Personal Narrative: The Shawcross

Strong winds from the east pulled across the land, bringing dust with it. The grasses flickered in the gusts and filtered the dust. A light dusty haze laid atop the flat horizon that encircled and surrounded the land. Nothing could be seen for miles and for miles. The land and the blue above were infinite. A desolate county road stretched across the great plain and lead to a modest, one room church. The white building sat in the plains' tawny pasture and was constantly scrutinized by the sun. The cloudless sky ruled over the land with its immeasurable size and controlled the winds and the movements of the grasses. Evidence of humanity's past attempts to conquer the sky's land were evident everywhere: in the forlorn abandoned foundations of

My great great grandparents, Fred and Edith Shawcross, made the long journey from Indiana to Colorado to forge a new life. Once deep into the west, the road disappeared from the land like evaporating water. Their horse and wagon, carrying only their prized possessions, blindly maneuvered its way through the golden grasses of the plain to finally reach Abbott. The tiny town became a community of homesteads as more people filed in, attempting to prevail in dry farming. Day in and day out, the Shawcross’ were on the hunt for water, a seemingly impossible task on the arid plains, where the despotic sky deprived the land of its moisture. They dug several wells and never discovered one that paid off. This deprivation forced them to haul water everyday by wagon across the tawny pastures. Farmers were now forced to relearn their ways in order to properly account for the lack of water. To exist in Abbott was to pour your heart and soul into the endless search for water and food for both your family and yourself. And so, over time many families left Abbott. The town became a graveyard of unfinished homesteads. But the Shawcross’ stayed. Hard work and determination became an innate and instinctive trait of the united Shawcross family, including my grandmother, simply to survive.

My grandfather continued sharing stories of the Shawcross homestead in Abbott and went on to share memories of grandmother. He spoke with joy, remembering her and the person she was. Each one of us joined in, slowly rising from our seats, also sharing memories of my grandmother, their mother, his sister, her friend. Tender tears rolled off our cheeks and small smiles stretched across our