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By Teri Ong
To my one and only dear, gentle reader!
I have not had opportunity to post much in the last three months. Our summer has turned into an “unbelievable” summer. We moved my mother from Minnesota to Colorado this week. Exactly a week ago we were in Brooten preparing to load a 24-foot truck with her belongings. The trip could not have been smoother with the tiny exceptions of driving through torrential rains in a flash flood warning area the first day and through blinding rain and hail in a tornado watch area the second day. But all of the important parts of a move (i.e. packing, loading, cleaning, unloading and unpacking) went, if you’ll allow me to say it, swimmingly.
After driving through the intense storm in eastern Colorado, and after sitting some of it out in a fast-food place in Brush, for the entire hour before sunset we witnessed a light-and-cloud show all across the eastern plains that defies verbal description. Photos of the event would be deemed to fantastic for anything but Photoshop. The intensity, the layers upon layers, the contrasts, the laser-like sunbeams, the double rainbow…. Words fail! It was unbelievable.
God lets it be so, I think, often in life– the most real things are the most unbelievable. I have heard writers say that true events and twists of circumstance can’t always be used effectively in good fiction because we demand more “believability” in stories than we can demand in real life. Real life is beyond the powers of our mental and emotional demands. For example, one Monday in April we observed a house in our neighborhood (100 yards from our own) that went up for sale under the HUD program. On Tuesday we went through the house with a real estate lady. On Wednesday we put in a bid. On Thursday my mother had a contract on that house. The contract price was less than half of what the house had sold for in 2004, and the house needed only minimal fix-up (mostly just painting). No one would believe that in a story book!
Who would believe that Shackleton’s men could survive a year and a half in the Antarctic and come home with only a few frostbitten toes? Who would believe that General Washington could survive being shot numerous times at fairly close range in the French and Indian War? Who would believe that the Colorado Rockies could come back from a 9 to 3 deficit at the top of the ninth and win the game 12 to 9 in the bottom of the ninth with a walk-off 3-run homer? Who would believe that my oldest son would propose to his sweetheart this week and plan a full-scale church wedding for six weeks from now?!
What follows here is a short work of historical fiction. The characters are real as are the most fantastic of the details– the storm, the ice, the animals, waiting it out on a ledge, etc. The “fiction” is in the telling in the form of a letter (the original was in a journal) and in the fact that there were more people in the camping party than I have portrayed. I have been on excursions gone bad, but not of this magnitude. I hope you can enjoy this high adventure. Some of the language is directly quoted from Abner Sprague’s journal.
High Adventure
by Teri Ong
September 28, 1889
Dear Edgar,
I am ever so glad to be writing to you; and I am ever so glad that someone else is not writing to you and your dear mother to tell you of our demise. But I must say that there were many hours last week when I believed that the latter was bound to be your next communication from the Rocky Mountains.
The fall weather has been uncommonly fine. The color in the aspen trees has been such as to dazzle the eyes. It seems that the mountain sides are veritably aflame with the shimmering gold of the leaves, especially when the large stands are nestled in with the nearly black green of the conifers, and seem to burn up the hillside. Dearie and I, along with Mr. Locke, whom you will remember as my foreman, decided to take a ride up into the hills near the lake above us. Our intention was to camp there for a night and do some fishing before winter set in.
The day was so pleasant and the wind so gentle and warm that we decided to ride further up after our dinner beside the lake. In the mid-afternoon, I began to fear that our camping trip had perhaps been ill-timed, in spite of the indescribable natural beauty that was all around us. A warm wind had begun to blow with some force. Often, as you know, a warm chinook is a harbinger of some of our fiercest snows. Without raising an alarm that might frighten Dearie, I began to look around for a safe encampment, in case we should need one.
Before I even had much chance to settle my mind, the wind increased to a gale, accompanied by sleet, soft snow, and hail. I have to tell you that going against the wind was like going against a stone wall. Even for us men, it was impossible to face the driving hail and sleet with open eyes. I became especially concerned for Dearie, who tied my cotton bandana around her face so that only her eyes showed a little under the brim of her hat. She had to put her shawl over the top of her hat, wrap it tightly around her shoulders and tuck it under her arms just to keep it all from blowing away.
We could barely see from one end of our horses to the other. It was not long until we were hopelessly lost. I believed that we were somewhere near Notchtop Mountain. It is so rocky and precipitous in that area, that I truly despaired of finding a safe shelter for all of us. Eventually, I did find a shelter between some rocks which was somewhat larger than a crevice but not as spacious as a cave. We had to climb down some distance to enter our shelter, which meant leaving the horses and our jackass on the ledge above.
Our position was on the brink of a precipice. I believe God graciously didn’t allow us to be able to see in the blinding snow and approaching darkness how perilous our situation was. I realized death could come in several ways. Our horses were in a bunch directly above us, and I feared they might become restless and might force one or two of them over the brink and carry us with them over the precipice and to certain death. Or snow might drift over the cliff and do the same thing.
We spent a night and a day huddled in our crevice, shivering in our, by then, quite wet clothes. We had no food either, since our provisions were up above on our donkey. I would not risk going up or risk sending Mr. Locke up to get anything. One wrong step and whoever was trying it would be a gone-er.
Late on the second day, the weather broke and the sun came out in all its blinding beauty. I went up and got a length of rope that we had brought with us to string up a tent. We all managed to get safely up to where the animals were, though I wouldn’t let Dearie move without my rope tied about her waist.
The animals were a sight to behold! Queenie, the white mare, was the first to take the storm. From the saddle, over her rump and down her tail to the snow was a sheet of ice all of an inch thick! And Mr. Locke had to break 10 or 15 pounds of ice from each ear of his jack!
Praise God we had enough daylight left after rescuing the animals to find our way back home. One of our hands had built a fire in our very own fireplace that sent up a very handy “pillar of cloud” the helped us get home, and then warmed us all once we got there. Dearie has demanded in her own sweet way that there be no more camping trips this year. She was quite sure we would all perish. But by the hand of our gracious Father, we are once again safe and snug in our little homestead.
Give my love to my sister, your dear mother. We will look to see you sometime in the spring.
With love and regards,
Uncle Abner
Truth Is Stranger…
By Teri Ong
To my one and only dear, gentle reader!
I have not had opportunity to post much in the last three months. Our summer has turned into an “unbelievable” summer. We moved my mother from Minnesota to Colorado this week. Exactly a week ago we were in Brooten preparing to load a 24-foot truck with her belongings. The trip could not have been smoother with the tiny exceptions of driving through torrential rains in a flash flood warning area the first day and through blinding rain and hail in a tornado watch area the second day. But all of the important parts of a move (i.e. packing, loading, cleaning, unloading and unpacking) went, if you’ll allow me to say it, swimmingly.
After driving through the intense storm in eastern Colorado, and after sitting some of it out in a fast-food place in Brush, for the entire hour before sunset we witnessed a light-and-cloud show all across the eastern plains that defies verbal description. Photos of the event would be deemed to fantastic for anything but Photoshop. The intensity, the layers upon layers, the contrasts, the laser-like sunbeams, the double rainbow…. Words fail! It was unbelievable.
God lets it be so, I think, often in life– the most real things are the most unbelievable. I have heard writers say that true events and twists of circumstance can’t always be used effectively in good fiction because we demand more “believability” in stories than we can demand in real life. Real life is beyond the powers of our mental and emotional demands. For example, one Monday in April we observed a house in our neighborhood (100 yards from our own) that went up for sale under the HUD program. On Tuesday we went through the house with a real estate lady. On Wednesday we put in a bid. On Thursday my mother had a contract on that house. The contract price was less than half of what the house had sold for in 2004, and the house needed only minimal fix-up (mostly just painting). No one would believe that in a story book!
Who would believe that Shackleton’s men could survive a year and a half in the Antarctic and come home with only a few frostbitten toes? Who would believe that General Washington could survive being shot numerous times at fairly close range in the French and Indian War? Who would believe that the Colorado Rockies could come back from a 9 to 3 deficit at the top of the ninth and win the game 12 to 9 in the bottom of the ninth with a walk-off 3-run homer? Who would believe that my oldest son would propose to his sweetheart this week and plan a full-scale church wedding for six weeks from now?!
What follows here is a short work of historical fiction. The characters are real as are the most fantastic of the details– the storm, the ice, the animals, waiting it out on a ledge, etc. The “fiction” is in the telling in the form of a letter (the original was in a journal) and in the fact that there were more people in the camping party than I have portrayed. I have been on excursions gone bad, but not of this magnitude. I hope you can enjoy this high adventure. Some of the language is directly quoted from Abner Sprague’s journal.
High Adventure
by Teri Ong
September 28, 1889
Dear Edgar,
I am ever so glad to be writing to you; and I am ever so glad that someone else is not writing to you and your dear mother to tell you of our demise. But I must say that there were many hours last week when I believed that the latter was bound to be your next communication from the Rocky Mountains.
The fall weather has been uncommonly fine. The color in the aspen trees has been such as to dazzle the eyes. It seems that the mountain sides are veritably aflame with the shimmering gold of the leaves, especially when the large stands are nestled in with the nearly black green of the conifers, and seem to burn up the hillside. Dearie and I, along with Mr. Locke, whom you will remember as my foreman, decided to take a ride up into the hills near the lake above us. Our intention was to camp there for a night and do some fishing before winter set in.
The day was so pleasant and the wind so gentle and warm that we decided to ride further up after our dinner beside the lake. In the mid-afternoon, I began to fear that our camping trip had perhaps been ill-timed, in spite of the indescribable natural beauty that was all around us. A warm wind had begun to blow with some force. Often, as you know, a warm chinook is a harbinger of some of our fiercest snows. Without raising an alarm that might frighten Dearie, I began to look around for a safe encampment, in case we should need one.
Before I even had much chance to settle my mind, the wind increased to a gale, accompanied by sleet, soft snow, and hail. I have to tell you that going against the wind was like going against a stone wall. Even for us men, it was impossible to face the driving hail and sleet with open eyes. I became especially concerned for Dearie, who tied my cotton bandana around her face so that only her eyes showed a little under the brim of her hat. She had to put her shawl over the top of her hat, wrap it tightly around her shoulders and tuck it under her arms just to keep it all from blowing away.
We could barely see from one end of our horses to the other. It was not long until we were hopelessly lost. I believed that we were somewhere near Notchtop Mountain. It is so rocky and precipitous in that area, that I truly despaired of finding a safe shelter for all of us. Eventually, I did find a shelter between some rocks which was somewhat larger than a crevice but not as spacious as a cave. We had to climb down some distance to enter our shelter, which meant leaving the horses and our jackass on the ledge above.
Our position was on the brink of a precipice. I believe God graciously didn’t allow us to be able to see in the blinding snow and approaching darkness how perilous our situation was. I realized death could come in several ways. Our horses were in a bunch directly above us, and I feared they might become restless and might force one or two of them over the brink and carry us with them over the precipice and to certain death. Or snow might drift over the cliff and do the same thing.
We spent a night and a day huddled in our crevice, shivering in our, by then, quite wet clothes. We had no food either, since our provisions were up above on our donkey. I would not risk going up or risk sending Mr. Locke up to get anything. One wrong step and whoever was trying it would be a gone-er.
Late on the second day, the weather broke and the sun came out in all its blinding beauty. I went up and got a length of rope that we had brought with us to string up a tent. We all managed to get safely up to where the animals were, though I wouldn’t let Dearie move without my rope tied about her waist.
The animals were a sight to behold! Queenie, the white mare, was the first to take the storm. From the saddle, over her rump and down her tail to the snow was a sheet of ice all of an inch thick! And Mr. Locke had to break 10 or 15 pounds of ice from each ear of his jack!
Praise God we had enough daylight left after rescuing the animals to find our way back home. One of our hands had built a fire in our very own fireplace that sent up a very handy “pillar of cloud” the helped us get home, and then warmed us all once we got there. Dearie has demanded in her own sweet way that there be no more camping trips this year. She was quite sure we would all perish. But by the hand of our gracious Father, we are once again safe and snug in our little homestead.
Give my love to my sister, your dear mother. We will look to see you sometime in the spring.
With love and regards,
Uncle Abner
