scrachline
Contributing Member
Clark Story #3 - The Trip
The year was 1832; Andrew Jackson was the President of the US. He was the 7th President of this growing great country. This didn’t mean squat to or help Robert Clark one bit. He had just buried the last remaining member of his family, his mom. The man his dad had bought the farm from was riding a chestnut mare down the dusty road for his payment. Clark had 32 large pennies and 1 dime to his name and they were in the only pant pocket that did not have a hole. The payment due for this month was three dollars and fifty cents. He told Lester, the now again owner of this property, that he would be gone by sundown. He had loaded 2 burlap potato sacks and 2 flour sacks with his personal possessions and placed them on the only animal that would move on the farm. The large horse was swaybacked and about 10 to 15 years old; Clark couldn’t remember when his dad had brought the horse home.
The 36 caliber Kentucky flintlock rifle had a small rope on it as a sling; it was badly pitted from removed rust. His dad had gone hunting one day and shot something. He then leaned the rifle against a tree and when he got home he couldn’t remember where he had left it. Clark found it 4 months later. Since it was the only rifle the family had, they scraped and scratched it as clean as they could and soaked the action in some coal oil for several days. They were amazed it worked. The trigger was really creaky and stiff. His dad took it apart and they poured some melted axle grease from a wagon wheel into the trigger mechanism, that loosened and smoothed it up and the rifle was now functional.
Their pig had died giving birth to the last litter that resulted in the death of the new born litter. Someone had stolen their milk cow about a month before the pig died. Times were really hard around the Clark farm. His mom had died a horrible death of some kind of whooping cough. She just coughed herself to death. Clark was totally alone in the world. Some passersby had told him several months ago about the opportunities in a place called Kaleefornia, free land, great year round weather and no government to hassle him about taxes and such. He took a long last look at the Virginia country side and the worn out farmland they had barely been scraping out a living on. The roof on the main cabin needed a lot of repair before it would be water tight again. The barn side boards were rotting from the bottom up and it would probably fall down in a year or so. The root cellar was the only good thing left here. It was large and cool and the root vegetables they did grow would last a long time stored in it. He laughed a bit at the next thought; the outhouse hole was about full and a new one needed to be dug.
He had told a lie to Lester, He didn’t leave till day light the next morning.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 2
________________________________________
Clark was a fair to middlin hunter, a superb trapper and a silent woodsman. He wasn’t worried about going hungry on this trip. He knew most of the wild plants around here and which were edible. What he did not know was there were a whole slew of edible plants that he knew nothing about the further west he travelled and a lot of the ones he knew about did not grow where he was headed. He had never been more then 35 miles away from the area he was born in. That was a 2 or 3 day one way trip at the time and was not to be taken lightly.
He had everything he could carry without over loading the horse. He patted what he really wanted to take with him one last time, the 200 pound iron anvil, got on his horse and headed west. He did not look back.
It was the 1st week of April, not super hot and humid yet. He rode the horse a while and walked beside it for a while. He was in no hurry. He would get to where he was going when he got there. Those passersby had given him the information and the most important part he did not hear. They said it was around a 120 or more day wagon trip. He just stuck that part in the little travel part of his brain. The part he didn’t hear was that was from Missouri. He mentally figured it out 120 days at 10 to 15 mile a day in a wagon and he could do that many miles easy on horseback.
He followed the winding farm roads that were generally headed west. But for the most part he stayed on the game trails which kept him away from the sparse civilization. He was not in a mood for companionship; he was still having a little grief over losing his best girl friend, his mom. He used to visit a chubby girl, but the chubby girl was everybody’s girl friend. Girls were in short supply where he lived and she could pick and choose and she did pick someone who had a little more than Clark. He turned off the thoughts of those hot and sweaty nights they spent in her dad’s hayloft.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 3
________________________________________
Camp for the evening was set up by a crystal clear spring right off the deer trail he had been on for a few hours. This was the part of day he enjoyed, he used a small 7 foot by 7 foot piece of tarp to make a lean to and set a few traps out to either catch supper or breakfast. He had taken some time and dried out some squirrel and rabbit meat for jerky and had several handfuls in one of his bags. The gun powder he had was too precious to use and he would have to get a job mucking stalls or some dirty hard manual labor job to earn money to buy more. His total wealth of 42 cents would buy a little, but he wasn’t planning on spending any for a long time. The woods had everything he wanted available for free. He watched a few birds and tracked back to where they were going in and out. He robbed the nest of the tiny eggs and said well it will be a morning egg breakfast. He checked his traps before he lay down for the nights sleep.
Morning netted him a fat cotton tail. He was in a hurry and instead of taking his time like he usually did to clean a rabbit. He stepped on its head and firmly holding onto its back legs pulled the head off. He gave a quick sling of his wrist and slung most of the guts out into the woods. He then pulled the fur off, chopped the legs off at the 1st joint and washed it in the spring. He roasted it while a small cast iron pot hard boiled the bird eggs. He peeled the eggs and used some precious salt to spice the eggs up and made sure he took one bite before swallowing each one. He ate one rabbit leg and wrapped up the other 3 for a walking along snack.
2 days later he picked a 4 or 5 pound turtle up and stuck it away to make some soup with turtle meat tonight, he kept a close eye out for some early cat tails and wild onions along side the creek he was travelling. Camp was set up and he smashed the shell off the turtle with the small hatchet and carefully sliced the meat from the inside carcass. He looked and saw he had about a pound and a half of good meat. The onions and meat went into the next size pot that the smaller one was nested in. He checked the cat tails and decided they didn’t need to boil for an hour or more. He slipped his clothes off and slid into a 3 or 4 foot deep section of the creek and scrubbed himself down with some soap bush. He checked the position of the sun and decided it was early enough for him to wash his clothes. He spread them out over some bushes and added the cat tails to the pot. He tasted the soup and decided to use a pinch of salt. Later he thought that was a mighty fine supper.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 4
________________________________________
He thought this kind of travelling was really easy, sun in the morning behind you, sun in the evening in front of you. Even an idiot could do this he said to himself. He talked to himself out loud a lot. Sometimes he even answered himself.
Every 3rd day he gave the horse 2 handfuls of the grain that the horse was conveniently lugging around on it back. He figured he had about a 90 day supply of grain in the 20 pound sack for the horse. He stopped at really dense clover pastures and abandoned farms that wheat was growing and let the horse browse to its heart content. When he did that the horse didn’t get any grain. He never pushed the horse and neither he nor the horse ever got tired out.
He had a craving for a little fat in his diet so he watched the stream for fish. He found a pool with some rather large trout snapping up the flies and bugs on the waters surface. He took his little pouch with the twine and hooks in it and attached it to a stout 7 or 8 foot long springy 2 inch round sapling. It was baited with grubs he dug out of a dead rotting log. He ate about 3 pounds of trout that night. He filleted and cut up the other rather large fish, smoked it over a hickory fire and put it in his travelling food pouch.
He and the horse travelled along content with their gathered up foods for about a month. He made camp near a large pond and made himself a long pole that he attached to the little tri pointed metal gigging spear that had barbs on the points. He was going frog hunting this evening. He used about 3 ounces of flour and 7 bird eggs to make a batter for the frog legs. They were fried in less than an oz of cooking oil that was in a quart whiskey bottle. He was content that night and felt the 8 frog legs he had eaten were just a little too much. But he had been watching his belt line and knew that the fat in the legs would plump him back up. He learned from his mom that a strict wild game diet did not have much fat if any in it. So lard or pressed vegetable cooking oil was required for homesteaders who mostly subsisted on wild game.
The year was 1832; Andrew Jackson was the President of the US. He was the 7th President of this growing great country. This didn’t mean squat to or help Robert Clark one bit. He had just buried the last remaining member of his family, his mom. The man his dad had bought the farm from was riding a chestnut mare down the dusty road for his payment. Clark had 32 large pennies and 1 dime to his name and they were in the only pant pocket that did not have a hole. The payment due for this month was three dollars and fifty cents. He told Lester, the now again owner of this property, that he would be gone by sundown. He had loaded 2 burlap potato sacks and 2 flour sacks with his personal possessions and placed them on the only animal that would move on the farm. The large horse was swaybacked and about 10 to 15 years old; Clark couldn’t remember when his dad had brought the horse home.
The 36 caliber Kentucky flintlock rifle had a small rope on it as a sling; it was badly pitted from removed rust. His dad had gone hunting one day and shot something. He then leaned the rifle against a tree and when he got home he couldn’t remember where he had left it. Clark found it 4 months later. Since it was the only rifle the family had, they scraped and scratched it as clean as they could and soaked the action in some coal oil for several days. They were amazed it worked. The trigger was really creaky and stiff. His dad took it apart and they poured some melted axle grease from a wagon wheel into the trigger mechanism, that loosened and smoothed it up and the rifle was now functional.
Their pig had died giving birth to the last litter that resulted in the death of the new born litter. Someone had stolen their milk cow about a month before the pig died. Times were really hard around the Clark farm. His mom had died a horrible death of some kind of whooping cough. She just coughed herself to death. Clark was totally alone in the world. Some passersby had told him several months ago about the opportunities in a place called Kaleefornia, free land, great year round weather and no government to hassle him about taxes and such. He took a long last look at the Virginia country side and the worn out farmland they had barely been scraping out a living on. The roof on the main cabin needed a lot of repair before it would be water tight again. The barn side boards were rotting from the bottom up and it would probably fall down in a year or so. The root cellar was the only good thing left here. It was large and cool and the root vegetables they did grow would last a long time stored in it. He laughed a bit at the next thought; the outhouse hole was about full and a new one needed to be dug.
He had told a lie to Lester, He didn’t leave till day light the next morning.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 2
________________________________________
Clark was a fair to middlin hunter, a superb trapper and a silent woodsman. He wasn’t worried about going hungry on this trip. He knew most of the wild plants around here and which were edible. What he did not know was there were a whole slew of edible plants that he knew nothing about the further west he travelled and a lot of the ones he knew about did not grow where he was headed. He had never been more then 35 miles away from the area he was born in. That was a 2 or 3 day one way trip at the time and was not to be taken lightly.
He had everything he could carry without over loading the horse. He patted what he really wanted to take with him one last time, the 200 pound iron anvil, got on his horse and headed west. He did not look back.
It was the 1st week of April, not super hot and humid yet. He rode the horse a while and walked beside it for a while. He was in no hurry. He would get to where he was going when he got there. Those passersby had given him the information and the most important part he did not hear. They said it was around a 120 or more day wagon trip. He just stuck that part in the little travel part of his brain. The part he didn’t hear was that was from Missouri. He mentally figured it out 120 days at 10 to 15 mile a day in a wagon and he could do that many miles easy on horseback.
He followed the winding farm roads that were generally headed west. But for the most part he stayed on the game trails which kept him away from the sparse civilization. He was not in a mood for companionship; he was still having a little grief over losing his best girl friend, his mom. He used to visit a chubby girl, but the chubby girl was everybody’s girl friend. Girls were in short supply where he lived and she could pick and choose and she did pick someone who had a little more than Clark. He turned off the thoughts of those hot and sweaty nights they spent in her dad’s hayloft.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 3
________________________________________
Camp for the evening was set up by a crystal clear spring right off the deer trail he had been on for a few hours. This was the part of day he enjoyed, he used a small 7 foot by 7 foot piece of tarp to make a lean to and set a few traps out to either catch supper or breakfast. He had taken some time and dried out some squirrel and rabbit meat for jerky and had several handfuls in one of his bags. The gun powder he had was too precious to use and he would have to get a job mucking stalls or some dirty hard manual labor job to earn money to buy more. His total wealth of 42 cents would buy a little, but he wasn’t planning on spending any for a long time. The woods had everything he wanted available for free. He watched a few birds and tracked back to where they were going in and out. He robbed the nest of the tiny eggs and said well it will be a morning egg breakfast. He checked his traps before he lay down for the nights sleep.
Morning netted him a fat cotton tail. He was in a hurry and instead of taking his time like he usually did to clean a rabbit. He stepped on its head and firmly holding onto its back legs pulled the head off. He gave a quick sling of his wrist and slung most of the guts out into the woods. He then pulled the fur off, chopped the legs off at the 1st joint and washed it in the spring. He roasted it while a small cast iron pot hard boiled the bird eggs. He peeled the eggs and used some precious salt to spice the eggs up and made sure he took one bite before swallowing each one. He ate one rabbit leg and wrapped up the other 3 for a walking along snack.
2 days later he picked a 4 or 5 pound turtle up and stuck it away to make some soup with turtle meat tonight, he kept a close eye out for some early cat tails and wild onions along side the creek he was travelling. Camp was set up and he smashed the shell off the turtle with the small hatchet and carefully sliced the meat from the inside carcass. He looked and saw he had about a pound and a half of good meat. The onions and meat went into the next size pot that the smaller one was nested in. He checked the cat tails and decided they didn’t need to boil for an hour or more. He slipped his clothes off and slid into a 3 or 4 foot deep section of the creek and scrubbed himself down with some soap bush. He checked the position of the sun and decided it was early enough for him to wash his clothes. He spread them out over some bushes and added the cat tails to the pot. He tasted the soup and decided to use a pinch of salt. Later he thought that was a mighty fine supper.
just another story #3 - The trip - Part 4
________________________________________
He thought this kind of travelling was really easy, sun in the morning behind you, sun in the evening in front of you. Even an idiot could do this he said to himself. He talked to himself out loud a lot. Sometimes he even answered himself.
Every 3rd day he gave the horse 2 handfuls of the grain that the horse was conveniently lugging around on it back. He figured he had about a 90 day supply of grain in the 20 pound sack for the horse. He stopped at really dense clover pastures and abandoned farms that wheat was growing and let the horse browse to its heart content. When he did that the horse didn’t get any grain. He never pushed the horse and neither he nor the horse ever got tired out.
He had a craving for a little fat in his diet so he watched the stream for fish. He found a pool with some rather large trout snapping up the flies and bugs on the waters surface. He took his little pouch with the twine and hooks in it and attached it to a stout 7 or 8 foot long springy 2 inch round sapling. It was baited with grubs he dug out of a dead rotting log. He ate about 3 pounds of trout that night. He filleted and cut up the other rather large fish, smoked it over a hickory fire and put it in his travelling food pouch.
He and the horse travelled along content with their gathered up foods for about a month. He made camp near a large pond and made himself a long pole that he attached to the little tri pointed metal gigging spear that had barbs on the points. He was going frog hunting this evening. He used about 3 ounces of flour and 7 bird eggs to make a batter for the frog legs. They were fried in less than an oz of cooking oil that was in a quart whiskey bottle. He was content that night and felt the 8 frog legs he had eaten were just a little too much. But he had been watching his belt line and knew that the fat in the legs would plump him back up. He learned from his mom that a strict wild game diet did not have much fat if any in it. So lard or pressed vegetable cooking oil was required for homesteaders who mostly subsisted on wild game.
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