The Story behind the Immigrant's Journey by Linda Hubalek

Kajsa and Julia Runneberg- 1886

When researching the history of our family farm for my book, Butter in the Well, I found stories written down by Julia Olson that her mother—Kajsa Runneberg—had told her about their homesteading days. Julia was our neighbor to the north, and was like a grandmother to me.

She was born in 1884 and grew up on same farm as I did, in the 1950s. Julia moved to the next homestead when she married the neighbor boy Joe in 1911, and died when I was in high school in the early 1970s. (Julia gave me two old quilts that I'll guess were made in the house we both grew up in.)

Here’s the story of Julia's mother's journey to Kansas, that I wrote in a diary form, as if in Kajsa’s own words.

"March 7, 1868

Ellsworth, Kansas — I want to keep a journal of our adventure into the American Plains so I will have an account of what our first years were like.
In spring of '67 we traveled from Klevmarken, Sweden, to New York City, America, by ship, then by train to Jacksonville, Illinois. Now a year later, we're back on a train heading for the open prairies of Kansas.

We traveled from Jacksonville to St. Louis first. In Illinois we saw meadows of grass, wooded areas and towns. The scenery was much the same until we got past Kansas City. Then there were very few trees and the prairie grass stretched as far as the eye could see. The few towns we've gone through were very small and new. The farther west, the sparser it has gotten. I've heard Kansas called "the Great American Desert," but everything looks green. Of course it's spring now. Maybe the whole countryside dries up in the summer.

We were to get off at the town of Salina, in Saline County. Our friends in Jacksonville put destination tags on us and our belongings since we don't know much of the American language yet. Most people in Jacksonville were Swedish, so got along fine. Carl knows a few American words, since he had to work and did the shopping when we lived there.

The ride has been wearing on us. This morning Carl looked like he didn't feel good. The motion of the train car bouncing on the track and smoke from the engine's smokestack has made us all a little sick.
I was trying to watch the railroad station signs at each stop, but they were not always in sight. Each time Carl tried to find the conductor, to see if that was the place we were to get off. Instead of trying to ask, it was easier to point to his name tag.

At the last stop Carl rushed up to me and said: "Gather up our things and Christina! We've got to get off. This is Ellsworth. We missed Salina!"

I panicked when I realized we missed our stop. But, I knew Carl would figure out a way to get us back on the track to our destination. We have found overnight lodging and we will travel back to Salina tomorrow.

This was an extra expense we didn't need. 
 
 March 30, 1868

Carl came down with the fever and chills of ague that night here in Ellsworth. Thank the Lord he is finally getting over it. It could have been worse. I could have become a widow with a 15-month-old baby in a strange American town.

We've been at the Railroad Hotel for over three weeks. I've had to help the cook prepare and serve the meals in exchange for room and board for our small family. We were to find a innkeeper so kind.
Tomorrow we'll get back on the train heading for Salina. This time we will get off at the right town.”  

(Excerpts from Butter in the Well © by Linda K. Hubalek)

I find these stories fascinating, although Kajsa must have been in a real panic when it happened. We’re so connected with cell phone these days and can get help almost immediately. But think how the early immigrants in the 1800s had to rely on themselves or the help of strangers.

If you see someone that could use some help today, think of Kajsa, and reach out a hand. No matter what century, everyone appreciates help…

Many thanks from the Kansas prairie...
Linda Hubalek

How valuable is that Quilt by Linda K. Hubalek

"The Quilt", by Edward Henry Spernon Tozer (English, 1864-1955)

Isn’t it funny how we used “old bedding” when we were growing up, and now realize how valuable these antique quilts are due to the work and love put into each of them?

When my parents downsized to a smaller home, they didn’t have room for two trunks of old quilts, and I was lucky to inherit them. Inside these wooden chests were the handmade quilts, made by my great grandmother and grandmother, which we had used on our own beds when I was young.

My childhood years in the 1960s were spent in a wood frame house built back in 1870. This house was featured in my Butter in the Well book series. The only heat for my upstairs bedroom came from a floor vent, which let a little warmth drift up from the room below. Therefore, during the winter months, there were “blanket sheets” on my bed, plus three or four quilts on top.

Then I grew up, left home, and started using the light modern blankets on my bed.

Looking through the inherited quilts again brought back many memories. Not only of the quilts, but other flashes—like tucking my feet up inside the flowered flannel nightgown I wore to bed, pink sponge curlers, and having only my nose sticking out from under the pile of bedding.

Now I think of how we treated those quilts that we had used for everyday bedding, and am amazed that they survived.

I marvel at the thousands of tiny handmade stitches and the variety and colors of the fabric—all scraps from past clothing of my ancestors.

How many hours did the quilters spend cutting out the block pieces, and then sewing them together?

Who sat around the quilting frame to quilt them? Relatives, friends, neighbors?

What was the conversation those days back in the late 1800s and early 1900s?

Did these women ever consider their handwork would keep their descedants warm after they were gone? Or that I would treasure these quilts and the memories of the quilters a century later?

Just think, whether it was a hundred years ago—or present time—a quilt made by someone’s hand, is keeping another person warm.

How valuable is that? Priceless…

North Dakota Quilters, circa 1885


Thanks for visiting Sweethearts of the West today!

Linda Hubalek

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Digging your own Home by Linda Hubalek

Can you imagine digging your own home and living in (and around it) during our current summer heat and humidity?

My own Swedish ancestors did this very thing for their first home on the prairie.

Our family doesn’t have a photo of the original dugout dug in 1868 which was on the “Butter in the Well” farm, so here’s a photo from Kansas Memory to give you a visual view to contemplate while reading a passages from my book Butter in the Well. Young Swedish immigrant Kajsa Svensson comments on the building of their first “home”…

“April 8, 1868 I’m so hot and sweaty today. But I need my long-sleeved dress to protect me from the sun’s burning rays and the insects. We’ve been digging on the well for days. Carl fills the bucket up with dirt from the bottom of the hole, then I pull it up by a rope, dump the bucket and send it back down to him. He is very discouraged. First we almost get flooded out by the creek, and now we can’t find any water.  

 April 9th“I give up,” Carl said as he slumped at the bottom of the hole. “There’s no water here. We’re going to have to move to a different site.” We’re both tired, sunburned and disillusioned with our first week on our land. Tonight Carl took a walk to the river and shot a turkey for our supper. He needed a walk to cool down and I needing time to sit and rest my weary back and arms. We have so much digging ahead. I’m going to have to get used to doing hard physical work again. Life in Jacksonville softened my body. Christina is getting tired of being in the wagon but that’s the way it will have to be. If she wanders away in this tall grass, we could lose her forever.”

April 15^th
The creek runs through our land, across the south and up the west side until it empties into the river on the next section to the north of us. We moved our little camp into the middle of our farm on the far east edge since we know the creek can surprise us with a flood. Again we started the process of digging the well, one scoop at a time. Today we were rewarded with water.

April 18^thToday we start digging our home. I hate to live in the ground, burrowed in like a gopher, but we can’t afford the lumber it takes to build a house. What lumber we did find money for will be used sparingly. People say being in the ground protects you from the heat of the summer day and the freezing cold of winter. It will only be about 10 by 12 feet in size, just enough for our bodies and belongings. I’ll continue to cook outside on an open fire. We’ve scoured the creek for rocks to reinforce our walls. For our dugout to be a legal homestead house, we must have one window in it. We bought a small pane of glass in Salina that Carl will frame and put next to the door.  

April 23^rdCarl left ledges along the inside walls of the dugout to use for sitting and sleeping. He dug two additional recesses, one for a safe spot to sit a candle and another to hide our food away from the vermin.We cut strips of sod, about 12 by 18 by 2 inches, and laid them around the edge of our hole to build walls 3 feet high. This will give us the extra height to stand the door upright on the south end. Carl chopped down one tall straight tree by the river for the ridgepole. Fallen timber from the river and a few boards make up the roof rafters that were to nailed the ridgepole. We had a wagonload of tree limbs that we weaved in among the Next, dry grass, from around the house was layered on, then sod blocks on the roof. We threw dirt back on the roof from the hole that was dug. Just another day or two and we’ll move in.  

April 25^thWe saved the hard layer of sand from when we dug the well. This sand, and clay from the river bank, were mixed with water to plaster the walls of the dugout. It’s very crude, but it will have to do for our first winter. The dirt floor will get packed down in time. I’ll sprinkle my dishwater on it to help it harden. I wish we had rugs to cover the floor. It would make it warmer and easier to keep clean. I talked Carl into cutting up one board for a door. At least I’ll feel a little safer at night with it closed. The hungry howling of the wolves scares me.  

April 28^th Our sparse belongings from the wagon have filled the dugout in a hurry. Carl made two chairs out of a log he sawed up. Another board was fashioned into a table. The crate that held our supplies will be my cupboard. A lean-to bed is braced on the right side of the dugout, half on the ledge for support. Christina’s cradle fits under our bed when the cradle is not being used. A crude mattress was fashioned out of ticking filled with “prairie feathers.” I’m glad we brought along the bedding from our house in Jacksonville.Carl found some old buffalo horns when he was out walking. He nailed them up to the wall to hang our clothes on.  

April 29^th We hung the wagon sheet up as our ceiling for the dugout today. Last night there was a rattlesnake dangling from the rafters above Christina! Lord give me strength. I cannot get used to those things. Fear runs down my spine every time I see one. I’m tired of the snakes, mice and insects that drop down on us by surprise during a meal or during the night. Now that the weather has warmed up, the snakes are everywhere. I’m petrified one of us will get bitten and die on the spot. We were down at the creek yesterday for a few hours and came home to six vipers sunning themselves on the south side of the dugout. We’ve trampled down the grass around our “home,” but it does not seem to deter the snakes. I must carry a big stick wherever I go, so I can beat them out of our path. I can’t let Christina out of my sight now that she’s starting to walk.

We also have at least one pack rat that is stealing everything that I leave out. If I ever see it, I’m going to shoot it. I am almost as good a shot as Carl and I won’t hesitate at the trigger for the rat that stole my thimble.”

(Excerpts from Butter in the Well, © by Linda K. Hubalek)

Ready to build, and live in your home on the prairie now? Reading these passages makes me glad I'm living in the 21st century...

Thanks for stopping by to enjoy today's Sweethearts of the West blog.

Linda Hubalek

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The Buffalo Chip Lady by Linda Hubalek

I love looking at old photos collected on historical  internet sites like KansasMemory.org. One of the most famous photos, that of a woman gathering cow chips, depicts the typical life of a pioneer woman in many people’s minds.

Here’s this woman, stuck out on the Western Kansas plains, with nothing but the flat prairie behind her—and she’s gathering dried buffalo manure to use as fuel to cook her family’s meals.

That was life for the women homesteading on the plains with no trees for fuel. Unless you lived on a river that had trees on its banks, you were pretty much out of luck. Prairie fires kept trees from foresting the Plains before towns and farms changed the landscape. So you gathered whatever you could find to burn, and people soon found out that dried manure gave a nice slow burning heat.

However, one of the interesting internet links with this photo on the Kansas Memory.org site is the story behind the staging of this picture. Yes, a young woman that wanted to be a photographer set it up. In 1893 Ada McColl posed for her camera, and her mother Polly actually took the picture featuring Ada, and her little brother Burt, (mistaken for a girl because of his clothing). You can read the whole story of the Pioneer Photographer: The Story of the Cow Chip Lady in this link (then scroll down to page 10).

I always wonder about the people and scenery in old photos, so it was neat to find the story behind this particular one. Even though Ada staged the shot, it was a common chore for many a woman on the Kansas prairie in the 1850-1870s. Ada would have used her family's cow herd's dried manure to fill her wheelbarrow because the buffalo herds were gone from the state twenty years before this picture was taken.

But Ada gave us more than a glimpse of how the first pioneers  scrounged for buffalo chips after a herd passed through the area. She showed the view of the endless prairie in the horizon, the taste and smell of the dirt blowing on her face from the constant wind, the dry gritty feel of the dried manure on her hands, and the weight of the wheel barrow.

That's what I aimed to portray in my books... not only visual sights for the reader, but for all their senses as well. But, I have to admit, this picture says a lot without words...

Thanks for stopping by to enjoy today's Sweethearts of the West Blog.

Linda Hubalek

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Hello from the Kansas Prairie!

Linda Hubalek

Hello from the Kansas prairie! I'm Linda Hubalek, a new member in the Sweethearts of the West blog group, and I thought I'd introduce myself in my first post.

I didn't plan to be a writer, but maybe I started my writing career in sixth grade. We had to write a paper on "what I want to do when I grow up". I came across this paper while cleaning my closet a decade later (mom had kept it), and according to my dreams back then, I wanted to be a farmer, but my last line was "but alas, girls can't be farmers".

But I did go into my chosen field when I earned my Bachelors Degree in Agriculture and Horticulture from Kansas State University. I did agronomy research for years before starting a wholesale horticulture business. My company, Prairie Flower Creations, grew and dried flowers, ornamental corn, and mini pumpkins for the florist trade.

In 1990 I was featured in Country Woman Magazine, just when my husband's job transferred us to California. I sold my business and tried to cope, growing flowers and pumpkins in five-gallon buckets on our "cement lawn".

Historical fiction books by Linda K. Hubalek

I started writing about the family and farmland I was homesick for and started a new career, writing about my pioneer women ancestors who homesteaded farms in Kansas in the 1800's.

My husband and I eventually moved back to Kansas, bought land next to my family, and raised bison for a decade. So not only have I fulfilled my dream to be a farmer, I've made a career writing about pioneer women who also connected with the prairie land of Kansas.

Brides with Grit, Historical Romance series by Linda K. Hubalek

Currently I'm working on two series. My Brides with Grit series is classified as a sweet romance, featuring fictional couples living near the cow town of Ellsworth, Kansas in 1873. You'll notice they have a catchy title theme...
Rania Ropes a Rancher, 
Millie Marries a Marshal, 
Hilda Hogties a Horseman...so it's a fun series for you to start, and continue reading as I write the eight books planned in the series.

Kansas Quilter Series by Linda K. Hubalek

My Kansas Quilter series is loosely based on my great grandmother, Kizzie Pieratt's trip to Indian Territory and back to Kansas to homestead her farm. The first book, Tying the Knot is now available and Patching Home and Piecing Memories will follow later this year.

Please enjoy my future blog posts, and read my book series too. My books are available in paperback, ebook and audio versions on Amazon. 

If you're curious of what else I do, please go to my other two websites, Bison Farm, which promotes the great American Buffalo, and Linda's Buffalo Meat Recipes, where I've posted recipes featuring bison meat. Please visit my author website and my Facebook page too.

Many thanks from the Kansas prairie...!
Linda K. Hubalek