Stormy Night

 

Dark and Stormy Night

 

Jeff strode through the woods, that dark and stormy night.  The wind danced over the trees, clouds played tag with the moonbeams.   Jeff was making rapid footprints as he strode down the path.  Lantern at his side, light beams lighting the way, penetrating the darkness. 

 

Shadows from the lantern light, bouncing off the shrubs.  Oh what a night for a horror story, Jeff thought.  This is the path the coven would dance down to their bonfire what a witching New England night it would be.  Jeff’s mind raced on that dark and stormy night.  Other images came forth as werewolf’s sat among the trees serenading the witches.  Naked warlocks scattered among the waving trees.  Bodies writhing and weaving to the sound of the rustling wind.  The thump of the branches pounding on the ground, a frenzy of dancing around the fire.

 

Jeff continued his pace along the path, watching the shadows dance across it.  The storm had pushed the wildlife into their burrows.  Looking ahead, Jeff could see the path ahead, lit by the silver beams of the moon. 

 

Oh what a romantic night this could be Jeff thought.  Walking my girl back home after the dance.  Brief interludes in the hidden shadows.  Jeff felt her warm body beside, rubbing on his arm.  

Milking Cow

The Intrepid Milker

John LaBorde

Way back when, my first summer job was working on a farm that had some milk cows.  Here I was, the little city boy off to the farm to learn farming and milking.  Don’t know if I ever learned how to do either. 

That Fall, I went out to the farm to visit my cousin for school break.  I was boasting how much I had learned and how great of milker I was.  I was so full of it and so proud I could have been mistaken for a peacock.  Like a banty I went crowing about how great I had become.

Next morning, helping my cousin and uncle with chores.  I kept the tall tale going, how good I had become.  The cows are ushered into the barn and we get ready to milk.  Uncle walks up to me, hands me a pail and stool.  Points at a cow.  With a bit of chagrin, I walk over to the cow.  Set the pail down, sit down on the stool and proceed to start milking. 

It was going pretty good, the pail was starting to fill up and my head was bursting.   When all of a sudden, KERWHACK.  I went flying across the floor, the side of my face was gooey and sticky and oh boy did it hurt.  I was looking at stars, pinwheels and other assorted things flying around inside me.  I open my eyes a bit and there is Bossie looking at me, as if to say, the milk is back there, not up here. 

I roll over as the shooting stars subside and look at the rafters.  My eyes pop open wide for the rafters are dancing and shaking.  Some more stars disappear and my ears open up.  I hear it, the loudest roar of guffaws I had ever heard.  I look back that a way, there stand my uncle and cousin just roaring as loud as I had ever heard.  Now I knew why the rafters were vibrating. 

Sheepishly I get up, wipe my head off.  Bossie’s tail had caught me square on the temple.  All the frozen manure and urine was like getting swatted with a boulder. 

I stumbled out and sat down for a bit while my uncle finished the milking.  I went to the Quonset and I got cleaned up, clean clothes and went in the house.  Setting down to breakfast, there was a piece of humble pie next to my plate. 

The Bull that Could

Barnyard Memories

County Fair

One a year the Fair is the end of summer or the beginning of fall.  The projects from the year are put up for judging and viewing.  It is also a time for friends from around the county to renew their friendships. 

Then, there is the carnival and rodeo, the added bonus of the fair.  My father and uncle had a livestock hauling business and usually got the contract to haul the rodeo livestock in to town.  They would help work the animals and keep the rodeo moving along.  It was neat to sit in the bleachers and watch them prod and cajole the critters through their paces. 

For the most part the animals behaved pretty good.  Oh there was always a calf or two that wanted to go over there.  There was the bronco that had a two buck routine then would stop stiff legged and buck no more.  For the most part, things went smooth, steers ran, wrestlers jumped and riders found that the arena floor was not padded.

The bulls were at the end and when that portion came round, the tension rose some.  Could hear them kicking a bawling in the chutes.  The cowboys standing over them trying to get situated just right and out the gate the bull would come with a roar.  Clods flying, spinning bull, rider plowing the dirt, whistle blows and the bull gets rounded up.

There was one ole Brahma bull that wanted nothing to do with the rodeo rider.  Quick turn, high buck and the bull was sending the rider towards the fence.  Doubt it lasted 2 seconds.  The Brahma threw the belt and went for a joy ride across the arena.  The arena workers could not get him turned towards the pens.  Bull on a mission headed for the northeast corner of the arena. 

There the bull met the fence.  Dazed the bull backed up, jumped up, trying to crawl over the fence.   The cowboys were there, waving and hollering but the bull just kept kicking and bucking, slowly working his way up the fence.  The folks in the grandstand were excited and lots of oohs and ahhs were drifting overhead.  

Bull managed to get over the fence and into the runway.  The next fence was but another obstacle for the bull.  Leaping up, he got on the top railing and with some kicking.  The bull on the loose was climbing the second fence.  The cowboys all the time, hollering and waving at him with ropes etc.  The bull was not to be deterred.  It was like he had a girlfriend over yonder he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Across the race track ole bull galloped, coming to the grandstand fence at the southeast corner.   By then folks in the seats were scrambling and looking for safe spots.  The track fence only slowed the bull down long enough for the cowboys to get around the grandstand and try to stop the bull.

Up and over the rack track fence the bull scrambled.   Folks in the grandstand were scrambling also.  There were screeches, screams and lots of hollering.  The escaping bull paid no attention the commotion.  Straight ahead was the carnival and midway.   Folks on the midway and on the rides had heard the racket and when they saw the Brahma headed their way, the volume of hollering went roof. 

Bull saw an opening between the midway and the rides.  Head lowered, he went charging for the carny.  People running hither and yon, the barkers had ducked down in their trailers.   The rides had stopped, stranding riders.  Folks were running any direction they could.  The bull bound through the opening between the rides and the midway. 

Out into the parking he loped.   Cowboys running behind trying to get him stopped.  Some riders had made it out the parking but the bull was ignoring them.  Over there was another fence and beyond was the freedom of a pasture.  The barb wire fence was no challenge for the bull.  Up and over he went.  As he headed to the north, my uncle’s voice yelled out,” Let him go. That is my pasture, We’ll get him the morning.”

The chasers, with a collective sigh of relief, stopped and watched the bull bounce over the ridge.  With the ruckus over, they had to go back to arena and finish the rodeo.  There were still a couple of bull riders waiting their turn.  Folks in the grandstand had gotten back to their seats.  The crowd was still abuzz and there was anticipation with the next couple of bulls. 

The bulls came charging out the chutes, the crowd cheering, wanting to see another escape.  The bulls were not obliging.  Their riders were tossed without dignity to the ground and back to the bullpen they went. 

Next morning my uncle goes riding out across his pasture looking for the wayward bovine.  Couple of guys were with him and by the water tank the escapee lounged.  They got him up and headed him the right direction.  The wayward bull trotted along like nothing was wrong. 

They get him to the gate and headed for the pens at the end of arena.  Placidly the rampaging bull sauntered along into the pen.  That afternoon the bull stood by himself in the pen watching the on goings in the arena.  Folks in the grandstand were talking and pointing but the bull was left alone. 

When the bull riding statured, there were some cat calls to get the wayward bull out and ride him.   An encore of the rampaging bull did not happen.   That evening he was loaded up and sent home with the rest of his friends. 

Hiding in the Breaks

The Last Indian Village

            Tucked back in the Limon Breaks was a small band of Indians that refused to go to the reservation.  They managed to stay out of the governments’ sights until the 1940’s, the beginning of WWII.  The breaks is a rugged wilderness of steep ravines, gullies and canyons, dotted with thick stands of cedars, pines and scrub brush.  At an elevation that ranges from 6000 feet to almost 8000 feet, not many people settled in the breaks. 

            It was too rugged for large scale farming and the weather makes for some nasty winters and springs.  This type of landscape made for a great place to Indians to live and thrive. 

            Scattered among the hills are numerous springs, feeding small streams.  It is a haven for wildlife, there was water, ample feed and protection down in the ravine bottoms.  This was great buffalo country and the Indians had been coming to the area for centuries.  There are caves among the cliffs, providing shelter for the Nomads that roamed the area.  Deer roamed the land, as did rabbits, antelope, coyotes and numerous other critters.  These provided food and clothing for the Indians.  There was wild fruit in the breaks, such as choke cherry, a variety of herbs and tubers grow along the bottom meadows.  For a subsistence life, it was everything a person needed to live. 

            At the end of the 1800’s most of the Indian wars had ceased.  The Indians had been carted off to reservations to become domesticated.  Not all stayed on the reservation.  They would wander off and return to the lands they knew and set up living like they used to.  The buffalo had almost been exterminated but the Indians managed to live on the prairie.  There are stories of ranchers running across small bands living on their ranch. 

            For the most part, the cowboys let things be and left the Indians to their devices.  A few would help, bring food, blankets or clothing.  Eventually the government would hear of these little groups, round em up and take them to the reservation.  The band in the Limon Breaks avoided detection for a number of years.  The ranchers in the area would help them and even offered them livestock if they were hungry.  Quietly the Indians went about their life in the woods and ravines.  The caves they used are marked with smoke from their fires.  Rings of rocks can be seen where they had their tepees.  Fire pits can be seen nearby.

            Driving on Interstate 70 across eastern Colorado, one would not even consider there would be a thick forest to the north of Cedar Point.  On the ridges to the north can be seen groves of cedar stretching to the north for miles.  Over the ridge, the land drops down into steep ravines climbing back up cliffs to mountains of about 7500 feet.  There are no homes back in there and it pretty much open rugged wilderness.  Wildlife still roam the area, it is cattle now that graze the land.  Here for about 40 years, a group of Indians avoided the long arm of the government, living off the grid.  

concrete house

House in The Field

            In my back road travels, I find all types of things, many piqué my curiosity.  Out in the farm flatlands I came across a huge old concrete structure in a state of slow decay.  It was not the usual farm/ranch home because of the way it was built.  There also doors all around, two on the front, one on the side and a backdoor plus a cellar door. 

            The two front doors, next to each other remind me of a hotel, boarding house with a café.  Nice large upstairs windows for the guests to stay in.  A large spacious basement with appliances for the family to live in.  All this in the middle of somewhere, close to not much.

            I got my old maps out, there were no old wagon roads, nor was there any kind of town at this location.  I’ve asked a few people in the area if they knew anything about the building…… got blank stares and quizzical empty eyes.  Oh well, someday I will find the right person. 

            On the eastern Colorado prairie it would’ve been a large luxurious building for the early 1900’s.  The interior was nicely finished, plastered walls, nice wood work.  In the basement a huge cast iron cook stove still resided.  The house had multiple chimneys and a variety of stoves pipe outlets in the walls.  It took a large chunk of money to build this house more then a 100 years ago. 

            On the side of the house was a large well house with storage tank.  The pipes still went from the pump house to the building, now exposed and naked plumbing.  It was a good sized complex.  The other thing that struck that maybe more then one family lived here.  Oh me, I speculate so much about a curious building way over yonder.  

Wallace Kansas

            Wallace, Kansas was about as wild of a western town one could find.  Pretty much anything and everything one could think of happening in old wild west happened here. 

                                           

            When the railroad began building from Wyandotte to the Pacific, they created all types of drama.  The railroad president was killed, his replacement was murdered in revenge and the road went almost broke.  Then they had the first wild cowtown of the west, where a guy by the name of Hicock gained fame.  Not only did Wild Bill shoot the yahoos and throw em in hoogscow, he also shot his deputy. 

            Them there was the guy by the name of Cody who got his name Buffalo Bill.  William Cody got a job with the railroad to supply buffalo to the hungry railroad workers. 

            There were train robberies, Indian battles, saloons, brothels, whiskey galore and all that stuff that goes with it. 

            A guy by the name of Custer got his taste of frightening Indians along the tracks until he ran away to find his wife. 

            The people that were following the railroad and building were writing stories for Hollywood’s old west. 

                      

            Before the railroad could cross into Colorado Territory, it ran out of money.  There was a war going on and the Civil War was soaking up funds.  So in western Kansas the construction came to as halt.  Nearby was Ft Wallace and the Town of Wallace Kansas bloomed at the end of the rails.  In 11865 there were estimated to be over 4000 people in town. 

            Just because there was a war going on over there, did not stop commerce.  Supplies to build the railroad continued to be shipped in.   There were supplies coming in for the gold fields in the mountains.  The Santa Fe trail had shifted north to transfer merchandise onto the trains for east shipment and the stage to Denver began here.  There were muleskinners, teamsters, laborers, merchants and other workers.   Throw into the mix the soldiers from the fort and there was good mixture for a boiling helltown.    

            Put a plank across a couple of whiskey barrels in a tent and one had a saloon.  Nearby were the houses of the evening.  There were the stores, banks, freight houses and a few homes. 

            Rough and tumble was the mode of the day at the end of the tracks.  There were shootings, fights, brawls and thievery of all types.   A merchant received a shipment of rope.  A local pundit made the remark that hopefully it would find uses for some of the sluggards hanging around town.  Down at the bridge would be a good place to string a few of em up, he noted. 

            With the end of the war, the Kansas Pacific Railway got construction money again.  The end of the tracks began moving westward again and HellTown went on to Kit Carson, CO. 

            With the end of the tracks gone, Wallace began to shrink and today there are few hearty people that  still live in town.  The business of downtown are closed, the storefronts are empty but the humor of the street name still stands very prominent.  Not many people turn off the Interstate any to see places like this.  Nearby is the Ft Wallace Museum.  They also have a restored stage station, a home station on the BOD stage line. There is also the military cemetery.

            The town has some neat old buildings and its fun to wander the streets, looking, listening to the breezes of other days echo with the passing tumble weeds.    

Tuttle, CO

 

It was a pain to find because of my preconceived notions.  I was expecting it to be there but it was over there.  Then when I only read one part and ignore the other books that is what happens. 

The Tuttle Post Office Is advertised by a local group and part of a variety pack of interesting places they advertise for their part of the plains. 

Out in the pasture sit the remains of the Post Office and general store.  There are some foundations from other buildings next to it.  In the weeds they are are well buried.  There is no public access, just a long distance view from the road. 

The sign they made for it had a good case of sunburn and will soon be replaced by another. 

Being made of stone with a tin roof, it should withstand the elements for a few more years.  It appears it was a prosperous place at one time from its size.  Yet the neighborhood around it is pretty vacant today.  The nearest house are back that way a few miles and the same the other direction.  Even the horizon is a rolling void of homes, just waving grasses. 

As the crow flies, the Tuttle Ranch is about 5 miles south.  By the modern country road of today it is about 9 miles around the bend and over the river.  The Tuttle Ranch had the mail contract during the late 1800’s and was the Post Office until the contract was awarded to another.  The Post Office moved to the General Store to the north but the name Tuttle was retained. 

There were a variety of Tuttle’s in the area and they were involved in some type of range war.  Information I have found has been very limited.  Hopefully one of these days I’ll turn over the right rock and find what I want. 

The two Tuttle ranches that show up on the map were with a couple of miles of each other and were on the freight road and Stage route following the Republican River. 

During the 180’s this area was hotly contested by the white invaders and the Indians.  There were more then a few Indian attacks on the ranch houses and the stage.  Some the locals I talked with, talk about finding all kinds of arrowheads in the area and other reminders of the when the Indians lived in the area.  Small caves in the area with smoke covered openings.

The Tuttle Ranch is no more, it was washed away by the flood of 1935.  The Republican River was visited by Noah.  Flood waters a mile wide and 20-40 feet deep.  This massive flood changed lots of things and today the dry stream bed looks so innocent. 

Back down this pasture trail a few hundred yards is where the Tuttle ranch had been.  Today very serene and peaceful and one can see why it would make a nice setting for a ranch.  Very contrasting where the stone Tuttle Post Office sits. 

Turning around a looking the other way a short distance is where station 21 for the Leavenworth and Pikes Peak Stage Station would have been. 

Like so many things in eastern Colorado, on private property and posted. 

Yet it is fascinating to drive the country roads and ponder what it would have been like to be riding over the country and see Indians ride up over the horizon. 

Instead now days I find some neat old abandoned homesteads.  Yet this was the heart of the Plains Indian Wars during the 1860’s while the Civil War was going on. 

Big Bend, CO

Big Bend is one of those places that sits over there, way off the highway but the railroad went there in the early 1900’s.  It was at the end of a stub branch, no through trains, a dead end.  To lay tracks like that, Big Bend must have been a very prosperous village at one time.  Today it is a spot on a country road marked by not much of anything. 

There is an abandoned store and garage that rest next to the road, nearby are some other empty structures and the forsaken grain elevator. 

I found a local history book and it talks about the railroad that the farmers were building.  Sugar beets was a big business back then and small processing plants were popping up along these little towns and the railroad was a good way to serve the sugar plants.  The Ark Valley RR was formed to serve these villages. It stretched from the Kansas border to Rocky Ford on the north side of the Arkansas Valley in southern Colorado.  Along this right of way were bunches of little stops, some became towns, most were industrial sidings for the train operations. 

The valley was fertile and all types of crops could be grown.  Various canning plants opened to process vegetables, a pickle factory and other truck crops.

The little railroad thrived on the ag business of the valley.  Eventually the AT&SF Railway acquired the rail line.  It had been an original investor and soon owner of the whistle stop rail line.

When the sugar beet market failed, it marked the beginning of the end for many of these small towns.  Then farming changed and the little growers were leaving, again another changed in the valley.  In the mid 1960’s the railroad abandoned the line and soon the rails were pulled up.  Left behind were these little stops, most now dwindled down to ghost town status.   As farming continues to consolidate many more of these little bugs shrink into the land. 

 

after looking at a railroad time table I have a bunch of little ghosts to go looking for.  A few I have posted on before, such as Hasty Colorado, Lubbers, McClave but there a few dozen more to go looking for. It will be a kick for there are none of the old roads any more and lots of the ROW has been plowed over.  It will be to that corner, down the road a piece, curve over there and a left turn to the buildings over there…. maybe. 

There will be lots of neat old buildings to see, ruts to dodge or bounce over but always something new around the bend.

Abandoned chicken farm……. no…. not the chicken ranch. 

World Basketball Champions

 

A story that grew into a legend of mythical proportions.  The little town on the prairie beat  the big city boys.  In 1929 the little town of Joes was the Colorado state basketball champions and went to the national championship tourney.  They progressed though the tourney but not to the finals.  Because they had beat at team that had beat a team that had beat the national champions, Joes was declared the national champions. 

Here was a little school of less then 40 students in all of 4 grades in High school.  There were 20 boys and 10 made the team.  The tiny school was the goliath slayer of the 1920’s. 

Today about all that is left of Joes is the story, now in epic proportions.  Population is less then 100 souls and the streets get rolled up at night and the wide spot on Hwy 36 is host to an occasional truck passing through in the night. 

Sore fronts, businesses sit silent along the highway, the liquor store shows some sign of life.  Peeling paint, boarded windows, tattered shutters on long neglected shops.  The school has long closed and consolidated with neighboring schools.  The roar of the crowds are silent.  Whispering winds of the past echo over the rooftops of yesterday. 

How does the little burg cling to life.  Back a ways off the highway sits a nice well kept modern office building.  The telephone company  maintains an office building in the little village, giving it life support.

Here are a few jobs to keep things going.  The nearest shops are not near.  A town of any size is an hours drive or better.  Here the few dwellers learn to live without lots of amenities. 

Then there is the guy that retired and moved to Joes.  He bought an old gas station and made it into hos shop.  Here he works on his dragsters and street rods.  There is a nice house next door and is well cared for.  Time marches on while he and a couple of friends tinker in the old gas station.  More hot air is generated along with some dregs of coffee.   In the wide spot on the empty highway life motors along. 

On the east side of town is a Memorial roadside park, picnic shelters, horseshoe pits and well manicured pasture grass. 

Hwy 36 across the eastern prairie probably has one of the best collection of little towns and old empty buildings.  It is a road of past times, passing many a ghost of other years.  From Strasburg east it is almost all ghost towns and dozens more on the country roads. 

Spring Valley, CO

 

Sitting on the banks of the West Cherry Creek River Branch, just north of the Palmer Divide is the little village of Spring Valley.  The school is still standing with a couple of out buildings and on north a ways is the cemetery and church. 

The Cherokee Trail passed through the area in the 1850’s and the Military had mapped out the area for travelers.  Trade from Mexico went through this area and the Mountain Man had been trapping in the area for decades.  With the numerous springs and the stream to follow it was a well traveled route. 

When the Cherokee Indians passed through they were on their way to the gold fields of California.  They were quite the gold miners in their home country of Georgia and they wanted to see what the west coast had to offer.  As they traveled they would pan in the streams looking for the shinny flakes.  Along the cherry Creek river the Indians found lots of teasers.  When got to where the river met they Platte River they found good flakes of gold.  Here they set up a camp at the confluence of the Cherry Creek and the Platte River, calling it Auraria, after their home in Georgia. 

The Indians searched the other streams nearby and where Ralston Creek meets Clear Creek they found their first good gold deposit in the river.  Returning to their camp, it was decided that small group would return to Oklahoma where they had been moved to and tell other members.  The rest would go onto California and the following year they would meet the other members from the tribe at Auraria Camp with their equipment. 

Soon the news of the gold finds in the rivers of Colorado was spreading and people were heading into the new frontier to seek out their fortune. 

The military built a fort in the Spring Valley to protect the travelers from attacks, Fort Iron.  A short distance to the north is where the Smoky Hill Trail joined Cherry Creek to go north.  Soon Cherry Creek was bustling trail of fortune seekers.  There were wagon trains of freight moving northward to supply the miners. 

More and more people began to move in and settle in the area.  The late 1800’s the community of Spring valley was established.  Stores were built, a schoolhouse, homes, a Post Office and other shops.  It was a rich ground for farming and raising cattle.  Potatoes, beans and hay were the major crops grown in the fertile area. 

As civilization expanded, highways were built and none went near the little farming/ranching community.  Soon the shops and stores were moving and the Post Office closed.  The window of history was closing on the once busy little town. 

Here is a link to the Douglas County Historical Society web page about little town.  It appears the Society had a lease on the property but lost it for some reason. 

http://www.douglas.co.us/about-us/historic-preservation/county-landmarks/spring-valley-school-district-no-3/

 

This area along the County line is some of the most spectacular ranching land in Colorado.  Sadly developers are acquiring some land and planting 2X6’s with roofs in the area, putting blotches on the rolling vistas. 

The school had been cared for but now appears to being neglected and at the whims of nature.  It is believed to of been built in the mid 1870’s.  For an old wooden building to have survived that long is a testimony to the care it had received.  The out building show signs of neglect yet they still stand after all those years.  On a hillside overlooking the valley resides the little country school. 

Greenland, Colorado

 

The last great open lands between Denver and Colorado Springs is how the Greenland Ranch was referred to.  200,000 acres of grass stretched along the Palmer Divide.  Fertile tall grass waved in the meadows as cattle grazed along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.  The last Ice Age, 800 years ago had left the land rich and fertile.  Springs dotted the land, giving rise to small streams coursing down off the hills.  Here cattle could roam across a five course land. 

Yet Greenland did not have its start as a ranching community.  In the late 1870’s the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad was pushing southward.  They platted out a small town here on 20 acres.  There was ample water in the stream and a good stop before the last push up the hill to cross the Palmer Divide. 

Homes were built, there was a depot, section houses and shops were opening.  Soon the railroad would be shipping carloads of potatoes.  The area was the potato capital of Colorado.  Nearby was Palmer Lake, here the railroad would harvest ice from the lake to use as refrigeration to keep the produce cool. 

As the potato farming grew, so did the ranching.  The chutes for loading of cattle on to stock cars still stands in Greenland.  Cattle could be gathered in for shipment to market or other pastures.  It was a thriving little village into the early 1900’s. 

The highway route was shifted and longer did travelers go through the village.  Greenland was on its way to becoming a memory.  The railroads continued to pass through but that was changing.  Passengers were no longer and the potato farming had changed.  Then the Interstate was built, going on the edge of town.  An exit on I-25 was built and some developers discovered the area.  Soon the land was growing 2X4’s and there were ranchettes. 

The Greenland Ranch did not sell to developers and for years one could go flying down the Interstate on see a couple of cowboys driving cattle across the pasture. 

There was continued pressure by developers to sell.  People got together to try and preserve some of the ranch to prevent development.  Using Open Space tax money, the county was able to purchase portions of the ranch and some other parcels in the area. The newly acquired county land was developed into Open Space Parks.  Today there are trails and parking lots on the former ranch ;land.  Cattle still graze the pastures and share with wildlife. 

One of the largest hers of Elk in Colorado migrate through the area.  The mountain lion can be seen on the nearby rocky ledges, back bears wander the land searching out food, the coyotes shares his howl and the foxes bound over the grasses.  It is still a wild area, loaded with birds, the Eagle soars over head, along with hawks and vultures.  The ravens send out their racket as they pass by and the turkeys peck among the fields. The birds of the meadow sing out their melody. 

The little ghost town has shown some new life as a few people have bought some old properties and built new homes. The ranch homes are still there and some of the old buildings still stand.

 

It is the big red barn that is the icon for the exit.  As traffic flies by on the Interstate the massive old barn stands out very prominently.

Hard to imagine that all of this was under ice at one time.  The mesas in the area are called pediments by geologists, for the ice carved the hill off flat.  These mesas stretch from south Denver to the Palmer divide and go out east a number of miles.  It was this massive slab of ice that created a lush area of small streams and springs.  The ice boiled up rocks, ground them up leaving behind voids, nutriments and varied landscape. 

The winters are harsh, dumping snow by the foot, staying below freezing for weeks.  The spring brings the hail, stacking up into 2 n 3 foot drifts, collapsing roofs and tearing up buildings.  It takes a hardy person to deal with the harshness.  Yet the summer brings a warm green land. 

Vaughn New Mexico

Rather unusual to visit but for a railfan it is a destination.  For here in the High Plains of Eastern New Mexico two railroads cross.  It makes for a great place to railfan. 

There are also a lots of great old buildings to see.  Years ago the little town was cling to the edge.  There was some traffic from the crossing highways and the occasional traveler would stop and spend some money.  Otherwise it was the one railroad that generated most of the business for the little wide spot. 

Then the railroad mergers began and things were changing.  The other railroad changed its crew change point to Vaughn.  This was a small boost to the town.  A new motel was built for the train crews to stay at.  A new coffee shop was next door and there were other support jobs added.  It was a small boom for the sleepy village. 

Downtown had some really neat old buildings in various state of decay. 

Not sure what is there now but it was a fun town to wander through and watch trains and the look at the ancient ruins of the a fading town. 

Deertrail, CO

 

Interstate 70 sliced through the heart of east central Colorado.  In the process it sliced the life out of many of the small towns that dot the high plains of eastern Colorado.  The high speed slab was built over there and the old highway the main street of many a small town was amputated.  No longer much traffic, the little town businesses would fail and soon main street sidewalks were rolled up.  Empty stores dotted the once heart of the town and ghosts from the past were the only visitors. 

Deertrail was of those little towns that struggled to keep a business district going.  Very little success.  Numerous businesses have opened, only to close a short time later. 

Deertrail was a railroad town built in the 1870’s and it prospered for a number of years.  Near by was a stage station and it was on the North Branch of the Smoky Hill Trail.  Its claim to fame, is the world’s first rodeo.  The town has a nice arena and they still have the rodeo. 

Set on the banks of the East Fork of the Bijou River, it is well wooded and a scenic location.  Deer roam the woods, hence its name and it great wildlife habitat.  Although the river flooded in 1935 and washed part of the town away.  The south side of the old highway is vacant and a parkway today. 

The north side of Main Street is a classic western town, brick store fronts, elevated walkway and the store front porches.  Here was the newspaper office, the dry goods store, hardware, grocery,a hotel and a saloon.  All the fineries a person could want in the late 1800’s.  One of the vacant stores caught fire a few years back and was gutted.  The store front still stands and the broken windows reveal charred timbers. 

Out on the Interstate, a couple of convenience gas stations have been built that catch an occasional traveler.  Few venture down to the old part of town.  Here the old saloon and restaurant are undergoing renovation and a few of the stores have been fixed up.  The junk dealers are pretty organized, there is a pizza place and a nice museum park with the old train depot, schoolhouse and log house.  Yet the old buildings on the old highway are the attraction.

Whoever is fixing up the old Brown Derby appears to have a bit of money and it make take this time.  Have not been through here since last year when I took these pics.  Yet when I drive the old highway, it is a fun place to pass through and ponder what it was like at the turn of the past century.