Libraries

Ute Legend of Canyons

Major John Wesley Powell was in the first party to make a recorded climb of Pikes Peak in 1868. Later, he would lead the first expedition of the Green and Colorado (Grand) Rivers. He was very interested in the Indian tribes that he encountered and later became head of the new U.S. Bureau of Ethnology. He recorded this legend as told by the Utes on his first visit to the Colorado mountains, during his Pikes Peak climb.

A chief of the Utes mourned the death of his beloved wife, and his grief was so deep, that no one could console him. Then the Great Spirit, Ta-Vwoats, appeared to him and promised to take him southwest to where he could see where his wife had gone, if he would promise to grieve no more.

Ta-Vwoats rolled a magical ball before him and it crushed mountains, earth and rocks, making a trail to the land of the afterlife. Following the ball was a rolling globe of fire which the Great Spirit and the chief followed. At last they were in the happy land where all was blessed with plenty and joy. This was where the chief's wife had gone and he was glad to see it.

When they returned, Ta-Vwoats told the chief that he must never travel that trail again during life and warned all the people against it. Knowing that those who had lost their loved ones would be tempted to make the journey, Ta-Vwoats rolled a river into the canyons so that no one could enter.

Betty Cranmer

Topic: Biographies

Betty Cranmer

November 2007

Betty Cranmer, a longtime Granby resident, says she doesn't like to be in the spotlight. Her modest home with brown siding and roof, tucked into a hill behind a stately spruce tree, reflects nothing of her and her family's past. Betty's story - full of heartache and triumph - deserves recognition.

She is a World War II veteran, a cancer-survivor, and the mother of five children (her sixth son, Forrest, died when he was 33.) She is the wife of the late Chappell Cranmer, whose father, George Cranmer, is the Cranmer the ski run at Winter Park Resort is named after. At 86 years old, Betty has lived a fuller life than many - and she shows no signs of slowing down.

She was born in England on Aug. 29, 1921. When she was 18, she joined the Women's Royal Air Force and was stationed at a burn and plastic surgery hospital, later named Queen Victoria Cottage Hospital. Deep down, she had wanted to be stationed at a fighter station instead - closer to "where the action was" - because she had just lost her first love, an Australian man, who was shot down by enemy fire. "My job was to clean up burns, which were very bad," Betty said. "A lot of them didn't have eyelids, or their noses were burned off."

Betty was fascinated by the way the doctors would build up the soldier's faces by skin grafting, she said. "It was very interesting, once you get over the smell of burns, and get into the feeling you're doing a service for those people," she said. Betty served at the hospital for four-and-a-half years. Her home was in a small town in Sussex, 30 miles from the south coast of England. The town was sometimes known as "bomb alley" during the war. Because of the town's proximity to London, German planes would often drop their bombs on her town on their way to London, she said.

She recalled pilotless planes - "big bombs with wings, nothing else" - and running for cover, although there wasn't any. She recalled the Battle of Britain, and how the sky was "almost black" with hundreds of German planes. One night, as she was working at the hospital, a young pilot from Denver was brought in. He was a member of the Canadian Air Force who had crashed in the North Sea, and spent 14 days on a dingey with no food or water. When he was finally found, semi-conscious, he was brought to a nearby hospital. "When they took his boots off, his toes came off, because they'd been immersed in water and cold for so long," Betty said. "So they sent him down to our hospital to see if we could do some grafting on his feet."

After a year of treatment, however, there was nothing the hospital could do for the young pilot; to save his life, they amputated his legs, and he was forced to use a wheelchair. He and Betty struck up a friendship, and she would often take him to town where they'd visit the cinema or local pub. Eventually, they fell in love.

One day after leaving the cinema early because Betty had to return to work, they were heading down a hill toward the hospital when a German plane flew over them. Both of them were in uniform. "I said, "My goodnesss!? There were no sirens, nothing ." The plane circled and opened fire. "I was so frightened, I let go of his (wheel)chair. Thankfully he grabbed the front wheels and was able to stop himself."

Betty and the young man returned to the hospital safely, but the attack had brought in many casualties. Eighty people were killed and 250 were wounded. The cinema they attended was destroyed by a single bomb. Betty's eyes glaze over as she remembers how lucky they had been to survive that day. "I wasn't a believer ... I didn't know there was a God in those days, because when you're in a war, well ... But I think then, by the grace of God, we got out of that." Betty and the pilot were married in the mid-1940s, and had a daughter named Susan after the war ended. Although the war was over, life wasn't any easier, Betty said. "It's hard for people who were in the war in England to describe rationing to people in this country. ... We had two ounces of meat per week, per person. You could not buy anything in the shops at all without giving up coupons. Two ounces of butter, four ounces of sugar."

Betty was pregnant with her second child when her husband died suddenly due to complications. Before his death, he told her to move to Denver where his father lived. It was 1946, and America offered a better life. Betty took Susan and all that they had and moved to Denver; she first set foot on American soil in May 1946, where she eventually had her second child, Holbrook.
Two years later, she met Chappell Cranmer, who was an investor at the time. They were married and had four children: Allen, Bruce, Genie and Forrest, and lived in Denver for 25 years. In 1969, her husband decided to move to Granby. "He attended seminary school and was ordained as a priest," Betty explained. "The Bishop said, I want you to move to Granby.' "Betty joined her husband one year later, and they bought a home she would continue to live in the next 37 years.

Chappell, or "Chap," started a church in 1981 called St. Columba Chapel - later named Cranmer Chapel - that is located behind the Silver Screen Cinema in downtown Winter Park. It is there to this day and is a vital part of the local community. Betty and her husband continued to visit England every two years to see her parents, but in 1994 she was diagnosed with cancer in her abdomen. Betty beat the cancer - despite a doctor's prognosis that she had three weeks to live - and would go on to fight and survive two more major bouts of cancer.

Chap died in 2000, two years after Betty fought off colon cancer. She continues to travel, and has just returned from a trip to England and Spain with her son. As she sits in her couch chair, her white and gray hair framed by the sun peeking through her window, one can't help but be in awe of Betty Cramner. Her home is immaculate but cozy and inviting, and the rooms are filled with photographs of children and grandchildren. She loves living in Granby, she said, where everything is close by.
"I'm very independent. I don't like driving in big blizzards and stuff like that, so I can walk to the library, the post office, the church every Sunday. ... So I like living here. I couldn't live in a big city anymore."

Betty knows she has led an amazing life, but her humbleness is what makes her unique. As she rattles off her daily routine - snowshoeing, walking, swimming, attending four different Bible studies - she mentions she is a volunteer at Cold Springs, a local greenhouse just up the road. "I love flowers," she said, as she turns and faces her bay window full of geraniums and different types of plants. "Would you like one? I have plenty."

Worm Farms and Other Gardens

Topic: Agriculture

Worm Farms and Other Gardens

Have you ever heard of a worm farm? Harry French Sr., who lived for many years at Azure, on the Colorado River, loved to fish, anywhere and anytime. He had brought the first angleworms into the valley from Iowa. At his Azure homestead, he made a worm bed and got his worms established. Pretty soon, everybody came by to get some worms for their own needs.

Worms can’t be found just anywhere in these high mountain valleys. However, at the Arkell place (Diamond Bar T) on Ranch Creek in the east end of the county, luckily someone had planted worms in a corner of the garden plot and this was the only place the Arkells could find worms. At one point, Gertrude Arkell’s cousin Rose started a small business, digging worms from the garden and selling them to fishermen who happened by. She even charged the rest of the family if they wanted worms!

Gertrude described planting their own garden in 1916 after they moved to the ranch. Papa spread several loads of well-decayed fertilizer from an old corral onto the garden and plowed it, creating a fine base for his vegetables. Of necessity, pioneers coming into Grand County started immediately to see what would grow here. They had to eat, and gardens were one of the first items on anyone’s agenda. Coming over Dice Hill from the Blue and into the Sheephorn area about 1880, Joseph McPhee, a Scot, homesteaded the grass-covered McPhee Flats in Garden Gulch, site of the first garden in the area. There were only two other homesteads on the Sheephorn at that time.

Possibly Nancy Veatch Schissler, (Mrs. Henry Roric) planted the first garden on the Williams Fork in 1883. She asked the men to plow her a bed, but they were positive nothing would grow. So, undaunted, she planted lettuce, onions, and radishes on her dirt roof and potato peelings along the ditch bank, all of which grew! Her little daughters fetched pails of water to hand to her up on the roof for irrigation.

George Henricks, on the farthest reaches of the Troublesome, rarely had access to stores. His wife, Aurella, bravely started radishes on her sod roof before the ground thawed, later transplanting them to a sheltered spot along with other vegetables. What were the usual high altitude crops? Lettuce, green onions, peas, root vegetables, and beans generally grew well. Willis Call near Kremmling brought the first white potatoes to Grand County.

Now, the Arkells on Ranch Creek had been told that at 8900 feet altitude, beans would freeze, and they did. So did the potatoes, except those planted high up the hill in a spot where the soil was deep and black. An aspen grove had grown there once, maybe for hundreds of years. The family anticipated a good crop, but in early September or even in late August, a heavy frost completely melted the patch down. That crop yielded bushels of small potatoes, few larger than golf balls. Still, the Arkells stored them in their so-called ice-house, because until Papa got a cellar dug, there was nothing else. They hoped the ice-house would keep the cold out, as it did heat, but the potatoes froze as hard as rocks. Mama would bring in enough for a meal and immediately put them into a kettle of boiling water. When done, they tasted like fresh potatoes!

Before July, the family had early green onions, lettuce, and radishes, since these didn¹t mind the frost. They froze every night but still lived, grew, and were good. The white radishes grew long, slender, and crisp. Head lettuce could be eaten early as leaf lettuce, or later as a fine firm head. Peas didn’t mind the cold either but grew fast and tall. The package advertised them as “Telephone Pole Peas.” They bloomed, set on peas ready to pick, and kept right on blooming and growing more peas, producing right up till early frost. By late July, the Arkells had small rutabagas to eat, a crop new to them. Turnips in late July were already large, and by fall they were gigantic but still sweet and good to eat raw. Turnips were pulled in the fall and stored in a great pile. Rabbits chewed off the outer skin and ate it but left the rest. The remaining skinless turnips soon froze and made good cow feed.

Actually, a number of ranchers grew turnips for cattle food, particularly for show cattle. Over on the Sheephorn, Helen Anghern Curry related that families shipped plenty of potatoes and peas out of Radium to Denver. Farmers had to get up very early to pick the vegetables in order to get them on the train. That was almost fresh!

Grain was grown more commonly than one might expect, especially on the west end. For instance, a young English chap on the Blue River, Tom Pharo, experimented with growing vegetables and grain as early as 1877. The Company Ranch on the Williams Fork planted many acres in grain. And Dr. Hoagland, on the Blue, regularly put in oats and barley for two years, before planting seed for hay crops, in order to break up the soil and gradually level the rough ground. Others raised many grains such as wheat, rye, oats, and barley, as well as hay. High altitude lettuce became a main crop to be shipped out of Grand County about 1920. Before this decade, lettuce sent by train was grown, especially on the upper Sheephorn and on the Blacktail.

Later, centered around Granby, farms spread to the Williams Fork and the Troublesome, as well as Ranch Creek. Japanese laborers harvested much of the crop. In 1919, there had not been a single truck farm in the county; in 1929, there were 34. On the Troublesome, Roy Polhamus was famous for his lettuce. His daughter, Catherine, lined the crates with heavy paper in the packing shed. After being cut in the fields, trimmed of bad outer leaves and packed, the crop was shipped to Denver by truck. It depended on how big the lettuce was as to how many dozen would fit into the crate. Roy also grew enough potatoes that he could spare many for Granby stores in the winter.

Encouraged by Nathan Hurd, a Mr. Henderson, on a little ranch straddling the shoulder between Hamilton Creek and Ranch Creek, tried growing lettuce long before the lettuce craze the west end of the county. Nobody had thought of growing it before and people were quite sure he was crazy. His lettuce was as sweet as any ever tasted, but when the big craze hit, for some reason he gave it up. Before he quit, he had some 2000 crates of Los Angeles Head Lettuce to sell and planned for 40 acres the following year. Everyone laughed at him two years before when he started, but the laugh was on them now. His 2 1/2 acres of jackpine paid him over $750/acre. The lettuce was grown on new ground and no water; dry land farmed. He called his place “The Happy Lettuce Farm”.

In the same area, a group of Basques did all the work. They irrigated at night, little lights at hand to show them the way. This local lettuce was stored in Tabernash in a shed, before being put on the train. This shed was later hauled to Granby and became the Grand Old Inn. Other crops were raised, too.

At Radium, sweet corn and strawberries were grown for sale. Harry French’s wife, Mary, had a very green thumb, and at the 1914 County Fair, special mention was given to “Mrs. French of the Sheephorn area, then age 77, for her splendid display of Brown Australian onions, raised from seed.” In addition, “she had a very handsome display of crabapples and tomatoes.” Mike Leroux, also in the Sheephorn area, said that his family almost always won a prize at the county fair in Kremmling, because they had one of the few spots in the county where one could grow apples! Women and children gathered wild berries for jams and pies. Wild strawberries, raspberries, and gooseberries went into these treats. The residents on the Troublesome picked chokecherries, and service berries, currants, in addition.

Marie Craven George remembers growing rhubarb at their cabin. Some of it still grows there. Many years later, after Marie married, she and her husband dug up some of that rhubarb and took it to their own garden in Kremmling. Marie remembers that, as a little girl, she stuck a gooseberry up her nose once and they had to hang her upside-down and spank her, until she sneezed the berry out. She decided gooseberries were for pies and jams, not noses!

Getting off the train, the Arkells often walked from Arrow, to check on the raspberry crop, for great quantities of bushes grew along the tracks. The wild strawberries, though very small, were so full of unexcelled taste that one cup would be enough to flavor a shortcake for all of them, with whipped cream on top. Using a kind of rake, they also gathered gooseberries, wild currants, and wild blueberries, which grew everywhere. Bob Peterson maintains the best berry patch for blackberries or red and black currants was on Cabin Creek a mile of so above Devils Thumb Park.

Christmas in the Mountains 1951

Topic: Stories and Poems of Past Memories

Christmas in the Mountains 1951

It was my first Christmas in the mountains. Not only that, but it was my first time to be part of a vacation in a cozy ski inn. This was at Millers Idlewild Inn in Hideaway Park (now the town of Winter Park). I had been married only eight months. Dwight and I had worked hard, getting everything in order: clean beds, fresh spreads and curtains, floors shining and bathrooms sparkling. The woodpile was full and food supplies ready. Our plans for evenings were laid out too. Dwight would do movies. His brother Woodie would call square dances, with former Moffat Road engineer George Shryer accompanying on the fiddle and his wife, Grace, chording on the piano. Tom Smith would bring his sled and team of horses, to take happy folks along snow-packed roads for sleigh rides, to the tune of jingling bells. Games were at hand, along with a fine supply of books on the shelves. We expected a wonderfully busy two weeks, which was a good thing, because it had been a long time since our last income, before Labor Day.

Family and friends were coming tomorrow to give a hand over the holiday, and then the fun would begin. As the first guests arrived, I stepped outside, and lifting my nose, I thought, "I smell snow!" Great! The area already had a pretty good covering, so that when people called and asked, "Is there snow yet? Should we come on ahead?" we could gladly say, "Come." That night it snowed, 12" of beautiful soft flakes. Skiers were overjoyed. Dwight got out early to shovel, plow, pull people out of drifts, take others to Winter Park Ski Area, three miles away. That evening we heard that almost no stumps or rocks were evident on the slopes; all had been buried. The next night it snowed again 12" of beautiful white stuff. We were amazed. But Dwight got out early to shovel, plow, pull people out if drifts, and take others to the area. The following night it snowed again, and every night for a week, it snowed, dumping heaps of snow on the whole valley.

Winter Park Ski Area, in those days, wasn't open on Christmas Day; the management wanted to let its employees have the day at home with their families. So we took our guests to the top of Berthoud Pass; from there they could ski down Seven Mile Trail and we met them at the bottom. The day after Christmas began the busiest days of all. Back then, many families didn't leave home until the 26th. This was fine, until the passes closed from heavy snows and avalanches. Then visitors, who had to leave, couldn't drive out, but people who were coming by train could still get in! We had a problem. The parking lot was jammed with rental cars. Although some folks went ahead and left by train, many families stayed on. The rooms were completely full and after all, newcomers were entitled to their reserved space. We had guests stashed all over the lounge, extras in the dorms, and extras in the cabins. What a crowd it was. I hardly had time to think.

I cleaned all morning, helped set tables and serve, did dishes, sometimes hauled skiers to or from the area, kept up with the office work, and joined in entertaining folks in the evenings. Thank heaven for family and friends! There never was such a hectic week. But the Miller hospitality at Idlewild kept our visitors relaxed and happy. Truly, it was a jolly time, with tired skiers loafing in front of the fire, doing puzzles or playing games. There was always a group playing canasta after dinner, in the dining room, and peals of laughter would pour forth when somebody won a great hand. At last New Year's Eve came and went. The rental cars had gone back to Denver. The rooms were empty. We were alone except for a couple of guests. Making our path through the deep drifts, Dwight and I went home and flopped down on our own sofa. I heaved a sigh, saying, "Well! So that's what Christmas in the mountains is like. I had o idea there would be so much snow." Little did I know that for Christmas, 1952, we would still have the crowd of guests, but there would be hardly any snow until January!

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

Ranching in Western Colorado

Topic: Ranching

Ranching in Western Colorado

Article contributed by Nichole Fuqua

Ranching in western Colorado first began in 1866 when Texas cowboys began moving cattle into western Colorado. With this rising growth of cattle into Colorado, ranching was forever changed and became a natural part of Colorado's society.

Although the idea of establishing cattle operations in the mountains did not appeal to many, the cattle and ranching industry in western Colorado began to flourish in 1882. Three causes greatly influenced this move. First, the flat grass lands from Texas to Montana were unavailable. Second, the Ute Indian tribe were being run out and soon removed from the mountains of Colorado. Third, the grasses in western Colorado were abundantly nutritious, especially in the autumn.

When cattle ranches first began, it was organized chaos. Up until the 1930's, all of the land used by cattle ranchers was open-range land. During the winter months the cows lived in the lower valleys where snow accumulation was small. Once spring began the cows were then rounded up and moved to the high mountain tops. This spring round up usually took place in the early part of June, between the first and second hay cutting. The main goal of the spring round up was to gather and sort all of the cattle into their respective herds; unfortunately many herds intermixed because of the open-range. Along with the sorting of the cows, the calves that had been born earlier that spring were branded.

During the open-range era, brands on cattle were very important. Brands were used as a marker to distinguish between herds. Today, branding is still used along with ear tags. The fall round up usually began in the early fall and was completed in stages. The first stage, involved the gathering up of cows that were going to be sold at the market. These were the first to descend from the mountains. The rest of the cattle were then taken down from the mountain and released into the lower valleys to live during the winter months. The 1930's ended the open-range era which also brought an end to fall and spring round ups.

Family life on a cattle ranch was very different from normal life in a town. The cowboy's job demanded a lot of devotion and self motivation. The men of the family were often away from the house for days sometimes weeks at a time moving and tending to the cows.

The women of a cattle ranch lead very isolated lives. During the winter months traveling was unheard of. Once the snow began to melt the water's run off caused creeks and rivers to overflow, which caused traveling in the spring to be tough. During the summer and early fall, gardening, food processing, house keeping, raising children, and the general ranch duties kept a woman busy.

The children of a cattle ranch were treated very maturely. By the age of five to the age of twelve kids were considered miniature adults. By the age of thirteen or fourteen most kids were able to perform heavy labor tasks around the farm. Ranch families exhibited very strict discipline toward the children of the house and felt very strongly in a child's education.

Cattle ranches are still found all over western Colorado. The attitude has changed throughout the years since the first cattle ranch began but some of the same traditions still exist.

Sources: Reyher, Ken. High Country Cowboys. Montrose: Western Reflections Publishing Company, 2002.

Peters, Aaron. Cattle Drives & Trail Drivers. 2003. 8 Mar. 2008 http://www.co.wilbarger.tx.us/cattle.htm.

Rundell & French - Two families of the Sheephorn

Topic: Early Families

Rundell & French - Two families of the Sheephorn

October 2009

Here we have a story of two families, who became intertwined in a far away place where there weren't too many people. In fact, there was only a handful. Three young fellows, the Rundell boys, came from Wisconsin about 1880, to settle on the Sheephorn, an area in the very southwest corner of Grand County.

Al, the oldest brother, chose land on the Upper Sheephorn. While he was at it, he established a much-needed ferry across the Grand River at today's Rancho Del Rio. His brother Clarence homesteaded land on the same stream some two miles above the Midland Trail, known to us as the Trough Road. The only home he could afford for a couple of years was a dugout under the creek bank. That tended to be damp and dingy, but Clarence hung in. Finally he was able to build a cabin uphill from the stream. Newspapers used as insulation on his cabin walls show the year to be 1882. Clarence was pleased with his house. "Now I feel I've really put down roots and am here to stay!" he exclaimed.

Their young brother, Ernest, was frail, for he had suffered all his life from lung trouble. Still, he loved working with Clarence. One summer, they were digging a water ditch near Azure, on the Grand, above Radium; Ernest caught pneumonia and died. The poor boy was only about sixteen. Clarence never got over his brother's death and he gave land for a cemetery, where he buried Ernest, the first person there.

The second family were the Rundell boys' neighbors, Charlie French and his older brother, Harry, Jr. who had "hit town" from Iowa just about the same time. Harry homesteaded upstream from Clarence and anticipated ranching. By and by, though, Harry remarked to Charlie, "I've discovered I'm not much of a hand at ranching and besides, my land isn't very fertile. I think I'll sell it and become a U.S. Forest Ranger instead. If they'll have me." He easily passed the test and soon transferred to the little community of Azure.

Now, Charlie French was a wonderful musician, a whiz at playing the fiddle. He missed making music with their sister Phoebe. "You know, Harry," he said one day. "I'd really like Phoebe to come out and see this country. I'm sure she'd like it. And besides, we could play together again."

He urged her several times to come visit. At last she agreed, traveling by train to Leadville, then to Wolcott. About then, Charlie started to worry. "Phoebe's only 18," he thought, "and she's such a lady. Is it proper to expect her to ride sidesaddle all the way in from Wolcott?" He stopped by to see Clarence Rundell. "Clarence, do you suppose you could take your buggy to Wolcott and pick up our Phoebe?" He explained the circumstances. "Why, I'd be delighted," answered his friend.

It was a happy development. At the station Clarence saw a lovely young woman, tall and slender, obviously well-educated. He soon found she had a beautiful soprano voice and was an accomplished musician who could play both piano and organ. He took to Phoebe right away, and she, to him. It wasn't long before the two decided to marry.

Now the French boys' parents, Harry, Sr. and Mary, sold their Iowa farm about now and homesteaded at Azure, to be near their boys, even though Charlie left the country soon after. Here the old folks remained for many years. They also had some land up the Little Sheephorn, which they gave Phoebe as a dowry, when Clarence and Phoebe decided to wed. Shortly after, the happy young couple married and made the little cabin their home.

Their three children were born here, Ernest, named after the brother who died, Marie, and Helen. Clarence worked very hard, ranching in the summer and cutting logs in the winter. The young folks were thrifty. In 1908, Clarence sold his homestead to a Swiss newcomer and bought land above his original site. By 1912, Clarence and Phoebe built a fine three-story house, complete with beautiful hardwood floors. It was wonderful place to raise the children. "This will surely be our home forever!"

Harry French, Sr., died in 1924. "Mother," invited Phoebe, "move in with us, since you're alone now." Mary did this, but then she returned to Iowa to stay with her sister, until her death. The French name continues on, however, for there are two French Creeks in the Sheephorn area.

Finally, the Rundells decided to buy a home in north Denver and to invest in an apartment house. All went well until 1928, when everything fell apart at the beginning of the Depression. Clarence lost nearly everything. "Let's go back to the ranch, Phoebe," he said. "I still have my 300-400 head of cattle; I know ranching and love it. Let's go." Thus they left city life and returned to their ranching roots.

Water/Lakes/Reservoirs

Topic:

Water/Lakes/Reservoirs

Grand County is home to the headwaters of the famed Colorado River - the river that brings water to five other arid Western states. Water is the lifeblood of semi-arid Colorado and Grand County is one of the most water-rich areas of Colorado, and yet faces a shortage due to historical water agreements, written long before population pressures and the environmental awareness of the current age. On average, the water diversion projects in the county move a whopping 305,000 acre-feet per year from the Fraser, Colorado and Williams Fork rivers - all headwaters of the Colorado's main stem.

60 percent of the water in Grand County is diverted elsewhere and there are plans underway, mostly from Front Range communities, to divert as much as 80 percent of the county's headwaters by the year 2010. Two of the main water utilities, Denver Water and the Northern Colorado Water Conservancy District face a quandary: how to take the water from Grand County without further damaging the delicate environment and the region's economy, which is fueled by tourists who expect to play in the very water the Front Range wants to take.

Post Offices

Article contributed by Abbott Fay

Postal routes into Middle Park were first offered for contract to the lowest bidders in 1875. A once a week route over Rollins Pass was bid at $693 per year but winter was so severe that the service stopped. The route from Georgetown to Hot Sulphur Springs over Berthoud Pass from July through October was more enduring.

Later, postmaster appointments were recommended by congressmen, thereby making the the system more variable as political party power shifted at election time. The great advantage to having a post office was the opportunity to include a retail goods for sale, often in the living room of the postmaster's home.

Post offices were located within 10 miles of the addresses they served. In those days, a 10 mile round trip would often take a full day of travel by horse or wagon. Many post offices were simply ranch homes, and there were frequent changes in location due to disabilities or political party changes.

Post offices were closed when there were too few recipients to justify the cost, often caused by consolidation of ranches or mine closures. As transportation became mechanized, there was no longer the need for a 10 mile radius maximum.

PO Opening Date First Postmaster

Hot Sulphur Springs Sept. 10, 1874 Thomas N. Francie

Fraser July 20, 1876 William Z. Cozens

Troublesome March 15, 1878 Henry King

(When Henry King died in 1879, his wife Albina replaced him. The Troublesome office was discontinued on April 19, 1935)

Red Mountain April 8, 1878 William D. Coberly

(Discontinued in September 1878)

Hermitage May 17, 1878 George Rand

(Intermittent service. Discontinued Jan. 10, 1884)

Grand Lake Jan. 10, 1879 John Baker

Twelve Mile June 1879 Daniel N. Ostrander

(Discontinued Aug. 5, 1880)

Lulu City July 20, 1880 D.W. Hassix

(Discontinued Nov. 26, 1883)

Gaskill Oct. 22, 1880 John K. Mowrey

(Discontinued Nov. 11, 1886)

Colorow May 24, 1882 Thomas E. Pharo

(Discontinued May 16, 1903)

Selak June 11, 1883 Frank J. Selak

(Discontinued Sept. 29, 1893)

Fairfax Jan. 14, 1884 John Barber

(Discontinued July 9, 1885)

Coulter Aug. 14, 1884 Fred Halkowiez

(Discontinued Sept. 20, 1905)

Kremmling Feb. 12, 1885 Rudolph Kremmling

Kinsey Oct. 24, 1891 Rudolph Kremmling

Crescent Feb. 14, 1887 Tracy C. Tyler

(Discontinued April 16, 1894)

Clarkson July 28, 1892 William M. Clark

(Discontinued Dec. 8, 1898)

Dexter Sept. 21, 1896 Milton G. McQueary

(Discontinued May 20, 1911)

Martin Aug. 24, 1898 Samuel Martin

Discontinued Nov. 3, 1934)

Scholl Nov. 27, 1901 Ole Langholm

(Discontinued Jan. 21, 1930)

Lohman March 31, 1903 Clyde N. King

(Name changed to Stillwater on Oct. 4, 1911. Discontinued Oct. 29, 1930)

Leal Sept. 17, 1904 Charles F. Barker

(Discontinued April 30, 1930)

Arrow March 21, 1905 William L. York

(Discontinued March 15, 1915)

Tabernash Sept. 30. 1905 Mary Knight

Granby Oct. 26, 1905 Agnes Whited

Radium Feb. 9, 1906 O.C. Mugrage

(Discontinued Dec. 6, 1963)

Parshall Nov. 17, 1906 G. Walter Dow

Elenor and George Smith

Topic: Biographies

Elenor and George Smith

"You have tuberculosis." Frightening words to be sure, especially in times when the life expectancy rate for such a disease was slim. Tuberculosis, or consumption as it was commonly called, is a disease that primarily affects the lungs. Something as simple as the common cold quickly develops until the patient is suffering from severe chest pain. Soon they are coughing up blood. For most diagnosed, the result was eventual death. As a last hope, many people fled westward, desperately seeking the arid climate that would dry up the fluid in their lungs. Little did they know that while the west would cure them, it would by no means make their lives easier.

Elenor Smith, a woman in her early thirties living in Wisconsin, was one of the many so diagnosed. The doctor who examined her did not have much hope for her survival. He ominously predicted she would live no more that a few years longer and she would be unable to bear any more children. With this devastating prognosis ringing in her ears, Elenor, along with her husband George and their five children, packed up and headed west. Their long journey brought them to Fraser, Colorado, where they ended up settling in 1910.

The Smiths soon became an important part of the community. They built a log cabin in what is now "Olde Town Fraser' and, like everyone else, allowed their cattle to roam freely. George, affectionately called "Whispering George" by those who knew him well, owned the only livery stable in town. He could regularly be found escorting "Doc Susie" to her patients, be they man or beast.

The climate seemed to have been the perfect cure for Elenor. She lived a hardy and wholesome life, and went on to have four more children. Being the hard worker she was, she would often cook for the men working in the nearby logging camps. When she wasn't cooking, she was washing laundry. She was known by many and loved by all.

However, things were rough all over and all too soon the Smith family learned how harsh life could be. In 1921, their second eldest son, Oliver, at the age of twenty, was killed while working at Virgil Linnegar's sawmill. Then in 1944, things again took a turn for the worst. Her youngest daughter's (Georgene) two children contracted polio, a contagious disease that causes muscle paralysis and stunted limb growth, while their father was away in World War II.

As the story goes, the eldest of the two children, Sherry, showed signs of polio first, so she was rushed to the hospital in Denver. Not thinking George, the youngest at the time, had also contracted it, his mother left him with his Grandma Elenor, so that she could be with her ailing daughter. However, one day Elenor found him hiding under the table crying. Knowing immediately the two-year-old wasn't just throwing a fit, she scooped him up in her arms and rushed to get help.

Polio had been going around for a few years now, leaving a swath of deaths in its wake. People were doing everything they could to prevent bringing the disease upon themselves and their families, which was why the woman working in the telephone office locked the door when she saw them coming. Not knowing what else to do, Elenor searched frantically for someone, anyone, to help her. She even began knocking on house doors. Finally one brave man offered to help. He took her and little George to Denver in his car. Luckily, both children survived, though they would carry the repercussions of the disease for the rest of their lives.

Having conquered tuberculosis, polio, and everyday hardships, Elenor Smith died in 1974 at the ripe age of 93.

Grand County History Stories

Main menu

Secondary menu

Libraries

Libraries Articles

Articles to Browse

Ute Legend of Canyons

Betty Cranmer

Worm Farms and Other Gardens

Christmas in the Mountains 1951

4th of July Parades in Granby

Ranching in Western Colorado

Rundell & French - Two families of the Sheephorn

Water/Lakes/Reservoirs

Post Offices

Elenor and George Smith

Libraries

Search form

Libraries

Ute Legend of Canyons

Betty Cranmer

Worm Farms and Other Gardens

Christmas in the Mountains 1951

4th of July Parades in Granby

Ranching in Western Colorado

Rundell & French - Two families of the Sheephorn

Water/Lakes/Reservoirs

Post Offices

Elenor and George Smith

Libraries