shout to be heard. Pillows held to the windows kept them from being broken in. At daybreak we saw our fields blackened as if by a machine. Only a corner of about fifteen acres escaped the terrifying marauder. This yielded enough number one Marquis seed for the next year on our farm.
Springs of clear water rose near the alkaline sloughs, but the water was unpalatable, so wells had to be sunk. These were dug by hand, four feet by four feet, and from twentyfive to fifty feet deep. Many fossils of fish, nuts, and wood were found in these excavations. The water was excellent, and deliciously cold, but it was hard, and in dry weather, none too plentiful. With lots of Royal Crown soap it made the clothes beautifully clean. It was hard work hauling it up with a bucket on a rope, so we welcomed the heavy hand pumps that were later installed to fill the long watering troughs, and admired picturesque windmills when they appeared to take the drudgery.
Near one of our springs there was the remains of an early home-seekers sod shack. We children used to run through it, timidly at first, but we soon got brave enough to examine the old stove abandoned with it. How we wished that the little house was still intact! When our dogs died of poisoning, it turned out that the man who had lived in it put out poison for coyotes before moving on to his destination further south.

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