So the pioneers settled there and built them
huts and cabins for the first winter.
It had taken them many months to make
the terrible journey; many had died of
weariness and illness on the way; many
died of hardship during the winter; and the
provisions they had brought in their wagons
were so nearly gone that, by spring, they
were living partly on roots, dug from the
ground. All their lives now depended on
the crops of grain and vegetables which
they could raise in the valley. They made
the barren land good by spreading water
from the little streams over it,--what we
call "irrigating;" and they planted enough
corn and grain and vegetables for all the
people. Every one helped, and every one
watched for the sprouting, with hopes, and
prayers, and careful eyes.
In good time the seeds sprouted, and
the dry, brown earth was covered with a
carpet of tender, green, growing things.
No farmer's garden at home in the East
could have looked better than the great
garden of the desert valley. And from day
to day the little shoots grew and flourished
till they were all well above the ground.
Then a terrible thing happened. One
day the men who were watering the crops
saw a great number of crickets swarming
over the ground at the edge of the gardens
nearest the mountains. They were hopping
from the barren places into the young,
green crops, and as they settled down they
ate the tiny shoots and leaves to the ground.
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