The Oregon Trail - Creative Writing
Today seemed just like any other day. This morning, the field was peaceful and the sky was blue without a cloud in sight. After checking on my fellow field mice I left my burrow in search for breakfast. I was looking for seeds, grains, and whatever other tasty morsels I could find when all of a sudden the ground began to shake. I looked up and saw a most fearsome sight coming my way.
I darted under a nearby rock and peered out at what appeared to be a large herd of oxen pulling men in large wooden and canvas contraptions. There were so many men and beasts in the herd; I had never seen anything like it before in my life. This group was only about ten feet or so away from me as they crossed the field at a steady pace.
I suppose my curiosity overtook my fear because I decided to climb onto the top of the rock, I had been hiding under, to get a better look at the passing group. While sitting atop my rock and staring at this strange scene in awe I could better see the appearance of these contraptions the people were riding in. The majority of these moving carts were being pulled by oxen. However, I noticed that there were horses and mules pulling these people as well.
The horses did not pull the wagons but they were used by some of the men who rode independently along side the group. I heard one of the men on a horse say to the people traveling behind him to keep the wagons moving. So I assume the wooden contraptions are called wagons. The man on the horse was wearing brown boots, dark colored pants, a similar colored jacket and a brimmed hat.
Coming behind the man on the horse was a wagon being pulled by a couple of mules. I had only seen wagons being pulled by oxen up until this point. However, I noticed that there were no horses pulling wagons in this group, only oxen and, from what I could see, a single wagon being pulled by a pair of mules. As I tried to look a little further down the trail of wagons to see how many there were coming this way I heard a noise coming from the wagon being pulled by mules.
From what I could see it looked like the mule on the left decided that he wanted to stop for a break and sat down right in his tracks. The driver then climbed out of the wagon and walked over to the mule. This man was dressed in dark colored pants, a tan shirt, and a brimmed hat. He began to try to get the mule to move by pulling on its reins but the mule would not budge.
The man then called to someone in his wagon. A woman looked out of the wagon at the man, she was wearing a blue dress that had a white checker patterned top and her hair was down up in a bun. She looked back in the wagon and then a young man got out. The young man came out of the wagon and also tried get the mule to move. However he too was unsuccessful. I thought it was rather funny until a white dog with brown patched fur, traveling along side one of the wagons, spotted me.
The dog started to chase after me but I managed to make it back to my burrow just in time. After awhile I decided to peer out of my burrow to see if the dog had left, fortunately he had left however the wagons were still there. Except now all the wagons had stopped moving; they had stopped in somewhat of a straight line all facing in the same direction. Some of the men that were outside of their wagons were feeding their oxen and other animals.
I noticed that all of these people were Caucasian and they all dressed in simple clothing. I could hear them talking in the distance so I decided to get closer to hear exactly what they were saying. A man and a woman were discussing how far they were expecting to travel before nightfall. “We need to go nine more miles” the man explained to the woman. He told her that she would appreciate their efforts once they reached the new land in Oregon. He told her that they could have their very own farm in what he called “the new west.”
Across from them was a man at sitting by a wagon crying in pain. A woman was tying a piece of cloth around his foot to make a bandage. I heard her explain to another woman that the man had been bitten by a snake. At another wagon there were two men talking about something they called the Oregon Trail. One man pointed out to the other that they would have to cross a river before they could enter into the Grand Ronde Valley. The two women nearby them were discussing how their everyday duties in the wagon train had turned into a routine.
Then suddenly a man fired his gun and the people began to get back into their wagons. I was shocked to see how fast they had started back to traveling down the trail through the field. I noticed that their wagon wheels had completely crushed all of the vegetation on the path they were traveling on. Their wagons left a bare dirt trail on the ground behind them. I hope they do not damage any more of this field. I might have to leave my home if any more people come through this field. Their wagon trail is already too close to my home as it is!
Learn About the History of the Oregon Trail
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