A friend of ours sent us a beautiful card, with a photograph of Hope Valley, California on it. Hope Valley was probably first seen by John Fremont and Kit Carson in their mid winter trip across the Sierra in 1844, but it was members of the Mormon Battalion, returning from the Mexican War of ’46-’47 who named that lovely valley, back in 1848. When those settlers hit Hope Valley, it was full of grasses and water which gave them hope to get out of the Sierra Madra. There is a sign in Hope Valley that reads:
Camped at the head of what we called Hope Valley, as we began to have hope. Henry William Bigler, July 29, 1848 ex-member of the Mormon Battalion – 45 men, 1 woman (!), and 17 wagons on their way to Great Salt Lake settlements (going west to east).
I find it fascinating to wonder about their hopes. Hope for water. Hope for food. Hope the Indians don’t get us. Hope the weather holds. Hope that wheel holds on for a few more miles. Hope I can get this fire started. Hope we make it before the winter sets in. (I can’t even imagine what the one woman hoped for!) Sort of makes me feel guilty for my hopes. I am so blessed and have such a comparatively easy life.
Are our hopes as worthy?
I’d love to hear what you have to say!