Beginning with the California Gold Rush of 1849, tens of thousands of men left their families in search of gold, land or adventure, leaving their wives, sometimes for years at a time, to manage families and businesses on their own. And the same is true regarding the wives of cowboys/ranchers who were away from home for months and months on cattle drives & roundups. Some women rose to the occasion, discovering a flair for business, while others waited in poverty, holding off debtors while trying to feed large families.

    Historical records called them " the women left behind,"  "abandoned grass widows"  or, in the case of wives of gold miners, "gold rush widows". Most of them  waited longingly for their husband's return.

     The gold mining camps in the West were considered rough and wild -- not a place for a lady. Nevertheless, some miners' wives did go to the gold camps  with their husbands; and others went to track down  husbands that left them. While their reasons varied, women were found in the gold camps- wives, reformers, laundresses, prostitutes...... and some were even gold miners.  The vast majority of the gold miners' wives, however,  remained behind and kept their homes, homesteads, and businesses intact. Following is a poem about one such wife.

MY BRAND NEW TWENTY-BUTTON, HIGH-TOPPED SHOES.
 

I'm the gold rush widow
outta Pryor Creek.
My Henry's gone.
 He headed out last week.
He's got gold fever
and the gold dust itch.
He's Black Hills bound...
he sez t' strike it rich.
Now Henry's out there
a pannin' gold;
and the winds are blowin'
and the soddy's cold.

 I got young 'uns bawlin'
and the well's near dry.
Gotta haul in water
from the creek nearby.
But I don't mind workin'.
Don't git me wrong...
my  shoulder's broad
'n my back is strong.
But the nights are lonely
and the days are grim,
when all he'd touched
prods thoughts 'a him.

I feel like bawlin'
and I get the blues
when I see my twenty button
high top shoes.
Cuz Henry gave 'em to me
'fore he left.
Like me, they're standin'
all alone, bereft..
It would all be different
and I'd feel jist fine,
if his boots was
standin' by them shoes a mine.

I feel so lonely
and I'm filled with dread
when I lay me down
 upon my cold, cold bed.
The wind won't let up
and the sun won't shine
till his head is pillowed
on this bed a mine...
till his cowboy boots
are standin', two by twos,
with my brand new twenty button,
high-topped shoes.

Bette Wolf Duncan 
Copyright © March 28, 2007