Pangs of Homesickness

Moving from the wooded hills of southeast Iowa to the prairie of northeastern Montana was quite a change for me. What I missed the most was the sparsity of trees. Going down the hill of Highway 438 to join U.S. Highway 2 in October of 1968, I was struck by the pangs of homesickness when I saw the bright gold of trees along the Porcupine Creek. Suddenly I missed all the colors of the fall foilage where I grew up -- all the differerent shades of red, gold, green, brown, and orange.

I soon learned this was just the first of many differences I would come across.

Seeing the highway stretch out for miles ahead of me is still something that amazes me. I often wonder what homesteaders coming from states like Minnesota, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Illinois thought about where they had chosen to pursue their dreams.

Perhaps some of the brochures they saw about homesteading painted a colorful picture of the potential building of new towns. Of how they could even possibly make their fortune raising grain, cattle, horses? But those persuasive pictures and words didn’t tell much of the reality of homesteading.

Did they have any idea of what it would be like not to see other people for weeks, perhaps several months? Of the length of time it would take to get supplies? Or how long it would be getting letters from relatives and friends they’d left behind? Were they aware of the lack of schools and churches?

Coming from areas where the average rainfall was far more than a foot or less a year, the thought of drought, of the shortage of water for them and their livestock didn’t cross their minds.

These strong-minded, determined people were going to face lots of challenges and problems. But for the women, there was one challenge they would face that often led them to the brink of depression. In fact, many women of the homesteading era did suffer from depression.

And that challenge was the wind. Days and days of unrelenting wind. Of wind that covered everything in dust. Dust that seeped into every nook and cranny of the house. Dust that found its way into dishes, clothing, and even food.

The hours and hours of wind howling across the wide open prairie only reinforced the feeling of loneliness these women felt.

One day, while visiting with my mother-in-law about when her father homesteaded north of Nashua, she spoke of how it was when her husband would go into Nashua and Glasgow for their supplies -- from fencing needs to groceries. She said he would often be gone for up to a week at a time. She told me she would be at home to take care of the livestock and her garden. Of how the children had to help with chores and field work.

“The worst would be when the wind came up,” she said. “The days weren’t so bad, but the nights were terrible. All you could hear was the wind -- the lonely, lonely wind. There would be times you thougt you were about ready to lose your mind.”

Other women said the same.

“Women are very social creatures,” said one. “The lack of being able to talk with other women coupled with the wind made life tough -- especially if we were also facing drought and low prices for what we raised.”

But somehow they survived. They managed to help with all the work associated with homesteadng, They raised children, had their vegetable gardens -- and sometimes even were able to grow a few flowers.

The homesteaders were strong people. Today they make us shake our heads and wonder if faced with all the challenges they were could we have done as well as they did?