Church Community

 

Shiloh

 

Shiloh was a small church community located in the Northwest section of Kit Carson County, CO.  The church still stands, in serious neglect and appears to of been abandoned more then 50 years ago.  Out behind is the graveyard, again neglected.  Weeds hide the markers and critters burrow here and there. 

It appears no descendents from the community still live in the area.  Steel pipes mark the edges of the graveyard to keep the farm from encroaching. 

The prairie winds flow unfettered thorough the roof and open windows.  Having withstood the elements over the decades the little tattered building is a reminder, when dreams and hopes filled the land.  Whispering winds filter through the open boards, rustling the memories of other times. 

Old farm machinery resides in the side yard

Old wooden plaster lath is revealed as time takes its toll on the church.

The out house has gone to rest in its repository.  

Among the weeds are a the few headstones.  

Valley PO

The Valley Community

 

            The Valley Community shows two different locations for their Post Office in the NE corner of Kit Carson County.  One location is the far end of the county, next to the line with Washington/Yuma County.  The other is south about 5 miles, next to the Lincoln County line.  At the locations indicated on the map, there are no signs that anything had existed at these locations. 

            Rural Post Offices, like this were usually operated out of the farmer’s house.  Sometimes a store would arise, but for the most part, these little farm Post Offices would consolidate into a larger community. 

            With the arrival of the dirty 30’s many of these farms became vacant after being blown out.  Another farmer would buy it at auction and add it to his farm.  Over time the old farm building would be torn down and become farm land. 

            This is what appears to of happened to the building that housed the Valley PO’s.  The use of the valley name did not get lost.  Near one of the locations is the Valley Farm and Ranch.  Drive up over the ridge of one of the nearby farms is a small valley.  It appears a nice stream had flown through there at one time. 

            Before settlement, small streams and springs were quite common on the prairie of Eastern Colorado.  With settlement came tillage and water wells.  Much of this activity has directed the water to other places but with a heavy rain, some of these creeks still run.  It is amazing to see a dry sand creek full of water rushing down the valley. 

    

     

   Sprinkled in the area are a few farms and a few remains of farms and ranches that used to be.  The windmills still indicate where the water is and the gathering of the bovines.  Trees line the homes, many times hiding them in their cool shade.  Old equipment still dots the land and rolling pastures of grass. 

            Years ago an old wagon road sliced through this area, connecting trails in the south to the northern trails.  It is a land of flat fields to open rolling pastures with the occasional grove of trees. 

 

The River of Tales

Purgatory Petroglyphs

 

            Walking gingerly over the boulder, Joe was looking downward as the boulder dropped off.  At the edge the incline was severe but Joe had his feet dug in.  Looking below saw the pathway he wanted.  The rubble pile from the avalanche stretched off in the distance but it was easy to skirt, just took some time.  Easing back up the slope of the boulder, Joe turned around to backtrack and begin a swing around the rock pile. 

            Off the boulder he scrambled, down the slope to where the pile of rocks ended.  Around the heap Joe walked.  Soon he was around the rocks and began scrambling over the loose rocks, carefully watching where he stepped.  These rock piles were notorious for snakes.  Stepping off the scree, his feet touched down on dirt.  Up the slope was a scramble to the crevice he could see between the boulders on the canyon wall.  Stepping around a house size boulder, Joe spied the path he was looking for.  A short ravine led back into the canyon wall.

            The rock path was damp from a small spring that oozed out from under the boulder.  The air was cooler from the dampness and ahead was the goal. 

            A whole wall of rock art, the Indians had came here for the cool spring and left their sign.  In the coolness of the small spring they could spend time chipping on the sandstone.  There were the circles, the deer, other animals, buffalo and signs of the spirits. 

            Going on back into the crevice, Joe discovered it was a cave, reaching back in the sandstone cliffs of the canyon.  Slipping the pack off, Joe mounted a miners lamp on his cap and took out a flashlight.  Putting the pack back on, he ventured on into the darkness.  Shining the flashlight on the walls revealed paintings.  The Indians had been in here and from the light of the fire had marked the walls.  Most were faded yet a few glowed in the light.  Pulse was rushing, heart was pounding, a treasure trove of ancient Indian art covered the rocks on the caves entrance.  Round and round the flashlight traveled, revealing all types of petro glyphs and pictographs from centuries ago. 

            On into the cave Joe walked, to see what was deeper inside.  A rock out cropping narrowed the entrance and Joe had to turn sideways to get around the rock.  As he stepped past the out cropping a cold wind whistled past him.  Shirt was waving and hair was standing on end.  Taking another step the wind ended and there was a cool breeze coming from the right.  Shining the light that direction, there was a small opening between the rocks.  Getting on knees, Joe shined the light into the opening.  Darkness was revealed until there was a glint flashing back at him. 

Waving the flashlight around the glint stayed there.  Now it was curious, what was causing the reflection.  On hand and knees he could crawl into the opening.  Turning on the miner’s lamp, Joe got down and began crawling into the unknown.  Cool air wafted past him, feeling good after being the hot sun most of the day. 

            A short distance in, Joe stopped, hair stood on end, he blanched, fear rolled over him.  Out of the opening a wail began, the moan of a crying woman.  Backwards Joe began to try and scramble but it wasn’t fast enough.  The low moaning built into a shrill cry, growing ever louder.  Ears were on fire from the noise.  Out of the small opening Joe scrambled as the scream reached ear piercing levels.  Running to the daylight of the cave opening, both ears covered trying to block the pain.  Out into daylight he popped.  Eyes bulged out, face white and ears covered. 

            In the daylight the scream subsided to a low wail.  Collapsing on the ground, Joe lay there.  Breathing going full throttle, ears throbbing from pain.  Passed out, he laid there.

            Coming back to consciousness, Joe groaned, rubbed his ears, looked at a now dim sky.  The sun was setting when Joe came around, shadows were long.  Sitting up, he looked around, the ground was damp where he had lain, below were piles of rocks, above were huge boulders.  Where am I, What happened, Joe was mumbling to himself. 

            There was no crevice nearby, no openings in the cliff and no rock fall.  Over there he could see his truck, beside him was his pack.  On his cap was the miner’s lamp and on the ground was the flashlight.  Stunned he looked around in disbelief, how did I get here, he asks himself. 

            There is only a dim memory of Joe scrambling over the boulders, climbing into the crevasse, finding the petroglyphs and the cave.  Then the wave of the screaming rolled over Joe’s foggy thoughts.  Covering his ears, he grimaces in pain as painful memories flood over.  Soon the ache subsides and he looks around again, not recognizing anything.  In a stupor, Joe sits there.  Thoughts are going 100 gazillion per second.  Head is ringing, the mother of all hangovers.  Turning eyes, twist around to survey the scene.  Everything is off kilter.  Joe looks at himself, asking, what happened to me.

            In a daze, Joe stumbles to his pick up, finds the water and sits down.  Taking sips, the cob webs become fuzzy.  Few more drinks and the fuzzier become clear.  Collecting the thoughts of a rambling mind, Joe accesses his situation.  Walking back to his pack, he picks it up, puts the flashlight in and lugs it back to the truck.  Into the cab he tosses the pack.  Going around to the other side Joe crawls under the steering wheel.  The motor roars to life.  Easing into gear, Joe begins a puzzled trip home. 

Country Community

Liberty Community

  Liberty was a church community, located in central Lincoln County, CO.  Many of these little churches dotted the plains years ago.  Few survived the Dust Bowl of the 30’s.  The land around Liberty is mostly ranch land because the soil is very sandy and not good farm land.  Yet here people settled and raised their families. 

  Today the only reminder that there had been a community is the remaining graveyard.  The church was removed a number of years ago, there is a slight depression in the ground where it had once been located.    The graveyard is well laid out, with section and row markers still in place.  Somebody in the area gives it TLC on occasion, moving the weeds/grass. 

Over the years I would drive past the little graveyard, giving little attention.  I would stop on occasion to take a picture of the gate.  The entry is very ornate and was a good subject for some nice pictures.  I finally made it appoint to go visit and have a look see.  I’m guessing there were lots of wooden crosses that were used in the early days and they have rotted or blown away.   There were some homemade markers and some of an early century style.  I did not see any veterans headstones.  The latest I saw was 1935.

I found an old history book for Lincoln County and It had a picture of the church and gave a brief history on the community, the local settlers.  From the looks of the picture, the church was on the downhill side of fading.   By the time 1940 rolled around the church was gone and many of the early settlers had moved on.  The graveyard is a silent memory of days gone by. 

Transcontinental Silver Spike

The Great Train Race

               July 1870, the Kansas Pacific Railroad arrived at the Willow Springs stage station.  Rather than put their train stop at the stage stop, the RR went on west a bit and built a division point.  Here they would build a roundhouse and a depot.  This wide spot the railroad was building would become the village of Hugo, Colorado. 

               While the Kansas Pacific was working on their division point, their subsidiary, the Denver Pacific had arrived in Denver.  Completing the rails from Cheyenne to Denver.  Governor John Evans had run out of money and could not find any more financing  So the governor went to the KP and struck up a deal.  The KP would provide the financing and money to complete construction of the DP to Denver.  In return, the KP would gain controlling interest of the DP.

               So it was agreed that the newly constructed RR would become a joint line operation between the two railroads.  The newly formed town of Hugo came into existence.  The midway point between Hugo and Denver was Strasburg.  To this point the two railroads would race.  The winner getting bragging rights and all the puffery they want.

               So the race began, the Denver Pacific building East from Denver, the Kansas Pacific building West from Hugo.  The sweat rolled off the gangs as they laid rail.  Records were broken for the most rail laid in a day.  The men were leaning into their work, wanting to beat the other RR gang from that other RR. 

Work continued uninterrupted, most the Indians had left the area and Custer and his troops were still assigned to patrol the KP line.  The work crews were about a days’ work from the finish line and the roar of the workers rolled over the grassland.  Next day would the end of the race, the transcontinental RR would be completed.

               That night the KP foreman took some men and walked the ROW to the finish.  As the men walked along, they were making sure things were in order for the next day sprint.  Rails were lined up, spikes were placed, fish plates and bolts were at the joints to hook the rails.  If they found bad ties, they were replaced or corrected. 

               Next morning with first light, the workers were out laying rails.  The sing song of the workers serenaded pares life.  Apparently that little extra effort of the KP foreman worked.  For the KP crew arrived at Strasburg over an hour before the DP showed up.  When the DP got the last rail in place the celebration was underway.  Dignitaries were on hand and barrels of whiskey rolled on to town by the wagon load.

               The KP chief sought out the KP foreman to be caretaker of the Silver Spike for the ceremonial driving of the final spike, a Silver one.  The whiskey flowed and all night the crews celebrated.  Next morning the Dignitaries were busy getting ready and the KP chief was looking for his foreman. 

               The Forman was found, sleeping off the night before.  The chief asked him for the spike.  Picking up his pants and rifling through the pockets, the silver spike could not be found.  During the night’s celebration the Silver Spike had gained its freedom and gone on down yonder someplace. \

               Uttering choice words, the chief stormed off the ceremony without the treasured spike.  The foreman, still blurry and fuzzy staggered after him and produced a regular spike.  And the Transcontinental RR was completed without the driving of the silver spike. 

               Oh the KP had a bridge over the Missouri River.  The Union Pacific had to ferry their passengers over the waterway.  In a Strasburg town park is a small obelisk marking the Silver Spike Ceremony.  It will no rival Promontory Point for notoriety.  Instead it will be a splitter of hairs and maybe a footnote in history books. 

Punkin Center

Punkin Center, Colorado

Punkin Center is one of those wide spots where two highways cross, SH 71 and 94.  Here at the junction, there used to be the gas station, restaurant, store, and garage.  The state highway dept. also has a district shop at the junction.  Years ago, the intersection was a busy place.  Cars would stop for fuel and the café stayed busy. 

The fella that ran the gas station was a true westerner.  He carried a side arm on his hip and more then once, the presence of the pistol thwarted a robbery.  Late 1940’s, the proprietor was not so successful. 

Couple young joy riders stopped for gas and overpowered the owner.  In the ensuing scuffle the owner of the gas station was killed during the robbery.

The county Sheriff, investigated, gathered evidence, went back to his office.  Making calls to adjoin counties and asking about incidents in their areas, The local sheriff was able to garner some leads.  After a year and half of investigation, the Sheriff gained enough evidence and information to arrest a couple from the valley down south.

Two young men were out joy riding and they decided they were going to stop at the gas station, fill up, then rob the owner.  During the robbery, they also killed the attendant.  Which resulted in a lifetime visit at the Canon City Hotel.

Today, Punkin Center is pretty quiet, the traffic passes through the junction.  The north/south flying through.  The east/west, pausing to salute the stop sign.  The highway dept still has their district shop there and a few folks still call Punkin Center home.

Punkin Center is the home of the World Championship Garden Tractor Pulling.  Through the summer, the garden tractors take center stage.  There is a pulling course and the garden tractors roar down the track. 

The Remains

Golden Belt Route

            The Golden Belt Route was the shortest route to the Rocky Mountain goldfields from St Louis, MO.  After the Kansas Pacific RR completed their rails to Denver in the fall of 1870, they heartily promoted the route.  Beside the railroad tracks, the wagon ruts grew as travelers followed beside the rails and the railroad was hauling freight and passengers west.  For travelers in the 1870’s it was an express route west. 

            A variety of little towns had been built by the railroad to serve their trains and hopes that people would settle the area becoming customers.   With the arrival of the automobile, the wagon road next to the rails became a highway.  The Golden Belt Route became US Highway 40 as it crossed Kansas into Colorado.  Then the government rerouted US 40 and in some places little towns were left high and dry as the highway was over there someplace.   No longer did the traveler pass through the little villages the railroad had built along their route to the gold fields.   

A frozen Coon Creek, where the Mirage stage stop was 

            With the highway realignment, the towns began to fade and soon were ghost towns.  There is a small section of this route that is pretty much like it was in the 1870’s.  When the highway was changed, the ranchers and locals continued to use the old highway as did the railroad, keeping the old route intact.  Civilization has not changed the area much. 

There are crossroads that lead to other adventures. 

            There is open range and cattle stroll down the country road that winds its way cross country next to the railroad tracks.  Few of the old concrete bridges from the 1900’s are still used, a few have been removed and replaced by culverts.  For the most part it is where the wagons of the early 1800 have rolled followed by the new fangled horseless carriages.  Bouncing along this bumpy country road is like stepping back in time.   Here one can imagine the wagons rolling along, listen to the whistle of the train as it passes, buffalo on the ridge, the prairie is the same as it was over a century ago. 

            This old portion of the Golden Belt Route begins where the town of Clifford once was and ends at Aroya an empty ghost town.  The dirt road passes through three town, two stage stations and lots of Indian folklore.  Here I can wander along, quietly, listening to the song birds of the plains, watch the eagles, falcons or hawks circle overhead.  The deer stand in the gully warily eyeing the interloper and on the ridge is the antelope sentential, watching. 

            In the spring of 1870, the Indians launched a series of coordinated attacks on the railroad workers and stage stations.  Numerous workers were killed and wounded fleeing back to the army post at Kit Carson seeking safety.  These attacks brought General Custer out to patrol the rail line and prevent further attacks by the Indians.  There were no mare attacks for the Indians had fled north and would meet up with Custer on another day. 

            So when I bounce along the dirt road I have all this to ponder and my mind goes back to the 1870’s when all this was happening.  I can look at the land and wonder is that where the Indians hid for their attack.  Where were the railroad workers?  What would it of been like working on the western frontier?  The mind is a fertile place to conjure up stories about what was happening 150 years ago. 

The ranch is where the Aroya stage stop had been.  

            I drive past where the stage stations had been, now it is barren vacant land sitting in silence.  The little creek flows under the bridge as I cross over headed for the next town.  One family still lives there calling it home, they are third generation ranchers in the area.  Birds sit on the fence line watching the approaching pick-up.  The railroad tracks are silent ribbons of steel awaiting the next train.  It is a quiet adventure as I bounce along the road, cattle ahead lounging on the roadway.  As I approach they get up and move out of the way. 

            The occasional rancher rolls down the road to check on his cattle, the letter carrier pauses by the country mailbox and a railroad pick up parks on the road making notes of the rails.  Otherwise it is a moment in time that passes back to centuries before. 

At the eastern end is the remains of Aroya 

Aroya, CO

Aroya Cemetery

            Aroya is a small town that faded out of existence few decades ago.  A few years ago it had a population boom.  A family hauled a trailer out to a vacant lot and set up.  Somebody else hauled another trailer out and joined and just in a short time the population doubled.  The boom did not last long, today the trailers sit abandoned on the north end of town.  The ghosts of the other building still there no longer have company except for the occasional tourist that visits. 

            The cemetery I never really got clear directions on where it was and it was not visible from any of the roads.  I finally found some people in Kit Carson, CO that told me how to get to it.  Park on the roadside they said and walk up the hill across the rancher’s pasture.  On the top of the hill you’ll see it.  Well I parked my car along the road and began hoofing across the pasture.  It was with care as I placed my steps for I did not want to make friends with the cacti that dotted the grassland. 

            Sure enough, up on the hilltop was the small cemetery.  The rancher had put a fence around it because the cattle were knocking over the headstones.  There is no caretaker so the little patch of land was overgrown with weeds and the north fence was buried in tumble weeds.  This time of year, snakes are not a major concern, otherwise make steps very carefully. 

            The ranch that owns the cemetery placed a monument at the cemeteries edge, listing all the people that are buried in the plot.  Well the ones that they knew of.  The JOD ranch, that owns the surrounding land, is one of the oldest continuing ranches in the state and still calls Aroya their home although I believe their mail comes from Wild Horse. 

Most of the graves there are unmarked and only the smaller stones are still standing.  But it opened more questions.  For the date on the graveyard is 1907.  Aroya was established as a railroad stop in 1870.  That leaves a number of years vacant.  My guess is, the hill had been used as a burial grounds but not much record was kept.  The other thing is, Aroya has been part of three different counties, causing record keeping problems.  Back then, there was also the tendency to just go dig a hole in the prairie, say a few words and place a small cross of sorts and life went on. 

Being along a stage route, The Smoky Hill Trail, there were numerous Indian attacks in the area.  Also being a railroad town, there would have been the occasional wild times on the frontier.  So scattered here and there are probably a variety of grave sites.  

Kirkuk, CO

            Kirkuk, CO sits just west of the Kansas border in central eastern Colorado.  Not much left of it.  It appears it had been a farm house that held the postal contract for a time.  There are few trees n shrubs there and steel grain bin. 

            Nearby is the Smoky Hill schoolhouse which still stands.  T was hit by a tornado number of years ago.  The concrete shell is still there and the boarding/ rooming house.  With the changes in transportation, the kids were bused to a nearby town for school after the tornado mutilated their school

            A side bar on the area.  The North Fork of the Smoky Hill River runs through the area.  Well its not much of a river any more with all the farming.  In the mid 1600’s lots of travelers on the Smoky Hill trail would divert at the fork and go north.  In the 1850’s the nort fork was carrying more water, so people thought it was an advantage to follow. 

            Not so, when they got up on the flats in Colorado, the river dried up.  There were no landmarks and most of the travelers had no idea how to find water on the flat prairie.  Many would go wandering looking and end going in circles, back where they started.  A few would back track and rejoin the Trail.  A few would wander finding the wagon trail to the north and the springs on the Republican river and by then many were rather thirsty.

            Then there were those in such a hurry to get to the goldfields they would travel during the prairie snowstorms.  In circles they would go, sometimes ending up further east then when they started.  Supplies were low and frozen travelers they would be. 

            Today the Kirkuk area is home to some of the most prosperous farms in the country.  And when the land dries out, the dust will still float in the air but no longer like the dust bowl days.  

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.