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320,
Story of an Emigrant.
From this place, which is the most elevated point in Yasa.,
the surrounding country affords a picture of such rural
peace and beauty, that even a stranger must involuntarily
pause to wonder and admire; how much more, then, I, who
was the first white man that trod this ground! Below,
toward the south, we see the wooded valley, watered by a
little creek from Willard’s spring, where we came near
perishing that cold January night in 1854; at the head of the
vallev, the hill where we built the first log cabin ;
immediately beyond this hill the hospitable home of my wife’s
parents, from which I brought mv young bride to our own
happv little home,which stood on another hill near the same
spring, and of which a part still remains; here, just below
the church, is the field I first plowed; over there in the grove
where we cut logs and fencing material, stands now the
orphan home, established by Rev. E. Norelius; and on the
other side the road is his handsome residence and garden,
but he himself sits inside, frail and suffering on account of
the hardships of the first few years.
Close by are the post-office, two stores, a blacksmith shop,
a school-house, two smaller churches, one Methodist and
one Baptist, and several other public and private buildings,
and a few miles farther north, near the Cannon river, are
two railroads, running from the Mississippi westward,
connecting with other roads which span the continent, and only
terminate on the shores of the Pacific ocean.
All around, so far as the eye can see, are green fields,
grazing herds of cattle, planted and natural groves,
comfortable buildings, and great white-painted school-houses. Not
a hill, not a valley or a grove but they call forth touching
recollections, some mingled with sorrow and pain, but by far
the most bright and cheerful; for here I spent the first
hopeful years of my manhood ; here we lived, the first Swedes in
Minnesota, in a circle of innocent and faithful friends; here I
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