Thanksgiving on the Frontier

It’s the year 1864, I’m 18 years old. Like other cowhands I lead a labor-intensive life in the Washington territory.

I get little sleep especially at roundup time or on a trail drive. I’ll rise before the sun, and have a quick breakfast of whatever is available. If I’m lucky I get bacon. I’ll then saddle up for 14- 18 hour day in the saddle.

Being a girl I have to work twice as hard to prove myself to the men. The men are often retired lawmen, or outlaws, bandits and they don’t always get along, so fights among them are a regular occurrence. Thankfully, the trail boss, Mr. Jessup is a tough, good and competent man who knows how to deal with the trouble without lives going lost.

I work hard for little pay. In addition to herding cattle, I also help with caring for horses and repairing the fences. 

I have a knack for roping, riding, and herding.

 I got this job because Ma helped save Mrs. MacKenzie’s baby and I saved one of the MacKenzie horses from a wolf attack. 

The civil war also has a huge impact on the cattle industry. The men are soldiers. 

The war is raging and the demand for meat in the North is great. Mr. MacKenzie makes a fortune selling meat to the Union Army.

Life on the frontier is hard though. 

It is not unheard of Indian tribes often slaughter settlers in their homes. We plant crops by hand.  The meat has to be hunted, dressed, and cured. Pa built our homes by hand, with the help of me and starving cowboys who were paid in meals. The Homestead Act (1862) permitted heads of households to claim a 160-acre plot of land as long as they erected a dwelling and improved it over a five-year period.

Winters on the plains are harsh with snow and sweeping winds that prove fatal to anyone caught out in the open.

The year before in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln made Thanksgiving a national holiday, newspapers all over the West contained ads for Thanksgiving balls, suppers and other celebratory events. The mercantile store placed ads weeks in advance “Fifteen days to Thanksgiving day. Prepare your turkeys and cranberry sauce.”

A day for celebration and being thankful.

My family isn’t wealthy but we get by. Despite our hardship, we always welcome those without a home or those in need of a meal. We are fortunate enough to have a stove. The MacKenzies donated one to us after Pa saved Mr. MacKenzie who nearly froze to death in a snowstorm. 

Many other pioneers have to make do with a fireplace.

I look at the men. They are bleary-eyed and unshaven. Some are slumping over their horses.

We just spent fourteen hours working. Even the horses are exhausted. Mini, my pinto shakes her head. She knows what time it is. 

It’s time to head home. I close my heavy eyelids.  Home… I taste the word… It feels good. I miss it. I miss Ma, Pa, and my sisters. I have so much to be thankful for. I love Thanksgiving. Being able to sit around the table, all of us together and thank God, that's just perfect to me.

Mr. Jessup, the trail boss, gives the signal, and tired horses with worn-out cowhands head back to a well-deserved rest. 

As I ride up to the homestead a lovely scent stretches out to caress my nostrils, and my mouth waters.

Ma baked six pumpkin- and two cranberry pies on Wednesday. The berries came from Oregon and were good, but small…. She put currants in the pumpkin pies and they were very nice, but they weren’t like the MacKenzie farmstead because we cannot afford the milk and eggs and our hens do not lay now. She made a boiled bread pudding with raisins in it. Today, Thanksgiving Day she baked a rooster pie.

Cooking a Thanksgiving meal, or any meal for that matter, is a process that starts early in the day and involving a considerable amount of time and effort, but Ma doesn’t mind the hard work. With the help of my sisters, she pulls through.

I can hear my sisters screaming with joy and as they see me through the window. Their smiles extend towards me.

I get off Mini, I groom and feed her and put her in the pen. I go inside to greet my family and the guests.

The guests are kind souls, they are mainly drifters, one of them brought swap rolls for cornbread. Someone caught some fish with was quickly prepared and cooked to perfection.

An accident has stopped a train and a small family, consisting of a little girl, Martha Jane, and her parents come to dine with us. 

We dine in a barn with hay bales, saddle equipment, pitchforks, wagon wheels, and stuffed burlap sacks as the house is too small for us and our accommodating guests.

Used burlap and clean potato sacks are used for tablecloths. Colorful bandanas are used for napkins. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone so hay bales covered in old blankets are used as seating.

At the head of the table, a rocking chair is set up for the head of the household which is Pa.

Pa, after giving thanks for the prosperous year and the many blessings that we despite hardship we had enjoyed, carve the roast, places meat, on each plate. Ma takes a bite and looks at Pa; he takes a taste and looks at the guests at the table. He says a player and we count our blessings. Then we eat. The food is sent from heaven. My taste buds are dancing and my longing stomach is finally being satisfied. I eat more than I thought possible. 

After dinner, Pa sets up games of horseshoes, a three-legged race with burlap sacks is the cause of great laughter and amusement.

One of the guests pulls out a harmonica, and encourage some good country dancing, and fun.

My limbs are feeling supercharged and my head giddy. I don’t even feel tired.

We dance, laugh and for a moment we forget our worries, troubles and bad days. This day is about giving and having a good time. I can worry tomorrow when I head back out on the trail.

On a full stomach, and with Mini on my side I watch the sun go down. Life is good. Hopefully, the war will end soon. I’m glad President Lincoln made Thanksgiving official. Count your blessings. Happy Thanksgiving.