As I go through letters saved by members of my family over the generations, I am struck by what a deeply lonely life — not merely solitary — many of them led. They were far from where they grew up, a many-days-journey from their folks and their siblings, and visitors were few, indeed.

The letter below came to my great-grandmother in Sioux Falls from her younger sister Cecelia, who lived near Big Timber, Montana. She talks about her three adult children, Jim, Tom, and Mary.

Cecelia’s life is hard, she rarely sees other people. One day, she walks up the mountain on a day-long trek, to see the scenery that’s not visible from her little place.

Years later, someone wrote ‘mountain scenery’ on the envelope (probably my grandmother’s sister) to make sure the letter was saved.

Big Timber
August 18, 1913

My Dear Sister Mame,
I just received your letter of the 13th and was glad to hear from you. I am glad you had a chance to see the sisters. Did you see Julia too, and Mrs. Hussey, and Mrs. Dr. Hobbie?

If you write to sister Alice, tell her to be sure to come and see me. I am still in Big Timber, and tell her the stage comes up the Boulder almost at our house, up as far as L.E. Smoot, and get off the stage at his place, and he will bring her up the rest of the way. It is about two miles from his place. I would love to see her. Does she live in Independence? When she is at home I wish you could come to see me. I have never had but one relative come to see me since I came out to this country, and how very pleased I was to see him.

Yes, there was two coming to see us, but I did not see but one, and that was Willie. Then Burt Stimson came and got as far as Merrill in an automobile, and it broke down when he got that far, and the man went back to Columbus after another machine, and they got to the foot of the hills and broke down again. And as it happened, Jim went down to Merrill for the mail and met them on the road. And so Jim and Tom saw their cousin, but Mary and I did not.

I have not moved down on the Ranch, and I do not know when I will go back if ever. I do not want to stay alone, as long as Jim lives at this station, I suppose I will stay with him.

It is just 12 o’clock and I have not had any breakfast yet. I went out and fed the chickens and puppies. We have 6 and their mother has only 3 places for them to eat, and she kept them in 2 nests all the time until now they begin to run around a little, and they get so hungry and cry, so I took some canned milk and water and sugar out to them and how they did lick it up, and only 3 weeks old.

I will send you the lock of hair I forgot to put in my last letter to you. Will pin it fast and it will sure not be forgotten. Emma Pitcher writes for me to come out to see her but I cannot go, although I would like to. They moved in town and she is keeping a baker shop.

Mary my daughter has tried to get me to come down to see her. She tells me my yard does look fine with all the different flowers and vines around the house, but Jim is away so much that I cannot go and leave all my chickens to starve. He is gone now, and has been for more than a week, and expects to be away for a couple of weeks yet.

I do not know how this letter will be sent. Sometimes out neighbor goes by, and if I do not forget, will send it by him.

You spoke of it being so hot. It is not hot here. We have had snow just on the other side of Black Butte and some frost right here. Had frost last night, the ground was all white this morning when I got up.

Have you canned any fruit yet? I have 48 quarts put up so far, 4 quarts of serviceberries, 10 quarts of currents, and the rest are gooseberries. I canned them, for Jim does not care much for jellies and I do not either, and besides, down in Mary’s cellar at Reed is the fruit I put up last summer, over 200 pounds of sugar it took, and it is most all jelly, and Jim did not think it would pay to bring it up here, for so many might get broken.

I tell you it gets pretty lonesome for me when sometimes I do not see anyone to speak to for weeks at time. And no chance to go anywhere, for Jim has to have all his horses off to work, or they run away down to Reed when he leaves them, for the fence is not entirely finished.

How are all your family? I wish some of your girls could come to see me.

August 19
Dear sister,

After starting your letter yesterday, I got so lonely I could not finish the letter, so I walked outdoors and went down the road a ways, and I climbed under the fence and started up a canyon for the top of Black Butte, the highest one right around here. I walked for four hours, that is climbing up all the time, and it seemed at first the sun would melt me. I tried to keep out from under the trees as much as I could on account of the flies flying around my head. It made me so nervous and tired, I would stop to rest every little while and look back. I could see Big Timber, 11 miles down the valley, then I could see away to the north the crazy mountains. And the top of the mountains was covered with a black cloud, and there it stayed for a long time. But after a while, the wind blew them away, and how beautiful it did look. Away up towards the top the canyons were filled with snow and ice, and the ice glittered in the sun. And lower down the mountain, the forest looked black, and the nearer the bottom the mountain it grew, it looked blue. Then to the southwest was the valley of the Boulder River, and wheat fields looked like gold, and there were hundreds of acres of alfalfa growing so green. And in the places the river showed, it was like a ribbon of silver. You could not see it, only in places, for there was high hills between the mountains, run in streaks like.

Well, I finally got to the top and looked down on the other side, and there was ridge after ridge of high mountains and deep valleys, and such splendid large trees. Some fine Norway spruce, and forgot what the other kinds are called. And such beautiful rocks run along the top of the ridge, looked as if it had been thrown up there like a wall for protection.

And all along the crevices of the rocks wild raspberries grew very thick. I could see where there had been berries, but the birds go them. That was at the very top of the divide. Then I filled my apron pocket full of flowers, and am going to send you some. The pink are wild geraniums, and the kind that has green wreaths about the stem grows down by us. It’s blue, very dark, and is the first flower in the spring. The snow will be close beside it. Sometimes it comes up through the edge of the snow. I do not know the names of any flowers, but you can see what it looks like. I had to put them in my pocket, for I had to use 2 canes to keep myself from sliding backwards and falling down. It was hard work going up, but it was awful coming back, and I did not get home until it was too dark for the chickens to eat, so you know it was pretty dark. And I did not come back the same way I went up. I angled across the side of the mountain and crossed over into another canyon near to our house, where I went up. The grass was as thick as it could grow, but where I came down was nothing but sandstone and rock, and thick with trees. If Jim had been here he would not have let me go for fear it would make me sick. He tells me the reason I have such a lame back is because I am always tramping in some impossible place where I ought not to. For there are days at a time when I can hardly stand on my feet, for my back is so lame, but I cannot stay in the house all the time and there is nothing to see unless one does climb up the side of the mountain a ways. I wish you could see the beautiful scenery from the top like I did yesterday.

When you write, tell me all the news you can think of, and write soon.

Yours lovingly,
Cecelia

——

Cecelia Jane Davies Friend, b. 11 July 1852, in Pennsylvania; d. 9 April 1923, in Reed Point, Stillwater County, Montana

She had four children: James Charles (1878–1959); Thomas William (1880–1959); Phoebe Ann (1884–1903); and Mary Sara (1891–1975). The two sons were born when the family lived in Michigan, and later, the two daughters in Iowa.

Our great-great grandmother wrote fairly understandable letters to her son in the “West,” but there’s erratic punctuation and capitalization. I did chose to standardize that somewhat in this post. Makes it much more readable.

Auburn, New Hampshire

March 19th, 1871

My dear son, James, how do you do, away out there in the cold. I should like to see you, but I do not suppose I shall, I should like to know if you are alive and well. I have not heard from you for a long time. I have not had any letter from you since you were married.

The pictures came but no word from you, James. Please write. I consider you are mine as much as ever you were. I thank you very much for those pictures. I would thank you for a letter. I think Willie looks a good deal as you used to, I think Willie is rather more fleshy. He looks like a good child.

I want you to teach him to love the Savior, tell him the story of the Cross, and how Jesus loved the little children and took them up in his arms and blessed them. When on earth let him look you in the face and see that you mean what you say.

I can’t ask you to come home to see us and then have to go back. There are so many railroad accidents. If you could live not far off I should like it.

How is your health? If we are well now, it seems to me that time with us on Earth is very short. I hope we shall be more & more in earnest to make our calling and election sure and have our treasure in Heaven. Seek to love God above everything else and try to do his will, be obedient to his commandments. I think I have, by the help of God, been trying to do right, but I find that I come far short in everything, so, I will leave it all with Him to do more, far more, and better for us than we can ask or think, for Jesus Christ’s sake.

I should like a letter from Mary any time. Children die sometimes very sudden as well as grown folks. Your father seemed to drop away pretty quick at last and easy. He was very sick the night before. He talked some that forenoon and died little past twelve. He wanted to tell Franklin and Mary something that morning. They asked him a good many things but he said he could not make them understand.

Sarah has been sick a good deal. She wan’t able to come to the funeral. She had been sick more or less most ever since I suppose she had the typhoid fever last summer. She did not get able to be up round much ’til cold weather. Then the children had the chicken pox, and then after they got better she got sick again. The doctor came. He said one of her lungs was badly affected. He thought he could give her something that would help her. She has been better, but not able to sit up. I do not know how it will turn with her. She has not been so well this afternoon.

March 20th

Sarah is about the same, rather better I think. My health is good, for me. Jacob’s wife’s health is poor. The rest of us are about the same as usual. Mary & I try to do all we can for Sarah. Frank appears to be well and smart and tries to do his best. I think Charles H was at home to Town Meeting. He was well. If you want to hear any more about your father, I will write another time.

Good bye, all.

Please give my love and best respects to all inquiring friends, and a good share to yourself. Give Willie a good, sweet kiss for me, James M. Buswell.

——

<<P.S.>>

The children are, all of them, pretty well now.

James, my health has been remarkably good all the time since your father was taken sick, and last summer, while Sarah was sick, except one week and then I was round. I have not scarcely had any cold to speak of. I was up nights with him a great deal. He was a terrible distressed man most of the time, I think.

This from your mother, Mary Buswell.

Cousin May writes about her grandmother, Polly Sargeant.

The gravestone and marker of May Coult and her parents.

The image below is a page from the BUSWELL FAMILY manuscript written by May Coult (cousin of my grandma Lillie Buswell Davie). Cousin May researched and recorded family history for 50 years or more, until her death, 43 years ago this week. Cousin May was from New Hampshire, worked in Washington, D.C., and was very familiar with the locations in the Buswell family history.

Somewhere along the line, many in the Sargeant family dropped the second -a- in the name and began to spell it Sargent.

Recently, I learned that both Cousin May and her father (Frank B. Coult) attended Pembroke Academy as well. Pembroke is celebrating its bicentennial at present, as it was officially formed as an organization on June 25, 1818.

My mom’s grandpa, James M. Buswell, receives a letter from his mother, Mary Sargent Buswell, who is back home in Auburn, New Hampshire.

She is about 65 years old; she want him to bring his family back from Iowa, and to live with them in Auburn again. He is 29, has been married about three years, and he and his wife Mary have two small children. His mother thinks he can work with his brother on their land.

Although this isn’t totally clear to me, it seems likely that the land J.M.B. had then in Iowa came from proving his claim to 40 acres, received as a veteran’s benefit for his three years of service in the Union Army during the war, in the 1st New Hampshire Light Battery. This is how my mother thought he acquired property, when he was otherwise very young. Before the war, his mother tried to convince him not to enlist; now that the conflict is over, it seems unthinkable that he should want to stay out west.

— — —

Auburn, New Hampshire
August 20th, 1871

My Dear James,

I was very glad to hear from you, we went to the office a number of times but no letter from you. I dreamed at last you came, then I thought we should get one certain. I hope you won’t neglect to write so long again. I wanted to hear from you before I wrote again. I am very sorry your hands have troubled you so much. I know it is awful discouraging. I think if you were here when I could see you, I think you might get well.

James, if your family are well enough to stand such a journey I would like very much to have you move in here this fall and live with us. (Sarah is having her house fixed so she won’t want to come down here and more to live, very soon. The house is large enough with little fixing for us all and firewood aplenty by cutting. Franklin has more to do now than he ought to, to live comfortably.

Mary has had to help him some about his outdoor work, which I think, is too hard for her. His crops are good, his oats are large and stout, and a good many of them. His barn is about as full as he can stuff it. He has a large hog and a pig. I think it needs two, a good part of the time, to carry it on well and do the work.

So I don’t see why you can’t be provided for comfortably here till you have a chance to do better somewhere else. We miss Charles very much when he is gone. James, if you can work, I think there are ten chances here to get money, to one out west, either to hire or by work. Even if you make some sacrifices to come you will gain it in the end.

Franklin’s health is very good this summer. I think if you come back to live, _you_ might get well. I think it is on account of your health makes your hands sore, good health is a great blessing.

Franklin is having abundance of garden stuff this year. He planted the whole piece that we used to have for a garden front of the house, from one end to the other next to the swamp and most out to the well and road, most all kinds peas, beans, sweet corn fodder, corn, beets, two kinds turnips, cabbage, cucumbers, squash, pumpkins, citrons, gooseberries, currants.

I wish you could be here to have some. I thought by the look he was laying out enough for two or three families. We are having a fine lot of cucumbers—it was pretty dry the first part of the season, but the rains came on sooner this year and things are growing first rate. We shall not have many apples this year. Suspects we shall have cranberries and grapes.

James, I hope when you receive this letter it will find you praising God and rejoice that you have been afflicted. It is good if sanctified to us in such a way as to wean us more and more from the world and all earthly things and lead us to more exclusively put our trust in the living God and rejoice in Him forevermore.

I have thought about you out there a great deal deprived of many things to make you comfortable. If you were here James, we are all passing very rapidly away, we shall all soon be gone, _you_ with the rest. I would like to see you often,

from Mother

James M, perhaps Mr Daniels will let you have some money.

James, don’t be discouraged nor cast down. Cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you, if you think you have done wrong, repent and seek the Lord with all your heart and trust in him to guide you in the right way, and prepare you for Heaven. It is through much tribulation if any enter Heaven. Be patient, endure as a good Soldier for Christ and his Cause. Hold out to the end for such shall be saved.

Please accept my love and best respects for you all.
Kiss the children for me,
from your Mother
Mary Buswell

Please write again soon. I think I will put a little money in this letter for you. Jacob P. has had two sick spells this summer. The last time he was sick I thought he looked poorer that Sarah did, but he kept round most of the time. I am afraid Sarah won’t live though this winter. Some times she gets up half an hour, some times she don’t get up for two or three days.

— — —

The envelope is barely decipherable, but the letter is clear, with adjusted contrast. February 8, 1893: Ma & Pa Davie contemplate going out to visit others, but the weather is a challenge.

Scan of letter to E.L. Davie in Orange City, Iowa
From his mother in Harrisburg, SD

Contains holiday greetings and family news.

<Scans only, at present.>>