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.

The Knight Ranch and Charles Lindbergh

Topic: People

The Knight Ranch and Charles Lindbergh

In Grand County during the 1920's, you might have been lucky enough to have taken a plane ride over Grand Lake with Charles Lindbergh. It may sound preposterous, but Gordon Spitzmiller and his father, Gus, were two of the many fortunate people who got private sightseeing tours over the Grand Lake area with Charles A. Lindbergh as tour guide.

In the early 1920's, the aviation industry was a brand new field open to the adventurers, the thrill seekers and the adventurous. Charles Lindbergh was one of those men. In the spring of 1926, Lindbergh had the dream of flying solo over the Atlantic Ocean, from New York to Paris nonstop. He was a determined man and was resolved to be the first man to cross the Atlantic and win the Orteig Prize.

On May 22, 1919, Raymond Orteig of New York City offered a prize of $25,000 "to be awarded to the first aviator who shall cross the Atlantic in a land or water aircraft (heavier-than-air) from Paris or the shores of France to New York, or from New York to Paris or the shores of France, without stop."

Besides Lindbergh, there were four serious contenders for the Orteig prize, one of which was Commander Richard Byrd, the first man to reach the South Pole. Lindbergh's courage and enthusiasm for such a flight were not enough; he needed financial backing. Lindbergh found his financial answer in Harry H. Knight, a young aviator who could usually be found bumming around the Lambert Field in St. Louis. This was the beginning of the Knight-Lindbergh partnership that would soon change the course of aviation history.

After being denied any financial assistance by several of St. Louis's businessmen, Lindbergh made an appointment with knight at his brokerage office. Knight, the president of the St. Louis Air Club, was fascinated with Lindbergh's plan and called his friend, Harold M. Bixby, president of the St. Louis Chamber of Commerce. Bixby also displayed a strong interest in the obscure stunt flyer and mail pilot. Together Knight and Bixby formed an organization called "the Spirit of St. Louis", which was dedicated to gathering funds for the flight. More than $10,000 was needed in order to build a single engine plane and acquire the proper equipment.

Knight went to his father, Harry F. Knight, who was a major power in the realm of finance and an equal partner in the firm Dysart, Gamble & Knight Brokerage Company. Like his son, the senior Knight was interested in the aviation field and backed every effort to make America conscious of airplane transportation.

Without the financial aid and moral support offered by the Knight family, Charles Lindbergh may not have been able to cross the Atlantic in 1927. Lindbergh's gratitude to these two men never ebbed. Lindbergh and, his famous wife Ann Morrow, came often to Grand County as guests of Harry F. Knight whose ranch encompassed 1,500 acres on the South Fork of the Colorado River. The ranch today is covered by the waters of the Granby Reservoir.

Knight, a nature lover, spent much of his time at this ranch. It was a haven for sportsmen and adventure seekers, and Lindbergh was a natural for these two categories. One of the largest and best airstrips in the west was added to the Knight Ranch in order to accommodate the owner and his guests. Besides the airstrip, the ranch boasted a miniature golf course, a 28 room estate, a private guest "cabin", a good selection of livestock and an array of entertainment that would suit all. It was a sanctuary for the affluent.

Local people were so enthused about the handsome aviator that they named a 12,000 ft. peak in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area (east of Granby) "Lindbergh Peak". However, during the 1930's the hero was honored by Adolph Hitler and Lindbergh made a speech favoring Nazism. This lead to a fall from grace in the eyes of the public. Even though Lindbergh changed his mind as World War II began, it was too late to regain his former popularity. The peak was renamed "Lone Eagle Peak" which was a nickname for the famous aviator.

After Harry F. Knight died of coronary thrombosis in 1933, his son, along with ranch manager Harry Morris, turned the ranch into a major breeding and beef cattle operation. It continued as such until 1948, when the Knights were asked to sell it to the federal government or have it condemned to make way for the reservoir. Moss bought out the cattle operation and most of the buildings were sold, but the colorful memories of the Knight ranch were buried in the depths of Granby Reservoir.

Mountains of Grand County

Topic: Mountains

Mountains of Grand County

The mountains of Grand County may not boast any of the famous “fourteeners“ (14,000 feet and above), but Middle Park is defined by some of the most majestic ranges in the state. These include parts of the Front Range, Gore Range, Rabbit Ears Range, and the Williams Fork Mountains.

The only range Grand County can call entirely it's own is the Never Summer Range. It's highest point is Mount Richthofen (12,940 feet). Other major peaks include: Mount Howard (12,810 feet), Mount Cirrus (12,797 feet), Mount Nimbus (12,706 feet), and Nokhu Crags (12,485 feet). The name Never Summer is translated from the Arapahoe name, Ni-chebe-chii, which means “the place of No Never Summer“. The cloud names of Cirrus and Nimbus, and Stratus and Cumulus were the idea of James Grafton Rogers, a founder of the Colorado Mountain Club.

The Never Summer Range stretches for ten miles from Cameron Pass to Bowen Mountain. This range is darker and harder due the tremendous heat produced when the peaks were a localized center of volcanic activity.

Places in Grand County

Topic:

Places in Grand County

Click on the drop-down menus and discover the history behind some of the everyday places you visit in Grand County.

Grand County was established in 1874 by the Territory of Colorado, thus becoming a county two years before Colorado became a state. It was named for the Grand River, the name by which the Colorado River was known at that time.

The headwaters of the today's Colorado River are in Grand County. The county was formed from a portion of Summit County but acquired its current boundaries in 1877, when part of the Grand County was used to create Routt County.

The county seat is Hot Sulphur Springs. The area of 1,854 square miles (larger than Rhode Island) consists of meadows, river valleys and mountains.

Sources:
R.C. Black, Island in the Rockies. Pruett Publishing Company, 1969
William Bright,

Colorado Place

Names. Johnson Publishing Company, 1993
Hafen and Hafen, Our State: Colorado. Old West Publishing Company, 1971

Historic Granby Real Estate

Topic: Granby

Historic Granby Real Estate

William Shakespeare, the historic play writer, said, “There is a history in all men’s lives.” The same could be said for many Grand County buildings. According to author, Lela McQueary in her 1962 book, “Widening Trails,” real estate sales and land giveaways helped to build our towns. “In 1905, a town site was obtained from Jim Snider, who had homesteaded the land upon the sagebrush mesa,” wrote McQueary. “The village was called Granby for Granby Hillyer, a civil engineer. Two general stores, two livery stables, a post office and a tiny café (all built with false fronts to make them appear much larger) were scattered on the north side of Main Street, three blocks long.” That Main Street today is Agate Avenue. A quick search of the Grand County tax rolls reveals an interesting historic mix of buildings.

For example, the current Brynoff home at 170 2nd Street was the Post Office building constructed in 1910 and originally located at 458 East Agate. That building was moved to its current home to make way for the construction for the new Post Office building in 1945 at 458 East Agate. Deb Brynoff, the Executive Director of the Grand County Board of Realtors, said, “When we updated and built onto the original building, we found old letters stuffed in the walls. Obviously, they used them in the early years to add insulating value. I guess they had junk mail even then!”

On July 1, 1966, a new Post Office building was dedicated at 225 East Jasper Avenue (now the current home of the Grand County Library District Administrative Office). According to Granby-area Realtor, Susie Peterson of Glenn Realty, who used to own the building at 458 East Agate when they converted it to the Granby Veterinary Clinic, “Downstairs was full of those neat glass front post office boxes with the gold dials. You can just imagine the history in that building.” Other buildings constructed in those early years were 127 4th Street in 1909. In addition to a private home, over the years, businesses such as Re/max Real Estate and Katie’s Flower Shop were located at 247 East Agate, which was also built in 1909. In 1910, the property at 110 Garnet was built.
The Roaring 20s saw a spurt of construction such as 172 Topaz (1922), 307 Jasper and 59 4th Street (1924), 166 Jasper and 291 Topaz (1929). The current Columbine Café property at 395 East Agate was built during the heydays of 1927 when it was called the Town Crier Restaurant.

After the Great Crash of 1929 and the Depression of the 1930s, New Deal jobs and loan programs helped fuel new construction. In fact, in 1933, the famous Payne’s Café was built at 365 East Agate. Today, the Greater Granby Chamber of Commerce and Downtown Enhancement offices, along with Noriyuki & Parker law offices are housed in the almost 75 year-old building.

Today’s Shadow Mountain Chiropractic Clinic of Drs. Jeff and Deb Shaw at 60 2nd was built in 1935 as a private home. On April 18, 1935, the first addition to Granby helped the town grow. In 1938, 387 East Agate was the site of the new pool hall run by Alva West. Today Lorene Linke’s Fabric Nook welcomes customers and quilters at the historic location.

In 1938, the building at 185 East Agate, which was Granby’s first strip mall, also was constructed with Craig’s Café, later Olson’s Café. Over the years businesses such as Maureen’s Clothing Shop, a laundromat, a barbershop and the Carpet Wagon found homes where today the Longbranch and Schatzis Pasta & Pizza Restaurants are found.

Post World War II America and Granby boomed. Granby had an influx of new residents because of the continued construction of the Granby Dam and the Colorado Big Thompson Water Project. In 1946, the Granby Dairy Building at 106 Jasper sprung up. That same year, Carmichael Real Estate Company built a new office at 191 East Agate. Today real estate is still king at that corner building with the Grand County Board of Realtors and The Title Company of the Rockies offices located there.

The Granby landmark, Frontier Motel, at 232 West Agate was built in 1951 by Earl Saylor. In 1954 Jenkins & Fulk began construction of the Granby Trading Post at 231 East Agate. Ken and Debbie Eaker and Jay Young bought that property in May 1995 and renamed the store, The Grand Mountain Trading Company.

Colorado-Big Thompson Project

Topic: Water

Colorado-Big Thompson Project

The idea of diverting water from the Colorado River on the Western Slope of the Continental Divide to the productive farmlands of the eastern plains had been a dream of planners as early as 1929. Subsequently, a long period of drought and the sagging economy of the “Great Depression” whetted demands for what became the largest trans-mountain diversion project ever built.

The Colorado-Big Thompson Project takes water from Grand Lake on the western side of the Continental Divide to the Big Thompson River on the east. The water flows through a 13 mile tunnel beneath Rocky Mountain National Park. In order to supply the residential and farming needs of Northeastern Colorado, the project was begun in 1938 and continued through the years of World War II. The first water flowed though the tunnel, named for Senator Alva B. Adams, on June 23, 1947.

In order to assure an adequate supply from Grand Lake, a dam was built creating Shadow Mountain Reservoir. A larger lake, Granby Reservoir was then built below, with a unique pumping plant that forces water into Shadow Mountain. The Farr Pumping Plant cost over $9 million and provides an additional 700,000 of irrigated land to northeastern Colorado. Further reservoirs were added, both to supplement the diversion and to compensate the water needs of Western Colorado. These include Willow Creek and Windy Gap Reservoirs in Grand County.

While most legislators were enthusiastic about the project, U.S. Representative Edward Taylor was vehemently opposed to the reduction of water flowing down the Colorado River. A compromise was reached in the creation of Green Mountain Reservoir (on the Blue River), which reserves water to replenish the Colorado River. The city of Denver later claimed upstream water on the Blue River for the massive diversion project of Dillon Reservoir

Claims on the water of the Colorado River range from the fruit and wine regions of the Grand Valley in Colorado all the way to Los Angeles and Mexico. It can be said that every snowflake which falls in Western Colorado had already been over-appropriated, especially during drought periods in the arid West.

Joseph Wescott

Topic: Biographies

Joseph Wescott

Joseph Wescott was born in 1838 in Nova Scotia and reared in Iowa. By 1865, he was in Middle Park, squatting, half-blind and semi-alcoholic, in Hot Sulphur Springs with his friend Charlie Utter.

Having come to Colorado to get relief from rheumatism, he passed his time in creative writing, fishing, drinking, and shooting his revolver. In 1868, after being induced to sell all of his claims of 160 acres around the hot springs, he left Hot Sulphur Springs to go to Grand Lake.

In 1870, a group of Arapahoe Indians arrived in the area and there is an unverified report that Wescott, Jack Sumner, and three fishermen killed “not less than five” of the Indians. Soon after this incident, Wescott settled into developing a rustic resort with cabins, rafts, canoes, and skiffs on Grand Lake.

By 1879, he had three buildings on the West Shore. In July 1880, disaster struck when Edward Phillips Weber, an attorney, took over Wescott’s original filing as his own. Weber claimed that there were “flaws in the filing” and forced Wescott out.

Nevertheless, on June 26, 1888, Wescott filed a plat for “Grand Lake City,” on the lake shore south from the inlet. He designed the area for summer visitors rather than as a residential community.

Wescott later wrote a famous poem about the legend of Grand Lake, and how the spirits of the lost Ute women and children can still be heard wailing on foggy mornings at the lake shore.

Howard Henry Yust

Topic: Biographies

Howard Henry Yust

Howard Henry Yust was the sixth child of Charley and Mary Yust, born April 18, 1891 on their homestead by the Blue River six miles south of Kremmling. At age eleven, Henry worked as a teamster. He and his brother Bill rode broncs at early Middle Park Fairs. He homesteaded part of the ranch then grew potatoes Wynn Howe sold at his Troublesome store. Henry and his brother Ed raised lettuce in 1924-5 where Mesa, Arizona is now.

Winters, Henry and Ed broke horses. Daily they rode five miles through deep snow. The first day one brother led the unbroken horse ridden by the other brother. The next day, the two rode their two horses together, but separately to feed the Yust family cow herd at the mouth of Gore Canyon. Loose hay pitched onto team pulled sleds was pitched off in meadows.

In the summer of 1931 Jack Shiltz approached Henry while he and Ed were building the first water carrying flume/suspension bridge over the Blue River and asked if he would work for Middle Park Auto in Granby as a mechanic. Henry asked Ed if he wanted the ranch. Ed said yes, so Henry left. Later, Henry operated Standard stations in Kremmling, first the current Kremmling town hall, second now O'Aces Liquor. After he leased the second station to Dolye Likely, Henry operated a rock shop where he sold jewelry he made.

July 7, 1943 Henry married Mary Anna Ostergaard. They raised Mary's nieces Willa Jo and Donna Dee Ostergaard. On his last visit to Kremmling August 30, 1980 Henry showed Jim Yust the location of Elliott's cabin on Elliott Creek three miles south of Kremmling. Elliott squatted on land now owned by Blue Valley Ranch when he was killed by Indians taking revenge for the killing of Chief Tabernash. This band went on west to participate in the Meeker Massacre (1879). Henry died Election Day November 4, 1980 in Northglenn, Colorado.

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 Water Disagreements

Topic: Water

Early Water Disagreements

As fast as settlers arrived in the county, conflicts arose over water use. George T. Bell, an early rancher on the Blue River in the 1890's, had water rights coming out of Deep Creek, Spring Creek, and Soda and Iron Springs. Daughter Maud Bell had married James Mugrage and when her father died in 1925, she and James stayed on the ranch of about 800 acres, to operate it. She reported years later that when Noonen, a large rancher also on the Blue, built his ditch, he took much of the Bell water and used it for his own benefit. Many years later, Maud discovered that although her father was long dead, those early water rights still belonged to the Bells, not the Noonens.

Another family, that of George Henricks, settled far up the Troublesome Valley, about 1900, in what was truly an inaccessible spot. What possessed him to pick such a remote area for his ranch? Because when he and his wife Aurille lived in Nebraska and tried to make a living on their farm, farmers upstream stole their water to the point that they couldn't keep their crops alive. Aurille actually had to use the same batch of water for two or three purposes! As water fights escalated, George vowed to find a place where nobody could be above him and his water source. Rancher Will Call took him far up the Troublesome valley to a large meadow, reachable only by foot or horseback. Life wasn't easy, for George and Aurille had to do everything from scratch, and they lived in a cabin with a dirt floor for many years. But nobody took his water!

Even more recently there was a case on Crooked Creek, where a ranching family that owned quite a good spring and used it to water their hay, discovered that a new neighbor was diverting the water from the spring over onto his own land, to water his own hay! The rancher protested and diverted the water back where it belonged. The newcomer turned around and stole it again. This situation went on for many years without good satisfaction.

The Kirtz Ditch development on the Troublesome began about 1890. In 1911, an Elias T. Copelin homesteaded land, later adjacent to the Alexander and George Murray Baker ranches. One day Copelin and Murray Baker, one of the brothers, got into an argument over water rights in the Kirtz Ditch, each accusing the other of stealing his water. Murray, who was a little guy with a fierce temper, picked up a shovel and gave Copelin a mighty whack with it. Copelin fell to the ground but after a bit picked himself up, climbed on his horse, and headed toward his home. However, the blow must have damaged his brain because he was found the next day, dead on the ground at his own gate

High on Meadow Creek, in the early 1900's, lumber activity began in the area later known as Sawmill Meadow. About 1910, the Western Land and Flume Co. put in a little dam near what is now the trailhead to Columbine Lake. The resulting lake, today filled with water lilies, was used as a holding pond for logs that would be moved by flume to the main mill downstream in Tabernash. This lumber company sold to Western Box & Lumber Company in 1912. Business flourished. There was even a short railroad going into the woods, with the tracks made of logs about 6" to 8" in diameter. Prospects looked good. However, from the beginning water rights were an issue. Some people say it was Nathan Hurd who broke the company. Western Box had lost some of its water to the Strawberry Ditch (going to Granby) in 1914. More trouble was looming. Hurd wanted to keep the water from the little reservoir for the ranchers and lettuce farmers below. The timber folks wanted to use the water during the summer months to keep the flume going. Nobody was willing to give up anything, so in 1915, the big mill closed. Still, efforts continued.

Then in 1919, the planing mill at Tabernash burned. In the early twenties, further contention led to the withholding of more water from the lumber companies who wanted permission to ditch Trail Creek water across into Meadow Creek, replacing water taken higher up for the flume and Strawberry Ditch. This would have been quite easy because, about seven miles out of Tabernash is a nearly flat saddle that exists between the two creeks. Nevertheless the Hurds wouldn't hear of it.

Then one Henry Jarvis showed up on the scene. He was known to all the timber men. In 1923, Jarvis, using a box of TNT, "blew the dam" of the irrigation reservoir at Western Box. People suspected that he did it for T.S. Huston, one of the big lumber powers of the area. The feeling was that "if the lumbermen couldn't have the water, neither could the ranchers and the Granby farmers." In any case, that basically was the end of Western Box Company.

Colorow - Ute Chieftain

Topic: Indians

Colorow - Ute Chieftain

Colorow was a Ute Chieftain who was known for profound stubbornness and bitter resentment of the white man's intrusion into the Ute hunting grounds.

Indian Agent Meeker had ruled that that the Utes must depend on the United States government for food supplies, rather than their traditional hunting. These supplies were sometimes held up for delivery and upon their eventual arrival,contaminated. Colorow thought the white settlers of Middle Park (near Granby) were killing too many of the game animals that had been critical in feeding the Ute people.

So in the fall of 1878, Colorow started a brush fire high in the Medicine Bow range, planning to drive the deer, elk, and buffalo west to the Ute reservation. But the winds took an unexpected shift, driving the wild game northward and away from Ute territory.

The fire drove out the last of the buffalo ever to be seen in the Middle Park region again and it took many years for the forests and ranges to recover from the devastation.

Grand County History Stories

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