The Abandoned Farmhouse

A dark cloud covered the weak winter sun, dropping the temperature another five degrees.  The young mother tightened her baby's blanket.  They'd already traveled three miles, with another five to go.

She and her husband risked settling away from the village to get enough land to create a viable farm.  But they had to survive this first winter.

Her husband had left the day before to run his trap lines.  Cash from the pelts would pay for the seeds needed in the Spring.

This morning, the baby couldn't keep anything down.  By Noon, the fever could be felt through the small one's blankets.  She had to get to the Doc's office in the village.

The first snow flakes caressed her cheek, before becoming an attack.  She could only see a short distance ahead.  A wind poured down from the tree tops, finding it's way through her layered clothing like a knife blade cutting through muscle to find bone.

A fir tree fell to the rising wind, blocking the trail.  There was no way over or under.  Maybe she could shelter the babe and herself under the branches bowing down under the accumulating snow.

Silence grew under the spreading white blanket.

Her husband was in the foot hills when the storm started.  Recognizing the threat, he started back.  But the storm was tricky.

A layer of ice was under the snow.  His feet went out from under him as he worked down a deep ravine.

Silence grew under the spreading white blanket.

Eighty years later, on a warm summer day, a four wheel drive tour van slowed as it passed a crumbling farmhouse.  The tour guide provided historical insight.

"Here you see the remains of an early attempt at settlement.  The early settlers were courageous, but not all succeeded."