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. 

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. 

Rago Colo

Rago, Colorado

Rago was a small community in the NW part of Washington County, next to the Morgan County line.  It had a Post Office, shops, stores and a roller skating ring.  The skating rink was an unusual amenity in these small settlement communities on the prairie.   Scattered across the land are other communities with roller rings.

There is not much left of the little burg.  There are some trees that mark the spot and out in the pasture are the rubble piles and foundations where the stores and homes had been.  Today cattle graze among the ruins, listening to the whispering winds of the past. 

It is mostly range land in the area and there are a couple of ranches nearby and some old, falling apart buildings.  The windswept land had its horrible moments during the dirty thirties.  Reminders of the Dust Bowl can be seen on occasion.  One ponders the hardships the early day settlers had to deal with. 

A roller rink would be a good diversion.  It probably also the social center for the area.  Many a young couple met and romance flourished on the hard boards.  The rink was probably also used as a community center.  Meet and discuss the problems of the day, quilting Bee’s, card parties and the weekend hoe down.

One can sit on the empty country road and hear the voices of the past.  Let the imagination roll back to a time that has passed.  Today it seems like hard times.  Back then it was life and people rolled with it.  There was no big government, people made their own way.  This is the heritage our forefathers handed off to us. 

A song of the land that rolled all the way across and ocean and traveled westward.  A spirit that was undaunted by the land.  The land held dreams of their own piece. 

Woodrow School

Woodrow Schoolhouse

            The Woodrow schoolhouse is located to the south and west of the town of Woodrow.  A true country school, surrounded by prairie and farmland.  The land is now pretty empty, most of the farmhouse are gone.  There are a couple of farm homes nearby and the home of the folks that bought the old schoolhouse. 

            The building has set neglected for years and shows the wear.  Trees have sprouted up next to the foundation, windows are broken and the roof is crumbling. 

            In the late 40’s, oil was discovered in NE Colorado, the Julesburg Basin, that stretched into southern Washington County.  This oil boom provided some taxes for the local school districts and the folks of Woodrow got together with the people of Lindon.  They agreed to consolidate their schools and a new school was built in the pasture.  Woodrow School would be no more.  It would become a part of Woodlin School. 

            At the time the new Woodlin School was built, it was a state of the art facility.  Best equipment, school labs, classrooms, cafeteria and sports facility.  But the rural population decline did not halt.  The new consolidated school lost students and today it is a country struggle to keep things going.  Yet the country folks do not give up, their school is still their home pride and Woodlin is one of many schools out east that roll along, turning out some of the best students in the state. 

            The old Woodrow school building still stands, for how many more years is a question.  Like a waning beacon it stands on the prairie. 

Community of Flat Top

Flat Top, Colorado

The community of Flat Top was located near the four corners of Lincoln, Arapahoe, Elbert and Washington counties meet.  Situated at the base of the mountain that it took its name from, it was a Post Office, General Store combination.  The first Flat Top Post Office was located in a ranch house about 4 miles north.  With the opening of the store the PO was moved. 

Way back in the early 1900’s there was a good collection of homesteaders in the area to support the little sore and the other businesses that popped up.  Like so many little communities on the High Plains, the Dust Bowl blew many off their land and today it is pretty empty country. 

Today there are a few ranches in the area and the bovines keep the prairie grass mown.  Traffic on the highway flies past going down hill and the south bounders begin climbing up the hill.  On the high plains the 7500 foot hill is just a big hill, not a small mountain.  Because over that a way are the snow capped peaks of the Rockies.  The big mound of dirt called Flat Top is just that, a big hill, an elevation of around 6000 feet.

To the south was the Railroad and many of the local farmers went to Genoa, rather then going over the hill to Limon.  Going around the hill was easier then going over it.  One of the farmers, when he hauled his grain to town, would stop and fill up with coal for the home trip.  That winter he had coal to sell to his neighbors. 

Short distance away was Walks Camp and the Churches that many attended.  To the West were the Breaks.  Here were cool woods, small streams and plentiful wildlife.  The site of many summer family outings.  It was also the hiding grounds of a small band of Indians that did not want to go the Reservation.  By estimates, they were able to avoid the government until WWII. 

It was a land of many faces that held a great allure until the drought of the 30’s reared its ugly head.  Many did cling to their land and survived the dust storms and today their ancestors still live in the area working the land. 

The old highway winds across the face of the hill.  

Gary School

          Gary was a community situated in the SE corner of Morgan County. The schoolhouse is about the only reminder that there once was a community.  There are no buildings in the area that look like they could have been stores.  The Post Office, more then like;y was operated out of a private residence..

          The schoolhouse has been neglected for years and is overgrown that is has almost disappeared.  The small gym/auditorium sits high enough to be visible. 

          The landscaping out front has gone un tended and has covered over the front of the school.  In the back it is overgrown with weeds and assorted rubble.  The driveway around the school is maintained and appears to used to park equipment on occasion.  The back of the gym had double doors and may have been a garage at one time.  Now it house a fox and other critter. 

          Not a one room school but an interesting school to find and ponder as I walk around it.  Back in the day it was probably a primetime school for the country kids that went to school there.  From the classrooms and size I would guess it schooled 40-60 students, grades one thorough twelve.  Kindergarten was a city thing years ago. 

          The roof has caved in, windows are broken, doors stand ajar and mother nature continues reclamation work. 

River Bend Graveyard

Cemetery on the Hill

            For years and years, I have driven past the graveyard that sits on the hill just north of I-70.  It was one of the “One Day, I’m gonna go up there.”  Well that one day arrived a while back.  I got permission from the rancher to travel across his pasture and visit the cemetery. 

            So a blustery cold day I went down the highway to the exit off the Interstate.  Bouncing along the gravel roads to the pasture ruts.  Up the hill I went, following the ruts, bouncing over the pot holes, to the old graveyard on the hill.  The River Bend Cemetery has a tremendous view across the Big Sandy Valley. 

            Here I stood, gazing across the land.  On far ridge to the west is where the town of River Bend had once been.  Like its name says, the town sat on a bend in the river.  Over that ridge down to the tracks is where the village once was. 

            Talking with a local museum docent, she told me that there had once been evil people living there and they are now buried up on the hill.  She was probably right about the residents of the town, for it had been built by the railroad.  Then the spring of 1879, Colonel Reno garrisoned his troops here to protect the railroad workers. 

            This mixture of people would have attracted the saloon keeps, painted ladies, gamblers and other notorious folks.  I’m sure there would have been all types of conflicts and few resulting in the exchange of bullets. 

            The cemetery is over two miles to the east, would they of carted these folks that far or just planted in a hole down by the creek.  One thing the River Bend Cemetery has, is lots of unmarked graves.  There are slight depressions or flowers growing where the grave had been. 

            There are also the grandiose family plots with the towering markers and wrought iron fences.  There is one surrounded by a corral fence and no grave markers.  Some have elaborate stone work in the graves.  A few headstones have toppled and there the fading wreaths. 

            A lone tree has survived on the ridge, the other is but a barren, scoured trunk, standing nearby.  There is little moisture and the wind easily scoops the dirt out and carries it off. 

            It is a forsaken bleak land, until the spring showers arrive and the grasses greens up.  The graveyard on the hill becomes and emerald beaming out across the land, a green carpet.