My great, great grandparents staked their claim to the land fifteen miles north of Perry, Oklahoma in the Great Oklahoma Land Rush of 1889. They were among hundreds of pioneers who “ran” that day. They first came to Oklahoma, living in a covered wagon, so that my great, grandfather, Jacob Morris could work on the railroad; but they wanted a home of their own.

Jacob first “ran” on horseback, in April of that year. He pitched a tent there to protect his claim, but a stranger approached and argued that the land was his. The stranger pulled a gun and demanded they shoot it out. With too much at stake, Jacob moved on.

In September Jacob ran again and staked claim to 160 acres of land. To protect their land from another claim jumper, they hurriedly dug a cellar and lived there for nearly a year until a proper house could be built. This was and is that home. It has withstood five generations, harvest and drought, countless tornadoes and other acts of nature as well as over one hundred years.

I have heard this story many times. As a child, I imagined my ancestors to be like Little House on the Prairie and always felt close to the Ingalls family. Jacob and Chloe Morris died years before I was born, but because of their story and the pictures my family cherishes; I almost feel that I have memories of them.

Years ago, the house and the land on which it stands were sold to a man named McGinity. He continued to cultivate the fields and reside in the home for some time. The house has stood empty for some time now and has taken a beating from Mother Nature.

Every some odd passage of time, McGinity makes plans to bulldoze the remains of the house; but each time he prepares he is overcome by the simple fact that the house still stands. Each time he walks away, refusing to inflict the final blow. And so the house stands. It wears its scars proudly. Home now to a colony of wasps and mud daubers, it hangs on; bound to the land it marked over a century ago.