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Centennial History Book
Every community has cherished REMINISCENCES
MRS. A. MILLER TELLS OF HARD TIMES IN THE ’90’S
By Mrs. Alma L. Miller
In January of 1892, we left our home in York County, Nebraska and started for our future home in Dawson County. My husband loaded a wagon with our household goods, tied the cow behind the wagon, hitched up his team and started overland. I waited a few days, then with our three small children started by train for our new home.
It was a rather desolate looking town we found when we reached Farnam, but it was to be our nearest town. My husband met me here and we spent the first night with our nearest neighbors, the Moseleys, who lived just west of us.
We moved into a board shanty on our claim and started in to make a home of it. The winter was hard, but the-fact that we were on our own place made us contented, glad to work and do without most of the accustomed comforts of life. When spring came with its rains, we would sit in our shanty and watch the roof, rising and falling in the wind, while it rained nearly as hard inside as out.
My husband worked out when he could get work; he was working miles from home when our baby became very ill, after working all day he would walk home at night and help care for her, then he would walk back in the early morning to work another day.
The drouth of’94 was terrible. Nearly everyone was hard up and many almost destitute. Aid was sent in from the east. My husband farmed some land three or four miles from home, with nothing for his dinner, but corn bread made without milk.
Work was scarce with low wages. My husband was very glad to get work with his team at fifty cents a day.
We had to haul water for miles, as there were few windmills in the country. When my husband was away working, I would hitch up the team, load the barrels and go after the water.
Sometimes I took the children with me, other times I left them at home alone, while I made the trip. Once I went to a water hole after water for the stock, after returning and unloading the water at the cistern, behind the barn in the canyon, I started to drive up the hill by the shed. Suddenly the loose boards of the wagon box floor dropped out and I dropped through, finding myself walking where the wagon box had been, until I could stop the team. Sometimes, the barrels would tip over spilling the water before I could get it home, then it was to do over again.
Roads there were none, only trails through the hills, but on the valley they were much better.
Prices for crops were poor. One year my husband hauled his corn clear to the valley, receiving only ten cents a bushel for it.
Wood, corn stalks and cow chips served as fuel.
We think times are hard now, but they are not nearly as hard as in the early days.
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