The Well

By

Glenn Allen Nolen

Copyright © 2000 By Glenn Allen Nolen
All Rights Reserved

The Well

One hundred sixty years ago, thereabout,
A man packed a wagon for his family and headed out.
His wife was full of doubt,
But he didn't seem concerned. Even though he suffered from gout.

They left that New England farm,
Its field half plowed,
The man hurt his arm.
He yelled out loud: 

"Damn these rocks 
Congregated in the soil.
Everyday, I fill a hundred box,
And it makes my blood boil."

From the very first day of their long journeys route,
They made their way down the Appalachian range.
It made them as tired as an old boot.
Along the way their clothes didn’t change.

A few weeks hence,
They were in Missouri
Needing to buy supplies in a fury.
They made it to Independence.

The only consequence of their trip thus far
Were a few days and nights of rain
That secluded the stars.
It even came down tame.

They had to make the continental divide.
Before to long the pass would decide to hide.
Their journey was rough,
But the family hung tough.

The farmers' wife noticed her husband’s health
Starting to fail
During a stretch that would give railroads wealth
And allow pony express riders to one day deliver the mail.

Their water ran low.
With no rivers in sight,
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Her husbands' words flowed.
He was in a delirious fright.

She knew without water, they would all perish and die.
So she picked up a shovel,
And the earth started to fly.
It landed in a big pile of rubble. 
She was searching for a bubble.

At ten feet down, she rested only a moment 
Letting out a huge sigh.
Then she frowned
Before sending that shovel heaving into the ground
Saying: “I’m not telling anyone good-bye.”

She dug and dug
For hours on end,
Without a mug,
There was no water on which their lives did depend.

At dusk, And all through the night,
The only words she uttered
Were: "I must! I must!
It's Oregon or bust."
As her husband laid there and muttered something about his pig
Getting big.

She gave her small children a wigging.
That made them stay out of sight.
And she kept digging,
At dawn she rejoiced in delight.

But she worried about the site.
Should she have gone further right?
Or should she have continued around the next bend. 
Second thoughts, to that there's no end. 
	
At noon that second day, she came up for air.   
Her hands were skinned totally bare.
Miraculously, as she started to cry,
She noticed mud from the corner of her eye.

She scrambled back into that sixty-eight foot pit.
With one final effort, she gave her all and then quit.
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A few hours later, when she came to
That pit was half-filled with water. It was crystal clear blue.

A week later, erecting a bell,
Her husband placed a sign in front of that well:
"I'm alive to tell.
How my wife dug this well,

May it never leak.
Women are no longer meek.
I plant this seed.
May all that pass by take care of its need.

Give it water
And occasionally fodder.
May this tree grow strong
And last long.

Let it never be felled.
May it always stand proud beside her well."
That family continued on their trip.
All who came after made their journey at a faster clip.

All of those travelers must have taken a sip,
And others must have taken a dip.    
Some of those travelers said: "The land was hotter than hell."
Every one of them thanked God for her well.

Her tree still stands tall as a lighthouse beacon,
And the water in her well still refreshes the weakened.
Although, It has been sixteen decades from that day,
She and her love found a way.

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