Elinore Pruitt Stewart - Letters of a Woman Homesteader

Title: Letters of a Woman Homesteader

Author: Elinore Pruitt Stewart

Release Date: August 30, 2005 [EBook #16623]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Jeannie Howse and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

The writer of the following letters is a young woman who lost herhusband in a railroad accident and went to Denver to seek support forherself and her two-year-old daughter, Jerrine. Turning her hand to thenearest work, she went out by the day as house-cleaner and laundress.Later, seeking to better herself, she accepted employment as ahousekeeper for a well-to-do Scotch cattle-man, Mr. Stewart, who hadtaken up a quarter-section in Wyoming. The letters, written throughseveral years to a former employer in Denver, tell the story of her newlife in the new country. They are genuine letters, and are printed aswritten, except for occasional omissions and the alteration of some ofthe names.

4 Park St.

Dear Mrs. Coney,

Are you thinking I am lost, like the Babes in the Wood? Well, I am notand I'm sure the robins would have the time of their lives gettingleaves to cover me out here. I am 'way up close to the Forest Reserveof Utah, within half a mile of the line, sixty miles from the railroad.I was twenty-four hours on the train and two days on the stage, and oh,those two days! The snow was just beginning to melt and the mud wasabout the worst I ever heard of.

The first stage we tackled was just about as rickety as it could verywell be and I had to sit with the driver, who was a Mormon and sohandsome that I was not a bit offended when he insisted on making loveall the way, especially after he told me that he was a widower Mormon.But, of course, as I had no chaperone I looked very fierce (not thatthat was very difficult with the wind and mud as allies) and told himmy actual opinion of Mormons in general and particular.

Meantime my new employer, Mr. Stewart, sat upon a stack of baggage andwas dreadfully concerned about something he calls his "Tookie," but Iam unable to tell you what that is. The road, being so muddy, was fullof ruts and the stage acted as if it had the hiccoughs and made us alltalk as though we were affected in the same way. Once Mr. Stewart askedme if I did not think it a "gey duir trip." I told him he could call itgay if he wanted to, but it didn't seem very hilarious to me. Everytime the stage struck a rock or a rut Mr. Stewart would "hoot," untilI began to wish we would come to a hollow tree or a hole in the groundso he could go in with the rest of the owls.

At last we "arriv," and everything is just lovely for me. I have avery, very comfortable situation and Mr. Stewart is absolutely notrouble, for as soon as he has his meals he retires to his room andplays on his bagpipe, only he calls it his "bugpeep." It is "TheCampbells are Coming," without variations, at intervals all day longand from seven till eleven at night. Sometimes I wish they would makehaste and get here.

There is a saddle horse especially for me and a little shotgun withwhich I am to kill sage chickens. We are between two trout streams, soyou can think of me as being happy when the snow is through melting andthe water gets clear. We have the finest flock of Plymouth Rocks andget so many nice eggs. It sure seems fine to have all the cream I wantafter my town experiences. Jerrine is making good use of all the goodthings we are having. She rides the pony to water every day.

I have not filed on my land yet because the snow is fifteen feet deepon it, and I think I would rather see what I am getting, so will waituntil summer. They have just three seasons here, winter and July andAugust. We are to plant our garden the last of May. When it is so I canget around I will see about land and find out all I can and tell you.

I think this letter is about to reach thirty-secondly, so I will sendyou my sincerest love and quit tiring you. Please write me when youhave time.

Sincerely yours,
Elinore Rupert.

Dear, dear Mrs. Coney,

Well, I have filed on my land and am now a bloated landowner. I waiteda long time to even see land in the reserve, and the snow is yet toodeep, so I thought that as they have but three months of summer andspring together and as I wanted the land for a ranch anyway, perhaps Ihad better stay in the valley. So I have filed adjoining Mr. Stewartand I am well pleased. I have a grove of twelve swamp pines on myplace, and I am going to build my house there. I thought it would bevery romantic to live on the peaks amid the whispering pines, but Ireckon it would be powerfully uncomfortable also, and I guess my twelvecan whisper enough for me; and a dandy thing is, I have all the nicesnow-water I want; a small stream runs right through the center of myland and I am quite near wood.

A neighbor and his daughter were going to Green River, the county-seat,and said I might go along, so I did, as I could file there as well asat the land office; and oh, that trip! I had more fun to the squareinch than Mark Twain or Samantha Allen