The Lodge


The Weary Traveler Lodge has been described as, 'Outstanding and beautiful with a lot of neat person touches'. The huge cedar logs came from British Columbia. The Great Room towers with 26 foot cathedral ceilings and a large open log staircase. The loft has 3 amazing bedrooms. One bedroom is an old log cabin with a barn-wood lean-too that is one of the upstairs bathrooms. Two of the bedrooms have outside balconies with lovely views.


"I get the covered wagon bed! I already called it!"

Exhausted from the long hard day, Lori and I climbed up into the back of the covered wagon. With a little imagination the loft in the Weary Traveler Lodge soon magically transformed into the lone prairie full of fun and adventure.

The flickering of the firelight magically danced through the wagons canvas cover. It was the year 1850. Warren Foote, our captain of 100 men, has returned and is standing near the fire. Every afternoon, Warren and a companion from the company, rides out on horseback, to lay trail and scout out a suitable stopping place that has feed for our teams and livestock, as feed is scarce here. With Lori by my side, I lay in back of the wagon, boots still on, overhearing the conversation. Glittery sparks fly upward as someone tosses on more buffalo chips from the large pile that was gathered by the children. It feels great laying here resting from the noise and the bouncing and tossing of the wagon and the long day journey. Today's campfire talk is all about the large buffalo herd that came from nowhere, wildly stampeding like the world was about to end, and hardly taking notice of our wagon train. What a site! I could never have imagined such a thing. Warren went on to say that it was a good thing that Parley's axel-tree broke, when it did. It left an opening in the wagon train as wide as the Mississippi, allowing a crossing for the buffalo.

The morning trek was rather peaceful until we had to cross the Platt River yesterday. A sudden rainstorm caused the river to swell up making it almost impassable and very dangerous. I was glad Jack and Jill my faithful oxen team took on the challenge, with faith and trust in me as their teamster, constantly talking to them. I was trying to give them confidence and direction, as I drove them down the east bank into the swift running water. Jill never faltered but half way across, Jack got bogged down in the quicksand and the wagon was taking on water like a sinking skiff. The force of the water was trying to push us down stream. Sage, our daughter, was hollering and screaming in a panic. It was the third time I had to use the whip. Somehow my yoked together oxen found the strength to pull us out safely onto the west bank. During the excitement I noticed a band of friendly Indians that came to our assistance. They carried several men, women, and children across on their painted horses. They joined us for noon vitals and then went on their merry way smiling and waving good bye. No wonder they think they are the chosen ones, they have all this country filled with wondrous variety and beauty and wild game.

Praise the Lord no one got hurt or died of cholera today. We traveled fifteen miles. Late into the night, I awoke at the sound of Brother Murdock's dogs barking. I had better go check on our horses and stock. They seem restless and uneasy. I hopped out of the wagon and landed on the dry prairie grass and sand. All of our wagons are corralled and contain most of the animals. Glancing around, I look for Brother Murdock, tonight's minute man guard on duty 2nd shift, but he is nowhere in sight. It is totally dark, with only the crescent moon it is easy to view the numerous stars. I pause and stand in awe at God's universe. I slowly start out to find Jack and Jill; they are still yoked together. The animals seem to calm down at my appearance. Trying not to get trampled, I work my way over to the horses, and see that everything is fine. There is Brother Murdock in the distance checking on the sheep. Making my way back to the wagon in the cool breeze, I grab my favorite green and white tied quilt that the smiths gave us for Christmas. It is nice and dry now after being draped over a rope tied between the wagon wheels.

The fire makes me homesick for Nauvoo. There is nothing like the sweet smell of hickory wood smoke that used to burn in my fireplace. I wonder what's become of my log cabin. I also miss cooking on the old comfort wood burning stove, and the tin tub with warm water from the stove. The city noises and familiar smells, I will never forget. Most of all I miss the bright new Temple with the inscription on it that reads, "Holiness To The Lord".

I climb back into the wagon, trying not to rock or shake it, and snuggle up next to Lori for warmth, in hopes that I won't wake her up so soon with my snoring. She'll be up with the four o'clock horn, which I usually sleep through, to do all the preparations necessary for the morning.

The horn will blow again for us all to come together for prayer and spiritual instruction before we head out. At half past eight o-clock at night the horn will blow again for evening prayers, which each family will attend at their own wagon. In the morning, Lori helps me with the oxen, they like her more and will listen to her. She helps to keep the wagon so clean and organized, and she even made some lye soap last week. Before I know it, Lori is gently waking me up to go. I force myself to get out of the covers as I moan and groan about all my aches and pains. She hands me my nice clean, dry and neatly folded clothes. I joking say, I hope breakfast is not those corn cakes again. Hot cakes and moo juice, now that's the way to start the day.

As I awake, the sweet warm smell of pancakes wake me up, I find myself back in the Weary Traveler Lodge Covered Wagon Bed, and Lori and Sage calling up to me to come eat. --David Hardle