Our Pioneer Trek

Before we even begin to get into last weekend's pioneer trek, the fact that Nebraska hates us was confirmed again. Our stake chartered three buses to haul the over 150 people to Monroe, NE for our three-day trek experience. We sat directly behind the bus driver of the second bus, which happened to be the bus that broke down a few miles northwest of Omaha. The radiator hose burst. We pulled off the interstate at the next exit and waited for some mechanics to come fix the problem. Coincidence? We think not. Nebraska hates us.* Tender mercy...the exit we pulled off at just happened to have a working Dairy Queen, in the middle of nowhere. So we were able to get all the kids ice cream cones and stay in the air conditioned building.

*So, in case you were wondering, we are driving to Salt Lake next weekend, but plan on totally bypassing Nebraska by taking I-70 across Kansas and Colorado.


The first day of our trek was Thursday, June 24 (which was also our sixth anniversary). We met up with our families at the Stake Center. Brookie (Ma) and I (Pa) had six kids in our trek family, but one couldn't make it, so we trekked with five.


The bus ride to Monroe, NE (minus the time in the Dairy Queen parking lot waiting for mechanics) took about five hours. By the time we arrived at our camp site, the families from the other two buses had their tents pitched and were ready to go. We unloaded our stuff, found our site and quickly set up camp. Before long, the "trail boss" told us it was time to leave. We loaded the buses and drove about 5 minutes to a nearby service road near the Mormon Trail. We got our equipment loaded in the handcart, got our "baby," whom after much debate, we named Ethan in honor of the sixth member of our family that couldn't make it, and started walking.


We did four miles that day, but the highlight was the Women's Pull & Men's Mormon Battalion March. The Boys and Girls separated when one of the stake leaders dressed in an old military uniform rode up to the entire group and said he needed all the men and boys in the war with Mexico. So, while the brethren signed up for the army and were issued wooden rifles, all of the Mas and their daughters were left to pull the handcarts themselves for the last two miles of the day.


Having completed a quarter of our trek on day one, we set out for a 12-mile day on Friday. After breakfast we were on our way. We had only gone about a mile and a half before a horseman on the side of the trail handed us an envelope with our first "hardship:" The soles of our shoes had worn out, and we all had to remove our shoes, put them in the handcart, and walk barefoot for the next 10 minutes. Some other hardships that we came across during our trek were Ma getting sick and needing to be pulled in the handcart, our handcart wheel "breaking" and needing to carry our handcart about 100 yards,* and being misinformed that there was only about a mile left, when it seemed more like just over two.

*As we were carrying our handcart and everything in it, some strapping young men came back from having carried their handcart to the designated spot and asked if we wanted help. Instinctively, while straining under the weight of our handcart, I immediately said something like, "No thanks. We got it." Luckily, the young men weren't asking me, they were asking Ma and the three young women in our family, who gladly and graciously accepted their assistance.


There were times along the way when we weren't sure if our whole family was going to make it or not. But it turns out that ours was a family of troopers. It was hard, and after we finished trekking and returned to camp, no one really wanted to do anything but sit in the shade, but we made it. Brookie and I snapped this picture of our family during the last stretch of the trail. We were definitely proud "parents."


Now it's back to our real trek called life.

And that's what we did last weekend.



Go to the board!