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JAN STOOD ON A LOW rise and surveyed the land before him. My land, his heart sang. His and Karl’s two claims ran side by side, the plot Karl had chosen just to the north and Jan’s right here under his feet.
Jan wanted to shout to the sky. From the small creek west of them to the low, rounded hills in the east, this was their land. My land.
In every direction the prairie grasses danced, an ever-changing kaleidoscope of pale green and silver. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun and waited. He waited in utter stillness for the land to speak to him.
He could hear the morning breeze run its fingers over the grasses, rising and falling, rising and falling. A meadowlark warbled. In the distance the children laughed and called to each other. But right here, in this moment, with his eyes squeezed shut, Jan listened only to the sound of the prairie wind—gentle, undulating, soothing, eternal.
Eyes still squeezed closed, Jan inhaled deeply. He smelled sage and cedar mixed with the earthy scent of moist soil. It had rained last night, a late spring shower. A perfect, soaking rain.
He reached down and, grasping a clump of grass with both hands, pulled free a chunk of soil. He examined the soil thick with the roots of prairie grasses. Sod they called it. He knew that six inches under the prairie sod ran a layer of dark, rich, fertile earth.
Lord, I thank you, his heart rejoiced. He struggled to contain his emotions, and Jan knew he would remember this moment until he died.
He turned and gazed to the west. Their nearest neighbors were on the claim across the creek. Anderson, their new friend Herr Bailey had said. Jan studied the low bluff, a few hundred yards beyond the creek. The bluff curved gently, creating a wide hollow between it and the creek.
From this distance Jan could see a plowed field atop the bluff already glowing with the green of newly sprouted corn. A green garden was marked out in the hollow below. He saw a woman going in and out of a door built into the bluff. A small child played close by.
They dug into the bluff, Jan realized. Something like what the Baileys had done. Jan and Karl had read of dugouts and soddies back in Norway. He glanced again at the thick clump of sod in his hand.
They had read how homesteaders cut thick, root-filled sod blocks, a foot wide and two feet long, to build prairie homes. From what he could see at this distance, his neighbors had burrowed into the hillside and used sod bricks for the outside wall.
He watched for a few minutes, his imagination captured by the picturesque curve of the bluff. He easily envisioned a house built there someday, nestled in that hollow and facing the creek. For an instant he wished he had arrived a year or two earlier and filed claim on the acreage across the creek before his neighbor had.
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods, the Holy Spirit reminded him.
Yes, Lord!
He looked again across their land and his heart swelled. He turned east and saw his family and their wagons. He and Karl had many decisions to make and much work to do—and soon, as quickly as they could manage.
“Fader, I am so grateful,” he whispered. “I want to build our home right here, on this spot where we have talked this day.” Jan looked around him, in his mind seeing the foundations of the house on this gentle rise.
The oxen had been slow and the wagons heavily laden. Because they had left so late in the afternoon their first day on the trail, they had arrived at their claims midmorning on their third day—yesterday, the first day of June.
On the trail to their land Bailey had built their first fire. He showed Elli and Amalie how to gather dry weeds and roots for starter and something else for fuel in place of wood—a dry, flat, gray patty. It had been an interesting moment when he managed to convey to the women that they were collecting buffalo “chips” for firewood.
Bailey had told them it would take him less than a day to return home on horseback and had headed back immediately. “Got t’ keep thet water tank filled,” he grinned. “I’ll be home ‘bout nightfall.” He held his new ox on a lead.
Jan and Karl had again thanked him. Amalie was especially appreciative for the trade, and they were already enjoying their fill of milk.
Their new friend started his return home shortly after reaching Thoresen land. Before he left, Bailey had warned them of snakes. “You be trampin’ or cuttin’ th’ grass down, b’fore y’all lay down t’ sleep,” he said, demonstrating with a stick and with vigorous stomping. They hadn’t followed his words, but they had clearly understood his pantomime.
As soon as Bailey was out of sight, Jan and Karl had rigged their families a temporary shelter while the women watered the chicks and pigs. First, Jan and Karl cut the grass and stomped out the ground around them. With Søren’s help, they maneuvered two of the wagons until they were side by side with some room between them. Then they unhitched the oxen and hobbled them nearby.
They unloaded the lumber wagon and sorted and stacked the wood. They did not unload the other wagons; many of the things still packed in them would remain crated up until they were under a roof.
With some of the lumber, the men hammered together two benches and a serviceable table that they placed between the wagons. They strung tarpaulins over the table and benches and secured the sides and corners of the canvas sheets to the outside edges of the wagons.
Karl and Jan nailed two tall, upright boards to the ends of the table. They nailed a third board across the tops of the two. The boards lifted up the center of the tenting over the tables.
The families now had a dry shelter under which to eat. They would continue to make their beds on the ground under the wagons as they had done on the journey from the train to their homestead.
Amalie’s reaction to the tent had concerned Elli. “I knew we would not have a house for a while,” she whispered to her sister-in-law, “but I have never been without a roof over my head . . . and the sky here is vast and, and this place they call the prairie so . . .” Her voice caught at the end. “I am sorry. I am being silly.”
She swallowed. “I could hardly sleep the nights we were coming from the train. The grass is high, and we heard many strange sounds.”
“Maybe you feel low because of the baby, ja?” Elli suggested. “You know how our emotions act when we are pregnant.”
Amalie nodded her agreement, but her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. Elli observed new worry lines around Amalie’s eyes, too.
Elli told Jan about their conversation. “I do think it is the baby, but perhaps not just the baby. I worry that she is taking all these changes too hard.”
Jan snatched a covert look at Amalie and thought about what Elli had told him.
The tent and wagons provide shelter in fine weather but . . . but perhaps we should think about something better soon, Lord, he prayed as he pondered all they must do on this new day.
After rigging the tent, Jan, Karl, and Søren built a temporary chicken coop and pen for the pigs. The chicks raced around their coop and gobbled their feed, and the two piglets, allowed to run free within the pen, seemed healthy enough.
As for the hobbled oxen, they would be content to stay near as long as they had grass and water. The men would remove the hobbles and move them to fresh grass each day; Søren would water them twice a day.
The well-being of their livestock was a great concern to Jan and Karl, especially the animals’ safety from predators. Leaving the oxen in the open at night was not what they wanted, but until they built a barn, it would have to do. They kept the two guns loaded and hanging upon one of the wagon walls—within easy reach.
Jan’s reverie was interrupted by Søren’s appearance. “Pappa! Come see what I have found!”
Søren led the men a distance from their camp, crossing over onto Karl’s property, to a slough nestled behind a low hillock. They explored the low, marshy bog, finally locating where water seeped from the ground and pooled. Reeds and a few saplings grew along its edges. A snake slithered away as they cautiously pushed through the rushes.
Jan and Karl were delighted to find a natural source of water on their properties. Eventually they could dig down to the spring, build a dam, and divert the water to a holding pond for their stock. Until then, they could bring the ox and their cow to the slough each day to water them. It was closer than the creek.
“This water will attract much wildlife,” Karl warned. “Venomous snakes, too.”
“Ja,” Jan replied. “We must be careful, especially at night. Perhaps, though, one evening we will lay in wait for antelope to come?”
“Good, fresh meat!” Karl laughed. “That would be nice, eh?”
The slough was not the only thing they discovered that day. Søren called excitedly from beyond the marshy water. “Pappa! Onkel! Come quick!”
When the men trudged around the slough to other side of the mound, Søren was waiting for them, his face animated. “Look here. This must be where Herr Gloeckner and his family lived.”
On the side of the hillock the faint outlines of a dugout’s exterior wall could be seen. The wall was built from blocks of sod. Karl and Jan were as enthused as Søren. They fetched tools and, with a little effort, were able to clear and prize open the rough, weathered door.
Inside the air was cool. Neither Jan nor Karl could stand fully upright inside the room, but they immediately grasped the blessing of the place.
“Let us call the women to see this,” Karl suggested.
—
ELLI AND AMELIE HUNG back, outside the door, reluctant to go in.
“It is safe,” Jan assured them. “The door has been closed for more than a year—maybe two years. We have checked and found no bugs or snakes inside.”
Amalie frowned, still skeptical of a “dirt house.” Elli screwed up her courage and followed Jan. Inside he lit a candle. In the yellow glow she found a modest room about eight feet by eight feet. She looked up. The ceiling had been hard packed, and she was just able to stand upright.
“Karl and I think we could dig farther back,” Jan said, “making it a little bigger. Until we have the barn built, this would be better than the tents.”
“It is very small,” Elli answered carefully, “and you know how Amalie is with bugs.”
“I do not see any bugs,” Jan looked about him. He held the candle up and examined the corners of the room and then down to search the “floor.” “Do you see anything?”
“Nooo,” Elli responded.
“Feel how cool it is in here? What a blessing it will be when the heat of summer is on us, nei? And it is dry, too.”
His last remark got Elli thinking about the rain they had received the night before. Yes, they had sheltered under the wagons and under the tarps, but the ground had become wet. The edges of their blankets were still drying out.
“Amalie, come in,” Elli called to her.
Reluctantly, Amalie ducked under the doorway. She stood up inside and gazed around in surprise. “Ach! I thought it would be wet. Moldy.”
Elli took the candle from Jan. “Look. Look, no bugs, Søster.”
Amalie huffed but took the candle and scrutinized the room, floor to ceiling. “Hmph. I do not know if I could stay in a dirt house.”
“You will find more bugs on the ground under our wagons,” Elli replied practically. “Perhaps snakes, too.” Amalie huffed again, nervously, but said nothing more.
They stepped outside, and the men pushed the soddy door closed, making sure it was snug. Jan asked Karl, “What if we built out this soddy, Bror, and made it bigger? It would not take long, and I would feel better if we had a good roof over our families, even a dirt one, wouldn’t you?”
Yesterday they had decided to build a small barn near the division of their properties. It would be large enough for their stock for a number of years and, initially, they had planned for the two families to set up housekeeping in the barn. Now, though, they were considering the advantages of expanding and moving into the soddy.
Karl nodded. “It is a good idea. Let us think on this more. Come,” he said, putting their discussion on hold. “We need to get water. We should drive down to the creek and bring back drinking water.”
The sun was crossing into the west when they loaded the water can, washtub, and cauldrons into the wagon. Jan and Søren finished yoking two oxen to the wagon and they set off toward the creek. As they approached, their neighbors saw them coming and came down to their side of the creek, waving.
“Ja, we saw you arrive yesterday,” a young man hollered in Swedish. “Välkomna! Welcome! Come across and have some tea!”
Karl pointed the oxen into the rushing creek. The stream was running high from spring runoff, but the water looked clean and clear.
The young couple introduced themselves as Henrik and Abigael Anderson. Their toddler, a sober boy named Abel, clung to his mother’s skirt and watched the strangers.
Abigael was obviously expecting a child. She spread a quilt under the sparse shade of a young cottonwood tree and offered them cold tea from a jug cooling in the stream.
“We have been here two years,” Henrik told them. “My family settled in Illinois fifteen years ago when I was a little boy, but of course Abigael and I wanted to have our own land. You are Norsk, ja? We are Svenska, but now Americans!”
“It is good to hear words we can understand,” Karl declared after introducing their families. “We have two claims across the creek. So much to do! We hardly know where to start—because too many things clamor to be done first.”
After drinking the tea, the men and Søren climbed to the top of the bluff to see Henrik’s field. The women looked over Abigael’s garden. “I planted it two weeks ago,” she mentioned, “the day after Henrik put his corn in the ground.”
Amalie surprised Elli by saying to Abigael, “We have found the Gloeckner’s old dugout. Our men are talking about living in it for a time, but I am not so sure, ja? Would you mind showing us what yours is like inside?”
The women and children filed into the little room stepping over a high threshold. “It is not a big house, but it is nice and warm in the winter and always cool in the summer. Even when the wind blows hard, we do not feel it much in here.”
Amalie and Elli were both pleasantly surprised at how Abigael kept her house, a single room dug into the bluff but with a sod face. Abigael’s small stove was piped through the sod wall. Neatly stacked boxes acted as cupboards. The dirt floor was packed and swept.
Three stools and a tiny table with a colorful cloth were pushed against one wall and a bed against the back wall. A closed trunk sat against the edge of the bed near its foot. Someone had hammered pegs into the walls of the soddy. Clothes hung from some pegs and baskets from others.
Light came from the open doorway and a small window near the stove with shutters on the outside. The window was not paned with glass but with thin muslin. Abigael could not see through the muslin but it did allow a little light through.
“Ach! What a clever idea,” Elli praised.
“We have not much glass out here, for sure,” Abigael agreed. “In the summer the muslin keeps the flies and gnats outside but lets a little air in. When the wind blows, we close and latch the shutters.”
“Do snakes come in the soddy?” Amalie asked, more than a little impressed. “Ants? Bugs?”
“No more than one would find in a house out here,” she answered. “You see our high threshold? That keeps out water when it rains hard. But be careful for snakes, ja? We have many here—not all venomous, but some. Of the venomous, we mostly see prairie rattlers and, where it is wet, what the Indians call massasauga.”
She added seriously, “It is good to always check your shoes in the morning and never put your hand where you haven’t looked beforehand.”
Elli and Amalie’s eyes went wide; if Abigael noticed their chagrin, she did not let on. “One thing can easily tell you if a snake is dangerous or not,” she told them. “The eyes of a venomous snake are like a cat’s, ja? With the slit? But harmless snakes have round eyes.”
“I do not wish to ever be close enough to check a snake’s eyes,” Amalie murmured.
“So? But you cannot avoid snakes out here. The prairies may look wide and empty, but you can be sure that they are not. They are home to many things. Everywhere is the tall prairie grass, and many things live and move in the grasses—prairie dogs, rabbits, and mice—all things snakes eat.”
She added, “I keep my little boy where the grass is short. Please teach your children to take care in the tall grass?”
Elli noticed how white Amalie had grown by the time Abigael finished talking about snakes. Amalie called Sigrün to her and held the girl’s hand until they left.
After the Thoresens had filled their vessels with water and returned to their camp, they spent an hour discussing the location of a green garden. The men would plow the garden on the morrow and the women would plant their seed while the men began to build the barn.
No one brought up adding on to the Gloeckner’s dugout or moving into it again.
As it turned out, the weather decided the matter for them.
~~**~~
