SURVIVING THE OREGON TRAIL
Cindy Maddera
6 Likes, 4 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "We're playing Oregon Trail. I died on my first play."
The other evening, Michael, the Cabbage and I played a round of the card game version of the Oregon Trail. The Cabbage wrote her name down on the provided dry-erase board in the player 1 spot. Then I put down a name in ‘player 2’. I chose the name of Sally Anne Degenerate and when the Cabbage saw this she gasped and said “I didn’t know we could make up a name!” She then changed her name to ‘Amy’. Michael played the first card which happened to be a ‘town’ card and he immediately got to pick up some extra supplies. Then it was my turn. I played a ‘trail’ card that had me drawing from the ‘hazard’ deck. I immediately died of dysentery. The Cabbage and Michael played a few more rounds before the Cabbage, I mean Amy, died of a snake bite. Michael managed to hang on for a few more miles before succumbing to extreme cold.
No one made it to Oregon.
By Friday I was starting to feel the weight of being the only one at work and I was not handling things well. After cleaning every microscope and wiping down all of the surfaces, I threw on my jacket and stepped outside because that’s becoming my reaction when it gets to be too much. Get outside. Take some deep breaths. Move my feet in some direction. Except this time the weather was near freezing with blustery wind. I pulled my gloves on and marched forward, completely alone with my own thoughts. As I walked, I started thinking about the game. Remembering how the Cabbage changed her player name to ‘Amy’ made me start laughing. She could have made up any name. Then I started thinking about how the game played out, how I died right at the start. I came to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk because at that moment my thoughts crashed together so hard that I expected to hear ambulance sirens heading my way.
I died right at the start.
The beginning of the Oregon trail, the real life Oregon trail, is about seventeen miles east of my current residence. From my vantage point, I can step out of my house, walk about a mile and land on a trail that could lead me to California, New Mexico or Oregon. I didn’t know this when we moved here. Chris and I knew very little about this area when we moved here other than this was a city for visiting, a place we’d drive to for concerts. I didn’t think about the history of this place. History is not really at the top of my list of things that I think about really. I mean, I appreciate history and all that, but I am not a person who remembers dates. I am not a person who seeks out the history of a place. At least not then. Age has made me more appreciative, more curious about such things. Really, it is the stories of the past that I find interesting. Dates still get lost in this brain.
The significance of all of this though, the whole being here, is not really about history. It is about plans being made and the idea of making a better life for yourself some place else. We dreamed of Oregon once. We dreamed of making a better life for ourselves way out west. We made it sixteen miles on the Oregon trail before Chris basically died of dysentery and I just stayed put. I’m not sad about it. Well, I’m not sad about the staying put part any way. Dreams change. New plans are made. I found the secret to surviving the Oregon trail. The secret is to start, travel about sixteen, seventeen miles, and then stop. Unload your wagon and set up your homestead. Don’t do it because you are giving up on a dream. Do it because you’ve taken a moment to look around at your surroundings and you realize that those surroundings are pretty great. Change your plans. Change your dreams. Make that better life for yourself right where you are, right now.