Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Saga of the First Pioneer Woman

Eons ago when rivers flowed clear and pure as
 ---------a Virgin's dreams,

The first pioneers pushed through the dense forest,
---------to drink from beaver dammed streams.

Times were hard and cruel, as these brave people
gave up more than strength, security, or an easy
family life,

As they journeyed into the unknown, with their
few possessions---in crudely built wooden wagons,
pulled by oxen, through the muddy, insect infested
forest, some had to wonder ----------if it was worth their strife.

They would stop before dark, then review the
rugged daily miles they had traveled,

Then the men would shout orders to their sons,
to feed and water all the livestock,
as the women rushed to do their chores,----
before the last light of day--
.-no time for nerves to become unraveled.

Romance---did not travel with them, in the
sense of stolen glances, sweet words,
or brief kisses----during the day,

It only appeared at night, around the cook
pots or campfires, but the time was so
brief the affects did not stay.

Prearranged marriages became the popular
mode, with our brave ancestors, on their journey
to a new environment,

Where weddings dresses, bride-maids and honeymoons
were not the daily requirements.

Most brides were chosen for their strong backs, for only
hard work would be theirs to endure,

Show of any love for them, became a nightly function,
which happened-----------fast and unsatisfied for the brides,
no romance to accrue.

The men, when sated would roll-over to sleep, to dream of
strong sons, to be born, from the best stud---a man,

To help with plowing, planting, harvesting of their
promised land, he would always need an extra hand.

Their wagons driven closely together for protection,----
more than friendship--because of frequent raids from the
Indians, who proved deadly,

After the dead were buried,---mostly the men---then the
remaining wives or daughters were abandoned to drive the
wagons, which became a medley.

With determination stamped on their brows, and eyes void
of emotion, while they searched the forest, plains, mountains
and valleys for the enemy,  as they stealthily made their way,

Praying for no more of a delay.

Child-birth on the journey proved dangerous, painful and

A Pioneer woman's fate, depended on the mid-wife,
whom were medically dedicated.

As labor could last for days, as the other wagons moved-on,
leaving the pregnant woman and the mid-wife alone and

Maybe some concerned husbands would stay behind to
protect their wives, but most husbands appeared unconcerned,
until the baby was born.

It was rare that a Pioneer woman felt the warmth of her
husband's arms,

Wrapped around her, as if she was a cherished being,
and was one of his charms.

The Pioneer woman, although she traveled and worked
as hard as her husband, was looked upon as a second
class citizen, to be seen not heard,

It was their fate to be silent, not to voice an opinion,
not a single word.

A female child was the mother's responsibility to rear,

Only a boy child was the father's to hold dear.

A daughter's only value to her father, was to be used as a
leverage, for securing a prosper marriage,

Her father hoped she would be beautiful enough to ride in
a richly drawn carriage.

Now, isn't it time to praise the brave women of the past,

Who pushed and plowed the fields, then cooked all the
meals, so, their families would not have to fast.

God Bless Them All! And may a Crown of Rubies
adorn their heads,
When Judgement Day, removes them from their
earthly beds.

I wrote this in 1993, on February 17th.

The reason I wrote this poem is because I had just started doing a research on my Ancestors. I went to bed every night worried about my Ancestors, especially the women. I wanted to know how they might have been treated. Maybe less than desirable, respected or loved.

And I got this information from books and movies of how the women were treated on wagon trains and living doing this era of  The Early Pioneers.

Writing this poem seemed to help me some---but the only event that could make a big difference would be if I could talk to some of them. I need a Time Machine--one that works, please.

Read more of my work on: http://www.PurvisBobbi44.hubpages.com

© BEPH  2011

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Updated March 1, 2012
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Friday, February 11, 2011

Pearls of Great Great Grandmother

     It seems like only yesterday, that my 85 year old Aunt phoned and asked me to visit her, because she had something old to give me.
     Well, it didn’t take me long to get there---as I love anything antique--not even thinking at that time I would be antique one day, and maybe my love would change for all things old, but I doubt it.
     She met me at the door with a beautiful smile on her face; I could tell she was excited because her English Blue eyes just sparkled. In her hand was a sad looking string of old pearls. Shamefully, I could almost hear my heart hit the floor. I tried to keep smiling, but it was difficult to do, but I did it, bless all the Saints for helping me that day.
     She said these belonged to my Great- Grandmother. And that makes her your Great- Great-Grandmother. Come in and I will tell you all about these pearls.
     As the story goes--- one of GG Grandmother’s children broke her pearls while the family was on a trip to a state fair.
     My Aunt said the pearls were made in three different lengths, reaching past her waist, with a diamond clasp, which she didn't find.
     GG Grandmother saved about 300 of the pearls and put them on a string to be restrung one day. But what happen next made the pearls insignificant, and they were put in a drawer and forgotten. Her son drowned that day, and he was only three years old, so many eons ago. This happened in the early 1800’s. What a sad time for the family.
     The pearls felt cold in my hands as I held them while listening to my aunt as she told the story. I am sure the cold pearls felt the same as their owner's heart that sad day so long ago.
     I was sad for longest time that day, until I made up my mind I would make something beautiful with the pearls again.
     When I got home, I took the pearls out of the old bag, and they looked so pathetic, old, and dirty, but the string was strong, however, it was old and dirty, also. I didn’t know if the pearls were real pearls or not, and at this point I didn’t care. I did know I was going to soak then in a tepid dish of soapy water over night and see what happen the next morning.
     I awaken early the next day, and hurried into the kitchen where the pearls were soaking, I whisked them around and up and down in the soapy water, then I rinsed them in cold water, and spread them on a towel to dry. I could not believe my eyes, how beautiful they were so shiny and clean. Real or not I was making something beautiful out of them.
     So, I designed in my mind what I would do with them. Then I went shopping for the findings, string and clasps for the necklace. I purchased all the findings that I needed to make the earring . And while I was shopping I decided I would share these pearls with my two sisters,--- so for one I made a bracelet, and for the other sister I made her earrings---.
     I made a decision that day, I would go to yard sales and flea markets and look for old jewelry and make something new and beautiful out of what was old and forgotten.
     Here is the necklace and earrings below. I forgot to take a photo of the bracelet before I gave it to my sister.

I suppose this is another way of living "Green" isn't that what we are all trying to do these days.

     I hope my Great-Great Grandmother feels the love we have for her each time we wear our pearls.

Read more of my work on: http://www.PurvisBobbi44.hubpages.com

© BEPH  2011

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