This morning we turned away from the Missouri River, and will follow the Little Blue River up to The Platte. The shocking thing I learned this morning while I helped Uncle Luke yoke the oxen is that we will be just a small part of a much larger wagon train which has left from Council Bluff, in Iowa. We will meet up with them at Ft. Kearney in a few weeks. Uncle Luke says that we can travel about ten or fifteen miles on a very good day, if there are flat roads. He has asked me if I would read the odometer each day and record it in this diary, so I shall try to remember. Today we traveled about 8 miles. After we reach Scotts Bluff, and the prairie comes to an end, it will be much slower. Then there will be mountains and rivers to ford and…

When the wagons began to move, and all of the cattle and the men on horseback, a great cloud filled the air and the sound grew to a terrible rumble, louder that the thunder from Wednesday night’s storm. Once we began to move, it seemed to quiet down a bit, but I still had to nearly shout at Annabelle and Mama to get them to hear me. I suppose I will get used to it. I do hope I do not become weary of this adventure. Only 5 miles on our first day.

One more day until we are on our way. Papa and Uncle Luke have been busy securing our things in the wagon and making sure that the canvas is well-tied and the wheels greased and repaired. Mama and I finished packing up the salt-pork and smoked meat we have prepared.  It rained last night and Annabelle has been playing in the mud and being a nuisance. Mama says it is all my fault because I should have watched her more closely. Now I have to bathe her and the water will become too disgusting to bathe myself. Mama says I can go to the river and bathe, but the river is as black as Annabelle. Uncle Luke says that is why they call it The Big Muddy.

Three more days to go. This morning I helped Mama cook soft boiled eggs and cakes and we ate it with the maple syrup she brought all of the way from Vermont. She said that it might be the last time we have any if they don’t have maple trees in Oregon. That is my saddest thought, because the best thing I can remember from my childhood is warm boiled eggs, all gooey and covered with maple syrup. Mama insists that we will have eggs though, because there are a lot of hens among the emigrants. Papa and Mr. Bradford agreed to not argue anymore in front of the children, but I think they meant in front of Mama. We shall see how that goes.