Adventures In The Sandy Hills

Bill was born in the homestead house under the tree near Pavillion Wyoming on a frigid January morning.  The wind blew the snow across the plains and the frost hung onto the trees breaking limbs that fell to the ground soon after the wind claimed them.  He was the son of Maude and Francis, two people hoping to make a better life for themselves.  They had met in Illinois and had left to avoid the persecution of the town.  Maude had become pregnant with her first child before she met Francis, the father of the baby had shunned her and Francis had stepped up to give her a life. 

The advertisement hung in the window of the hardware store advertising the opportunity for free land in Wyoming.  They could get the land for pennies if they would just improve it each year.  It seemed the perfect place to start over and make a life for themselves where nobody knew about their past.  So they answered the add; packed their few belongings and headed out in a wagon.  The land agent took them to see the available plots and they found what they thought would be the perfect plot.  It had trees, the only trees that could be seen for miles.  They built the house under the old cotton wood that stood alone in the middle of the sage brush.  Maude liked the view of the wash out the window.  She said it made her think there was a creek running through there; with all of the brush and vegetation it could have been.  But when you walked down there was nothing but sand and sage.

The family never had enough money or enough to eat.  Eventually Francis decided that he had to find work outside the homestead.  They could not make it in the sage and sand with sheep or anything else.  It would take thousands of grazing acres to make it work.  Francis was able to find work at the Barquin mine.  Upon discovering that they provided housing for their help as part of the accommodation; the family left the homestead to start again.  There were already a half a dozen children to care for, and the family continued to grow.  Bill grew into a curious busy boy. 

Bill’s sister’s Beverly and his brother Jim were the closest to him in age.  When their dad went to work at the mine the younger kids would run the hills like mountain goats while the older children worked at the ranch for next to nothing.  Porous sand rocks jutted up out of the landscape like ice formations during a cold frost.  The siltstone was perfect for carving in so the kids always carried big nails or pocket knives.  They carved their names and drew pictures in secret places all over the countryside.  Sometimes they would spend their days stacking rocks on top of the high ridges so they could be seen for miles.  This was a common way to show direction and they mimicked the practice.  They would write their names on lose sandstone rocks that they placed on top of the mounds.  It gave them a sense of ownership in a world they had no control over. 

The children were out roaming the hills creating imaginary worlds in sandstone castles when they came upon an old dilapidated shanty.  It was locked but through the dirty old windows they could see treasures imagined only in their dreams.  There were shelves lined with all sorts of food.  Bill and his brother and sister had never seen so much food except in the store in town.  They had heard about the store house that the boss and his children used to replenish their own pantries.    Jim and Beverly skirted the shack while Bill stood riveted at the window. 

“Hey over here,” Jim called.  Bev and Bill immediately went to where Jim had found a window that he could lift.  Bill was small enough to crawl inside but he had to shed the trench coat that had earned him the nick name “Preacher Bill” to fit.  Jim lifted him and then Bev to crawl through the window.  There was no electricity but they could see well enough to tell that the cans of food were new.  Bev raced ahead in the dusty room.

“Bill Look! Peanut Butter,” she exclaimed as slid on the dirty wooden floor trying to stop herself before she crashing into the shelves.  They had eaten sweet sticky peanut butter at the boss’s house one day.  Their family never had enough money to buy peanut butter.  Bill was in awe at the many cans of fruit.  The pictures of juicy fruit in sweet syrup made his stomach growl.

“Just one can, surely they won’t miss just one can?”  He pleaded with Bev.  Jim was hanging onto the frame of the window.  He just couldn’t quite get in. 

“The peanut butter, get the peanut butter!” He pleaded.  With all the work they did for the boss that they never got paid for made the children feel they were owed just one.  Bill snatched a can of peaches and Beverly grabbed a jar of peanut butter.  The missing items did not make a difference to the rows and rows of cans and jars on the shelves.  Bill grabbed another can of fruit and chucked it out to Jim.  They ran away out into the rolling hills with their like pirates on the seas.

The sweet sticky peanut butter was easy to open and they shared eagerly sticking their fingers into the jar and licking them clean.  When the jar was empty they started trying to find a way to open the cans.  Bill pulled his nail out of his pocket and looked at it.  It was sharp and strong.  He glanced around; all he saw was sand rocks.  If he hit the nail with them they would split in two.  He walked around the ravine they were hiding in and found a few small rocks; but none of them were big enough to use as a hammer.  Then he spied a larger rock. It was smooth granite and looked like it might work.  Bill went back to where Jim was working on the can with his knife.  He had dented the can but had not made any progress in getting it open.

“Hey look at this” Bill said as he set his can down.  He placed the nail on the can and hit it with the rock.  It punched through the can so he moved it a little and did it again.  He worked meticulously until he had punched enough holes all the way around the can that when he hit the top of the can with a rock it opened.  They had to be careful of the jagged edges as they extracted the smooth yummy peaches from the can.  Bill drank the juice so they wouldn’t waste an ounce of the delicious contents of this opened treasure.  The trio decided that the extra can of fruit could wait.  They knew they would have to get home soon or ma would worry. 

Bill put the can under the ledge of sand rocks nearest the mound of piled stones.  He placed the pounding rock in front of it and they headed home for a bread pudding dinner.



Note:  This story was created from notes from my Aunt Beverly after I asked her to help me piece together the early years of my dad’s life.  WC 1250