There are many homesteads here at Pearson Ranch along the beautiful picturesque Missouri River. The Johnson's, Bakers, Coopers, among many other names, lost in the sands of time. There are no longer existing homesteads, just humps of dirt where sod shanties were or holes that were root cellars or storage for steamboats passing through. A few covered cisterns still exist in school sections where country schools stood. The Kabo school was on our ranch, my brother Jack and I were the last attending students. The school closed in 1965, was sold, and moved off the property. There were many students that passed through the doors of that little white schoolhouse. Usually leaving with 8th-grade graduation or their families moving elsewhere. There are a few children who never left and are buried in a graveyard surrounded by stones, sagebrush, wildflowers, and sky. Their families have come back to visit them and put granite headstones on their graves, so they will have markers to memorialize them for years to come. We appreciate those family's dedication, perseverance, and never-ending love.
When we have met the families that lived here or were descendants of those who lived here, they all comment on the beauty of the area and what a blessing it was to have the mighty Missouri River passing through the valley. Most of them grew bountiful gardens from which they canned, pickled, and preserved produce for the long cold winter months. Everyone had an outhouse, some had a root cellar, many a milk cow, and some had chickens or pigs. Sheep were more common than cattle; there was no electricity, thus no refrigeration. All meat had to be eaten fresh, smoked, dried, or canned.
I know it wasn't an easy life; it required hard work and dedication to keep progressing to a better existence and future. The schools were the centers of most communities, drawing people together for Halloween parties, Christmas programs, school plays, Spring concerts, baseball games, and picnics. We always had a large Halloween party, everyone dressing in homemade costumes, dancing, card-playing, apple bobbing, and of course, spooking the younger students. I always enjoyed the apple bobbing until a time when I flipped into the cold water of the bobbing tank! I was freezing and soaked; the only dry clothes were the teacher's sons. I was mortified! It wasn't cool to be associated with the spoiled teacher's kid!
I reflect on the many families that were here before us, the many hardships they had to deal with, and the joys that helped them flourish despite it. With the distance from towns, the lack of doctors, and medication, it was common for a family to lose children. There were no antibiotics, vaccinations, or in the hardest of times enough food, as depicted by the two graves of babies, one baby starved, and one baby died from an illness. A tragedy to those families forever, yet the communities grew with many more people coming to the area, then leaving throughout the depression. It was interesting to hear that some of those children became scientists, with famous inventions. Others, a movie star, a doctor, a nurse, as well as fathers and mothers, and the generations continued to grow. From a small place in Montana along the Missouri River, they spread throughout the country. They come back to remember, see the homestead site, find the sole of a baby shoe, or a piece of glass, reminiscing on what was good times and hard times, melancholy for times long gone. Saying a prayer for those left behind and completing a death bed promise to put names and dates on the graves. Those children would most likely not be living today, but the loss of the young takes a toll on the heart, which marks for many generations.
As we say our goodbyes, I can hear the echoes through the years of children's laughter, smell the smoke from cookstoves gone cold, and muse over where they have gone and who they have become. And so, it goes by the river.
