The September of 1841 arrived a red and gold leaf at a time. The ferns turned brown and shriveled. The falling acorns made little plopping sounds on the roof One by one the singing birds left us until the woods were silent. Papa began to grow restless. That worried Mama.
With Papa there is no standing still. Even before our Potawatomi Indian friend, Sanatua; came, Papa was asking travelers about the northern woods. In our home of Saginaw, cabins had shot up everywhere. Papa is a surveyor who came to Michigan to measureout the miles of empty woods. Now there was little left to measure, and Papa was thinking about moving north.
A house had sprung up where I once picked blackberries. A family built on the opposite shore of the pond where I had spent many early mornings and evenings fishing. Their house stood where the blue heron used to nest.
I was excited when Sanatua came for Papa’s help. “The Ottawa who have taken my family in have heavy troubles,” he told us. “White men have come to buy up all the land around their village. One day the white men will cut down the trees. They say wood is needed to feed the bellies of the great steamships. They must have wood for building. In their villages, houses appear like mushrooms after an autumn rain.”
“What will happen if the Ottawa lose that land?” Mama asked.
Sanatua frowned. “With no land on which to live, the Ottawa, like my own tribe, thePotawatomi, will be sent far away.”
“How can you stop these men?” Papa asked.
“Some years ago the Ottawa chiefs were deceived into selling much of their land to your government. In exchange, your government gives them money each year. The Ottawa can buy some of their land back, but it is not easy. The surveyors they hire cheat them. They take the best land for themselves. That is why I thought of you. You are a man the Ottawa could trust. But there is not much time. You once spoke of wanting to move north. Come and see our land. See if you would not be happy there.”
Papa could hardly wait to saddle his horse and ride north with Sanatua. Mama and I stood by the window to watch them leave. I wanted to go along with them as far as the woods, for I can run as fast as Papa’s horse can trot. But Mama would not let me. “You are thirteen now, Libby. Flying skirts don’t become a young lady,” she said.
It was hard for me to stand still when all my thoughts were traveling north with Papa. He would soon be seeing my dearest friend, Fawn. Fawn is Sanatua’s daughter. In Indian her name is Taw cum e go qua.
In the distance Papa and Sanatua grew smaller and smaller. Soon they were gone altogether. Mama sighed and picked up William, who was beginning to cry. William is my year-old brother. I knew Mama held William not just because he was crying, but because he felt good. I used to hold my doll for the same reason when I was not so grown up as I am now.
I also knew that Mama did not want to leave Saginaw. Our small cabin was comfortable. We had cushions on the chairs and curtains on the windows. Mama had made a garden. The Maiden’s Blush rosebush had been only a twig when we brought it from Virginia. This summer it had five blooms. Mama saved all the petals and put them in a bowl with spices.
I did not know how I felt about moving. Like Papa, I was sorry that the woods were disappearing from Saginaw. And if we went north, I would see Fawn. I had made friends in Saginaw, but none like Fawn. She was happy to watch a caterpillar on a leaf for five minutes at a time. Still, it was troublesome to think about going to unknown country.
While I waited for Papa to come back, I returned to my favorite places: the tall elm tree where the oriole had nested, the little stream where I had gathered tadpoles, and the stand of poplars where I used to hide in the early evenings to watch the beavers cut trees for their lodge.
When Papa returned three weeks later, he had a great surprise. He had bought a house in the northern woods!
With Papa there is no standing still. Even before our Potawatomi Indian friend, Sanatua; came, Papa was asking travelers about the northern woods. In our home of Saginaw, cabins had shot up everywhere. Papa is a surveyor who came to Michigan to measureout the miles of empty woods. Now there was little left to measure, and Papa was thinking about moving north.
A house had sprung up where I once picked blackberries. A family built on the opposite shore of the pond where I had spent many early mornings and evenings fishing. Their house stood where the blue heron used to nest.
I was excited when Sanatua came for Papa’s help. “The Ottawa who have taken my family in have heavy troubles,” he told us. “White men have come to buy up all the land around their village. One day the white men will cut down the trees. They say wood is needed to feed the bellies of the great steamships. They must have wood for building. In their villages, houses appear like mushrooms after an autumn rain.”
“What will happen if the Ottawa lose that land?” Mama asked.
Sanatua frowned. “With no land on which to live, the Ottawa, like my own tribe, thePotawatomi, will be sent far away.”
“How can you stop these men?” Papa asked.
“Some years ago the Ottawa chiefs were deceived into selling much of their land to your government. In exchange, your government gives them money each year. The Ottawa can buy some of their land back, but it is not easy. The surveyors they hire cheat them. They take the best land for themselves. That is why I thought of you. You are a man the Ottawa could trust. But there is not much time. You once spoke of wanting to move north. Come and see our land. See if you would not be happy there.”
Papa could hardly wait to saddle his horse and ride north with Sanatua. Mama and I stood by the window to watch them leave. I wanted to go along with them as far as the woods, for I can run as fast as Papa’s horse can trot. But Mama would not let me. “You are thirteen now, Libby. Flying skirts don’t become a young lady,” she said.
It was hard for me to stand still when all my thoughts were traveling north with Papa. He would soon be seeing my dearest friend, Fawn. Fawn is Sanatua’s daughter. In Indian her name is Taw cum e go qua.
In the distance Papa and Sanatua grew smaller and smaller. Soon they were gone altogether. Mama sighed and picked up William, who was beginning to cry. William is my year-old brother. I knew Mama held William not just because he was crying, but because he felt good. I used to hold my doll for the same reason when I was not so grown up as I am now.
I also knew that Mama did not want to leave Saginaw. Our small cabin was comfortable. We had cushions on the chairs and curtains on the windows. Mama had made a garden. The Maiden’s Blush rosebush had been only a twig when we brought it from Virginia. This summer it had five blooms. Mama saved all the petals and put them in a bowl with spices.
I did not know how I felt about moving. Like Papa, I was sorry that the woods were disappearing from Saginaw. And if we went north, I would see Fawn. I had made friends in Saginaw, but none like Fawn. She was happy to watch a caterpillar on a leaf for five minutes at a time. Still, it was troublesome to think about going to unknown country.
While I waited for Papa to come back, I returned to my favorite places: the tall elm tree where the oriole had nested, the little stream where I had gathered tadpoles, and the stand of poplars where I used to hide in the early evenings to watch the beavers cut trees for their lodge.
When Papa returned three weeks later, he had a great surprise. He had bought a house in the northern woods!
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