Got the horses shoed today, and finished the cover for our wagon. The cover is an old plastic tarp, bright blue, which must do. Though it looks silly.
We are almost ready. And I will not keep reading this. I will not.
November 19
I will write in this book, this one last time, about today, because it is the last day, and that seems worth putting down, even if the words are soon discarded.
This morning, the day broke clear and cloudless, and the first of the Plain folk from the settlement began to pass. A line of buggies, gray-topped and humble, black sides shining, like ants in a row on a kitchen floor. They cast long shadows.
Most were laden, not with people, but with bags and food and supplies. Mixed in were wagons, also laden with supplies. All around them, the people walked, the pace slow and unhurried.
We watched them pass, and waved, and shouted greetings to those we knew. Hannah and Sadie walked down to the road, and there were leave-takings and short prayers. I watched, as here and there some of the passing women would approach Sadie, and hug her, or offer her a prayer. Other women would just look, and others still would look but try not to be seen looking. The men would nod as they passed, silent recognition.
How much has changed.
But while Hannah and Sadie greeted, I went back to the barn. There was much to do. I have been working on both the buggy and the wagon these last few days, to make sure they are ready for the journey. We have preserves and water, dried meat and fruit, and a barrel of new potatoes, and squash and apples. It will be enough. It will have to be. Mike and the boys will help me load today, as will my Jacob.
We have clothes, what little we have, both for winter and summer. We will bring one of our milk cows, and the horses, of course. The horses are newly shod, and we have replacement shoes for them both. Other things we must find as we go will be grass enough on the way for them, and fuel for our cookfires.
I have chosen from my tools those most useful for the road, and for building or being of use when we reach our destination. Everything is ready.
Then there are the other things, the things we cannot bring, the things we do not need. We have chosen carefully and humbly, but some things were harder to leave. My lathes. So many of our books, though some come with us.
Not this one, though. Or the others in which I have written.
Dinner was a little sorrowful this evening, and Shauna cried a great deal as we talked of our parting. Afterward, we went outside, and in the cool of the dimming day, we looked out to the darkened skies. They are beautiful, so full of stars. The Milky Way, clear as can be. We stood together, and watched the skies come alive and dance with so many lights.
Now, I am done. We rest, in readiness for the morning.
And this book, this book? I will leave it now. I am done with them, these memories. The words of scripture sing in my head, “the past is finished and gone, everything has become fresh and new.”
I will put it in this drawer, this drawer I fashioned with my own hands. I will close the drawer.
And in the morning, we will walk, with the sun like a shepherd behind us.