26 September 1797

 

Our new home is rather humble as we await the delivery of the furniture. It will take several months before it arrives by way of the mighty Mississippi River, our primary source of travel. Until then, we will carry on our household as best we can.  

Our journey to Ste. Genevieve in Upper Louisiana was a long one. As we headed north from New Orleans, we began to think we had made the wrong decision. I am haunted with the images of the frontier. Indian encampments were along the river, the threat of attacks always present. Thick forests and underbrush made it impossible to see the land. There were a few villages along the way, populated by farmers given land through the Spanish grants, hunters and trappers. The houses were mostly of logs, as were the trading posts at each stop. A portion of the land was planted in crops but beyond was a virtual wilderness. I was utterly surprised that upon our arrival to Ste. Genevieve we found many homes that were quite nicely built among a genteel civilization of people. There was no need of worry that we would not be met with kindness. It seemed as if the entire population of the little hamlet opened their arms of friendship to us. I think we will do well here. . . .