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I paid a visit to the magnificent state of Colorado last week to commune with the spirit of my great-great-grandfather David Powell, who spent some time there in the mid-19th century. He was a Pennsylvania farmer who married his sweetheart Martha Ann Cox and dreamed of getting off the farm and seeing the West, but they had triplets and then more babies, one after another.
His erotic enthusiasm was defeating his spirit of adventure until, in a fit of resolution, he packed the family in a wagon with a milk cow tied to the rear and in a series of hops, to Michigan, then Illinois, Iowa, made it to Missouri where Martha Ann informed him that she was done traveling. She would not take small children into Indian territory. And so he kissed her goodbye and headed for Colorado with a wagon and team. I rode up the highway in the twisting Colorado River canyon under the monumental snow-capped peaks and could imagine how awestruck a farmer must've been at so much grandeur. He made it to Fort Collins and found no gold there and then got to Denver where all the available land had been claimed so he gave up on the idea of getting rich and went into politics instead. Back then it was not easy to do both at the same time.
He was elected to the territorial legislature and helped write the state constitution and then got a letter from Martha Ann saying that she missed him terribly so he hauled himself back to her and nine months and ten minutes later she gave birth to a ninth child.
I heard about David when I was a little kid and my aunt Ruth and great-uncle Llewellyn Powell came to our house on many Saturday evenings and told stories about family history, in which David was prominent. Uncle Lew admired his bold spirit and Ruth did too though she couldn't forgive him for leaving Martha Ann with all those kids for four years. They argued this point back and forth and I lay very still on the floor by Lew's shoes, not moving lest I be noticed and sent up to bed.
David couldn't stop. He headed for Oklahoma Indian Territory in the land rush and Martha Ann went with him. His children, however, rebelled against his restlessness by putting down roots wherever in the long journey they reached adulthood, and sitting in Oklahoma in 1890, he wrote them a long letter, mostly about crops, which were good, corn and timothy hay, and then the sad lines: "Well, we would like to see you all once more in this world, but it is hard to tell. It is not likely that we shall all meet again." He wished he could see his twin granddaughters who were ten years old — "Send them to me in a letter," he said.
They were Dora and Della Powell, and Dora became my grandmother. I was sent off to spend a month on her farm when I was five and the farm was not a prosperous one so it was something of a museum, kerosene lamps, woodstove, hand pump on the porch, outhouse, chickens running around the yard, two plow horses Prince and Ned, and a pump organ in the parlor.
My dad was one who stayed put, built a house in 1947 and died in it in 2001, stayed close to his family. I was restless and took to life on the road and became a stranger to most of my relatives. I have regrets about that. But I have a sweet memory of my little girl, age three, visiting my dad as he lay in bed, nearing the end. She stood at the foot of the bed and he moved his foot under the blanket. She grabbed at his big toe and he moved it away. They played this little game for a few minutes and then she caught him and laughed. She grew up to become a humorous woman and I see his playfulness in her.
The Keillors used to gather for Thanksgiving but Aunt Eleanor — who managed the feast — died and it ended. There were too many of us. My cousins are grandparents now. But I did a show in Fort Collins, told stories, got them to sing a hymn Grandma loved, "It Is Well With My Soul," which, sung by a thousand people, is magnificent, and in the dark I imagined we were all related and I felt very thankful.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.