The phone rang last week at the Busy Bones Butcher shop in Darr, midway between Lexington and Cozad.
It was a stranger, with a strange request.
Any problem with us parking our covered wagon at your place and camping out there tonight?
Kent Guthard didn’t hesitate. “I said, ‘Nope, not at all.’ I told them to treat it like they own it.â€
A little while later, a pair of mules pulling a wagon came clop, clop clopping down the shoulder of U.S. 30. Joe and Marcyne Blythe had been making Nebraska headlines since mid-May, but Guthard had no idea who they were, or why the couple’s slow-motion mission across the Plains was so important to them.
Now he’s following along, keeping daily track of their progress.
“It was all kind of awesome to see,†he said. “It’s neat to see people chase their dream.â€
People are also reading…
* * *
Joe Blythe’s ancestors kept journals. About their lives in Nauvoo, Illinois, among thousands of other Mormons. And about their exodus in 1847, when they followed Brigham Young to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake.
Forty of his relatives started the journey; maybe 30 survived it and made it to Utah.
In his home south of Salt Lake City, Blythe read their accounts and thought about their hardships. What they had to endure to escape religious persecution, and what that meant for him, 170 years later.
“Some of them died for what I enjoy, for me being in Utah, for religious freedoms, stuff like that. I knew I couldn’t help my ancestors out, but I could honor them.â€
The idea hit him five years ago. He was going to retrace their journey, starting in Illinois and finishing in Utah, 175 years to the day after the original Latter-day Saints landed there.
But he didn’t have a wagon. He’d never driven a team. And he didn’t know what to expect once he hit the Mormon Trail.
“You can’t just go ask your buddy, ‘How many miles can you go in a day? How do I get hay? How do I get water?’ There’s a lot that goes into it, and you’re just guessing until you’ve done it.â€
Still, he found old Studebaker wagon running gear, the foundation for a wagon, and had the steel rims replaced with more forgiving rubber. He’d read that two of his ancestors couldn’t afford to buy wagons, so they’d built their own. Blythe, an engineer whose company builds bridges around the West, spent two years of his spare time designing and assembling his own, too.
He bought a pair of mules — Doc and Roxy — in Mississippi and, on his way home, stopped at a draft horse ranch in Colorado for a quick lesson in hitching up and handling a team.
He’s since learned more from the animals. “They’re patient with me, and they taught me how to drive them.â€
They made the first leg of their journey in September, 315 miles from Nauvoo to the Mormon’s Winter Quarters in what is now the Florence neighborhood of Omaha.
Thousands of Latter-day Saints spent the winters of 1846-1847 there, and hundreds died of scurvy, malaria and cholera and other ailments, including a half-dozen of Blythe’s relatives.
They returned to Nebraska in mid-May for the 1,000-mile stretch to Salt Lake City. Blythe was happy to be back behind his team, and on the wagon he named the Trail Dreamer.
“Last year when we stopped, I wanted to keep going. This year, we still have a lot of miles to go, but I’m still anxious to keep going.â€
* * *
He feels closer to his ancestors now, following their path 175 years later. He knows they left tangible evidence, carving their names in Chimney Rock, and Independence Rock in Wyoming.
He knows he’ll roll past the unmarked graves of relatives who didn’t make it. The journals he read only contain vague descriptions of where his people are buried; so many days journey after crossing the Elkhorn, for example, or how long after passing Chimney Rock.
He also knows he has it so much easier than his predecessors, despite not always knowing where they’re going to camp that night. “I don’t have to worry about marauders, or getting stampeded by a buffalo herd, or trying to cross a stream.â€
And his ancestors didn’t have the support he has.
Some of it, he planned: His longtime friend and former co-worker, Bret Durrand, saddles up as the outrider, staying ahead of the wagon and watching for trouble. Other friends are following in a pickup, pulling a horse trailer with feed and water.
But much of it was a surprise.
They didn’t expect so much attention and generosity, so many strangers offering to feed them — pulling over on the highway to give them bags of apples or drinks or doughnuts — or granting them safe places to camp and warm meals.
They try to find rodeo grounds or city parks for their overnights, but they’re often reliant on cold calls, sending their support vehicle ahead to find a friendly farm or business.
“Sometimes, it’s a knock on a door and they say, ‘We have a covered wagon coming; can we spend the night on your property?’ For the most part, they’re excited for us to be there.â€
Like Guthard, the Busy Bones Butcher, who sent the Blythes and their crew down the road with hard tack, smoked string cheese and bones for their dogs.
Or the young farm family near the North Platte airport, who insisted they park their wagon and horse trailer in their shed to keep dry, and who refueled them the next morning with a breakfast of venison steak, eggs and juice.
“At first, we were mainly worried about logistics. Within about two days of our launch, this really came to be about meeting the people.â€