Free Between Earth & Sky by Karen Osborn Page A

When I saw the green of the cottonwood leaves and prairie grass side by side with the different shades of brown and red that mark the desert-like mountains, all of it covered by the blue of the sky, I knew we were home and that my heart had found its place.
    We have bought the land from the Spanish-speaking people who settled here more than a hundred years ago. Water rights come with the land purchase, but we will need to dig ditches from the main acequia to irrigate the fields. The area is quite mixed with Spaniards, Indians, white settlers, and some Mexicans, the majority of the landowners being Spanish. I feel I have entered a foreign land. Indeed, one hears all kinds of languages spoken, and there are few who speak clear English. But the Deerings have bought land not too far north of us, and there are several other settlers from the east in this valley.
    The evening after we moved into the house, which consists of a dirt floor and clay walls with a wooden roof, I noticed several dark, shadowy figures moving past the windows. I was so frightened I hardly felt my feet touching the soft dirt as I crept across the floor and slipped my finger around the trigger of the shotgun. When I opened the door, I saw them—four Indians, three of them squaws and one an old man. They had opened a bin beside the house. I assumed they were looking for food. After I gave them each a hominy cake left from our supper, they disappeared into the night like smoke.
    I am thankful that we have enough flour and corn to see us through most of the winter and that we have our little sheet-iron stove. We had to sell our goat and chickens, but we carried a beehive with us under the wagon. At the springs where we stopped so that Clayton could take advantage of their healing properties, we heard of all kinds of miracles—a lame child who walked without his crutches after just four days, and there was a woman cured of tuberculosis. After two weeks, Clayton was much the same, but by the time we reached the valley, he was improved and able to walk. He claims it was all the stumbling he did through the desert air, but I am not sure that it wasn’t the springs.
    Oh, Maggie, please do be happy for me. And send us all good wishes for our new beginning.
    Abigail
    December 11, 1873
    Dear Maggie,
    Each day here in our desert home is thick with all that is new and unusual for us to see and hear. I have grown so used to hearing Spanish that many words are familiar to me, but the Indian words sound as if they were blown here from some foreign place. I suppose, in actuality, it is Clayton and myself that have arrived unexpectedly, whisked, it seems, by the wind across the sand and the clay-covered earth.
    The houses are made mostly of adobe, which we are told is practical, as they stay cool despite the heat in the summer. Many of the mud huts hang great strings of red peppers on their doors in the fall. There are large flocks of sheep near the mountains, and the rivers descend like threads of silver.
    The Indians grow corn, wheat, pumpkins, squash, melons, and even grapes. The women carry their babies on boards against their backs, and they carry water by balancing large earthen pots on their heads. I saw a woman making tortillas, which look like thick, large pancakes. Tomorrow is a great feast day for the Catholics. We are told that between the Spanish people and the Indians, there will be an abundance of whiskey and dancing.
    Yesterday, despite the cold, I scrubbed two tubs full of clothes. I have made myself a pair of bloomers out of heavy cotton, which come almost to my ankles. It would make sense to wear shorter skirts here, but I have not been able to convince myself to do so.
    Last month there was a rattlesnake in our front yard. It came close to striking George, who was sitting in the dirt with a pile of sticks he had made. Before I knew it, I had thrown a large rock at its head. The thing was stunned long enough for me to grab hold of the ax which was