The Oregon Trail

The mud of Independence clings to your boots as you make final rounds through the crowded market stalls. April air carries the sharp scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Everywhere, oxen low in their yokes while blacksmiths hammer out iron rims for wagon wheels. You stand before your heavy canvas-topped prairie schooner, checking the tension of the ropes for the third time this morning. Your family watches from the seat, their faces a mixture of excitement and fear as they eye the horizon. A local merchant named Miller approaches you, gesturing toward a mountain of crates behind him. He explains that several families headed for the Willamette Valley decided to turn back this morning, leaving their excess salted pork and flour at a steep discount. You look at your current stores; they are sufficient but leave little room for error if the spring grass is late or if wolves find your livestock. To buy the extra food would mean offloading the heavy oak dresser you inherited from your grandmother to make weight. Without the extra supplies, the wagon stays light and the oxen will tire less quickly through the Kansas territory, but a single bad week could leave your bellies empty before you…