The Long Trek
By: Calee Nielsen
They said this journey was going to be worth it, but every time we made it to a different location, our leaders decided to force us to keep going. The men pulled the carts while the women supplied support and effort when it was needed.
We are in the middle of summer and haven’t seen any life for several hours, maybe even days, I am not sure. Once we reach the hill on the other side of the river, we will be able to rest and possibly celebrate the long journey that is soon going to pass. Once we make it through that valley we will be welcomed by the temple. Our celebrations usually consist of music and dancing. We sing hymns and feast on the food that we have left. We have only a days journey ahead of us.
My dad guided me to the edge of the large river. I placed my hand into the rushing waters and a sharp chill shot through my arm. I cautiously entered the freezing water and walked at a slow pace across the river. I lift my skirts and begin to sweat from the effort of fighting against the current. My bonnet is wet with sweat once I reach the other side. Several other members greet me and yank me out of the river. My brother hugs me and congratulates my efforts. I walk along side the hand cart as my brother strains to pull it. Dad trades places with him and pulls the blankets and food inside the cart. My mom and I help push the back of the cart as my father’s efforts become labored from the steep hill we begin to climb. My feet slip as I slowly push the hand cart up the large hill. We reach the top of the terrible landscape and I collapse.
My feet ache with new blisters as I feel old ones begin to bleed. My hair sticks to my dirt covered face as my breathing becomes normal as does my heartbeat. Not too long after our rest we cautiously push the cart down the hill. Darkness starts to steal the light in the sky as the sun spreads an orange color on the horizon. That night I got to dance with one of the boys that travelled in our company. My achy bones were forgotten in that moment of happiness and joy. We feasted on grains and biscuits till there was only some left for our small journey the next day. The excitement of making it to our home seems to make each member of our party too restless to sleep, leaving us deprived in the morning. Again we continued our trek through the large valley. I think I see it. Oh what joy! The saints have finally made it to zion.
When we reached the large fence around the temple, we stopped and jumped for joy. We all said our goodbyes as parents picked the teens up one by one in their cars. My fake family, for the reenactment, said farewell as they all separated and left in small cars. After finally finishing the trek I was able to whip out my phone and call my real family at home. My mother’s large blue truck stopped at the curb and I was so happy to stop reliving what my ancestors lived through, and go home and shower and maybe eat larger portions of food. The trek celebration was finally over for my church until three years time. At least I have three years to heal from this tiring reenactment. Our leaders were right. It was worth it.
By: Calee Nielsen
They said this journey was going to be worth it, but every time we made it to a different location, our leaders decided to force us to keep going. The men pulled the carts while the women supplied support and effort when it was needed.
We are in the middle of summer and haven’t seen any life for several hours, maybe even days, I am not sure. Once we reach the hill on the other side of the river, we will be able to rest and possibly celebrate the long journey that is soon going to pass. Once we make it through that valley we will be welcomed by the temple. Our celebrations usually consist of music and dancing. We sing hymns and feast on the food that we have left. We have only a days journey ahead of us.
My dad guided me to the edge of the large river. I placed my hand into the rushing waters and a sharp chill shot through my arm. I cautiously entered the freezing water and walked at a slow pace across the river. I lift my skirts and begin to sweat from the effort of fighting against the current. My bonnet is wet with sweat once I reach the other side. Several other members greet me and yank me out of the river. My brother hugs me and congratulates my efforts. I walk along side the hand cart as my brother strains to pull it. Dad trades places with him and pulls the blankets and food inside the cart. My mom and I help push the back of the cart as my father’s efforts become labored from the steep hill we begin to climb. My feet slip as I slowly push the hand cart up the large hill. We reach the top of the terrible landscape and I collapse.
My feet ache with new blisters as I feel old ones begin to bleed. My hair sticks to my dirt covered face as my breathing becomes normal as does my heartbeat. Not too long after our rest we cautiously push the cart down the hill. Darkness starts to steal the light in the sky as the sun spreads an orange color on the horizon. That night I got to dance with one of the boys that travelled in our company. My achy bones were forgotten in that moment of happiness and joy. We feasted on grains and biscuits till there was only some left for our small journey the next day. The excitement of making it to our home seems to make each member of our party too restless to sleep, leaving us deprived in the morning. Again we continued our trek through the large valley. I think I see it. Oh what joy! The saints have finally made it to zion.
When we reached the large fence around the temple, we stopped and jumped for joy. We all said our goodbyes as parents picked the teens up one by one in their cars. My fake family, for the reenactment, said farewell as they all separated and left in small cars. After finally finishing the trek I was able to whip out my phone and call my real family at home. My mother’s large blue truck stopped at the curb and I was so happy to stop reliving what my ancestors lived through, and go home and shower and maybe eat larger portions of food. The trek celebration was finally over for my church until three years time. At least I have three years to heal from this tiring reenactment. Our leaders were right. It was worth it.