Chapter 8: Two Stout Doors

"After breakfast Pa hitched up Pet and Patty, and taking his ax he went to get timber for the door. Laura helped wash the dishes and make the beds, but that day Mary minded the baby. Laura helped Pa make the door. Mary watched, but Laura handed him his tools."


After his encounter with the wolves and having them surround the cabin that night, Pa decides it is time to build a door. He hasn't done it yet because he is out of nails, but there are other ways of door-building than just using nails. Laura gets to help him because there is lots to do to make a door from scratch.

First, Pa takes the saw and saws the logs to the right length to make a door. Then he saws two shorter lengths for the cross-pieces. After all the pieces are the proper size, Pa takes the ax, splits the logs into slabs, and smooths the rough wood nicely.

He lays the long boards on the ground with the short boards across them, then takes his auger and bores holes through the cross pieces and into the door slabs. He drives wooden pegs into the holes and the door is held together.

He makes the hinges out of three straps of leather fastened to the door with pegs, and to the strong door-frame with more pegs. He makes the door latch out of a long, smooth stick that can be moved up and down by pulling a string if you are outside and by using your hands if you are inside. If you wanted to keep someone out, you could pull the string back through the door and there was no way for them to get in.
It is a very good, strong door.

The next day Pa goes hunting because they are out of meat, but the day after that Laura and Pa make the door for the barn. It is made just like the first door, except with no latch because Pet and Patty don't know how to use one. Instead, Pa drills holes through the door and barn wall and fastens a stout chain with a strong lock. No one can get into the stable and no one can get into the house.

"Now we're all snug," Pa says.

Thoughts:
I don't know about you, but after this latest project I'm starting to get a little suspicious about the accuracy of some of Laura's recollections. Like Pa building a door start-to-finish in one day---I mean, I could see a week or so, but one day? I'm not so sure....

Our chapter begins with Pa suddenly getting religion when it comes to solid doors. I'm sure Ma had felt the yearnin' for quite some time, but nothing like a pack of giant wolves around your wiffle-ball house to inspire a man to bump security to the top of the to-do list.

And to be fair, I can totally understand Pa's side of things. He didn't have any nails left, so it was easy to put off door building until he had a chance to get to town for the proper equipment. But sometimes life demands we forge ahead without the ideal setup, and in true pioneer spirit, Pa met the challenge with skill and flair.

As hard as it is to believe in this age of instant assembly, a great deal of the world's lasting creations were made under very primitive circumstances. It was, and still is, possible to build  many things without using nails in the process. I decided to carry on this noble pioneer tradition by making something using nail-less construction. Of course, I'm not crazy, so I wasn't about to start out with something hard like a door---making a little footstool was a big enough challenge for a beginner such as myself.

I didn't worry about having the right tools for the job. See, I have a very special father. He has taken for his personal life motto the phrases, "What if?" and "You never know...." He's never met a tool he didn't like, and once he gets his hands on them, they're prisoners for life. Evidently, somewhere in his past, he decided that "What if?" would probably involve building a log cabin from scratch someday, so all I had to do was borrow from his knowledge and store of equipment.

My footstool-to-be

I began with my wood in its most virgin state---well, not quite virgin---the tree had fallen down last winter and part of it was already cut into short sections. I selected a log I judged to be the right size and began the process of splitting it to make a board.

This may surprise you, but I am not actually that skilled with an ax, so the log resembled a toothbrush on each end by the time I got done hacking at it. Once I had a deep enough cut in the wood, I was able to fit the wedge in and begin hitting it with a sledgehammer. This may surprise you, but I am not actually that skilled with a sledgehammer, either. I broke the handle by overshooting the wedge and slamming the wood of the handle down on the iron wedge. Repeatedly. I'm glad my dad loves me!

First one side of the log split off, and then the other. I was left with a thick, rough wood plank just the right size for a cute little footstool. That was the first day.

The next day I began my work of smoothing the board. The rough work was done at first with an ax, but I whined my way out of that as soon as possible. This may surprise you, but I'm not actually that skilled with an ax....still. My arms were killing me, too. No need for Pioneer90X---you burned your calories in honest labor back in those days!

After my shrill keening convinced my dad that the board was smooth enough to move on to the next step, he got out his sculptor's adze for me to use in the smoothing process. A full size adze is like an ax on a hoe handle and used standing over your work, but this one was for handwork use. It helped smooth the ridges in the board and take out the largest splinters, but even with that, you'd still need protective padding before you'd dare sit on it.




When my arms couldn't take it anymore, I took a break by sawing the legs off of  branches from my parents' woodpile. It still used my arm muscles, but at least they were different ones! That was the second day.

These are the tools I used in creation of my footstool. Of course, the ax, sledgehammer, and wedge were used in cutting the board out. The other tools are (from the top down): a saw, a draw knife (R), a brace-and-bit (L), a plane, calipers, a ruler, and (L) a pocket knife.

On the third day I began the final work of smoothing it . My dad had told me that in pioneer times, before the invention of sandpaper, they would smooth the roughest parts of the board, but then (especially for floors) they would drag a heavy stone back and forth across the boards until the floor was safe and smooth. Let me tell you, you would have kept your boots on at my house, because this whole sanding-with-a-rock thing is a real drag! It does work though, and my board almost didn't look like a porcupine before I called it good.

Everything was now in readiness for the detailed hand-working. The labor moved into my dad's man-cave--his heated Garage o' Wonder. I clamped the board to a sawhorse and smoothed it still further using a plane and then the draw knife. The draw knife is pretty cool...you lay it almost flat to the board and then pull it towards you, shaving off little whorls of wood as you go.

The board was ready; now to prepare the legs. I clamped each stick by turn to the sawhorse and used the draw knife to trim the bark from one end and to smooth out any bulges that would get in the way of placing the legs properly. Then I sawed a little slit in each end to fit the wedges in when it was time to assemble things. This was the third day.

On the fourth day all my labor got to come together into a finished project...at last! First I used the calipers to measure the circumference of the ends of the legs. I needed to know what size of bit to use to drill each hole, since the legs weren't all one size. Then I used the brace and bit to drill holes in the seat of the footstool, another great opportunity for growing my upper body strength.


After the holes were drilled, it was time to install the legs. To help keep the legs nice and snug in their holes, I was using a wedge construction. It is done by cutting a slit in the end of each leg, then placing a wedge into the tip. When you hammer the leg down into the hole, the wedge is driven in the rest of the way in and spreads the wood so that it fits very tightly inside its socket. Sadly, this meant I had to cut out wedges. This may surprise you, but I am not actually that good at cutting wedges. They were more like chunks. Hey, square is the new taper! At my dad's insistence, I kept at it until I had 4 passable wedges, which I then trimmed to fit the depth of the hole and width of the slit.

Good! Now I was finally ready to put this thing together! Just in case the perfection of my craftsmanship might be a little bit lacking, I slathered the legs with glue before I pounded them into their holes. And no, I didn't make the glue from scratch. I felt I'd achieved quite enough authenticity for one project.

Voila! Pioneer perfection using no nails. But half a bottle of Gorilla Glue. Does that still count?

So what did I learn this time around? Well, for one thing, I learned when doing wood work it is best to spread your legs wide. You end up with an awful lot of very sharp things swinging towards some very sensitive areas.  

I also learned a little about how much the value of things have changed. In pioneer days a little girl or boy would have been delighted to receive this little footstool as a gift. They would know that it represented hours of hard labor poured out simply out of love for them and they probably would remember receiving it all of their lives. If I gave it to a kid today, they'd look at it for a second and ask, "Where's the cord?"

In our culture today, if something breaks or wears out, we throw it away without another thought, in full confidence that an anonymous foreign worker in a far-away sweatshop will make us another one. Through this project, I've discovered how much pride and sense of accomplishment we've lost in that system. My footstool is seriously flawed, and until I get the legs trimmed evenly, rocks back and forth like a rocking chair. But I am prouder of it than almost anything else I've ever made. I took a raw piece of wood and wrested a (semi)functional piece of furniture out of it. That is really cool! Much neater than going to the store and getting a mass-produced one that would last a week before breaking.

Chapter 7: The Wolf-pack

"Early that Sunday afternoon Pa rode Patty away across the prairie to see what he should see. There was plenty of meat in the house, so he did not take his gun.

He rode away through the tall grass, along the rim of the creek bluffs. Birds flew up before him and circled and sank into the grasses. Pa was looking down into the creek bottoms as he rode; perhaps he was watching deer browsing there. Then Patty broke into a gallop, and swiftly she and Pa grew smaller. Soon there was only waving grass where they had been."

It only takes Pa and Mr. Edwards one day to build a strong stable out of logs for Pet and Patty. There is no door for the stable, but Pa drives two strong poles, one on each side of the door, and piles up logs behind them until they completely cover the opening.

Pa finishes late that night, while the moon was shining, and it's a good thing, because the next morning there is a new baby colt waiting in the stable when Pa removes the logs. It has long legs, long ears, and Laura runs to hug it. Pet snaps at her and bares her big, white teeth. Pa says that Laura, Mary, and Baby Carrie must stay away from Pet while her baby is small.

Pa sets Pet out on her picket line and the little baby frisks and hops around its mother. Pa says it is a mule, but Laura thinks it looks like a little jackrabbit, so they name it Bunny.

That Sunday, Pa heads across the prairie for a nice ride on Patty. He is gone for a very long time. Jack begins to act strangely, walking up and down and looking worried. The hair stands up on his neck, then lies down, then stands up again. He paces back and forth, and Pet keeps her colt close beside her. Both animals stare across the prairie in the direction Pa had gone.

"Likely it isn't anything, Laura," Ma says.

Suddenly, Patty comes racing across the prairie, Pa stretched almost flat across her neck. She runs so fast that she runs right past the stable before Pa can get her to stop. Ma and Laura both wonder why Pa is driving Patty so hard, but Pa tells them it was all he could do to hold her back at all.

"Fifty wolves, Caroline, the biggest wolves I ever saw. I wouldn't go through such a thing again, not for a mint of money."

"We'll eat supper in the house," says Ma.

During supper, Pa tells everyone about his adventures. He was delayed many times during the day meeting new neighbors and helping families, so he started home much later than he expected to. As he was loping across the prairie, a wolf pack came out of a little draw and surrounded Patty. They were huge and trotted right along beside Pa and Patty. They walked along together for a quarter of a mile or so, then the wolves went down into the creek bottoms.

"As soon as the last wolf was in the draw, I let Patty go."

Pa talks to Ma some more about the wolves and how they would have eaten him if they'd been hungry. Jack walks around the campfire and stands still to smell the air. The hair on his neck begins to lift.

"Bedtime for little girls," Ma says, cheerfully.

Thoughts:
It was night as I read this chapter for the first time. The cats had been out for their last frolic of the evening, the dogs were inside, and only Snickers was still stubbornly clinging to freedom in the great outdoors. Then a coyote howled.

Another one joined in, or several thousand, because coyotes have a way of making way more noise then their size and numbers warrant. They were very close to the house, out in a plowed field to the east. I called Caleb and we both dashed out to try and find Snickers. He wouldn't come for a minute or so and I began to worry that all the howling had been an invitation to dinner after a successful hunt.

But then Caleb had the idea of using his laser and lured Snickers out of wherever he'd been hiding. Wolves, coyotes, they've done their part to build the mystique of the Wild West. There's just something so...thrilling...about hearing their calls, especially in the dark at close quarters when you're on a first-name basis with their intended prey. Even more especially if you ARE their intended prey.

This was one of the most exciting chapters of the series so far. The danger of the wolves, the thrilling image of Pa dashing across the prairie on his faithful steed. If only I had a faithful steed to dash across the prairie on. Fortunately, I knew someone with a faithful steed and they were willing to let me take a trail ride out at their ranch.

Chapter 6: Moving In

"By dinner time the house was in order. The beds were neatly made on the floor. The wagon seat and two ends of logs were brought in for chairs. Pa's gun lay on its pegs above the doorway. Boxes and bundles were neat against the walls. It was a pleasant house. A soft light came through the canvas roof, wind and sunshine came through the window holes, and every crack in the four walls glowed a little because the sun was overhead."

Once the walls on the cabin are built, Pa tells Ma that it is time to move in. He has been hearing wolves howling and wants to have good, solid walls around Ma and the girls. Even though the roof is not on and the floors are not installed, Ma gets busy moving all their belongings into the cozy, well-ventilated home.

Pa stretches the canvas from their wagon over the top of the roof. It blows and snaps in the wind. Pa almost sails away, but he gets it tied at last. He hangs a quilt over the door. Now the house is very snug. That night, the girls are tucked into their beds indoors for the first time since leaving the little cabin in the Big Woods so many months before.

Thoughts:
What a treat it must have been for all of them to sleep inside four solid walls again. Sure, it was still a little breezy with no roof, windows, or door, but it was home. It must have given Pa such a feeling of accomplishment to have carved that security out of the wilderness with his own hands.

Unfortunately, it doesn't make for a lot of blog scope for me. I could sleep with my exterior door off for a night, but it's still the middle of winter. I don't think so! I'm not building a log cabin until I get a chain saw, thank you very much, and I don't need to move anywhere....I still haven't finished unpacking from the last time.

That leaves only one thing. Moon-gazing.

"Mary and Laura lay in their little bed on the ground inside the new house, and watched the sky through the window hole to the east. The edge of the big, bright moon glittered at the bottom of the window space, and Laura sat up. She looked at the great moon, sailing silently higher in the clear sky.

Its light made silvery lines in all the cracks on that side of the house. The light poured through the window hole and made a square of soft radiance on the floor. It was so bright that Laura saw Ma plainly when she lifted the quilt at the door and came in.

Then Laura very quickly lay down, before Ma saw her naughtily sitting up in bed."

Of course, I did my gazing very quickly because it is a little chilly for the sport yet. But, it was the exact same moon that Laura Ingalls had looked at so many years before out there on the Kansas prairie. Pretty exciting, huh?


"Laura heard Pa singing.

Sail on, silver moon!
Shed your radiance o'er the sky-----

His voice was like a part of the night and the moonlight and the stillness of the prairie. He came to the doorway, singing,

By the pale, silver light of the moon-----

Softly Ma said, 'Hush, Charles. You'll wake the children.'"

Chapter 5: The House on the Prairie

"Here we are, Caroline!" Pa said. "Right here we'll build our house." Right away, he and Ma began to unload the wagon. They took out everything and piled it on the ground. Then they took off the wagon cover and put it over the pile. Then they took even the wagon box off, while Laura and Mary and Jack watched.

The wagon had been home for a long time. Now there was nothing left of it but the four wheels and the parts that connected them. Pet and Patty were still hitched to the tongue. Pa took a bucket and his ax, and sitting on this skeleton wagon, he drove away. He drove right down into the prairie and out of sight.

"Where's Pa going?" Laura asked, and Ma said, "He's going to get a load of logs from the creek bottoms."

Pa drives one more day across the prairie before he stops the wagon and tells Ma, "Here we are, Caroline. This is where we'll build our house." Laura can look across the prairie to the creek bottoms, very near them to the north, and then far away to the east she can see the trees along the Verdigris River. It is a nice spot for a new home.

Pa gets busy right away, chopping trees and bringing them up from the creek bottom to make a nice, snug cabin. Ma helps Pa to lift the logs higher and higher until one big log tumbles down onto Ma's foot. Her foot is sprained badly and Pa says she cannot help with the log cabin until her foot is well again. Ma tries to bear up under her loss.

One afternoon, Pa returns early from the creek bottom with the good news that they have a new neighbor living just across the creek. His name is Mr. Edwards and he is a bachelor. That means he has time to help Pa build the log cabin. In one afternoon, the two men have the walls built up as tall as Pa wants. They put poles across the roof and cut a door and two windows.

After working hard all day, Mr. Edwards stays for supper. Ma has cooked a delicious stew of jack rabbit with dumplings and gravy. For dessert, there is a big piece of tasty cornbread with molasses. After supper, Pa plays the fiddle while Mr. Edwards dances and all the girls clap and laugh. It has been a good day.

Thoughts:
I must give credit where credit is due; there were many men who would not have cared if their wives were injured; they would expect them to work without complaining anyway. So Pa was rather considerate for his day and age. But I wonder how dedicated Ma really felt to getting her ankle well enough to haul logs again. Bet she was glad when Mr. Edwards showed up and all she had to do was the cooking.

"For days Pa hauled logs. He made two piles of them, one for the house and one for the stable. There began to be a road where he drove back and forth to the creek bottoms."

Nothing else would do for this chapter than to experience that most iconic of pioneer tasks, the chopping down of a tree. Behold, the hardy pioneer man, striding off to conquer the wilderness with nothing more than his trusty ax and a steely determination. Oh, yes. That will be me.

If I could only get someone to loan me an ax.

My dad doesn't loan out his axes without their use being personally supervised; I don't see why! My brother-in-law had one he generously allowed me to borrow---I think some of his willingness stemmed from the fact that it was duller than a butter knife---there was a limit to the damage I could inflict on it when it started out in such bad condition.


Ax in hand, I headed out to choose my first victim. The weather was a tad nippy since we'd had a blizzard-let the day before. In fact, the wind was still blowing with convincing fierceness. I bundled up plenty warm to keep out the piercing cold.

My back forty was clogged with snow and most of the windfall trees were covered up. I sure wasn't about to chop down one of my good trees (are you kidding!?), but fortunately, I found a dead snag that wouldn't be any trouble at all to chop down. After all, no sense in choosing a difficult tree for my very first one---better to start with something nice and easy.

3:37: I check the time and head out to my already chosen tree. With confidence and strength, I swing mightily and sink the ax deep into the wood. For about 1/16th of an inch. Hmmmmm. This might take a while.




3:40: The woods echo with the rhythmic ring of ax striking tree trunk. Little by little, I chip away at the trunk. I feel a slight burn in my muscles, but the air is fresh and clear. I feel flushed with vigor---I could go on for hours!



3:44: I check my clock for the first time. Surely it's been an hour, at least. 3:44! I've only been swinging this implement of pioneer torture for 7 MINUTES!!!!!!!! I am going to die.


3:50: Must keep going. I can see some faint progress. Any self-respecting beaver could have done this in under a minute. Why, oh why aren't my front teeth bigger?





3:52: This is it, I can't go on any longer. Death is imminent. Caleb has been begging to get a turn with the ax. I decide to humor the boy for a few minutes. I'll let him know as soon as I can gasp out the words. I scrape the wood shavings off my tongue with limp fingers.

"Caleb----------gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssp, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze--------I've decided to let you have a turn."




3:59: Rested and refreshed from my break, I grasp the ax with renewed strength. Yeah, right. I crawl over to the ax and swing at the trunk while still kneeling down.


4:05: I think it would take a beaver at least 5 minutes to accomplish this much. Maybe. If he had dental issues. Still, I am encouraged. I can't last much longer, but neither can this tree I think.






4:15: In desperation, I grab the tree and try to pull it over. Gasp! Heave! It quivers up top, but doesn't budge down below.






I try to push it over. Nothing.





I give it my best kick with all the force of leg muscles made of jello. Like the Rock of Gibralter.








4:20:That's it----forget pioneer pride. Caleb, get in here and help me pull this over. It's got to be ready to snap. I mean the thing is so old and rotten it's got dentures. With both of us working, the tree finally gives, and with a mighty snap breaks off----a foot below where I was chopping. What?! After all that work!!!! (Note: In the photo below you can see the breaking point more clearly. You can't miss it---it's about 12 inches under the ax chops.)



Well, this pioneer gal has learned a few things......

Lesson 1: Chopping down trees is good exercise. It works shoulders, arms, chest, back, legs, elbows, teeth, spleen, earlobes....you get the idea. I will not be able to move tomorrow. It even hurts to type.

Lesson 2: I would have perished in the wilderness before I got my house built. I guess all those men-folk were good for something. At least I wouldn't have had to be the one chopping all those trees down.

Lesson 3: Sharpened axes are good things. Very good things.

Lesson 4: Chain saws are even better good things. Much better good things.

Lesson 5: Don't judge a person too harshly until you have walked the proverbial mile in their shoes. Sometimes jobs are harder than they look.

Chapter 4: Prairie Day

"There was only the enormous, empty prairie, with grasses blowing in waves of light and shadow across it, and the great blue sky above it, and birds flying up from it and singing with joy because the sun was rising. And on the whole enormous prairie there was no sign that any other human being had ever been there.

In all that space of land and sky stood the lonely, small, covered wagon. And close to it sat Pa and Ma and Laura and Mary and Baby Carrie eating their breakfasts....Rabbits were everywhere in the grass, and thousands of prairie chickens, but Jack could not hunt his breakfast that day. Pa was going hunting, and Jack must guard the camp."

Pa readies all his supplies and brings a large tub of water up from the creek. Then he walks across the prairie, finally disappearing from view in the tall grass. Ma makes the beds in the wagon while the girls begin their prairie day by washing all the dishes in the fresh, clean water.

After the dishes are washed, Ma uses the water to wash the laundry in. She swishes the bedding, the dresses, the shirts, the underthings round and round in the water before spreading them on the clean grass to dry.

Laura and Mary are free to explore the prairie around the wagon while Ma works. They play with the gophers, trying all morning to catch one. The gophers are much too quick, so the girls catch wildflowers instead and bring them back to Ma at lunchtime. After eating a corn cake spread with molasses Laura falls asleep on the grass next to the wagon while Ma uses her sadiron and presses the wrinkles out of the clean clothes.

When Laura wakes up, the sun is low in the sky and Pa is coming back across the prairie. He has caught a rabbit and two plump prairie hens. They have a wonderful supper of fresh game as the sun sets on the horizon. Pa brings out his fiddle and fills the air with music.

Thoughts:
What an idyllic setting for this chapter! And don't get me wrong; I like idyllic views just as much as the next person--gritty realism can be a real drag sometimes. But Pa probably came back crawling with ticks and I'm sure Ma's day washing clothes that had been worn for weeks, and then ironing them with an iron heated over the fire, wasn't a picture of prairie peacefulness.

Still, it probably was a nice change of pace to hold still for a day and get at some of the chores that traveling didn't allow. There's no question that the girls had fun running around after weeks of sitting in the wagon. Spring on the prairie is a very pretty time of year, and what fun to have an entire state's worth of land as your campground.

It's turning out to be a little awkward to tackle this section of the story in the middle of winter. I'll probably have to slog through The Long Winter in August, too! So many of the things they did and saw are not the sort of things one tackles in February. Nevertheless, I decided to try hand washing some laundry. Thankfully, the day I chose for the project was a nice warm day in the high 30's.

"Ma brought the wooden pannikin of soft soap from the wagon. She kilted up her skirts and rolled up her sleeves, and she knelt by the tub on the grass."

Tiggy was assisting me for this activity, and she felt that authenticity demanded hauling wild water and heating it on a fire outside. I had a differing view, and whaddya know, my view won. Running water from the faucet and heating it on the stove was plenty authentic for me. While it was warming, we fixed up a clothesline from twine. I only had three things to wash so that was plenty strong enough for the job. Meanwhile, Caleb did his best impression of Pa-ful manliness and climbed trees while the women worked.



I made the water super hot, assuming that it would cool rapidly in the temperatures outside. Whoo-eee! Not rapidly enough, let me tell you! I had bundled up against the cold and expected my hands to be freezing by the time I finished, but no, they stayed plenty warm in that wash water.

The sun was dropping low on the horizon as I swished the clothes around in their hot, soapy bath. Ceecee decided to supervise the process, but didn't actually offer to help. Typical. I wouldn't like to have to do this all the time (my mom's space-age washer is much better, in my opinion), but it was peaceful out there, watching the sun set---there were a few compensations for the harsh life of a pioneer woman. If you still had the energy to lift your head and look at them!







After washing the clothes, I wrung them out.....








And hung them attractively on my clothes line.....








Then remembered that I hadn't rinsed them, so I frantically took them off and swished them in clean water....




Re-hanging them just as the sun set.



"Then Ma took the sadiron out of the wagon and heated it by the fire. She sprinkled a dress for Mary and a dress for Laura and a little dress for Baby Carrie, and her own sprigged calico. She spread a blanket and a sheet on the wagon seat, and she ironed those dresses."

Mwa-ha-ha-ha.
I've always wanted to try this! The days may be warm, but the nights are still nippy. Never fear, when wet clothes are hung out in sub-freezing temps, there is no need for starching or that pesky sadiron. My clothes could have walked inside by themselves if they'd had legs.



There's something refreshingly natural about doing washing by hand and hanging it out to dry in the crisp, fresh air. That is, as long as you're doing it by choice and not because it's the inevitable drudgery of your life. I'm thankful for my modern conveniences and for the generations of women that trudged along with perseverance so that their modern sisters could have a better life. Long live the washing machine! Nostalgia can only carry a person so far!