Westward Expansion

Contributed by Cynthia Lugo on 01/04/09

He told me to make a list. Everything I could think of. What I wanted. What I would need. Budget the luxuries first, he said, we’ll trim the list down later. So I did. Rather, so we did. We made the list together, written down on a pad that stayed on my table for three full days. He sharpened his pencil and left it there and we wrote down whatever we thought of, whenever we thought of it.

One sow, pregnant. Two dogs and two cats – one of each sex so we’ll get more later. Sheep and goats, hens and a rooster. Milk cow and bull. Wagons, spare wheels and axles. Horses, harness, spare hardware and harness leather. Saddles. Water, food, clothing, blankets. Weapons and ammunition, cleaning and repair kits. Medicines, bandages. Books. Plow, harrow, field rake, shovels, hand rakes, hoes, seeders. Blacksmith tools, carpentry tools. Iron cookstove. Oil lamps. Windmill and pump. Sawmill and the riggings to harness wind power. Leatherworking tools. Bed, table, chairs, dishes, pots, pans, eating and cooking gear. Grindstone. Wheelbarrow. Churn. Buckets, sieves, assorted small hardware. Salt. Yeast. Seed grain. Grinder for grain, another for meat. Musical instruments, writing materials, diaries, calendars. Clothes for us, and for the babies that may yet come. Spinning wheel, loom, sewing materials. Tannin and leather-curing tools. Root vegetables, fruit-tree seedlings…

But I didn’t put my mother on that list, my baby sisters. Sally and Bill and their kids, kids for Emma to play with and learn with. To grow up with, maybe to fall in love and one day marry. There’s no family where we’re going. No promise of friends or companionship. It’ll just be us and I don’t know if I can bear it.

Ray ran the numbers, computed the weight and mass of everything. We’d need an entire wagon train to bring it all. So much for budgeting the luxuries first.

I read somewhere that it’s the failures who pioneer and I can’t help but wonder if that is true. Are we leaving for the promise of some beautiful new life, or are we leaving because we just don’t fit? These are not the thoughts I should be pondering right now but it’s easier than thinking about the rest.

The goats take the place of cow, bull and sheep. Windmill and sawmill are just minimum hardware. Blacksmith tools become just an anvil and hammer. All those farming implements are replaced with a shovel, a scythe and spare blade. Everything is compromised. Halve the amount of clothing. Double the shoes. How many of those books do you really need? What can you do without? What can you make? Everything of wood is crossed off. My grandmother’s bed, where have spent every night of our married life, where we made Emma, will be left behind and replaced by a bed that Ray will make for us. I suppose it’s romantic.

Ray is a teacher here. Our farm is just what we can eat. What does he know about pioneering? What does he know about making things? Ray is a good man, the man that I chose. But like any other man he can be infuriating. Without someone else to talk to will I one day notice that my husband’s beautiful skull has just been stove in by the skillet that still holds scraps from last night’s cornbread? These are the thoughts that I cannot allow myself to think, so I think instead about beds and failures and what it means to be a pioneer. It is almost time to go and I am so afraid.