Letters of a Woman Homesteader

By Elinore Pruitt Stewart

“Letters of a Woman Homesteader” is the fascinating true tale of life on the American frontier by Elinore Pruitt Stewart. First published in 1914, Stewart’s work is a collection of 26 letters written by Stewart from 1909 to 1914 which follow her adventures in Wyoming. Born Elinore Pruitt in 1876 in Chickasaw Nation territory in modern day Oklahoma, her birth father died when she was very young and her mother and step-father both died when Stewart was a teenager, leaving her in charge of her younger siblings at age 18. She married her first husband in 1902 and was widowed in 1906 while pregnant. Stewart was resourceful and industrious and after working for a time in Denver, she traveled to Wyoming to work for Henry Clyde Stewart as a housekeeper on his homestead. Her letters to her friend back in Denver show her resilience and tenacity as she staked her own homestead claim and tirelessly faced the endless chores and challenges of making a living in the unforgiving frontier. Stewart’s letters are an engaging, charming, and candid glimpse into life on a working ranch and the unique challenges faced by a woman with a young child in the harsh American West.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: May 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781420969450

Elinore Pruitt Stewart

Elinore Pruitt Stewart was born in 1878. Letters of a Woman Homesteader, first published in 1914, inspired the critically acclaimed movie Heartland.

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LETTERS OF A WOMAN HOMESTEADER

By ELINORE PRUITT STEWART

Letters of a Woman Homesteader

By Elinore Pruitt Stewart

Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-6944-3

eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-6945-0

This edition copyright © 2020. Digireads.com Publishing.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Image: a detail of Old Cottages, by Charles Gustav Louis Phillips (1863-1944), (w/c) / Dundee Art Galleries and Museums / Bridgeman Images.

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CONTENTS

Publishers’ Note

I. The Arrival at Burnt Fork

II. Filing a Claim

III. A Busy, Happy Summer

IV. A Charming Adventure and Zebulon Pike

V. Sedalia and Regalia

VI. A Thanksgiving-Day Wedding

VII. Zebulon Pike Visits His Old Home

VIII. A Happy Christmas

IX. A Confession

X. The Story of Cora Belle

XI. Zebbie’s Story

XII. A Contented Couple

XIII. Proving Up

XIV. The New House

XV. The Stocking-Leg Dinner

XVI. The Horse-Thieves

XVII. At Gavotte’s Camp

XVIII. The Homesteader’s Marriage and a Little Funeral

XIX. The Adventure of the Christmas Tree

XX. The Joys of Homesteading

XXI. A Letter of Jerrine’s

XXII. The Efficient Mrs. O’shaughnessy

XXIII. How It Happened

XXIV. A Little Romance

XXV. Among the Mormons

XXVI. Success

Publishers’ Note

The writer of the following letters is a young woman who lost her husband in a railroad accident and went to Denver to seek support for herself and her two-year-old daughter, Jerrine. Turning her hand to the nearest work, she went out by the day as house-cleaner and laundress. Later, seeking to better herself, she accepted employment as a housekeeper for a well-to-do Scotch cattle-man, Mr. Stewart, who had taken up a quarter-section in Wyoming. The letters, written through several years to a former employer in Denver, tell the story of her new life in the new country. They are genuine letters, and are printed as written, except for occasional omissions and the alteration of some of the names.

I. The Arrival at Burnt Fork

BURNT FORK, WYOMING,

April 18, 1909.

DEAR MRS. CONEY,—

Are you thinking I am lost, like the Babes in the Wood? Well, I am not and I’m sure the robins would have the time of their lives getting leaves to cover me out here. I am ’way up close to the Forest Reserve of Utah, within half a mile of the line, sixty miles from the railroad. I was twenty-four hours on the train and two days on the stage, and oh, those two days! The snow was just beginning to melt and the mud was about the worst I ever heard of.

The first stage we tackled was just about as rickety as it could very well be and I had to sit with the driver, who was a Mormon and so handsome that I was not a bit offended when he insisted on making love all the way, especially after he told me that he was a widower Mormon. But, of course, as I had no chaperone I looked very fierce (not that that was very difficult with the wind and mud as allies) and told him my actual opinion of Mormons in general and particular.

Meantime my new employer, Mr. Stewart, sat upon a stack of baggage and was dreadfully concerned about something he calls his Tookie, but I am unable to tell you what that is. The road, being so muddy, was full of ruts and the stage acted as if it had the hiccoughs and made us all talk as though we were affected in the same way. Once Mr. Stewart asked me if I did not think it a gey duir trip. I told him he could call it gay if he wanted to, but it didn’t seem very hilarious to me. Every time the stage struck a rock or a rut Mr. Stewart would hoot, until I began to wish we would come to a hollow tree or a hole in the ground so he could go in with the rest of the owls.

At last we arriv, and everything is just lovely for me. I have a very, very comfortable situation and Mr. Stewart is absolutely no trouble, for as soon as he has his meals he retires to his room and plays on his bagpipe, only he calls it his bugpeep. It is The Campbells are Coming, without variations, at intervals all day long and from seven till eleven at night. Sometimes I wish they would make haste and get here.

There is a saddle horse especially for me and a little shotgun with which I am to kill sage chickens. We are between two trout streams, so you can think of me as being happy when the snow is through melting and the water gets clear. We have the finest flock of Plymouth Rocks and get so many nice eggs. It sure seems fine to have all the cream I want after my town experiences. Jerrine is making good use of all the good things we are having. She rides the pony to water every day.

I have not filed on my land yet because the snow is fifteen feet deep on it, and I think I would rather see what I am getting, so will wait until summer. They have just three seasons here, winter and July and August. We are to plant our garden the last of May. When it is so I can get around I will see about land and find out all I can and tell you.

I think this letter is about to reach thirty-secondly, so I will send you my sincerest love and quit tiring you. Please write me when you have time.

Sincerely yours,

ELINORE RUPERT.

II. Filing a Claim

May 24, 1909.

DEAR, DEAR MRS. CONEY,—

Well, I have filed on my land and am now a bloated landowner. I waited a long time to even see land in the reserve, and the snow is yet too deep, so I thought that as they have but three months of summer and spring together and as I wanted the land for a ranch anyway, perhaps I had better stay in the valley. So I have filed adjoining Mr. Stewart and I am well pleased. I have a grove of twelve swamp pines on my place, and I am going to build my house there. I thought it would be very romantic to live on the peaks amid the whispering pines, but I reckon it would be powerfully uncomfortable also, and I guess my twelve can whisper enough for me; and a dandy thing is, I have all the nice snow-water I want; a small stream runs right through the center of my land and I am quite near wood.

A neighbor and his daughter were going to Green River, the county-seat, and said I might go along, so I did, as I could file there as well as at the land office; and oh, that trip! I had more fun to the square inch than Mark Twain or Samantha Allen ever provoked. It took us a whole week to go and come. We camped out, of course, for in the whole sixty miles there was but one house, and going in that direction there is not a tree to be seen, nothing but sage, sand, and sheep. About noon the first day out we came near a sheep-wagon, and stalking along ahead of us was a lanky fellow, a herder, going home for dinner. Suddenly it seemed to me I should starve if I had to wait until we got where we had planned to stop for dinner, so I called out to the man, Little Bo-Peep, have you anything to eat? If you have, we’d like to find it. And he answered, As soon as I am able it shall be on the table, if you’ll but trouble to get behind it. Shades of Shakespeare! Songs of David, the Shepherd Poet! What do you think of us? Well, we got behind it, and a more delicious it I never tasted. Such coffee! And out of such a pot! I promised Bo-Peep that I would send him a crook with pink ribbons on it, but I suspect he thinks I am a crook without the ribbons.

The sagebrush is so short in some places that it is not large enough to make a fire, so we had to drive until quite late before we camped that night. After driving all day over what seemed a level desert of sand, we came about sundown to a beautiful cañon, down which we had to drive for a couple of miles before we could cross. In the cañon the shadows had already fallen, but when we looked up we could see the last shafts of sunlight on the tops of the great bare buttes. Suddenly a great wolf started from somewhere and galloped along the edge of the cañon, outlined black and clear by the setting sun. His curiosity overcame him at last, so he sat down and waited to see what manner of beast we were. I reckon he was disappointed for he howled most dismally. I thought of Jack London’s The Wolf.

After we quitted the cañon I saw the most beautiful sight. It seemed as if we were driving through a golden haze. The violet shadows were creeping up between the hills, while away back of us the snow-capped peaks were catching the sun’s last rays. On every side of us stretched the poor, hopeless desert, the sage, grim and determined to live in spite of starvation, and the great, bare, desolate buttes. The beautiful colors turned to amber and rose, and then to the general tone, dull gray. Then we stopped to camp, and such a scurrying around to gather brush for the fire and to get supper! Everything tasted so good! Jerrine ate like a man. Then we raised the wagon tongue and spread the wagon sheet over it and made a bedroom for us women. We made our beds on the warm, soft sand and went to bed.

It was too beautiful a night to sleep, so I put my head out to look and to think. I saw the moon come up and hang for a while over the mountain as if it were discouraged with the prospect, and the big white stars flirted shamelessly with the hills. I saw a coyote come trotting along and I felt sorry for him, having to hunt food in so barren a place, but when presently I heard the whirr of wings I felt sorry for the sage chickens he had disturbed. At length a cloud came up and I went to sleep, and next morning was covered several inches with snow. It didn’t hurt us a bit, but while I was struggling with stubborn corsets and shoes I communed with myself, after the manner of prodigals, and said: "How much better that I were down in Denver, even at Mrs. Coney’s, digging with a skewer into the corners seeking dirt which might be there, yea, even eating codfish, than that I should perish on this desert—of imagination. So I turned the current of my imagination and fancied that I was at home before the fireplace, and that the backlog was about to roll down. My fancy was in such good working trim that before I knew it I kicked the wagon wheel, and I certainly got as warm as the most sot" Scientist that ever read Mrs. Eddy could possibly wish.

After two more such days I arrived. When I went up to the office where I was to file, the door was open and the most taciturn old man sat before a desk. I hesitated at the door, but he never let on. I coughed, yet no sign but a deeper scowl. I stepped in and modestly kicked over a chair. He whirled around like I had shot him. Well? he interrogated. I said, I am powerful glad of it. I was afraid you were sick, you looked in such pain. He looked at me a minute, then grinned and said he thought I was a book-agent. Fancy me, a fat, comfortable widow, trying to sell books!

Well, I filed and came home. If you will believe me, the Scot was glad to see me and didn’t herald the Campbells for two hours after I got home. I’ll tell you, it is mighty seldom any one’s so much appreciated.

No, we have no rural delivery. It is two miles to the office, but I go whenever I like. It is really the jolliest kind of fun to gallop down. We are sixty miles from the railroad, but when we want anything we send by the mail-carrier for it, only there is nothing to get.

I know this is an inexcusably long letter, but it is snowing so hard and you know how I like to talk. I am sure Jerrine will enjoy the cards and we will be glad to get them. Many things that are a comfort to us out here came from dear Mrs. ——. Baby has the rabbit you gave her last Easter a year ago. In Denver I was afraid my baby would grow up devoid of imagination. Like all the kindergartners, she depended upon others to amuse her. I was very sorry about it, for my castles in Spain have been real homes to me. But there is no fear. She has a block of wood she found in the blacksmith shop which she calls her dear baby. A spoke out of a wagon wheel is little Margaret, and a barrel-stave is bad little Johnny.

Well, I must quit writing before you vote me a nuisance. With lots of love to you,

Your sincere friend,

ELINORE RUPERT.

III. A Busy, Happy Summer

September 11, 1909.

DEAR MRS. CONEY,—

This has been for me the busiest, happiest summer I can remember. I have worked very hard, but it has been work that I really enjoy. Help of any kind is very hard to get here, and Mr. Stewart had been too confident of getting men, so that haying caught him with too few men to

Reviews for Letters of a Woman Homesteader

[thornton37814 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Did you ever wonder what life might be like on the early 20th century frontier for a woman and her daughter? In this series of letters written to persons back home, we find the story of a woman who was tough enough to make it. In some of the letters she details how she settled her claim which provides valuable information for persons researching pioneer settlers. Her life is truly remarkable and inspirational.

[anitatally · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this book. The letter-writer must have been a wonderful woman. I would have loved to have known her.

[satyridae · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Loved this! Stewart's letters are delightful. Betsy-Tacy is always my frame of reference for the early teens, and I kept thinking about how while Elinore was mowing the meadow or helping someone deliver a baby, Betsy was trying to get a bath in a German hostel. Stewart is indomitable, plucky, and amusing as all get-out. Her life is interesting, her voice unique.

The narrator was good. The letters, terrific!

Highly recommended for all the BT folks.

[deltaqueen50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Written in a warm chatty style, Letters of a Woman Homesteader paints an interesting picture of homesteading in Wyoming in the early 1900’s. The author, a widow with a young child, takes on the role of housekeeper on a ranch while at the same time files her own claim on land that adjoins this ranch. To prove her claim she plants and grows vegetables and makes some basic improvements on the property. She marries the rancher and all the while continues to write letters to her friend in Denver describing her life.With both humor and insight she describes her day to day activities and that of her neighbours. This isn’t an easy life, they are miles from any town or railroad and have to learn to be self-sufficient in many areas, including medicine. Even going to a neighbours for a dinner party means a long overnight camping trip to get there. Yet even while living such an isolated life, her letters portray her love of life and nature. Her prose is simple and heartfelt, and her descriptions of the natural world that surround her allow the reader to feel part of that world as well.Eleanor Pruitt Stewart was a strong, independent woman, as I imagine most women who homesteaded had to be. When there wasn’t a minister available for a funeral service, she went ahead and conducted the services for her new-born son herself. But beyond having this core of steel, she was a woman who found the place she was meant to be. “I love the flicker of an open fire, the smell of the pines, the pure, sweet air, and I went to sleep thinking how blest I was to be able to enjoy the things I love most.” An enjoyable read.

[sundownr_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed reading her letters and wish there had been more!

[nancylang-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thoroughly enjoyed Elinore's letters and her optimitstic view of a possible brutal time. She continually challenged herself and shared her achievements in a most delightful way. I too appreciated her clear view and appreciation of the natural beauty around her and her affection for her husband.

[etxgardener · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is a collection of letters from a woman who leaves the east to homestead and be a housekeeper for a Scottish man in Wyoming to her former employer., and are a delight to read. The author reveals herself to be an intrepid woman to which nothing is too big a problem to surmount. She grabs life with both hands & enjoys the ride.At first I doubted that this was actually a work of non-fiction, but upon researching the author after I finished the book, I found that, indeed, she was a real person. I would compare her to the fictional Amelia Peabody of the famous mystery series. She is a woman of heart and pluck.

[boundtogetherforgood · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a delightful book! Elinore Pruitt Rupert Stewart was a prolific writer of letters. After her husband died, leaving her with a young infant, she decided to head west and see as much of the world as possible.After a bout of flu she was advised that she should travel out to Wyoming as she was supposed to fare better there. On a whim she contacted a man who was advertising for a housekeeper. She moved from Denver to Wyoming, near the Bad Land hills.This book is a collection of letters which she wrote to a dear friend and former employer in Denver. Over the course of the letters on learns bits and pieces about her life...a few secrets even. If you've never read this type of book or if you just think you might not be interested, I would still encourage you to broaden your reading horizons and read this little gem. At only 112 pages it is certainly a page-turner. I couldn't wait to see what Elinore and her gang might be upt to next. The best part is that she is quite the humorist. Not only does she find humor in many things, she is also able to convey humor through her writing. What a talent! How pleased must have been those people to whom she wrote letters! I can only imagine what a pleasure it must have been to know her. With such a bright and giving spirit, those around her must truly have been blessed. She, too, was blessed. Moving to Wyoming brought her to a land that was much less inhabited than where she had previously lived. She had to learn new ways. She also learned independence as she was also on a quest to prove her own homestead! In the course of doing that she also made many life-long friends and found that she did not have to be always so fiercely independent because she was surrounded by people who loved her and cared for her.

[jillian_kay · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An excellent audiobook -- adventurous and touching.

[jules72653 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A very descriptive look at life in Wyoming during the early 1900s. I believe it took a remarkable woman to do what she did. Very entertaining book and I hope to get a hard copy for my mom. I think she would enjoy it as well.

[clueless_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Thoroughly enjoyable tale told in letters. A plucky widow moves west with her infant. With humor, wit and optimism she writes of her riveting life. Hard work doesn't daunt her.

[itsjustme_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Some of it was interesting. I like historical books but I guess I don't really care for books made up just of letters. I found it harder to follow and real slow. I think if it was written in story form I would have enjoyed it more.

[mldavis2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

While not a novel as such, this is an interesting publication of a series of letters written by a homestead woman around 1909 in Wyoming. The letters were written to a former female employer and, apparently good friend, and chronicles her life during a short period of time and the struggles and optimism and her love of nature. No replies are recorded and the letters are written in a semi-diary format. The value of this book lies in the attitude of the writer, her self-sufficiency and her descriptions of a wide-open country life.

[heylucy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A timeless collection of vignettes about life on the frontier at the turn of the century.

[countrylife_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

”To me, homesteading is the solution of all poverty’s problems, but I realize that temperament has much to do with success in any undertaking, and persons afraid of coyotes and work and loneliness had better let ranching alone. At the same time, any woman who can stand her own company, can see the beauty of the sunset, loves growing things and is willing to put in as much time at careful labor as she does over the washtub, will certainly succeed; will have independence, plenty to eat all the time, and a home of her own in the end.”Elinor Pruitt takes her future into her own hands and heads to Wyoming with her young daughter. While proving up her own homestead, she keeps house and cooks for the bachelor at the next homestead, in this way making an income meantime. Her letters back home to her friend are full of the beauties of her surroundings, and accounts of encounters with neighbors, Mormons, wild creatures, and weather. The saved letters cover her years in Wyoming from 1909-1913. I would love to have letters such as these in my family history. They are full of emotion and fact and held me rapt for the duration of the book. ”Did you ever eat pork and beans heated in a frying-pan on a camp-fire for breakfast? Then if you have not, there is one delight left you. But you must be away out in Wyoming, with the morning sun just gilding the distant peaks, and your pork and beans must be out of a can, heated in a disreputable old frying-pan, served with coffee boiled in a battered old pail and drunk from a tomato-can. ”

[magnolia2_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is an interesting read showing an upbeat look at life as a woman homesteader. The book is a series of letters from Mrs. Stewart to a friend back east.

[citizenjoyce · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Elinore Pruitt Stewart was a strong pioneer woman, an adventurer, a loving mother, a hard worker, an imaginative problem solver and a great letter writer. She describes homesteading in Wyoming at the beginning of the 20th century in letters full of joy, love of the land, self assurance, community spirit and optimism. She thought any woman who tired of dreary, repetitive hard work in town should and could be a homesteader. She thought the work was no harder and the rewards far greater. She appeared to be a woman with no self doubt an an inspiration to us all.