Stories and Poems of Past Memories

Like Father Like Son	Like Father Like Son The Wichita Millers lived in one of those lovely old homes, blessed with fine trees lining the streets, large shady yards, and an easy arrangement within, that made family or visitors feel welcome. Three stories and a basement allowed plenty of space for a family of six. The roomy dining area looked out onto the grassy backyard and flower garden, but the windows were rather small. About this time, the notion of picture windows came into being. C.D. thought about this for a spell; good idea! I want more light and a view. Following through on the idea, he fetched his sledge hammer one afternoon and with a mighty wallop, he broke through the dining room wall! Presto....a larger scene. It took a while to trim out the whole, but the end result was totally satisfying. This "grab the bull by the horns" attitude was passed through to Dwight. We had moved into a nice modular home in December 1979. A few years later, we decided we needed a garage; the solution was to lift the house and build a lower floor beneath it. Dwight, his Uncle Ed, and I drove to the ski area where some used oak railroad ties had been cast aside. We gathered a large number of these (Have you ever tried hefting a tie?) and we hauled them home. Dwight had four extra-powerful jacks that he'd used previously to lift houseboats down at Lake Powell. After undoing all the foundation bolts, we started lifting, first one end, then another, building increasingly high cross-hatch type supports near each corner as we raised the house higher and higher. We lived there the entire time this was going on and the house shook with our every step. By the grace of God, no huge winds came up during the whole process. Each morning, Dwight disconnected the water and the sewer lines. Each evening, he reconnected everything. When we were up about eight feet, Dwight and his uncle built stud walls and stood the first wall beneath one side of the house. Would you believe that, thanks to the irregular ties, the house was skewed about six inches out of alignment? Troubles. Now what? Dwight decided that he would take his CAT and carefully push the house back into line, readjusting the braces as he went. That was the day I chose to go to Denver for supplies, knowing full well that when I returned, my piano and good china would be sitting in Ranch Creek. But no. When I got back, all four stud walls were securely in place and the upper floor was resting safely on top. Was it the luck of dumb dumbs? Brilliance? Who knows? Well, in order to go downstairs, we had a fairly steep stairway. We had looked at our various options for less steep stairs, but one would have ended up in the middle of the garage and the other would have had to start in our bedroom. Not good choices. Thus it was steep. Somebody accused us of having the only carpeted ladder in the county. It was also rather dark. One Thanksgiving Day when the family was gathered round, Dwight got the brilliant idea to cut an opening in the upper section of the wall at the top of the stairs, to make it lighter. The family agreed that this was a great idea and they were excited to see how this was accomplished. Out came the skill saw, bursts of sawdust flew into my nice clean living room and onto my counters where I was trying to prepare a festive dinner. I tried to shield the food from sawdust. I tripped over the cord while setting the table. I scrambled over scrap wood trying to reach pans and dishes. But the family loved it. By supper time, a rough hole definitely brought more light, and amazingly, we were still married!
My Granby, Little Old Log Church	My Granby, Little Old Log Church Contributed by Vera "Stathos" Shay, Kremmling...Granby resident 1930-1945 From what I hear It is very near To be torn away The little church of my childhood day The most beautiful to see That can ever be Inside and out Without a doubt Built of log so fine In the style of old time In my own little chair Every Sunday I was there The chime of its bell For miles around Heard its wonderful sound For a while our school We didn't fit So in our church were classes For a bit Beside our church on the hill We sledded for a thrill That poor little church They moved it around All over town Proudly it's hung together In all kinds of weather Every time I go to Granby town I look around to find And have a look At my log church for my eyes' Memory book Now they say it's got to go Pray it won't be so All of you Granby folk Louder you should have spoke To save that church with its Memories and history For there could never be Anything that would compare Built or put there With my magnificent, beautiful Childhood Granby log church Find it in your hearts To never let it be torn apart. April 2005
Next stop - Kremmling	Next stop - Kremmling The rails reached Kremmling town The train tracks were all lain down That wonderful, exciting day from far and near Were there to see and hear click-clack Of the train coming down the track Bringing hope, dreams and plans far and Their way From that 1906 June day On July 4^th a Kremmling Day that never again Could be so exciting and fun as it was then Celebrating the trains and the tracks The eight or nine saloons were filled to the max Guests came on the train from the City to join in With all of them A big fish fry, Bar-B-Que of elk and antelope Greased pole to climb, games and prizes A bucking horse contest The day was the best A way back in time That train was by travel line I could tell tales to you Of exciting adventures or tow And then-when It was called the "Moffat Road" Still is to me Always will be
Sir Edmund Hillary visits Grand County	Sir Edmund Hillary visits Grand County The Middle Park Times announced with excitement: Sir Edmund Hillary is going to visit Grand County! The paper reviewed his famous climb up Everest in 1953 at age 33, his New Zealand background, his other well-known exploits; his picture was highlighted on the page with his story. This was news of great interest to the area citizens, for there was little in the way of unusual happenings as a rule. Dwight Miller had wandered down to the Hideaway Park Post Office one summer afternoon, when a man, asking for information, stopped him. "Can you tell me where the Tabernash Campground is?" Dwight took one look at him and recognized the long, somewhat horsey-looking face. The chap's accent sounded British to Dwight, too. "Are you Sir Edmund Hillary," he asked? "Why yes, I am," answered Sir Edmund. "We're traveling through this area and want to spend the night." For a moment Dwight considered asking him and his party to stay at Miller's Idlewild Inn that night, but he thought probably the group really preferred being alone to enjoy the countryside, rather than having to deal with crowds. He was aware that the climber was a very shy, modest man. So he told Hillary to drive about six miles on down Highway 40, through Fraser and Tabernash; then follow the road to the top of Red Dirt Hill. The campground he wanted was on the right side of the road, just before it descended toward Granby. Close by, on the left side of the highway, Hillary would see a large meadow, in which were dairy cows, belonging to the Acord Dairy, I believe. "The campground is set among the pines with just a few camp sites, so you shouldn't be disturbed," Dwight said. Sir Edmund thanked Dwight and the two of them chatted a bit more. "We just came over Berthoud Pass a bit ago; in fact we ate lunch there. Something that really puzzles me is that I see you Americans just eating lunch while sitting in your cars or on your tailgates; and yet, if you were to take your lunch and walk about 100 feet, you would have all the valleys before you and never know that you that you were even near another person!" "That's true," said Dwight. "I think that Americans are always in a hurry. They don't want to take time to walk a few feet. It's just eat and run." "Well, it amazes me. You live in such beautiful country." They said goodbye then and the Hillarys drove on down to the campground. Dwight was so very pleased to have had this chance to meet him. This campground was shut down some years later when the U.S. Forest Service traded that land to the Silver Creek group for some other property, so that Silver Creek could have a convenient road into their development. The campground was located just beyond the turn in to Snow Mountain Ranch, as one heads west. A few site remnants can still be seen there.
Sounds of Christmas	Sounds of Christmas Contributed by Vera "Stathos" Shay, Kremmling A blast from the past A frosty night in December A wonderful time to remember Fun on a hay ride My husband at my side Friends young and old Dressed for the cold A pickup truck Praying it wouldn't get stuck Snuggled together in the sled of hay We were on our way Our hearts and voices filled with song From our Christmas caroling Kremmling did ring Everyone could hear Us ringing Merry Christmas cheer.
The Middle Park Band and the Music Man	The Middle Park Band and the Music Man The Middle Park High School band wasn’t much to brag about, and that’s a fact. Several members were very capable young musicians, however. For instance, Stuart played a hot set of drums that set people’s feet to tapping and hands to clapping. Debbie was an excellent trombonist, good enough so that one year, she was invited to march with Pierre Laval’s All American High School Band in the Rose Parade! And Jack was right behind her in skill. Martha led the flutes beautifully, and there were Alan, Bert, Roxanne, Carolyn, and others. But the group never seemed to coalesce into a single playing unit. Then a Music Man came to the school. Wes Robbins was a showman; he was enthusiastic; he had flare; he had color. He took those young people in hand and soon had them marching in time down the same street. People flocked to hear the music, whereas before, they just groaned. By the end of the school year, Mr. Robbins decided that the band needed uniforms, sharp uniforms to match the cool music. Now most of the extra-curricular funds went into sports, particularly football. But the band leader convinced the administration that with uniforms, the band would rouse the fans to a high pitch, encourage parents and family to attend games, incite the teams to greater, and winning, efforts. So he got the uniforms. That fall the band players tingled with excitement as they waited to try on their new duds. They looked wonderful. All the effort was worthwhile. But Mr. Robbins didn¹t stop there. Every spring, on the first weekend of May, Canon City held a Blossom Festival. Bands from all over the region came to march and compete. The Middle Park Band proposed to join this event! You must understand, there were only forty students in the band, for this was a small district still. When the youngsters arrived in Canon City, they met bands from Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska, as well as from New Mexico and numerous Colorado schools. Many of these bands had 100 to 120 or so members! All were much larger than our little group. The Middle Park students felt rather overwhelmed. But it wasn’t long before the big bands had adopted this nifty minuscule band as a mascot. Saturday came and the bands lined up at the foot of the Canon City prison wall. Just then, two inmates jumped from the top of the wall, presumably planning to escape into the mob of students and onlookers. Prison guards shot the men dead in the air. This rather rocky start for the event didn’t phase the boys and girls; the parade commenced. Grand County enthusiasts lined the edge of the avenue as the bands marched down, drums beating, horns tooting, and music filling the air. “But where is our own band?” they wondered. Suddenly, applause erupted and you could see why. A Nebraska band of some 120 members filled the street. Shortly after, striding bravely along, a compact band of forty students in spiffy navy blue uniforms, played beautifully and vigorously. Following behind them was another band of over 100 members. The contrast was astounding and people loved it! Clapping onlookers whistled and shouted. That afternoon the many groups competed on the football field, doing intricate formations as they played their music. Middle Park picked up two first place ratings for their performance that day. That was truly a triumph for our musicians, as they realized that even though they were small, they were mighty. This must have been about 1971.
The Rocky Mountain National Park	The Rocky Mountain National Park Poem contributed by Vera Shay, July 2006 Once you've been there It'll be your most favorite anywhere The beauty up through the trees It's bound to please From May through September Sights and Sounds you will remember Deer and moose grazing on meadows so green All in their splendor to be seen You will return again and again In the fall just heat the bugle-call Of the elegant, determined elk so strong Choosing his mate to follow him along Mountain lion and even brown bear are there They you might hope to only from afar Or the windows of your car The Grand Lake Lodge in the park Cabins looking so cozy and fun A plan my husband and I to spend the night We didn't get it done In the Lodge Restaurant we had dinner A many a time With food so fine My birthday dinner, year after year With happiness and cheer Yes this is a park to yourself and your friends you say I love this park any summer day The Rocky Mountain national park For me many memories in this park
What I Got For Christmas by Nicolette Toussaint	What I Got For Christmas by Nicolette Toussaint It’s December, the tail end of 1959, and I’m hanging onto the back of an Airstream trailer. I have shimmied my ski pants down as far as possible. Now I‘m struggling to keep my balance, trying to keep my new toe-to-thigh cast dry and do my business — the only business that could have forced me out into this sleety, blustery night. The combination of the cast’s weight, the sloppy, slippery snow, the fabric bunched around my knees, and my wobbly attempts to avoid peeing on my underwear overthrow me. I tip over and slide partway beneath the trailer. Now it looks like a very big dog has dug a bathtub-sized hole while using the trailer’s rear corner as a fire hydrant. But dogs are much better at this leg-lifting maneuver than I am. So much for dry underwear. The day before Christmas, I broke my leg skiing at Winter Park. My parents could have taken me back to Denver — an hour and a half over icy Berthoud Pass, but more since our car is pulling a rented trailer. The better option was to go to Kremmling, an isolated mountain town an hour west of Fraser, a town nicknamed “America’s ice box” because it usually reports the coldest temperature in the country. The clinic in Kremmling was tiny, just a few white rooms. I don’t remember how I fell, just that my ski bindings— the old-fashioned “bear trap” kind rather than the new-fangled, heel-release kind — didn’t let go. My heavy, wood skis torqued my leg, snapping the bone. I do remember the ski patrol bringing me down in a toboggan. I remember my Mom, Myra, sitting in the back seat so she could hold my hand and put my head in her lap during the long drive. My leg screamed every time we went around a corner, and it seemed like it took 50 years. I don’t remember who carried me from the car. But I do remember my pants’ leg being slit up the seam, and I remember being X-rayed by Dr. Ceriani. I don’t think I will ever forget getting my leg straightened. My Mom and Dr. Ceriani’s nurse held my shoulders while the Doc pulled my shin straight. I screamed bloody murder. After the Doc and his nurse made my cast — layers of plaster-soaked gauze that were wound round and round my cotton-wrapped shin — Dr. Ceriani said it would take a day to harden. It would be best for him to keep an eye on me for awhile. So I stayed in Kremmling while my family went on with their ski vacation. That’s how, at age 9, I wound up spending my first Christmas apart from my family. I had coloring books and puzzles, but no TV. The radio was intermittent. I was feeling kind of sorry for myself, being alone on Christmas and all, until the nurse promised she would visit me. She was from Ireland; I think her name was Kathleen.Sure enough, she came on Christmas Day, bringing a record player and a brown paper bag tied with a red bow. Kathleen put on a ’45 and danced an Irish jig for me. Then she gave me the bag. Inside was a tree made from papier-mâché. It was layered up like my cast, but scalloped and decorated with shiny beads and buttons, and built over an empty mayonnaise jar. When I turned it over, I saw the lid. I unscrewed it, and out fell a small avalanche of Tootsie Rolls, peppermints, and Hershey’s Kisses! I felt loved. My parents came back in a day or so, of course, and I spent the rest of the family vacation in the Airstream trailer (rented because we couldn’t afford hotels) and in day ski lodges, bored silly, with my right foot propped up on a chair. When I got back to school, I had to gimp to class by way of a somewhat sloping hall with a slippery, speckled stone floor. Try that on crutches! I wasn’t a popular kid, and because of the ski vacation, I’d missed the school Christmas party. But suddenly I was as popular as a Pez dispenser! Everyone in my third-grade class wanted to try out my crutches, carry my coat, and sign my cast. The next fall, I was back skiing, albeit with better skis and new Cubco safety bindings. I didn’t think about my broken leg until decades later. Fast forward to around 2000. One unusually warm spring day, I walked from the San Francisco office where I worked to a food court in a high-rise on Market Street. As I was looking for a place to eat my Pad Thai, I noticed a photo display on the other side of the lobby. The Knight Foundation, whose programs I sometimes attended, was on the top floor, and they often mounted photo-journalistic shows, so I strolled over. The exhibition was called “The Country Doctor”. A historic collection of photos by W. Eugene Smith, the images had first appeared in Life Magazine in 1948. Stark, black-and-white, and unflinchingly intimate, those photos solidified Eugene Smith's stature as one of the most humane and preeminent photojournalists of the 20th century. Those photos instantly transported me back 50 years, out of sunny San Francisco and back into cold, snowy Kremmling, Colorado. From the exhibit, I learned that following World War II, a fundraising committee had raised $35,000 to turn the home of the Kremmling’s retiring doctor into a 14-bed hospital, stocking it with as much equipment as they could afford. Some of it was war surplus machinery. The new clinic had an autoclave, an oxygen tent, and an X-ray machine — probably the same one that had revealed the spiral fracture in my right tibia. In 1947, that committee had hired Dr. Ernest Ceriani. Born on a Wyoming sheep ranch and educated in Denver, the young doctor was the only physician in Middle Park, a barren, windswept Rocky Mountain valley above 8,000 feet. His practice spanned 400 square miles. As the photos showed, he was a general practitioner, tending to the dying, delivering babies, cooling fevers, and patching people mangled by farm, ranch, auto, and sports injuries. Injuries like the one I had suffered nearly 50 years before! With tears pricking my eyes, I realized that I had only been able to walk unaided through the exhibition thanks to the foresight of that 1947 committee in Kremmling, Colorado. I owed a debt of gratitude to a group of people I had never met, people who undoubtedly had passed away long ago. We stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us. In my case, the “standing” part is literally true. Without the initiative of that committee, there would have been no clinic in Kremmling. Without them, I wouldn’t have been hospitalized for what seemed, at first, to be a sad and lonely Christmas. I wouldn’t have had the experience of nurse Kathleen turning that clinic stay into the most memorable Christmas of my life. And I wouldn’t have been able to stand in tribute to Dr. Ernest Ceriani. While the hula hoops, bikes and Barbies I received as a child have long-since been broken and forgotten, across the miles and years, the gift given to me by that country doctor has remained whole and straight, strong and true.

Moving Water from Point A to Point B

Topic: Water

Moving Water from Point A to Point B

Most serious ranchers had more than one ditch and most built one or more reservoirs. Hilry Harris, Munroe C. Wythe, Samuel H. Burghard, and John A. Coulter entered the first water claim in the county on September 20, 1874. This came out of Sheep Creek above the head of Gore Canyon.

There usually was some natural irrigation; but the challenge of getting the water from the creek required laborious construction of diversion dams, headgates, and ditches, the earliest ditches being dug by hand and often taking up to four years to complete. Later, ditches were dug using teams and scrapers. The grade was figured out initially by simple gravity flow, letting a trickle of water move down the ditch. Soon ranchers refined the process, using a 16’ long board placed with a 1/8" slope, determined by a carpenter’s level. A.F. and Roy Polhamus surveyed a great many of the water ditches, especially those impressive ones in West Grand County, some of which even had tunnels involved. Most small ditches supplied just one ranch, but if a ditch had to cross another ranch, that rancher usually got a share. And some of these ditches were long!

For instance, Dr. Henry Hoagland, on the Blue River, anticipated getting water close at hand from Spruce Creek. Instead, he discovered an old timer had previous rights that forced him to go back into the mountains and build a 13-mile long ditch. Hoagland had figured on spending about $7000; in the end, the actual cost was $26,000! His crew dug the ditch around side hills and across valleys using flumes and siphons. Then his real troubles began. Terrible leaks and washouts occurred everywhere. Finally he hauled in adobe and put this in the bottom of the ditch, rented sheep, and drove them day after day up and down the ditch to pack it. After a couple of years of using this tamping process, the ditch held. Other ditches were even longer. The Church Ditch at Willow Creek and the Wheatley Ditch on the back Troublesome were both 16 miles long.

The Company Ditch (aka the Williams Fork Ditch), eight feet wide on the bottom, was another long one. Built between 1903 and 1907, it cost $44,000 and had a decree for 150 cubic feet / second. The ditch went uphill and down, requiring many flumes and bridges. One flume was actually 1200 feet long! Subsequent breakdowns, leaks, and slides were so frequent and repairs so extremely costly that old-timers have said the reason the Company Ranch went broke about 1920 was the expense of The Ditch. The Lyman Ditch (or the Curtis), started about 1891, was just as complicated as the Company Ditch. Crossing high above the Williams Fork River, the ditch eventually needed cement piers to carry the pipe (1928). This ditch had so many slides, leaks, and washouts, that it had to be inspected once or twice daily! Siphons were required over draws. Flumes, sometimes ¼ mile long, might be 25-30 feet high, and one flume was actually 177 feet high; but these heights were necessary to maintain the elevation.

Flumes, being of wood, rotted and were guaranteed to leak. Sometimes wind blew a portion of the flume down. Finally the county put in big pipes to help the ditches across the Williams Fork. It might be noted that, when water leaked out of ditches, a side benefit was that ranchers along the way could use the "lost" water. Along with the ditches came reservoirs.

Fred DeBerard had four reservoirs on the Muddy: the Albert, the Binco, Milk Creek, and a low one that flooded the Jones place near Kremmling. All were dirt, of course. The Hermosa Ranch on the Little Muddy had water rights through the Sylvan Ditch and Reservoir Company and they built the Sylvan Reservoir dam and the Hermosa Ditch starting in 1911 and completing it by the spring of 1916. The Stein Ditch, started in 1897, was another large ditch, this one later purchased by the Taussig family. These ditches were all built originally to provide water to meadows and fields for ranching purposes. For years, people hauled in water for baths and household use, but that gradually changed. Leon Almirall, near the Horseshoe Ranger Station on the Williams Fork, decided that he wanted water for his home, so he built a 1700’ pipeline to his house, added an inside bathroom, and was shocked when the line froze the first winter – it was only three feet deep. He called in workers who dug down and insulated the line with manure and straw. It froze again. Finally, Almirall gave up and buried the line six feet deep. Now he had his water!

On Ranch Creek in the east end of the county, E.D. Shew cut a ditch upstream from his house, placing it along the edge of the creek, but directing the water back into the main channel near his house. At that point, he put a little water wheel that pushed the water up the hill to his cabins -- and furnished electricity besides. Eventually he replaced the water wheel with a gas engine. There was a similar water wheel, used for the same purpose, up in Hideaway Park.

Water was used to transport lumber as well. A flume ran down the mountain into Monarch Lake, in the days when the Monarch Company was timbering there. There was a flume along St. Louis Creek, carrying lumber from the camps upstream. Perhaps the most ambitious flume ran from Western Box Sawmill. This area is now under Meadow Creek Reservoir. In 1906, the Deisher Lumber Company paid Nathan Hurd for a right of way through his land and built a flume with a 2% grade down Hurd Creek. Logs were placed in the flume and a horse harnessed to the last log. The horse then pushed the logs down the flume with the help of the water. Three years later, the mill was moved to "Sawmill Meadow" on Meadow Creek.

In 1911 construction on the seven-mile-long Vaver Flume began, with 117 cubic inches of water allotment. This flume ran down Meadow Creek and over to Tabernash, carrying partially processed logs for further manufacture. A flume rider checked along the way, making sure there were no jams, and phone line allowed the rider to report troubles. Hikers can see remnants of both the St. Louis Creek flume and that one coming down Meadow Creek today.

Fraser Valley

Topic: Regions

Fraser Valley

The principal population centers in the Fraser River Valley are Winter Park, Fraser and Tabernash. When the early stage coaches came over Berthoud pass into the Fraser Valley, the most popular stop was at the Cozens Ranch, which now houses a historical museum in Winter Park. The valley is now bisected by U.S. Highway 40, which was designated the "Victory Highway" in 1931. The new route of the highway leads through the main streets in both Fraser and Tabernash and the backdoors of some business became front doors because of the new highway alignment.

Tabernash was the name given to a railroad siding, named for the Ute leader who was killed during a confrontation with local ranchers. The town became a key station on the railroad line, and included a roundhouse, and a supply of helper engines for the steep climb over Rollins Pass. When the Moffatt Tunnel was opened in 1928, the railroad no longer needed service there and the town lost its' main economic support.

George Easton founded the town site of Fraser in 1905. The rest of the country became familiar with Fraser when the winter temperatures were often the lowest recorded in the U.S. and Fraser was know by the nickname "Icebox of the Nation". Lumbering was one of the prime industries in the region until World War II. During the war, the military built a Prisoner of War camp at Fraser to help lumber for the mills in the area.

The current area of Winter Park has had many names over the years. First it was called simply "Old Town" or "Vasquez", named after the fur trader Louis Vasquez. "Woodspur" or "Woodstock" referred to Billy Wood's lumber mill in the area, which furnished ties for the railroad while it was being built over Rollins Pass. During the construction of the Moffatt Tunnel, the name "West Portal" came into usage. Rail workers also called the community "Little Chicago" as it was as it was a favorite gambling, saloon, and brothel site. As tourists began to arrive it was known as "Idlewild" and also "Hideaway Park". Finally, the name "Winter Park" was settled upon to correspond with the adjacent ski area of the same name.

The area population declined from 1232 people in the 1920's to only 373 people by 1930. The Great Depression ended the construction boom and the price of beef became too low for ranches to turn a profit. However, since that time, the area has thrived, mostly based on a tourism economy. The valley's main source of income is now recreation and second home construction.

Fraser

Topic: Towns

Fraser

The origin of Fraser was in 1905 and it was incorporated in 1953. It was formerly known as Eastom, for George Eastom, who laid out the town site in 1871. The spelling of Fraser was originally Frazier, after Reuben Frazier. The town came into being because it was the site of a large sawmill and was a railroad terminus for the lumbering operation.

While Fraser was generally considered to be an isolated mountain outpost, at one point there was enough cultural interest to support a local opera house. Fraser was the location of a weather station for several years and during that time it was not uncommon for the winter temperatures to be 45 to 50 degrees below zero; one Fraserite remembers a morning when it was 60 degrees BELOW zero. Thus the town earned the nickname “Icebox of the Nation.” After a legal battle, that offical title went to a town in Minnesota.

A transcontinental motor route dubbed the Midland Trail came through Grand County and by 1913 a Ford sales agency was located outside of Fraser on the 4 Bar 4 Ranch. Avid fly fisherman President Eisenhower was a frequent visitor between 1948 and 1955.

Grand County Time Line

Topic: Grand County

Grand County Time Line

Prehistoric
7000 BCE to 900 BCE: Paleo Indians (Yarmony, Rollins Pass, Windy Gap) use Middle Park as summer hunting area

1819 – 1860
1819:Adams-Onis Treaty – Middle Park partitioned – Sites of Granby, Fraser, Grand Lake and Hot Sulphur are in the U.S, Kremmling still part of Spain

Middle Park well known to “Mountain Men” by 1820

1828: Kremmling becomes part of Texas

1837: T.J. Farnham’s expedition crosses the Blue at Grand River

1839: Grand River named on a semi-official map

1842: Rufus B. Sage visit

1844: Captain John C. Fremont’s second expedition, accompanied by Kit Carson, enters Middle Park over Muddy Pass and exits up the Blue River

1854: Sir St. George Gore, an Englishmen, accompanied by Jim Bridger enters Middle Park for hunting expedition

1859: First appearance of prospectors; interest in Hot Sulphur Springs

1861 – 1874
1861: Berthoud crosses Berthoud Pass and traverses Middle Park

1861: Middle Park becomes part of Summit County

1863: Trouble begins between the Utes and white men

1864-1868: Wm. N. Byers acquires Hot Sulphur Springs

1866: Gov. Cummings signs Treaty of Middle Park

1868: John Wesley Powell visits Grand Lake, makes first recorded ascent of Longs Peak

1867: Joseph Westcott settles at Grand Lake

1871-1872: Clarence King surveys area

1873-1874: F.V. Hayden surveys area

1874: Creation of Grand County (two years before Colorado became a state)

1874: Toll roads opens over Rollins and Berthoud Passes

1874: William H. Jackson, renowned photographer, takes first photographs of Middle Park

1875 – 1888
1875: First mail routes to Hot Sulphur Springs

1875: Silver ore indications in Never Summer Range

1875: First school opens in Hot Sulphur Springs with 12 students, (school “year” was 20 days)

1877: Routt County detached from Grand County

1877: Stokes-Dean political crisis

1878: Tabernash and Abraham Elliott killed

1879: Ute Indian War produces excitement, anxiety

1879: Lulu City & Teller City formed

1880: Gaskill City formed

1881: Four railroad projects frustrated

1881: County Seat moves to Grand Lake, height of mining boom, Grand Lake Prospector is launched

1883: Commissioner shootings at Grand Lake

1884: Shooting of Texas Charlie in Hot Sulphur Springs

1884: Kremmling formed

1885: Kremmling Post Office opens

1885-1886: Collapse of mining, North Park separates from Grand County

1888: County Seat moves back to Hot Sulphur Springs

1889 – 1904
Expansion of ranching

Development of public education

1890: Grand Ditch construction begins... carries water from Grand Lake mountains to the front range

1891: First platting of Kremmling

1891: Berthoud Pass route becomes state road

1893: Construction begins on Byers Canyon road

1896 et seq.: Organized religious congregations develop

1892: First diversion of water to eastern slope

1898: First high school opens in Kremmling

1902-1904: Moffat – Harriman struggle

1903: Hot Sulphur Springs incorporates

1904: Kremmling incorporates

1904: Moffat Road crosses Rollins Pass

1904: First motor car arrives Grand County

1904: First telephones installed

1905 – 1914
1905: First Forest Reserves

1905: Fraser develops, Granby is founded

1905: Moffat Road reaches Hot Sulphur Springs

1905: Parshall is founded

1906: Moffat Road reaches Kremmling

Proliferation of competitive newspapers

1905-1908: Heyday of Monarch

1908: Arapaho National Forest established

1911: First Hot Sulphur Springs Winter Carnival

1912: First Middle Park Fair

1913: Eleven motor vehicles are registered in Grand County

1913: Tabernash established as railroad division point

1915 – 1930
1915: Rocky Mountain National Park founded

1917-1918: Participation in World War I by 151 Grand County residents

1918-1919: Influenza epidemic

1919: Grand County Pioneer Society founded

1919: Fall River Road completed

1921: Grand River name changed to Colorado River by U.S. Congress

1922: First radio receiver

1923: Gore Pass opens to motor vehicles

1923: Improved Berthoud Pass road opens

1923-1928: Moffat Tunnel built

1926: Fred Selak murder

1929-1941: The Great Depression

1930-1932: Berthoud kept open all winter

1932: Trail Ridge Road completed

Since 1930
1938: Colorado-Big Thompson irrigation and power project begins

1940: Winter Park Ski Area opens

1941-1945: Participation in WWII

Late 1940s – early 1950s: Construction of Colorado– Big Thompson Project

1947: Adams Tunnel in operation

Growth, then boom, of winter sports

Parshall

Topic: Towns

Parshall

The town-site of Parshall was part of the ranch homesteaded by Fred Dean in the 1880s. Before 1900 the ranch belonged to William Byers, founder of the Rocky Mountain News and town of Hot Sulphur Springs. In 1902 Frank Byers, son of William Byers, sold the ranch of 480 acres to Cordelia and Simon Parshall.

Cordelia Parshall died on March 30, 1904, leaving the ranch to her son Clyde. In 1907 Clyde sold 60.6 acres of the northeast corner of the ranch to Alonzo F. Polhamus, a civil engineer. Polhamus dedicated the town plat to Grand County on July 26, 1907 and named it for his friend and the Parshall homestead. The original primitive store operated by Walter Dow was the drawing card for visitors. Parshall was the headquarters of the “Williams Fork Telephone Company,” a highly informal operation that is said to have transmitted its subscribers’ voices along barbed wire fences.

The town was never incorporated and today still has a bar and restaurant, a post office and a chapel, plus the Grand County Road and Bridge Dept. District 3 maintenance shops. Population varies seasonally between 75 and 90 people.

Edits and corrections to original posting by Don Dailey, 10-2021.

4th of July Parades in Granby

Topic: Stories and Poems of Past Memories

4th of July Parades in Granby

In 1947 my family moved to Granby, Colorado; I was 5 years old. My Mom (Eloise) and Dad (Howard, “RED”) Beakey, ran the Texaco gas station where the Chamber of Commerce parking lot now sits. I have a sister named Sandra Sue, who was 3 at the time.

In 1948 Mom and Dad bought me a mare named Midge, and that is the beginning of my joy of growing up in Granby. I rode Midge all over Granby and surrounding area. In the winter I would pull kids on their sleds and skis with a rope tied to the saddle horn. In the spring of 1949 Midge produced a filly foal that we named “Lady Blaze.” The following 4th of July Rodeo Parade, 1949, I rode on Midge and my friend, Howard Ferguson, rode behind me and led Lady Blaze in the parade. A local farrier had made lace up booties with metal bottoms for Lady Blaze so she wouldn’t damage her hooves while being led in the parade. You can imagine the sound of those booties hitting the pavement as we rode down Agate Ave., and the enjoyment of the crowd lining the parade route. At that time the rodeo grounds were in the area of N Ranch Road. The Granby Fire Department awarded me with a $3.00 check for being “The Most Typical Cowboy Under 12.” I was totally amazed and still, at the age of 79, have that check! I did give Howard $1.50 in cash, though, that day for his part.

The following year, 1950, Mom and Dad bought a Pinto filly from Tex Hill, the Foreman of the Little HO Ranch east of Granby. Tex rode the Pinto into the gas station office one day and asked my Dad if she was gentle enough for me. Dad said yes, and I became the proud owner of my second horse, which I named Melody. That year (1950) my sister, Sandra, rode Midge and my Dad rode his hunting horse, Spike, and I rode Melody in the Rodeo Parade. Prior to the rodeo Dad (who hadn’t ridden Spike in a long time) got bucked off into a pile of rocks and got pretty banged up. Sis rode up and asked Dad (who was laying on the rocks) “are you dead Daddy”?

Sis and I rode all over Grand County, riding along US 40 to 10 Mile Creek to fish the beaver ponds; we would be stopped several times to have our photos taken by the tourists. Tourists always seemed amazed to see little kids riding on horseback way out in the country. We always brought home from our outings some nice Brookie trout. Sometimes we would ride out to The Little HO Ranch and spend a few days there with playing real live cowboys with Tex, while Sis would help his wife around the house.

In 1951 Tex Hill brought a full sister to Melody, named Patches, for Sis to ride in the parade, so, we rode side by side. That same year Eddie Linke Jr. asked me to ride his racehorse in the rodeo race. We went to the rodeo grounds several days for me to get used to the horse. Of course, the horse was not as gentle as Melody, so I fell off several times before getting use to him. The best part is that I did win the race, and was happy and proud riding Eddie’s horse.

In 1952 I once again rode Melody in the Rodeo Parade, which was sad for me as it was the last one, I attended before we moved away from Granby to Arvada. Mom and Dad sold both the horses. I guarantee several tears flowed because of that.

One of the other great things I enjoyed was going to a cow camp in the summer. A friend of my parents, Rocky Garber took me to cow camp that was behind Trails End Ranch on Willow Creek Pass. We packed our supplies in on pack horses to a small log cabin. I was so excited to be a cowboy, moving cattle from one grazing spot to another, even getting covered with mud pulling a heifer out of a mud bog. The second time I went to cow camp was with my Dad’s cousin Louis “Newt” Culver, who in my mind was the greatest cowboy ever. The cow camp was below “Devils Thumb” east of Tabernash. It was a log cabin next to a creek and had corrals to keep horses. Once again, I loved the excitement of being a cowboy. We would go to the high meadows checking on the cattle and occasionally have to chase an ornery bull back to the herd. In the evenings Newt would train horses to be good cow ponies. When they were gentle enough, he would let me ride one while he rode another that he was training.

So, some of my greatest memories of my life are the years I spent in Granby and Grand County, not a better place for a kid to grow up! I graduated from Salida High School in 1961 and our family moved back to Granby. Mom and Dad had the Texaco Station in Fraser. I joined the Air Force in 1962 and retired after serving 26 Years.

By Joe Beakey - Poncha Springs April 2022

Early Families

Topic:

Early Families

While natural events occasionally determine history, it is most often the existence of natural resources that lure humans to a region. Those who first arrived in Grand County came to mine ore, cut timber and graze cattle and therefore they determined the subsequent history of the region.

The pioneering families of Grand County had exceptional stamina, pride and endurance to survive the grueling winters and isolation. We have collected the stories of just a few of these families, but will continue expanding this section as information becomes available. If you know the story of one of the early Grand County families, please contact us so that we may include it in this section

The Ish Family

Topic: Early Families

The Ish Family

The prosperous John Lapsley (Laps) Ish family are an example of very successful settlers and entrepreneurs in early Grand County. The Ish family, with eleven children, came by covered wagon to Colorado from Missouri 1863 and settled on a farm outside of Denver.

18-year-old Laps Ish came to Grand County in 1881 to attempt his luck at the short lived mining boom outside of Teller, north of Grand Lake. He tried his luck at mining for 4 years and also carried the mail between Teller and Grand Lake, on skis or snowshoes in the winter and by foot in the summer.

Laps Ish married Alice Shearer and homesteaded near Rand (in present day Jackson County). They had two sons, Lesley John Ish and Guy Lapsley Ish. Laps and Alice built the Rand Hotel and operated it until 1910. The family then moved to Granby and built the Middle Park Auto Company garage and ran a stage line to Grand Lake. They built the Rapids Lodge by operating a sawmill on the Tonahutu River in Grand Lake and opened for business in 1915 They also built the Pine Cone Inn in Grand Lake and Leslie managed it for many years. Laps Ish died in 1943.

Tabernash

Topic: Towns

Tabernash

The town of Tabernash was established in 1905 on the location of the old Junction Ranch. The name came from the Ute Indian, Tabernash, who was killed here in 1878 during a confrontation with a posse sent to stop the Indians from tearing down fences and racing their horses on the white mans newly "private" property.

In 1913 the locomotive terminal was relocated from Fraser to Tabernash by the Denver and Salt Lake railroad. When the Moffat Tunnel was completed, the need for the terminal diminished, but the community persisted with a ranching economy.

Grand Lake's First Fireboat

Topic: Volunteer Fire Departments

Grand Lake's First Fireboat

During the summer of 1960, Jeff E. Fuller and Don Drake formed Mountain Services Inc. to offer Grand Lake shore owners protection by patrolling the properties. In May of 1961, Don Drake promoted the idea of a fireboat and with donations, a 1960 18 foot Buehler Turbocraft Jet 56 was purchased and equipped to fight fires. Don tested the water jet and found that it would pump enough water to reach the fourth story of the five story-14 bedroom Oscar Malo home.

Ironically, on September 10, 1961, that very home caught on fire. The home was completely engulfed by the time Don got the fireboat to the location but, with the help of Elmer Badger and Jerry Gruber, they concentrated on the 4-slip boathouse. The heat was so intense it melted the plastic trim on the fireboat but the boathouse was saved and still stands today.

Grand County History Stories

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