My great great grandfather enlisted in the 7th Iowa Cavalry during the Civil Wsr. Instead of heading east to fight the Rebels, he was ordered west to guard the western travel routes against the godless heathen red-skinned devils. According to the regimental history his company patrolled along the Smoky Hill River across Kansas and up into Nebraska and Eastern Colorado. He was finally discharged in 1866 as a corporal. His pension records say he was wounded in the arm at some point.
I have no idea what he thought of the Great Plains. Did he love or loathe the windswept prairie? He did not stay in the west after the war. For an unknown reason he made his way east, settling in central Indiana, an area equally as flat, if not more so, than west Kansas.
Perhaps it is a passed on gene from my distant grandfather, but I love the Great Plains. For me there is hidden beauty in the open vistas and distant horizon. Maybe it is my youth spent reading Louis L’Amour westerns that inspires my admiration. Perhaps it is the histories of the plains wars and Native American biographies I devoured that inspires my admiration of the prairie? Can I blame Laura Ingalls Wilder? The names of forgotten cow towns and army posts ring nostalgic in my soul: Forts Riley, Lawrence, and Hays. The cow towns of Abilene, Wichita, and Dodge conjure dusty trails and smokey saloons I never knew.
I guess I’m a romantic at heart.
|
80 mph view from my car window |
But why in the heck did my great great grandpa go from Ohio to western Missouri to Iowa and then end up in Indiana? That is opposite the migration after the war.