Comic Book

The Comic Book

          Recently I was touring the local antique emporium and ran across a display of old comic books.  Brought back the memories of ancient days when I loved to read and trade comic books.  Probably how I learned to read, was the comics.  Always loved looking at the pictures, all the great heroes and villains.  Don’t believe I ever threw a comic book away.  Always had a stack of well used books.  I reread them many times and would trade with other kids to get now books. 

          I looked up the orgins of the comic book and I was surprised to see that it had its beginnings back in the early 1800’s and evolved over the years.  There were ongoing characters, serial characters and genres that would match today’s characters.   The funny books that lots of the Disney stories were refer to or Tom and Jerry.  There were the detectives, the romantic heroines and there were cowboys.   Later came the superheroes, Superman, Captain Marvel a Mighty Mouse…. Etc. 

          Some of these heroes survived from the early 1920’s into today, most notably, Superman and Batman.  I loved their books and I liked the Rich duck and his nephew with the Beegle gang.  Then there were others, like the Lone Ranger, Green Lantern, Archie and many more. 

          When these characters made to the little screen, it brought my imagination to life.  Seldom was I disappointed by what I saw on TV and what I had in my imagination. 

          I fueled the imagination even more.  The neighborhood boys would get together and trade comic books and talk about who was the best hero.  We all had our favorites and we would play cowboys and Indians.  Can’t ever remember there being any Indians, it was just us chasing each other around being our favorite comic book cowboy.  We had our cap guns and the whole town to run in.  We had forts, hiding places and the nooks and crannies of empty lots.  There was no plot, we just had fun popping at each other.  Eventually we would run out of caps and that was all folks. 

          The comic book is still around but has been replaced by the digital age of electronic games.  There are no longer empty lots to build forts in, go screaming down the street on our bike cap gun in hand.  It is now sitting in the living room, spreading blood and guts all over the screen. 

          Then books in general don’t generate the interest like they used to.  The imagination is now in Hollywood, writing scripts or in Silicon Valley writing code for the latest digital fantasy.  The illustrator now draws for the silver screen.  Oh the comic book characters are still around just a different package. 

Hugo Ponds

One of many small ponds.  On down the hill the overflow goes to the next pond. 

The small ponds stretch out along the gully
, till they sink into the sand.

The Ponds

Of

Hugo

            Stretching out along a low ridge are scores of springs.  Sometimes it no more than a muddy spot along the rise, other times it is small gurglers.  Water flows along the gullies, creating tiny streams that only disappear back into the sandy soil.  Streams that are but a trickle, a few gush along, tumbling down the hill.  Rivulets to streams over 4 feet wide and almost a foot deep.  On the high plains, most see a desert, so when these little springs roll along most people stare in disbelief.

            Years ago this was great land for grazing cattle.  Here there was good grass and water for the livestock.  The ranchers built dams along the gullies to capture these small amounts of water.  Small ponds formed behind these dams, expanding the habitat for wildlife, providing small oasis on a parched land.  Many of these little streams would be dammed more than once, forming a series of ponds as the water flowed down the hill. 

            This band of streams stretches along a ridge about 10 miles long and 5 miles wide.  Most of the springs are on private land but some years ago, the state was able to acquire a small portion of these spring and streams.  The State Wildlife Area of Hugo Ponds came into existence. With the ponds now being on state land, the wildlife folks began keeping them stocked with fish.  Even when the drought rolled over the land a few years ago, the springs maintained their flow. 

            The ponds are an open area of land, with no improvements, bouncy rutted road, winds out across the buffalo grassland.  Gullies and ponds breaking up the emptiness of the prairie.  There are the few that venture out for fishing, some hunters roam during the seasons and occasionally a walker leaves foot prints. 

            It is a place of peace, tranquility, where one can sit in quietness and meditate.  Sit there and watch the water shimmer, the occasional circle on a mirror surface.  Watch the vastness of land dwarf the soul, let the mind paint the picture of its desires.  

Add caption
The small stream tumbles down the hill forming ponds until it disappears into the sandy soil.  To the left can be seen another small stream flowing off the neighbors pasture to join the little ponds.  

Photographic Scorn

Clutter of Civilization

&

Photography

            Enjoying photography, I have become the ban of  clutter that shows up on the landscape, from a growing demand for modern society.   There are the tall buildings reaching to the sky, wanting to be bigger and taller then the next.  Then there are the communication posts, stretching across the land.  Stings and strings of wires stretching from horizon to horizon.  Tall towers sending out signals across the land to be translated by little boxes. 

            People have placed demands, wanting all types of conveniences and man is trying to meet the wants of the people. 

            Taking pictures, sometimes this clutter gets in the way, other times it an effective part of the pic.   The tall building of the city skyline, with clouds tickling the roofs, the sun casting its glow over the shiny windows.  The tall building obstructing the view of the land, hiding the lake, the mountains, the ocean.  Out across the land, a forest of trees making a green carpet, to be smeared by a communication sticking out above the tree line. 

This had been a nice pastoral scene, but last year a wind farm was built on far ridge.  

            Electric poles stretched over the land, a line fading into infinity or a scar over the grasses.  The strait line of the railroad tracks with the poles of the telegraph shadowing the rails.  What had once been open land, is now land scattered with the marks of modern society. 

            It is very difficult any more to point the camera and click, without getting some kind of clutter in the background.       Yet there had been spots on high mountain, wide open plains or the rolling lands, where one could not be assaulted with clutter.  Even in the mountains, big towers mark the power grid marching over the hills.  Huge wind turbines are scattered over the land and plains.  The high tension lines march in single file criss-crossing the countryside.  It is almost impossible to escape the decorations of civilization.  With the newly introduced wind farms and solar plants it has even become more difficult to escape modern features of today. 

The Comm tower along with the windturbines mark the horizon.  

            I stand there, take what I think is a nice pastoral landscape, then opening up the digital image to see the background full of clutter.  Some folks would say, erase the clutter, but that is not me.  I have to adjust and use a different style and or accept the clutter as being a part of the landscape. 

Even the mini horses have a sub station for a back drop. 

Hidden gold treasure

Among the trees is where the spring is located.

The Lore

Of

Buried Gold

          As the legend goes, someplace near the ghost town of Clifford there is supposed to be buried gold. 

          It all begins in 1862 at Coon Springs in Eastern Colorado.  Coon springs was a stop along the Smoky Hill Trail.  Taking advantage of the springs and plentiful water an Army payroll detachment had stopped there. 

          Some outlaws jumped them and subdued the soldiers.  The outlaws got the payroll, reportedly over 100,000 dollars in gold. Mounting up the outlaws began their escape, heading out across the plains loaded down with the gold. 

          The outlaws did not do a very good job of tying up the soldiers for shortly after the thief’s had left, the soldiers were free and mounting their horses to give chase. Galloping across the prairie the soldiers were quickly gaining on the highwaymen. 

          Being loaded down with the gold the outlaws ducked into a gully.  They were going to bury the gold and return afterwards to retrieve their ill gotten gains.  Shortly after riding up out of the gully, the soldiers caught the bandits. 

          The bandits were taken to jail and sentenced to prison.  After their release, two of the outlaws were killed in gunfights and the third disappeared.

 There were stories of what happened to the gold and how the burial spots were marked.  With no more outlaws in the area, treasure hunters galore showed up to search for the buried gold.

There were never any reports of the gold being found but there were stories galore of finding marker stones.  These reports would fuel the gold fever even more.  Even today, there are folks that say the gold in still buried out there somewhere. 

Searching today is a problem, it is all private land and most folks in the area don’t like people roaming on their pastures.  That does not deter the treasure seekers.  They show up with their metal detectors and want to go hunting.  

Homestead Open Space

Homestead Park

               Traveling down a secondary highway, I would pass through farm country.  Urban blight had moved in among the farms and suburbs were being erected.  What had once been open fields were now houses and fences.  This was mostly irrigated truck farms and vegetables and orchards were the primary crops, well no more.  Now the crops were two by sixes and homes. 

               One of the old farm houses next to the roadway had a sign on it saying it was now owned by the county open space parks people.  Gates were closed and locked and there was no sign of life.  So on past I drove.  A few years later I was in the area again and this time when driving past, the gates were open and there were signs of people.  I pulled off and turned into the gate, parking in the lot I ventured forth. 

               Back door of the house was propped open I there were people inside.  Going in, I found one of the park rangers.  The ranger explained to me the history of the homestead and what the county had plans to do with it.  I listened to her talk about the area, and while she was talking some university students walked in.   The ranger said they were volunteers at the homestead and they could guide me around the property.  Going outside the students started chattering about their projects from the summer.   They pointed to the flower patches, chattering away at all their flowers.  Then we got to their garden patch and said next year we are going plant a garden and grow our vegetables.  They listed everything they were going to grow. I was impressed, for their patch was about 4 feet by 6 feet.

               They pointed towards the barn and explained it was an ice barn.  That the farmer would harvest ice from the nearby pond and store it in the barn through the summer.  Then they pointed to a shed and said be careful when going in there, there is a barn owl that lives in there.  I nodded and looked around the grounds at the other buildings and the farm house.  As we were standing there, the students said they had to get back to school for their next class. 

               So I said thanks and goodbye, off they went, leaving me by myself.  I walked over the barn to have a look and it was huge.  It was hard to imagine ice being stacked up in here in blocks to last all summer.  Most of it was still intact, built early 1900.  On the West side was a lower level and here were milking stalls, milk room and feed bunk.  There were about 12 stalls for milking, so made me wonder if they also made ice cream with all the ice.  The other possibility would be, that as they delivered ice, they were also delivering milk, maybe butter and or ice cream.  There were lots of possibilities, then being an ice farm, made it very unique. 

               I wandered around looking at the assorted stuff lying around the grounds.  I then headed for the machine shed to look at the equipment stored in there.  As I turned the corner to walk in, I startled the owl and out he flew, wings a flapping in a hasty furry to get away.  The racket of the owl gave me start as ducked down to keep from being scalped.   It was not the kind of encounter I had wanted, for I had hopes of getting pictures. 

               He circled around a couple of times and saw me standing there.  So off to another shed he went while the stranger continued his snooping.

               I enjoyed my walk around of the old homestead and was happy the park people were going to take care of a piece of history.  Complete homesteads, in their original location, were few and far apart.  Here they were going to preserve an original homestead at its original location. 

               The farmhouse was a classic two story building, front and rear porches.  Kitchen on the backside that lead to a cellar door.  The front door opened into a parlor and back to the eating area by the kitchen.  Stairs went up to the bedrooms.  The outhouse was in back.  There had been no plumbing until later and heat was a parlor stove or the kitchen stove.  It was everything the pioneer settler worked for. 

               Some years later I passed through the area and was going to stop in and see what progress there was.  The gates were locked and there were no signs of any activity.  Things were overgrown, the garden patch was filled with weeds and flowers were brown.  Not sure what had happened, it was like the county had deserted the property. 

               Years after that, I was in a nearby town, so I decided to take a trip out there and see if there were any changes.  As I drove out there, new subdivisions had been built, more farmland had disappeared.  The homestead was almost surrounded by new homes.  No the gates were not open.  The place looked very unkempt and derelict. 

               I have not been back to the area in some years, but hopefully the county got somebody in there to take care of the place and fix it back up. 

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. 

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.