Dear Diary,                                                                            1858

     Greetings.  Let me introduce myself.  My name is Lavina Porter Honeyman.  I was born on December 19, 1823 and I’m thirty-five years old.  My ma and pa are James and Catherine Porter.  My sister is Sarah Porter.  I have a husband named Daniel Honeyman and a son named John Honeyman who is traveling with his wife Margaret Honeyman.  I used to live in New York City, but thought it was too crowded.  My husband and I are very wealthy so we decided that we should leave the crowded city and start a new life. 

     I had to leave a few things and one special person behind.  We left behind my sister because she was too weak to brave the long journey.  We then left our beloved puppy with her.  He would be in good hands.  But Sarah is getting stronger so at some point she might come along with the others on the big expedition across the wide country.  I also had to leave my precious piano behind. 

My most prized possession that I brought was my special gold locket which I inherited from Grandma.  I sometimes wonder what dangers there are out west. One of my most fearful frights on this trip is the Indians.  I’ve heard that many emigrants have been killed by those beastly savages.  Right now I am at Independence, Missouri sitting on a stump.  I hope my life will improve and become more exciting because in the city, all I did was sew.  And if you think about it, sewing isn’t one of the world’s most amusing things to do.  Well, right now I am watching the sunset dim.  That reminds me - it is time for supper!  I’ll talk to you later Diary.  Wish me luck for a great trip!

Dear Diary,                                                          March 19, 1858                      

     We have just earned $100 for doing extra work around town.  Now we have $2,300 for buying supplies!!!

Dear Diary,                                                                                    May 1, 1858

     While I look around the civilized town, I start to feel like I shouldn’t try to attempt the trip.  I look at the families smiling when their children say one of their amusing remarks. I look at the dog wagging her tail and I see the things that I love about towns and cities.  I wish I could go home to New York City, diary!  But no, I also want more land, the freedom of country, and an exciting adventure!  Oh, I don’t know what to do!  Well, if more than one hundred emigrants can do it, I can do it!

Sincerely,

Lavina

P.S., I think we might want to buy three more oxen.  We also might want to get some more water now.  The next stop could be twenty miles away!

Dear Diary,                                                                                             Later

     Uh oh!  We might have to dump the water we got and postpone our trip!  But, there might be a way out of this.  We can boil that nasty, infected, disgusting water to avoid catching cholera!  As my husband would say, (he is a doctor) you must dump out most of the water, but leave a little in.  Then you must boil it and then sundry the kettle.  Oh!  I must proceed and boil that water!  So long!

Dear Diary,                                                                             July 12, 1858

     It’s very hot outside today!  The heat feels like it is floating and shimmering into the air and trying to melt everything in sight!  There was a choice for many people in our wagon train.  If you had children from the ages of eight to fourteen, they could try to scramble up the cliff and engrave their names or initials on the rock.  My son is twenty years old so Daniel and I (Daniel is my husband) wouldn’t have to decide on whether our son could go up that ledge.  Well, I think that is an appalling idea!  Who knows what dangers are out there?!

Dear Diary,                                                                                 Later

     I have heard many bad things about Wild Bill Hickhock!  I used to pay money to men who have been on the Oregon Trail to hear stories about Wild Bill.  They say he was tall, handsome and great at shooting things (not just humans).  Sometimes, his stories frighten me.  Oh, I think I hear someone now!  It could be someone like the drunken men that tried to kill Bill!  I wonder if they would try to kill me too!  Bill would kill men if they threatened or tried to murder him!  I better go to sleep, diary.  Wish me luck on making sure my bad nightmares won’t get the best of me!  Sweet Dreams.

Dear Diary,                                                                                July 13, 1858

     We are near Douglas, Wyoming.  There was another decision for us to make.  We could go see the Rock Bridge or stay near the wagons.  We have chosen not to do such a thing.  I am still scared of those savage, fierce, wild, hostile, Oh! I have run out of words to describe those Indians!  Anyway, my point is that there are still many treacherous dangers out on the trail so anything could happen and I’m not risking it!!!!!  Oh, I almost forgot!  John (my son) ripped his shirt I sewed for him.  I must mend it as soon as possible.  Goodbye!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Sincerely,

                                                                                                    Lavina

Dear Diary,                                                                               July 17, 1858

     We are at the Rishaw Bridge.  We have but another choice to make.  Since we could risk a storm trying to get across, we all could pay the $5.00 toll and get across, or stay and try to be safe.  My family and I have concluded that we will risk the exciting, ambitious, sleek, but of all things sly water.

Dear Diary,                                                                               August 1, 1858

A man in our wagon train got bitten by a rattlesnake!  Those sneaky things!  They hide in the prairie grasses and blend in with the landscape, waiting to pounce on a very inept victim.  Fortunately, my husband managed to cure George J. Whitman with some whiskey.  As my ma would say, ‘All ends that ends well.’

Dear Diary,                                                                               Later

     We have another choice!  We certainly do have many decisions and choices to make on this trail don’t we?!  This time, we could go on two different routes: the Fort Bridger Route, or the Sublette Cutoff.  The way to Fort Bridger is longer and is rumored to have hostile Indians roaming about.  BUT- our livestock can eat some plentiful green grass and since we are low on water, we can get some more.  The Sublette Cutoff route is the short cut.  We can save five days of travel time on that route.  BUT- it is also rumored that there are wild Indians about there too and it is dry, dusty, and hot.  There is no grass or water on the way.  My family and I have chosen the Fort Bridger Route and so did the rest of the wagon train.  I hope many good things happen to us!

Dear Diary,                                                                              August 8, 1858

     We have made it to Fort Bridger!  There is a pot of hot, bubbling antelope stew from the animals some of the men shot!  The oxen also got green grass and fresh water!  But, I lost two blankets from my wagon!  Some Indians must’ve sneaked into camp!  Our oxen also are worn out!  We must trade four tired oxen for two new ones.  We also are in need of food.

Dear Diary,                                                                            September 8, 1858

     We have braved this journey for four months and seven days.  My heart tells me I must stop this journey, but my brain tells me I must move on.  Right now we are in hostile Indian Territory.  They might hurt us!  But, we do have a plan.  Captain Daniel Robbins and Robert Macmillan are going out to see what the Crow Tribe might do.

Dear Diary,                                                                          September 30, 1858

     We are safe!  The Crow Tribe will let us pass through safely!  But, there are many other Indian Tribes that are waiting to attack.  We just lost a bucket of cornmeal in the Snake River.  My family and I also earned $5.00 because I wrote a poem about what I saw and heard while crossing the river.  That evil river nearly killed us!  If only we had chained our wagons together!  The hope I had was nearly gone when I fell on the banks, exhausted.  But we have passed that river forever now.  As I look upon the Blue Mountains, I feel like a cold squirrel cramped up in a tree in the winter. Goodnight.

Dear Diary,                                                                          Later

     We just went through Deadman’s Pass.  Anything could happen!  I found out that the dreadful place earned its name because some hostile Indians attacked a teamster driving through.  There were also legends but I didn’t want to listen to them.  As I said before, anything could happen. 

Dear Diary,                                                                          October 5, 1858

     We are at Ladd Canyon, Oregon.  The Robbins and McMillen families’ wagons went flying down the mountain.  I’m very happy that no one was hurt, but I do feel a little pity for those poor families.  But we must make the best of it!  This is just as scary as the Snake River.  In fact, I think this mountain should be called the Snake Mountain because it’s just like enduring the Snake River!  The mountains weren’t as sleek and sly but they still had a little bit of treachery.  This wagon train has courage, hope, and bravery.  I’m looking at the bright side of this accident.  At least those families have some meat since they each killed one of their oxen.

Dear Diary,                                                                          October 12, 1858

     We have reached Whitman Mission, Walla Walla County, Washington.  We are on mile 1709!  But we have used most of our supplies.  Fortunately, we have a place to buy some.  Before, we had our very last decision.  We could either go over the mountains, go canoeing, or stay here at Whitman Mission.  We have decided to go canoeing.  I hope I did the right thing!  We also must sell our wagon.  This is what happened.  Another wagon train came by and one wagon was not in good shape.  We said, "We don’t need our wagon anymore.  We will sell it for $50.00."  The family agreed.  We have come so far but I still have many fears.  Will our Indian Guides betray us?  Will we make it to Oregon?  I’m crying like a waterfall- falling and falling.  I can’t write anymore.  I’m too upset.  Goodbye.

Dear Diary,                                                                      Later

     Our two canoes crashed!  We are sending two scouts out.  One of them is my son!  The other is Samuel McMillen.  I’m very scared but it’s a good thing I didn’t let my husband go.  Lord knows what might happen.  I also didn’t want my son to leave me but he wanted to go.

Dear Diary,                                                                                                                          October 28, 1858

     My son is dead!  It appears he was attacked by a bear.  I miss him so much!  Farewell.

Dear Diary,                                                              1859

     Hello!  I haven’t written in you in a long time!  Oregon was everything I dreamed it would be.  When my eyes first lay upon the valley, I almost fainted.  We live in a beautiful, cozy house and own fifty acres of land.  I still sew and bustle about doing chores but I now have a country life not a city life.   Margaret has remarried and moved out.  The trip was worth it.  I still hadn’t met up with old friends in a long time until yesterday!  We decided to have a reunion and memorial for my son and Mr. Macmillan.  That reminded me of you.  But, my diary must end here.  On the trail, I had time for you.  Now, I don’t, and I’m not sure what to do with you.  With old clothes, you make them become hand-me-downs and give them to younger siblings or daughters.  Perhaps someday you might have some unexpected person writing in here.  Anyway, goodbye forever from me!

                                                                                                                                                                        Sincerely,

                                                                        Lavina            

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