Boy oh boy, am I tired of winter. Don’t get me wrong, as an avid outdoorsman I’ve learned to appreciate certain aspects of snowy, subzero weather. I can say for certain that I’ve experienced few things as serene as walking off a frozen lake at dusk, when the air is still and the sky is painted with a brilliant sunset. However that may be, there comes a time during the season when even the most ardent lover of winter exclaims, “enough is enough.” I can’t speak for everyone, but I am certainly at that point. So barring an early spring, I thought it’d be the least I could do to offer everyone a story that takes place during the more climate-friendly month of May.
It was early morning on May 17, 1855. A party of six men headed west from Minneapolis as the sun began cresting the horizon behind them. They set out with one thing in mind that morning, to locate a new country abundant with agricultural land, and one where no claims had yet been made by a white man. They would be on their own during the first day, and their guide would join them at midpoint of Nine Mile Creek, a narrow waterway that flowed into the Minnesota River.
Their guide would be Martin McLeod, a veteran of the fur trade with a wealth of knowledge of the land. Those who knew him claimed he was highly intelligent, commanded respect, was eloquent, charming and persuasive. Above all, he was a man of exceptional quality. As a fur trader, his primary task was to travel between Dakota Indian villages as a “driver,” or consultant. The place where McLeod led the party was one he was familiar with as it was often frequented by various Dakota hunting bands. It was a good place, a spot where the Eastern woodlands met with the Western prairies. There was ample farmland, abundant game and fresh water supplied by a river that ran through the region.
The group came to Nine Mile Creek at nightfall and set up camp. The following morning, they were greeted by McLeod, who led the party to the Minnesota River and west along its banks. On the second night, they camped along a brook where the city of Carver now stands.
On the third day, the group began the arduous journey through the Big Woods, a hardwood deciduous forest that spanned rolling hills, swamps, lakes and small patches of prairie. Thickets of willow brush abounded and travel could be difficult. The few roads that went through the woods were nothing more than Indian trails that had existed for centuries. In many cases, travelers were forced to hack their own path with axes, machetes and saws, as was the case for this party.
By noon of the third day, the group had expended much energy. Their hands were blistered from swinging axes, and they had only traveled 8 miles. The evening of the third night, they camped on the shores of a small lake on the present day site of Cologne. It’s interesting to note that all of the campsites McLeod chose eventually became towns.
The following day was much of the same, trudging through the Big Woods and working themselves to the bone. That night, they camped at a lake west of Norwood, a place McLeod nicknamed Tiger Lake, a name it still bears today.
Early the next morning, the group came upon an old Indian trail and followed it onto the prairie. The change was sudden. For days they pushed through the thick, shaded and often muggy woods. On the afternoon of May 21, however, they came to an abrupt end to the woods and into the open, smooth, and sunny plains of the Minnesota tall grass prairie. In the words of J.H. Stevens, a member of the party, “From the foliage overhead, trembling in the breeze, with glimpses of blue sky beyond, we stood with uncovered heads, enchanted by our first view of the lonely, lovely wilderness.”
There was a brief discussion as to where the settlement should be located. Some in the group wanted to move farther west, while others were in favor of the place McLeod urged them to go. In the end they took McLeod’s advice and settled along Buffalo Creek. Twenty-five days later, a surveying party led by William S. Chapman arrived and began surveying a town site. It was one of the first town sites in Minnesota, certainly the first in what would become McLeod County. To this day, it bears the name Glencoe.
