Not long ago I finished "The West" (which I may have mentioned in a previous post, but I'm too lazy to go see if I did). Technically a "presented by" Ken Burns, the film is by Stephen Ives, but it's got Burns' fingerprints all over it. It's a well-rounded account - the good, the bad, the ugly and the shameful means by which Manifest Destiny was embraced and carried out, no matter what the cost. I won't go into detail here, but just Google Mountain Meadows and you'll read about a tragic event that I've never seen in a textbook about the American West. (Of course it's been a long spell since I saw a textbook on the American West.)
On my [unbearably hot] walk yesterday, I noticed a sign that indicated that the Oregon, Santa Fe and California trail passed right in front of me more than a century ago. I said a prayer for all the men, women and children brave enough to make the arduous journey toward what they thought would be a better life. Newly established territories and states flooded the East Coast with pamphlets promising unending acres of arable land and bounteous harvests, sweet spring waters and lots of wide open spaces. As you might guess, dust bowls, droughts and plagues of locusts were not included in the "must see to believe" verbiage.
As sweat was trickling down by back, nose and into my eyes, I thought about those poor women who were confined to long dresses, multiple undergarments and sturdy shoes. I was about to expire with yoga pants, a tank top and my new Asics. Folks were made of sturdier stock back then, I suppose. Or, more likely, they simply didn't know how hard it was going to be.
My great-grandfather was an '89er...a Norwegian immigrant running for his family's future in the Oklahoma land rush. He staked out a 161-acre tract in what is now suburban Oklahoma City. There's a street named after their family and my mother has very fond memories of her time spent on the farm. I'd give anything to be able to walk through the house and soak up the history.
Because my mind tracks like a hummingbird, I was reminded of our trip to the Grand Canyon several years ago. I was moved to tears after winding my way down the paved pathway, finally having it open up in front of me. Grandeur beyond words. As I stood there, looking from side to side, across and down I had to wonder...what in the world did the very first people to view this beautiful, cavernous hole think when they saw it for the first time? Pretty sure this is what the conversation would have been...
Man: Well, looks like we'll be stopping here for the night.
Woman: Oh, come on we can go a few more...WHOA! Well, okay then.
I mean, seriously. That thing is big. And rocky. And probably full of snakes and scorpions and other buggy things.
Pretty sure I couldn't have been a pioneer. Unless they had a tricked-out glamping Conestoga wagon.
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