RR Stop ... Kipling Colorado

Kipling, Colorado

          Kipling was a wannabe RR town, where not much happened.  When the Chicago Rock Island and Pacific built to the Rocky Mountain goldfields, it was also building towns along the way.  These little villages would become customers of the railroad and also provide a place for maintenance crews. 

          When Kipling was platted out, that was the purpose.  A section crew and control point.  A siding was put in along with a depot and control signals.  There probably was also a couple of house built for the RR crews to live in. 

          Kipling is located on the eastern banks of the Republican River, overlooking the valley.  There was a trading post down in the valley that wanted the railroad to stop there but stopping at the bottom of a hill is not what they want to do.  So the Rock Island put their stop on top of the hill.

          With the passing siding at Kipling, EB trains could build up extra steam for their run across the valley, Highball down hill and have enough momentum to easily climb up to the other side.  WB trains could pull into the siding and await the high flying EB. 

Today, there are not much of any reminders that there had been a little spot on the rails.  The signal lights lay in the weeds along side the rails and there is a country grade crossing of the rails. Traffic noise from the nearby Interstate rolls over the land, blending with the prairie breezes. 

Markers from the dirty 30’s still remain alongside the RR ROW.  The snow fence that had been built to protect the tracks is now buried under drifts of blow dirt.   Posts partially peering out of the drifted dirt. 

Besides the railroad going through the area, the Indians lived in the valley for generations.  Later the French would show up and begin trading with the Indians.  This area was part of the Louisiana Purchase.  The Spanish also traveled along the river, spying or checking on their neighbors. 

Next was the wagon road to the gold in the Rockies and then the Leavenworth Stage line, traveled the valley, with a stage station just below the ridge.  It had been a busy area, with a wide assortment of travelers.  Today the train still trundles down the rails, four a week and the occasional local passes thru. 

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Carlisle Colorado PO

Carlisle Colorado

Carlisle was a small country Post Office, in operation during the early 1900’s.  On the map it is shown to be less than a mile from the RR community of Peconic. 

Operated out of a private residence, this little Post Office served the railroad workers and the few homesteaders in the area.  With a short spyglass, one can watch the jayhawkers floating on the far horizon in Kansas.

The Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific RR built through this area in 1888.   The RR designated the stop Peconic, but not much happened there.  The Post Office was located nearby since there were no homes in Peconic.  A grain elevator was eventually built, still no homes showed up. 

Down the rails to the East was the Post Office and more than likely it was a RR section house.  Keeping the RR operating was a labor intensive and sections were close together to keep the rails maintained. 

Today where the map shows where Carlisle was located is a grove of evergreens surrounded to by ag equipment.  There is an AG dealer located at the Peconic siding and a variety of cars are spotted there.  The grain elevator sits dormant. 

The cars and trucks whiz by on the Interstate as life in the farmland moves on.  Carlisle is pretty well forgotten and but a dot on an old history map. 

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. 

Beaver Valley

The community

Of

Beaver Valley

At the far eastern edge of Colorado’s central plains was a small settlement community called Beaver Valley.  To the east can be seen the sunflowers of the jayhawk state. 

When I first heard of this area, I was in anticipation of a place on the bluffs overlooking one of the many sand creeks that roll over the plains.   Instead I found a land of table flatness and one of the most tranquil peaceful spots on the open prairie. 

There are still a few farms in the area but what really stands out is the cemetery.  Eastern Colorado is not known for its trees, yet the folks of Beaver Valley planted a trove of pine trees.  The cemetery boundary is a line of pine trees.  Today they reach to the sky, providing a moment of solitude. 

The trees provide shelter for the local wildlife.  The day I was there, the birds were chattering a flitting about.  Gathering nesting materials, looking for food and chattering among themselves.  As I walked about, looking and taking pictures, the birds would let me know if I was to close to their tree.

The breezes whispered through the branches, singing the song of the plains.  All other sounds were mute and unheard.  I sat in my pickup and had lunch while listening to the various birds chirping.  It was one of those moments where the world was at peace. 

My gaze rolled over the scene, taking in the grandeur of the area.   Here was one of the most peaceful places for a final rest.  A view out a across an unbroken land with no end of the horizon. 

Empty Ranch

Ranch on the River

            Wandering along the dirt roads leads to adventure, hopefully.  Any this roaming trip took me to an unusual setting.  A ranch house that was sitting on the edge of the river.  Not up on the banks like most homes but down next to the river.  Today it doesn’t look like much of a river.  Much of the Republican River has dried up in Eastern Colorado.  Prior to 1900 the Republican was gushing little stream flowing over the plains.  With water wells, farming much of the water for springs has went other places.  The drought of a few years ago did not help, many of the springs dried up and have not came back.

            Years ago the river would flood from severe rainstorms and water would stretch across the valley in a raging torrent.  The flood of 1935 was probably one of the nastiest floods on the prairie.  In some places the river was three to four miles wide and 50-100 feet deep.  Washing away homes, animals and anything not real secure.  Looking at the river today it would be hard to imagine a torrent stretching across the way to the far hills side.  The flood waters were probably lapping at the edge of the little house on the river.

            The Republican was the highway for the early European explorers.  The Indians had been traveling along these routes for centuries, so when they guided the white man, they followed their known trails.  This area of Eastern Colorado was a part of the Louisiana Purchase.  Early 1600’s the French had established a trading post in Western Nebraska on the Republican River.  Along the river the French trappers could follow, trapping and trading with the locals. 

            The French Territory, butted up next to Spanish lands.   The Spainish would send out patrols to check on the French.  Traveling north out of New Mexico, the Spanish would use the Republican River route to journey to the French outpost in Nebraska.  What looks like barren void country today, centuries ago was a busy route on the plains.  As more explorers showed up, the river route became a busy thoroughfare across the empty land. 

            After the Louisiana Purchase, Lieutenant Zebulon Pike followed the Republican River across Kansas into present day Colorado.  Eventually this portion of the river would be the route the Leavenworth and Pikes Peak Stage lines would use.  The Stage line operated coaches in pairs with teams of four mules hauling the coaches across the country. 

            Along the river the stage line operated numerous stage stations the keep the mules fresh and the coaches moving westward.  If you could go back in time to 1859 you would of probably met Horace Greely on his westward sage ride through here.  They also operated freight trains along the river road.  50-100 wagons could be seen on occasion trekking along the wagon road.  They would be pulled with oxen, a draught of two yoke of ox and the bullwhacker.  Steadily the freight would move over the land, the bullwhacker silently walking beside his double yoke of ox.  There would be a small herd of extra oxen and men traveling along with the wagons.  Conjure up and image when the train would stop for camp. 

            With the advent of more railroads crossing the land, wagon roads like this became obsolete and are now but in memories.

Leader

Leader Colorado

Adams County is the community of Leader.  Being miles from any railroad, the store at Leader provided most everything for the settler.  The general store building still stands at the intersection of country roads.  It is a mixture of farmlands and pastures. 

Today there are maybe a half dozen homes in the area and the Leader Volunteer fire department, firehouse is next door. 

Yet this little corner store holds a hundred and one stories plus.  Early 1900’s, travel was by wagon and mule.  Average speed was about 4 miles per hour.  The limits of the settler to travel to the store on average, less than 12 miles.  For most it was 3-6miles. That means a trip to the store was around 3-6 hour journey.  Further then that would be an all day trip.

Here at the store, the settler would get his mail and or mail letters.   There would also, usually, be a blacksmith.  All the necessary stuff one could need was found at this little general store.

In the store there would be a clothing section, there would be boots and shoes.  There also would be the sewing section, so many wore homemade clothes.  There would be bolts of cloth, buttons, and patterns for shirts. Blouses, dresses, pants, thread, needles… etc.  In another corner would be a hardware section, nails, bolts, screws and other items, hinges, hasps and various tools.  At another counter, would be ammunition and guns.  It was for varmints, not many folks liked to have skunks or coyotes pay them a visit. 

Then there were the groceries, not like we see today.  It would be bags of staples, flour, sugar, coffee and supplies for canning or processing meat.  Most had a garden and canned their veggies.  Some would can their meat so canning jars and accessories were important. 

Flour sacks would be eyed for their pattern.  Would that color and pattern make a nice dress or blouse.  Selecting the flour bag was as important as the flour.  Home baked bread, rolls, or biscuits with a gravy was a staple.  Bags of beans would be purchased.  Various seasonings, salt was in a bag, pepper in a tin. 

The trip to the store was usually a monthly adventure and supplies would have to be bought to last for the month.  Many of the people in the area would have an account with the store and when their checks for their crops or livestock came in, bills were paid off. 

The general store was also news central.  The gossip would be plentiful when going into town.  They could also find out when the barn dances were, the funerals, the weddings and births. 

Way back then, it was a different way of life.  Many say it was hard, for them it was another day of life.  Here the folks from Europe had freedom from the tyranny of the royals.  They also had their own land, not the land of the kingdom. 

The little store building that still stands on the corner is a style I have seen for other stores out on the prairie.  It would be nice if some of these little store fronts would be saved.  One of the biggest things is to get them off the tax rolls.  That is the biggest reason so many of them are torn down, get out from under taxes.  There are special state funds for preservation of historic property.  People just have to be willing to jump through the hoops of the bureaucrats.