https://kccarchives.cvlcollections.org/files/original/16/433/Vignettes.pdf 7f92085a73de4bc346d85c24dead8dbd PDF Text Text VIGNETTES t' ,''.'' ,:.' , . ,,t: "Prairie Life Blood" by Sally Bauder .',':,,, �COLORADO SKIES T42l MOM'S CREAM PIE T42A normal for this area. About 2 P.M. the color changed from dark blue to red. That wasn't normal. This cloud was headed to the southeast. COLORIDO SKIES At evening when the setting sun Spreads its brilliant rays across the sky, \:e gaze in rapture, as one by one, The flan:e-tinged clou(ls go uafLing by. i{e aatch the change from lold to gray, As the miraculous beauty fades from view, And niAht creeps on in silent array, l'Ihile moonbeams shine with siLv'ry hue, The eternal drama in the skies, Fron' evening's glow to daun's fa i nt rays, Reflects llis promise "l vill arise," .\nd brings bright hope to darkest days. Garold's parents, George and Agnes Pain- inisce about when we are together, such as the old Majestic Range, mince pies, chili suppers and cinnnmon rolls. But the thing that always tin, and I stood on the doorstep and watched a tornado go pastjust to the west ofthe barn. We could feel the force it created as it went past us. It was deathly still where we stood. As objects came to the edge of the whirling cloud, they would drop to the ground. One was a new binder canvas that was still rolled bring joy to our hearts and tears to our eyes is "Mom's Cream Pie." It was some eort of a custard pie. You could tell by the color and the nutmeg on the bubbles that would form on top. Mom would say, "I think I'll make a cream pie" and all four of us boys would be at attention right away. Why she seemed so powerfully proud of it, we may never know, as it certainly wouldn't take a prize at the County Fair. Just how it was made I'll never know, even though I saw the process many times. It was made in a pie shell. The filling was made with milk and included sugar and flour. There was not a crust on top, but the filling was sprinkled --DeIla Hendricl<s by Della Hendricke WHEAT HARVEST TIME I.916 There are many things we talk and rem- T422 There really wasn't much wheat planted in Kit Carson County in 1916. Most of the homesteader's farm crops were a few acres of corn, some cane, or millet cane for horse feed, and millet for cows. There was an old saying among corn farmers that their corn should be layed by the 4th ofJuly. Then a good share ofthe farmers would head for Kansas to find work in the wheat harvest. They would leave their wiveg and farnily to hold the homestead down, take care of the pigs, chiekens, and milk cow. A man could hire out single handed to work in a header barge for 91.50 per day. If he worked as a stacker he could draw 92.00 per day. All wheat in those days was harvested with horsedrawn headers and horsedrawn barges to catch the wheat as cut by the header. Then the headed wheat was stacked in the wheat field. Then as soon as the stacked wheat had gone through the sweat, which took a few weeks, it was thrashed with the old thrashing machine. I went to harvest wheat in 1916, south of Colby. I took six work horses and was lucky enough to get ajob. I ran the header for 97.00 per day for me and the horses, and board for myself and the horses. After the wheat was cut, the farmer hired me and the horses to do some summer fallowing. This was in the form of blank listing with a two row lister. At least this short session ofcash wages would supply me with some ready cash to help finance myself through the fall and winter. with nutmeg. As it baked, you could see the top ofthe filling set and form big bubbles that would rise and turn first gold then brown and then burst. When it was done it was not one half inch or one inch deep - it would be about one fourth inch thick or perhaps three eighths inch at the very most. It was vaguely like a custard but not a sissy-type custard. It was a solid layer of crust, sugar, flour, milk, and nutmeg of a pretty uniform consistency and quite durable. You would take it out of the pan and bit it and feel it and taste it and it was good. Then, you could put a piece in your jacket or pants pocket and hours later you could take it out and eat it and it would be in one piece and it would taste the same. It was good and it was durable and Mom was proud of it and we never talk about it but that we laugh and cry at the same time. No one will ever make anything at all like "Mom's Cream Pie." up and landed undamaged. The tornado was on the ground for nearly a mile. Garold and Melvin Sweet had just gone to the Joe Garner place and were within 300 yards of the house when they realized there was a tornado in that cloud of dust coming at them, so they vacated our pickup truck and hit the ground. It began to hail so Garold moved under the truck. A moment later the tornado turned the truck upside down, leaving the well tools that were in the back, in the spot he had just left. Joe Garner was in the house at the time. He laid on the floor until it passed. Although it was damaged, they drove the Garner car back to the Paintins. There were no serious injuries. Their pockets were full of sand and we had to pick cactus needles out of their backs. Our truck was thrown about 100 yards up a hill and almost completely demolished. The Garners had most of the outbuildings destroyed including a large barn. Some livestock were killed and trees uprooted. The house was da-aged but left standing. It took only about a minute to demolish a life time of work. by Jean.Paintin TO A SOD HOUSE by Carl TY. Bruner T426 TO A SOI] HOUSIJ THAT WAS MY TRUCK Come, pause beside the crumbling walls Of this aged sod house standing here Upon the wind-ssept loneLy plains-- T424 It was May 8, L952. The clouds began to form in the west about noon. That was A passing relic of the oLd frontier. Once these walls were olde and straight, Fresh sneLling of the ner Eurned sod, NhiLe on the broad, Iow windo\i sills A bride had placed geraniums to nod. SheLtered here from nature's elements \ sturdy broocl of lusty children Sreui Absorbed the homely virtues of the waLLs; liax€d bravely slrong, upri3ht and true. And these sod hones across the land Made possible a conquered west; So, Let us pay homa3e to an oLd pioneer For the many lives its roof has blest. --SeLetha Broton by J. Carl Harrison by Seletha Brown That was my truck! �I'LL DRM, YOU PITCH T426 usually would head for the barn, not necessarily taking the shortest route. They would usually go thru a fence row or two on their way home. This action could happen with the hayracks, too, but wasn't as dangerous to the driver. The Paintins built a large barn with a loft in 1929. It was handy in the winter to pitch the hay down to the alley below, but it was work to get the hay up to the loft before this feature could be used. Once the racks were loaded, they were driven into position below a large door near the top ofthe barn. A pulley was hooked into the sling which was on the bottom of the rack. The pully ran on a track inside at the top of the barn. This was pulled up and thru the loft by the horses hooked on at the opposite side of the barn. This large barn, along with twenty five hundred bales of hay in the loft, was destroyed by fire June 20,1963. Picture from the collection of Gladvs Paintin Gieck. by Jean Paintin The Paintin Barn, 193?. The farmers and ranchers etill hope and pray today, as they did in the early years, that their feed crop, which was planted early in MORNING IN JUNE T427 the summer, would escape any drouth, grasshoppers or hard rains and hail at the wrong time. Even a quick moving thunder shower would deposit enough moisture to reach the thirsty roots of the sorghum plant in the sandy soil. The Paintins farmed just a short distance up the hill from the Republican River. A good feed crop was a blessing but the process of harvesting this crop depended on the patience and strength of men and animals. They equipped their hay racks with a sling made from rope and boards which were stretched across the bed of the rack. They would be up before dawn to feed their horses. After a hearty breakfast of pancakes, sausage, MORNING the hay field on their first trip. This was at least a two man job per hayrack. Depending on how well broke the horses were was the deciding factor whether one man drove the team while the other pitched on the hay. If they were broke well enough to trust them to react to voice commands of "getup" or "whoa" you had it made. Both could pitch on the hay from wigwam fashioned shocks of feed which had all been done by manual labor or from windrows previously made by using a hayrake. The hayrake was pulled with their most trustworthy horses since this was a dangerous piece of equipment. It was light weight and easy to pull. If the horses decided to spook and run, the driver could get the thrill of his life if he was lucky to be able to hang on and not fall under the rake. A trip to the ground meant getting rolled thru stickers, dirt and eventually one or more of the rake teeth getting to him. Once out of control, the horses by Opal Boger FAREWELL TO MY SHANTY T429 FARE-II"ELL TO MY SHANIY irJ::r-cli to trllr pre-eDption sLranty, I have $ade my final proof. The cattle will hook down the salls And some will steal off the roof. Fareuell to my sheet iron stove, That stands in the corner all cold; The 3ood things I've baked in the oven Tn Lan3uaJe can never be told. FarewelL to my cracker box cupboard, llriEh a gunny sack for a door; FarewelL to my stoc!( of 3ood thin3s, That I uever shal1 rvant any nore, to n:y I itL Ie pine bedstead, Tis on thee I slunrbered and sLept; FareweLI to the dreams Ehat I dreampt llhile the centipedes over me crept, Fareue l I IN JUNE i\lhat 's so rare as a mornj.ng in June? My morning rides are over too soon. 1 check the cattle over the hill, And then return to the old windmill, Where I get a drink fron the bottom of the uell. The tefrp and flavor, one just can't tell. I shate my drink with my faithful mount, Before I finish the cattle count. Now who in the world could ever say, There's a better uay to start the day? --J. Carl Harrison Farewell to my down holstered chair Ii'ith the bottom sagged to the ground; Farewell to the socks, shirts and bretches, That filled again to the ground. Farewell to my nlce littLe table, hlhere under I have oft put my fee!; And think of many good things, Such as bacon and beans to eaE. Farewell to my sour dough pancakes, That none but myself could endure, lf they did not taste good to a stranger, They were sure the dyspepsia to cure. eggs or steak, biscuits and gravy with lots of coffee their work would begin. They wouldn't get a coffee break. They harnessed, watered and hitched the horses to the hay racks and loaded the water jugs which were wrapped in wet gunny sacks. Maybe they wouldn't be quite on the rack and one horse would take off with a jerk. Depending on the weather, the horses were usually pretty frisky at that time of day and would give them a bumpy ride to hours late to work. The problem was that no one had thought to call Gus and tell him of the hunt, so he spent the hours wondering what the delay was and Ruth was left wondering whether she would have threshers to cook for or not. Farewell to my coffee, tea, and crackers; FareuelL to my water and soap; by J. Carl Harrison THE LION HUNT FareweLL to my sorgum and flapjacks, Farewell to my lallacadope.': Farewell to my entire pre-emption, Farewell to your hills and your sand; I've covered you up with a mortgage, T42A There was a year, along in the late 40's, when rumors went the rounds of a pair of lions that were making their home in Kit Carson County. They were reported to have been seen in the Kirk area and south of Stratton. On one occasion our community, 13-15 miles north of Vona, wag alerted. The men were to go to the Gus Schreiner home early that morning to thresh wheat. Very early that morning, the phone rang. Burt Smit said a lion was seen going into the grove of trees just t/t mile east of the Harry Smit house. He said the threshers were all going to hunt it down, so Horace Boger and his man, Fred Lowery, went too. We called Harold Summers as we knew he would want to be in on it. So, eight or ten men stalked through the small grove of trees ready to shoot but no lion could be found. If there was one, it had escaped or perhaps a large yellow tomcat had been mistaken for big game. Be that as it may, the men were two Farewell to my quarler of land. --Jack Messenger *Gravy made with bacon grease, flour and wat er . poem by Jack Messenger WHEN I MET RUBE PRATT T430 I saw Rube Pratt three or four times in my life. Once I saw him standing in front of the Daniels and Fisher's Tower dressed in his red suit and the great coat with the brass buttons. He was opening the doors for people as they drove up to the store. He made a very �impressive sight for the tourists and customers. That was the last time I saw him. I believe I remember him at a baseball game and I heard my father say "I didn't mean it Rube." I think I saw him crank start his model "T" auto once. I know others would talk about how he would lift it up to crank it rather than PIONEER DAYS IN COLORADO T431 by Mrs. Sarah Blakman to get down on his knees. But I do know when I first met Rube Pratt, I remember it quite well. Rube was a big man, he was reported to be the biggest man in the Armed Forces (Navy) in World War I. He stood about or over eight feet high. Considering his size, he had a small head, anyway, on him it looked small. His head was always bent forward as if he were looking down. It was said that he had hurt his neck as a boy doing acrobatics off a hay stack. We were living in Stratton at the time, about 1918. I would have been about seven years old. There was a store on Main Street, we called the "Ten Cent Store." It was a narrow, long store, with a door in front, and display windows on each side of the door. Display tables were placed on each side of the aisle and goods were piled on top ofthe tables for almost the length of the building. Now, I don't know for sure how I got there, although I have a vague recollection that my mother was not far away. I was underneath one of the tables about half way back in the store. I was playing with or looking at something, I really don't recall what. I heard the door open, the floor was covered with light, then a shadow. I looked up and saw the shoes. They were gize eighteen or nineteen at least. The soles were almost one inch thick. When they hit the floor, the boards shook and they were coming almost directly at me. I PIONEER n:i{YS IN COLORADO When I left my home in Nebraska, for Colorado I was bound; And when I arrived at Claremont, I viewed the country round. There were antelope, coyote, prairie fox and cent.ipedes galore, And such a wild and desolate place I had never seen before. There $rere prairie dogs, or.rls and rat.tlesnakes; they lived under the ground together, And the dogs would come ouE and bark at you, in almost any kind of weather. We put. up at the Claremont Hotel, and the people \rere very kind; But, dear me, I was homesick for the home I had left behind. And when our household goods arrived, we rented a two-room shack, But I thought I would freeze to death for the floor was full of cracks. I covered them over with papers and put carpet down, And so we lived for over a year in this little Claremont town. Then we built a nouse on our homestead, I sure thought that was great, And now I love Colorado, more than any other state. --Sarah Blakeman scooted back a little but not much, fascinated by the size of the man that wore those shoes. Away up on top was this tiny head sort of looking down at me. It seemed to me as if he had to duck his head to keep from hitting the ceiling. I think he saw me, a small smile appeared on his face, maybe he said something, I don't remember. I can't tell you whether he came back to the aisle or went out some back door. But I do remember and will never forget the day I met Rube Pratt. by Carl YY. Bruner WASHDAY T432 Washday started with trips to the milkhouse where our water supply was located. Water ran directly from the windmill into a Iarge, cement tank. We carried the water to the house in milk buckets and sat them on the stove to heat, even on the hottest days, when the range threw out a great deal of heat. Up until about 1916, Mom washed on a washboard and wrung her clothes out by hand. Then they got a "modern" washing machine which was operated by hand. For me, that was much harder work than rubbing the clothes on a board. The lack of soap was a great drawback. We had no powders, bleaches or fabric softeners, only the great chunks of lye soap that Mom made from rancid grease, lye, and water. Soap making meant building a hot fire under the huge iron kettle and then one had to stand by it for 3 or 4 hours and stir round and round. Then the soap cooled overnight and was cut into bars. After rubbing the clothes with the strong soap, the white clothes had to be boiled in more soap and water, then rinsed and wrung and finally rinsed again in water, to which bluing had been added, wrung out again and finally hung out to dry and sun. It was a terrible job and my Dad always helped with the washing. We only washed once a week. by Opal Boger �THE DOCTOR T433 Williams Pharmacy Letterhead by Fred Page and Vivian Williams TIIE DOCTOR I ile! Doc lli [ | iinis, I thoughE the man was srirr I l. He dldn't carry surplus aei;lrt, And neithcr sas he ti I l. t^lhen f irst we vis lced for qutle u wiri I c Dlscuss ing thir1..!s ac hand, And as orrr frlend Iy clrat progressed, He seemecl to just exp0nd. .{nd lf a dead beat beat his bilt, Doc didnrt seem to nrind; He'd srnlle and say I'cr sure thac child Will not be deaf or bIlnd. The woman that's so s1c1( Upon the bed of pain, I'n sure my pilts vcry soorl l^tiIl end the aufuI strain. And tf I do oot get tllat bilt, I'l1 get by sonrelrou; It's better far co end tlri.s uuY, Than t€ke their only cou. I'd hate Eo take a big faL fee Fron one so short of breath, And 1n a fee short weeks flnd out The lady starvcd to deatl). And so In just a fek short years, The man I oncr thou8hc small, Burlington Centennial Parade, May 14, 1988 Had eldened to a large expanse And stood most sl.x feet tall, When civic problems ralsed their lread And ended in I fight, You'd flnd old Doc a busy nran Just batt lln; for the right, For things t() really helt, hls torn He aluays ilave hls basL, And at a fairly eartt age, to resL. Worn out, he lent And as we journey through this lle look down on a pup, But vhcn ue ileet a nrarr like Doc It'e're aluays looking up, Llfe, llou strangc lndccd ln thirty yeors The man I once thoughl snall, llould seam to have enormous wei.ght, And toeer above us aIl, If he and I should n'eec again, And I believe ue wilL, Ua'l I .lut .^ ^no Doc,IneedapllL '.,i I I {nrArr,'^t He'll say, does anyone remenrber nc, Or even love f,re still? I'I1 say, Yes, Doc, buc only chose L'ho tried to pay thelr bills, --Frederich Russ and Alene Davis Pagc Pn,:'SCI1IPTION SERV J CI' SEIiVIN(; IIASTI]]IIN ('OLC)IIAtrr) SIN(JIt 190{i WILLIAMS PHARMACY l\t. l'. end l-. 1,. \\'illi:rlrrs FLAGLEN, COLORADO \' l.)TllR I NA lrY strt,nLlES �MAKING BUTTER T435 We did not just walk in to a store and buy a week's supply of butter. We milked the cows, strained the milk through a flour sack, then separated the milk from the cream by running it through a separator, which was turned by hand. We sat the cream away to sour (overnight, I think) then it was put in a churn and the churn was turned by hand until butter formed. We drained off the buttermilk and drank it for supper. Then the butter had to be washed through many changes of cold water until all signs of milk was removed. Then it was salted well and molded. We did not have a butter mold, in Mom shaped the butter with her hands and made a fancy design on the top with a knife. Remember though, that the milk buckets, straining cloth, separator, churn, and the dishes used in the washing and molding all had to be washed thoroughly with soap, rinsed well and sunned for several hours for purification. All the hot water for those jobs was carried from the supply tank at the milk house, heated on the stove, and carried back to the milk house to wash these items. by Opal Boger "Carousel Pony" in stained glass by Rene6 Loutzenhiser THE FLOUR SACK T434 One of the faithful standbys of the depression era was the flour sack. Its uses were many and varied. We had a large tin can with a tight fitting lid that we used for a flour bin. The sack was opened and the flour poured into the bin. The sack was then completely opened up by removing the string. This string was no less aprize than the sack. All string was carefully saved and used for tying sacks, packages, for sewing ripped clothing, and even for quilting. The sack bore the brand name of the flour, printed in bright colors that were very hard to remove. This was in the day before Clorox One of the messiest jobs was making cottage cheese. The curds of milk were poured into a sack and hung on the line to drip out the whey. Then the sack must be washed out in several batches of water and rinsed 'til all the dried milk was removed. There was no end to the uses ofa flour sack. by Opal Boger -a or other bleach. My mother soaked the sack in kerosene then scrubbed it with homemade lye soap. Usually the sack went through many washings before the printing faded out completely. Some of the brand names I remember were, "Pride of the Rockies," "Snells" and "Clyde's Best." Many flour sacks were made into clothing. Most common were our "bloomers" or "drawers," aprons, bonnets, and even dresses. They were also used for tablecloths, curtains, dish towels, and lining for quilts. Some were not ripped apart but were left in sack form to store dried fruit. dried corn. seed corn, dry beans, chicken feathers, etc. On every farm clothesline 2 or 3 of the snowy white squares flapped in the wind. These were used only for straining milk, morning and night. Then they were washed and scalded and hung out in the sun until the next milkins. Drills of vesterdav �DUST STORM T436 I'ioT cu,{FF, B1JT DUST i.rhen the <iust storm was over, the wind its force had spent, We grabbed the broorn and duster and oter the house r\re went. I,,'e shook out all the curtains, we swept it out with care; The dirt lnas over everything, it aLmost made me s\{ear. But at last the worll was over, the cleaning job r,ras done. If ever a pound was taken out I knew r,;e took a ton. The wind it stopped its blovring, we didn't know it then, But it r'as resting up and getting prinred to do it once again. At 50 nriles an hour it came r^rith its dust cloud and its roar, And filled rhe house up all again just as it did before. It. riled me up a litEle then t.o come again so soon; By steady work, and patience, too, we cleaned her out by noon. When bang! There came another just like the one we had. trrterll srneep out the house no more, Ehis dustrs become a fad. hre just wipe off the table, arnd scrape it off fhe shelves, And srveep some pretty little paths around to suit ourselves. It'e wipe our feet off nice and clean before we go to bed, hie crawl right in and take the quilL and cover up our head. i'lhen dawn has come and time to rise and take another chance, I lay the covers carefully back and then I dust my pants, Put on my shoes and socks again, and sweep a little land, Then spend the day a spittin' dirt and wishing it would rain. But happy days will come again, as sure as you're alive, And we'll talk and laugh for 40 years of the storms of '35. of what would happen if their parents should hear of it. They watched to see if the peddler would stop at the next house and he did. The boys became more worried and watched the road for their parents to return. At last, they saw them coming and they saw the neighbors go out and stop them. Then down the road the buggy came bouncing. The mother climbed out of the buggy crying, "Oh my God, everyone in the country will think my boys are crazy! Oh, how could you shame us so?" And on and on. Jake said he wasn't so much worried by his mother's tears as what his dad would do to them. When he finally got up nerve enough to look at his father, he was surprised and relieved to see a smile and a twinkle in his dad's eyes. He knew his dad thought that that was as good a way to get rid of a peddler as any. by Opal Boger DIRTY'3O'S T439 After reading the article in the November 15th issue of the Farmland News headlined "The Colorado Plowdown," I'm inspired to write some of my first-hand experiences on the plains of eastern Colorado. In the early nineteen hundreds, in the free range days and my early cowboy days, I distinctly remember that we had the high winds that have always been the case on our high plains, but there was never any dust raised by the high winds. The prairie had a solid cover of mostly blue gramma and buffalo grass. We cowboys had to tie our hats on but there were absolutely no "tumbleweeds" rolling across the land. A few years later, when a few farmers and ranchers began plowing up more Iand and trying to raise more crops, I always supposed that the weeds that began to appear came in with the seed that was brought here from other parts ofthe United States or other --C.C. Rivers poem THE CATALOG THE PERILS OF THE PRAIRIE PEDDLER T438 Blowing dust and the tumbleweeds, and other varieties of weeds accompanied by a My aunt and uncle, Gertie and Jake Dircks, lived about 17+ miles east of our place. One drier-than-normal weather cycle became the common thing in the 1930's. I know of several small farms in the 30's T437 The Sears Roebuck and Montgomery flard catalogs were used for many things. We did not order much in the years before 1918 nor did we order much during the 20's, but it cost nothing to wish. When we received a new catalog the old one was not burned. I went through and cut out families of paper people, furniture, and so on. We put the old catalogs in a hot oven and heated them to put into our beds at bedtime bo take off the icy chill. We used them to rest our hot irons on while ironing. Some were covered and made into an attractive door ltop. Finally they were taken to the back house rnd suspended on a string - the latest in toilet bissue. day they went to Kirk, leaving their sons, Jake Jr. and Ted, home alone. Ted was cooking dinner and Jake was working at a work bench behind the house when a man arrived at their place, traveling by bicycle. He was selling Bibles and he made his business known and asked ifhe could get dinner there. Ted couldn't refuse. The peddler asked if he was all alone. Ted, always ready for excitement, said, "Oh no, my brother is outside, but he is crazy and dangerous, so watch out!" Then he excused himself to get a pail of water from the water barrel. He ran by the work bench and told Jake to act $azy. Jake was willing! Soon he came staggering in with a wild look on his face. by Opal Boger countries. I always wondered where the Russian Thistle came from. I never saw our very common Kochia weed until in the 1940's. The peddler never took his eyes off of Jake and when Jake grabbed up the butcher knife and started for the peddler, the poor man ran for the door and sped off on his bicycle as fast as was possible in that sandy soil. The boys laughed in glee until they thought that had the entire layer oftop soil blown off, down to the yellow clay that wouldn't even grow weeds. When blowing like that occurred and drifted over onto adjoining grass pas- tures, the soil covered up and killed out the buffalo grass. There were times in the middle of the day, when an old dust blizzard came over that it became almost as dark as night. If you happened to be driving on a highway, you were not sure of the road ahead and yet you hated to stop. You couldn't see a car ahead ofyou but you could see the headlights ofthe car behind you. You could not distinguish the car. I have seen tourists from the East who stopped in one of our towns and they were so frightened they didn't know what to do. I've had fences that first filled solid full of tumbleweeds, then the weeds filled solid full of dust to the top wire to the extent that the horses and cattle walked over the fence and the top wire was out of sight. In that case I built a second three wire fence right on top �of the one that was drifted under. This might be a good place to insert one of my tall-tales: "I went out one day and dug a quarter of mile of fence post holes, planning on setting up a new fence. Well, the wind came out terrible that night but I went back out the next morning to continue my fencing. When I got to where I had dug the postholes, I found that during the night the wind had blown all the dirt away from around those postholes and had left the postholes sticking up out of the ground! I might add my sons' comment. He reminded me that we went along and kicked those postholes over so we wouldn't stumble over them as we continued building our fence!" That is the end of the tall-tale, now to continue my story, and this is no tall tale: During the dusty years I've seen snow drifts that were half dust, and my wife taped the key holes shut to keep some of the dust out of the house. The cattle would seek protection from the blinding, choking dust in barns and windbreaks. I suppose you wonder how we survived during those dry, dusty years. Farming and raising cattle just could not provide our livelihood so I took a second job. I was a country school teacher for twenty years. My first salary was $50.00 per month and later raised to $80.00. That kept us off any handouts and W.P.A. With the small portion of the land plowed in those days, I dread to think of what could happen if and when weather conditions return to the dry and windy conditions ofthe "dirty thirties" with such a big percentage of fragile, marginal land being plowed up today. by J. Carl lfarrison THE DINING TABLE T440 which it was fashioned. My most vivid memory of those table legs is that they are where I learned to dust. Frequently, I had to do the task repeatedly. I often thought that Mother could see a speck of dust a block away! The table could be expanded by inserting the leaves that were kept in the pantry. Three times a day the table was used for its original purpose, meals. At that time the entire family gathered around the oilcloth covered table together. What a warm, cozy feeling to have us all together. How uneasy I felt when someone was absent. The table was used all during the day, every day. On ironing day the smooth, sweet smelling sheets, pillowcases and towels were placed on the dining room table to be neatly folded before being put away. When Mother cut out garments to be stitched together on the treadle sewing machine at the south window, she spread the material on the table and carefully pinned the newspaper pattern pieces on the cloth. The up to 900 quarts of fruits and vegetables which were put up every summer for survival were prepared around this table. How well I remember, as soon as you were old enough to snap a bean, pod a pea, peel a tomato, peach, pear, pit a cherry or help prepare any other food item that could be preserved by canning, you joined the crew around this table. Packages for mailing and packages for birthdays and Christmas were wrapped on the table. On school nights, homework was done around the table where there was space enough for opened books, notebooks, maps and pen and ink. A kerosene lamp provided a limited radius of illumination. When the lessons were completed our reward was popcorn, or an apple or hot chocolate and the pleasure of playing games (Monopoly, rummy, and pitch were favorites) until time to get ready for bed. At times two or more families gathered for supper and the evening. Then the men used the table for cards while the women visited. During the day Mother also used the table as a desk for writing letters, making out lists, or figuring household accounts. As I left the demonstration of the new wonder appliance, I decided that if it could serve just half the purposes of our old dining room table, it would be worth twice the price. by Irene Armistead That dining table today! While watching a demonstration of a kitchen appliance chopping, shredding, sli- cing, mixing, and almost serving the meal, I couldn't help but wonder what my mother would have thought of such a household device. Then I remembered that we also had multipurpose possessions and the most versatile we called the "dining room table." We had other tables; the kitchen table, end tables, the library table and a lamp table, but when someone said "the table" it meant the dining room table. Our dining room was an extension ofthe kitchen. The table was round with claw legs as sturdy as the oak tree from Mrs. Perrv's "Sod House." A. G. Perry's "Sod House." �SHERIFF'S EXPERIENCES SIIERIFF'S ExpERrENCIs I:x".:';":Hif::: j:i,.i.?,"lii::".:::: I44l Calls come by night and calls come by day, They may be near or miles away. The telephone rings and soon by heck Wetre headed for the country to cover a wreck. Before we have taken our Ehings from the Erunk, We see that the driver is just plain drunk. Hets wandering around not a scratch on his hlde, While his victim3 lay stretched out side by side. I begin to question him, he breaks lnto tears, He says, ttl have just had a couple of beers.tt Today we hunt evidence, and dig up the facts; Tomorrow we're struggling with detinquent tax. Next day qre're hunting a motEled face cow, Ihen stay up all night at some nice family row. Next day we have court and the lawyers rave; The defendent sits there in need of a shave. ttWhere hrere yourtt they beller tton the first of November?tt Ihe defenddnt replies, ttI dontt remember.tr They argue around tiLl half past three, Then Ehe jury goes out and fails to agree; The judge sends them baclc, till their duty is done; But several hours later theytre eleven to one. Non that's just a sample of what we do, An endless variety of old and new. It may be a prowler, a burglar, a drunk; your watch or your trunk. He may steal your billfold, We set out to catch him and we do our best, We catch lhe percentage and lose the rest. You canrt catch them all, for some leave no clue, They don't leave their cards as you and I do. Sometimes they plead {uilty, and the judge will Then half the country will want him parolled. scold, They blame the depression, the new deal, the tariff, A few of the folks put the blame on the sheriff. Sometin:es there are fireworks, an officer gets shott While doing his duty, he's out on the spot. Just latel.y tv,o sherif fs were killed, By a maniac's gun, their blood was spilled. Ihen he set fire to the buildings, they had to burn, The sheriff and deputy will never return. So this is the way ttto men paid the costs ' To the wives and the chi ldren a provider r,ras lost . You cantt get excited when you're out on a call, Cause you might clo the thing you shouldnrt do at a11. You nrustnrt get nervous or Lose your head, For if someome gets shot he is a long time dead. Itrs a job requiring judgement' Patience and grit, So we have to eliminate those that don't fit. It takes a lot of time their mistakes to explain, I{hich is time wastecl without any gain. So it's quite a game, if you stay rig,ht in, You'Il get a pat on the back and a sock on the chin. But I like it all, and I'm shedding no tears' And by the grace of ?od, I'11 fill out ttro more years. --O.C. Dunlap, Sheriff �J.A. Grigg, separator man, the engine. His face and neck were burned almost to a crisp, his right eye was burned out, both legs were broken below the knees and his entire body was battered to a pulp, sup- over 40 acres before it could be extinguished. Many of the neighbors were not aware of the explosion until after the fire had been put under conto atoms trol. Williams. who was not (Taken from the 1915 issue) posedly by the fierce impact of injured, dragged the men into Submitted by Lowell the furnace door as it was the circle that had been burned blown open. The steering over and saved them from beDunlap wheel that Grigg held on to ing burned up. One of the worst accidents was found nearly a quarter of Pugh stated that tne cause that ever happened in the a mile away. of the explosion was the fact history of the county took Fred Pugh was blown back Grigg had tightened the place near the Fred Dodd over the separator, falling on that pop-valve several times as he farm, l8 miles southwest of his head. One of his arms was thought the engine was this city, when the boiler of a broken, both hands badly ing off too soon. is blowIt suppossteam threshing engine explod- burned, and besides numerous that the steam gauge was ed, killing one man and cuts and bruises over the body, ed not working in proper manseriously injuring another. is suffering from a concussion ner and failed a register the The force of the explosion of the brain. His condition is exact amount to of steam the threw large pieces of the boiler considered very serious, but it engine was really carrying. over a radius of a quarter of a is thought that this young man Grigg started in to tighten the mile and tore a good sized hole will finally recover. The body valve before they had finished in the ground where the engine of the dead man as well as the the last job of threshing, and stood. Not enough of the injured man was taken to the the wonder is, the explosion engine remained to hardly residence of Fred Dodd. The had not occured when more identify the machine. remains were later taken to the men were around the outfit. The threshing outfit was the F.D. Mann undertakine The wreck was viewed by the property of Fred Pugh of parlors. deputy state boiler inspector Doctors Merrill and Bergen, Stratton and was being moved of Denver, and he siated that from the O.C. Dunlap ranch with Mrs. Dr. Merrill and to accomplish the results, the and was traveling on the road Mrs. Clark as nurses, were engine must have carried 500 when the accident occured. called to the scene and ad- pounds of steam, so complete The crew was composed of minstered medical aid. was the destruction of the Fred Pugh, owner; J.A. Nothing is known of the dead engine. Grigg, separator man; and man, except he is said to have The only part of 'rhe engine Geo. Williams. water hauler. a cousin residing near BeaverThe fact that Williams was ton. He had been in the coun- left near the place where it riding on the water tank try but three weeks, coming stood were the two front behind the separator, pro- here from Utah. In his pockets wheels and they were bent in bably saved his life. The was found a certificate of bap- toward each other. One of the escape of Fred Pugh, the tism into the Mormon church. large rear drive wheels was owner, is nothing short of a A small !'lcte book was also blown fully 8CI feet and left miracle. Grigg, the dead man, found stating he was from upright imbedded in the was horribly burned and bruis- Hobart, Okla., and was a ground. Heavy boiler iron was ed and died five hours later in member of Hobart Lodge No. torn like paper. Scraps of iron, 40, K. of P. The lodge was pieces of wheels, were strewn dreadful agony. The accident occured at communicated with. but no over the ground for a radius of about ten o'clock in the fore- reply was received. Unless over a quarter of a mile. noon and is without doubt one relatives are located. he will be Coroner Heiserman of of the most tragic in the annals buried in the Burlington Flagler, was called, but decidof this county. Grigg, the man cemetery Saturday. ed that an inquest was unwho lost his life. was at the Immediately after the explo- necessary. Late reports insteering wheel at the time and sion, the dry grass was set on dicate that Fred Pugh, the inwas blown fully 15 rods from fire. and burned over an era of jured man, will recover. almost instantly killed Fred Pugh of Stratton seriously injured Traction engine is blown THE GOOD LIFE L975 T442 We feel that we have been very fortunate to live this good life on our little ranch in Eastern Colorado. Here, I will mention a few of the special blessings of this good country life. First, the blessing of living in this beautiful world of prairie pastures and farm land. Also we have the blessing of as pure a water supply as is found anywhere in the world. It is not full of distasteful elements and minerals as is the case with much underground water and cannot be contaminated with waste spilled into it from above ground. I also feel that we have as clean and pure air as can be found anywhere. No smoke, smell or smog to afflict our health as is the case in many areas the world over. We are also free from the noise, the clatter and the rumble of the cities, whose noise is really a hazard to health and hearing. Sometimes it makes it almost impossible to concentrate or meditate on one's thoughts, reading or prayer. We don't have the hurry and flurry that are almost continual night and day in the large cities and many suburban areas. On our little ranch we have plenty of elbow room and are not crowded at any time. Not the least among our blessings is the fact that we have plenty of useful work that we are still able to do, which gives us much pleasure in the feeling of usefulness and responsibility. Winnie and I have the feeling that we are still contributing something to the good of humanity and that we are not too much of a burden to anyone although we are in our 70's and 80's. To us, it is a thrill to ride or drive out over our beautiful pasture land, most of it as virgin as when God made it. dotted with a herd of whitefaced cows and calves contentedly grazing which will leisurely come to my call expecting some small portion of food which they will eat from my hand. Each animal is an individual with a special name, description and date ofbirth all recorded in our "cow dairy-record book." Also, my saddle horse comes from the pasture on a run on hearing my whistle, expecting some special feed. During the temperate and warm part of the year I saddle my horse early in the morning about sunrise and ride to the pasture at that most beautiful time of dav to count the cows �and calves, check on water and salt and some mornings ride a mile or so of fence to check for needed repairs. On these early morning rides one has a feeling that you are really "away from it all." I occasionally would see an antelope, a coyote, a fox or a badger. The animals like our pastures as there is no noisy traffic within sight or hearing. I imagine that they have the same feeling that I do of being alone with God and nature and with no time schedule that must be met. Among the trees and flowers at home there are always the many different birds and the bees. Winnie and I have been bird watchers for years, a very interesting hobby. Some years when the clover blooms well we keep a few hives of bees and they are always industriously at work gathering pollen and nectar from Winnie's beautiful flower garden and also cross pollinating the blossoms on the fruit trees which causes the trees to produce a more abundant crop of fruit of which we have a plentiful supply most years. As winter approaches we find our basement well stocked with many kinds of vegetables, the product of Winnie's expert culi- nary art. Old Buttercup supplies us with plentiful good Jersey milk and cream of ,&: ,: il*!r-i: *' ''l r' Waiting to catch the wheat in the header barge. which we use a lot. Yes, and the biddies keep us in eggs. several times, mending worn spots on Mother's sewing machine. The monstrous, smelly I believe that Winnie and I are in better health than the average couple ofour age. So when we sincerely count our blessings, we are certain that you will agree with us that this is still the good life. We have a little country things were almost more than we two girls and Dad could handle so it wouldn't break all of Mother's precious sewing machine needles, but it seemed like machine repair was so much better than hand sewing, that we church here close where a small group of country neighbors meet faithfully each Sunday to study and discuss the Word of God. At the close of day we watch the setting sun, There's the evening meal when the chores persisted. Slats had all been replaced where needed and newly riveted to lie tight and flat. Roller bearing cages were rechecked and sickle blades replaced along with being sure are done, The stars light up as night draws nigh, And darkness drives daylight from the sky, We thank the Lord for His guiding light, Before retiring for the night. by J. Carl Harrison HEADER AND BARGE HARVEST T443 Back view of the header and the start of the wheat stacks, right of picture. sunbonnet ever tighter when gnats tried to get under and into my hair. "Sis!" No mistake now, and out I rolled. Sliding into fresh clothes left laying on my bed. . . soft, clean underthings, an old worn blouse and well-worn overalls, with comfy shoes over old socks - and I was ready for a bite of breakfast. Mother felt it was too hard for me to keep up the day-to-day going to the field with the menfolk, but it saved quite a few dollars and Daddy bragged on me so much and so eloquently that it would be a shame to let him down. Never sick, I couldn't pretend to be, so at age eleven I felt equal to the job and it did not hurt my budding ego either. Yes, it was harvest time in the mid 1920's, done at our farm with header and barges. The Harvesting wheat, front view of the header. "Come on, Sis! Get up. Daddy's harnessing the horses." My mother's gentle cajoling for probably the third time in the early morning of each summer harvest day rolled by my ears like so much buzzing from the pesky gnats in the harvest field. It bothered me but I'd brush it off and turn over, burrowing deep into my pillow to muffle the sound, just like I tied my stacker, a Mr. Scudder, had come from Salina, Kansas. He did it every year and worked very hard for the 912.00 a day that my folks felt he richly deserved if he could keep up with the young grain pitchers who tossed the fluffy yellow straw with loaded heads up to him from the header barges to shape into a wondrous stack that would shed rain and keep its loaf-like shape for the weeks until threshing time. Well over 60, he was often curt and snappy with those young whippersnappers who tried to make his life miserable in multitudes of ways as kids often do until their respect for someone older grows. We'd had the header canvases in the house the worn head was as good as could be so all those parts of harvest would go as well as one could prepare for ahead of time. We'd even made new rope to hold up the elevator. With a dozen dried apricot halves in the pocket of my overall's big front, some soft old gloves, two glass jugs wrapped with sewn-on denim thoroughly soaked for keeping our water, my sunbonnet as well as my straw hat, and remonstrance to "keep sharp," off I'd go to meet the men in the two barges and Daddy waiting with the six horse team, ready to sally forth to the field nearby or at times three miles away. My job was to keep a header barge under the elevator and move up and down at whatever pace was needed to make it relatively easy for the person in the barge to fill it very full and evenly all over to drive to the stack. We had two plodding old teams that knew the job so well they probably could have done it without my help, but together we made an essential part of the harvest crew. And I put up with a lot to get to be part of it . . . teasing, scarily riding the top of the elevator dangling my legs while one barge moved out and another pulled under in making the barge changes, oodles of chaff down my neck and scratches on any bare spots from the itchy beards, and the long tedious hours of round and round the field. But I remember it with relish. Seeing each field become a row of several stacks all lined up for the thresher to come and moving on to another field before a hail or rain could ruin it all seemed a real life-and-death matter and I was glad to be helping. No doubt, there were some events that scared me very much like horses acting up, but my dad was equal to anything, I thought, and I never felt any �danger. If we were harvesting on the home place, dinner was a beautiful sit-down affair with ham, chicken, noodles, macaroni and cheese or meatloaf and sometimes salmon loaf as a main dish, with accompaniments of gravy, over fluffy mashed potatoes, peas or green beans from the garden, cole slaw or jello, pickles and relishes plus pie or puddings. When the field being cut was several miles from home Mother would bring the meal to the field in the back seat of the car so the horses wouldn't have to travel, but rather get to eat and rest. It always seemed to me that the horses really controlled the harvest about as much as the weather. Ifone got colicky or they grew too tired, it would mean a shutdown and when the whole affair took a month maybe, there was no time to waste, so great thoughtfulness was taken for the horses. But dinner was glorious in the field, too. About the same food, served from skillet and pans as we stood or squatted in the barge's shade, topped off by lemon meringue pie was Mother's choice. And she'd bring freshly pumped water too if the wind was blowing so we'd have cool water for the afternoon. I can't remember that coffee or other drinks were part of the meal, but it wouldn't have mattered to me. But Daddy was always so tired, he seldom ate very much, but rather stretched out on the cool cement porch floor or under a barge and rested until he knew it was time to get going again. The harvest time was grueling for he always had the full care of the horses, currying and harnessing them, while they munched the oats and hay he had placed in their mangers. Furthermore, it was he straddling that sinuous header rudder wheel all day, guiding the huge machine around the corners and over the bumpy ground up and down the mile strips of wheat. It was no wonder he grew thinner than he already was with the passing weeks and often had deep pains in his side that Mother secretly feared was appendicitis ofthe chronic kind. It never really got him down but he wasn't much to complain, so we never really knew just how miserable he might have been. I can clearly remember how thin his overalls became in the crotch. and it made me wonder how much bruising his legs took. We worried about him a lot. If we had a break-down or a shower I was rather glad. He could have a change of pace, at least for a while. These were the usual kinds of chores to do too, like milking, and hogs to slop, and windmills to keep working, plus cattle to check on frequently. And Mother was doing her thing with garden, laundry, chickens and turkeys all that time, too, plus canning some if there was anything left to put in a jar after all our wonderful meals. Now, as I look back on that time each year, I am somewhat awestricken. Folks think the combine harvest days get wild and nervewracking. They should have been around in the so-called "good old days" of harvesting with header and barges! by Dorothy C. Smith IIOME BUTCHERING T444 cious as they made their clandestine plans. Maybe I felt a bit "left out." Then, shortly before they left, two of them came back in the school house and asked me to go along and I Did! by Marie E. Greenwood THE LADIES AID T445 by Eda llartman THE LADIES AID Home butchering at the Elvin Wilson's in the late 1940's. As a young girl I remember watching and helping with the butchering. Dad always did his own butchering, usually with the help of neighbors. He built a fire under a large barrel of water, and, when it got very hot, they scalded the hog and scraped the hair off. It was then left over night to cool out. When butchering beef, they always skinned the beef and sold the hide. Next day after butchering a hog, it was brought in the house and Mom would cut it up with Dad's help. The hams and bacon were salted down to cure. Was that ever tasty meat! They put them in a big stone jar. The sausage was ground and seasoned. Because there was always too much to keep fresh, Mom made patties, cooked it and put in jars and poured fresh grease on it and sealed the jars. She also canned beef and pork. It was my sister's and my job to cut up the fat for lard into small chunks. The next day Dad would get his kettle out, build a fire under it, and dump in the cubed lard and T'was in the spring of '35 Important plans s;ere laid, Before we knew r^,hat we had done I,le started Ladies Aid, In thirty years the sales rve served The piles of quilts we made Would stagger many a weaicer soul But nd the Ladies Aid. In characters boEh great and small In wonderous plays we played No acEor out in HolLywood Coul-d touch Ehe Ladies Aid. The money made in thirty years Put Con3ress in the shade. That's nhat Ehey need co run this land. They need a Ladies Aid. From l{odeL T's to Cadillacs In every car thats made No matter what the weather is I{e wenE to Ladies Aid. i'le wa Lked, we rodq ne pushed, we pulled And oft with mud were sprayed. !^lhaE if our ha ir was s light ly down I{e got to Ladies Aid. cook it until it was melted or rendered. Then he put it through a lard press and it was stored in stone jars. Mom used the lard for cooking and baking. When it began to be too aged, she used it to make homemade soap. She kept some of the cracklings and used them in making cornbread. .:.:r. l_ ,;,i.'rr,, by Florence McConnell MISS CHANDLER DID IT! T446 The other day thoughts of teaching school at First Central back in school year L922-23 came to me. So here is a bit of reminiscing about the high school where I was teacher that year. There were nine or ten students and we occupied one corner of the north half of the building which also accommodated the 5th,6th, 7th and 8th grades. I was 21 years old and the high school students were in their mid-teens. I think Theodore Smith was eighteen years old. However, they were a studious and well-behaved bunch and we had good rapport. Maybe I was being a bit kiddish when I joined them on the swing for a group The 1922-23 First Central High School students picture. Theodore Smith, Russell Greenwood. On the swings: Gertrude Church (Sally Bauder), Clara Radspinner, Hazel Lesher, Ruth Church, Ida Smith (Boecker), and the teacher Marie Chandler Near the end of the school term, the young folk decided to have a "sneak day" like the high schools in town. I was trying to be dignified and authoritative but not suspi- and Miss Chandler (Marie E. Greenwood). On top of the swing, I to r: Chester Storrer, Bertie Austin, (Greenwood). �VONA � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource History of Kit Carson County Description An account of the resource Brief historical stories and elements from the founding and recent history of Kit Carson County, Colorado. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Book Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Vignettes Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1988 Subject The topic of the resource history Description An account of the resource A series of poems and short anecdotes about life on the prairie as recorded in the book History of Kit Carson County. Type The nature or genre of the resource text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Salmons, Janice Hasart, Marlyn Smith, Dorothy Language A language of the resource English Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. History of Kit Carson County Volume 1 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource text/pdf Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Curtis Media Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a>