Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

A Thousand Elk and A Black Bear; An Experience; A Ride in the Colorado Mountains

We took a trip to my father, Sidney Walker's house on the weekend of April 23, 1999. Our path followed highway I-25, south to a little coal-mining town of Aguilar, CO. (southern Colorado). About the only business left in this town is Ringo's Market, which provided the necessities for those few people who live there. They still have a high school, a nice library and an antique store. There are abandoned buildings in this town that are architecturally beautiful.

I enjoy riding my bike around this peaceful town, and it's especially pretty in the late fall. The people are friendly and all say hello as I pedal past. The cemeteries tell me this was a thriving area at one time. Aguilar Cemeteries are a story for another day.

On Sunday, April 25, my brother Bob and his wife, Sandy, took us for a ride to the Tourist area of Stonewall, CO. We began our trip by going back north on I-25 to Walsenburg, CO. and exiting toward the west on Highway 160. At LaVeda, CO. we turned south on Highway 12 and went through the town of Cuchara, CO. and headed for the pass of the same name. Just before the road begins to rise to the top of the pass, to the west there is a sign that says "Blue Lakes". Up that road are two small lakes, the kind seen in a photo of Colorado, with blue spruce surrounding the lakes and reflecting in water as clear as glass. These lakes in the summer are lined elbow to elbow with fishermen. Once, when I was about 16 years old, our family camped at Blue Lakes (a story for another day).

There's a road on up Cuchara Pass that goes to the top, where Cordova Pass goes back east to Aguilar. I have yet to follow that road. It's closed today because of a recent snowstorm. Oh yes, snow still covers the mountains, and its still winter. The elevation at the very top is 9, 941 feet. We started down the other side of the pass on Highway 12, and followed the road by a small fenced cemetery holding a crude hand-hewed stone saying simply, "Ma and Pa." We stopped close to this cemetery to view the tranquil countryside. When my husband returned to the car, in his hand he held a bunch of purple snow crocus. I hadn't seen these flowers for thirty-seven years. How could they bloom in the snow?

We drive down and around a hairpin curve to North Lake, where we stopped for a break. Just then, over the top of the mountain, we could see it coming—a blizzard in the form of a snow shower. It whirled off the hillside and down to cover us with snow, covering our sweaters in white. The air was fresh, and the snow, of course, was cleaner than all snow, because it came from a place closer to God.

With the snow continuing to fall, we traveled on to the dirt side road, up the North Fork Canyon, We turned right to proceed up its rock covered road, and passed by the many campgrounds that will soon be host to happy people on their weekend outings. Far up this road into San Isabel National Forest is a place my dad always called Potato Patch. It was one of his favorite places to go to enjoy the beauty of the mountains. The elevation is so high there that just a few steps left me gasping for air. Mountains surround Potato Patch with timberline at their tops. Over on the side of the patch, coming straight out the side of the hill is a spring of water. It's the sweetest water ever tasted. It beats all the bottled water you can buy. Dad used to drive all the way up there just to drink the water. This water is as smooth as the best southern whiskey. I wished I could bring a truckload of water back to Nebraska with me, but it's only to be enjoyed for a minute, just like the mountains. I couldn't bring either home with me.

We left the sweet water behind, returned to Highway 12 and went on south to Monument Lake, another popular recreation place (a story for another day). In the middle of Monument Lake is a rock monument connected with the dirt below the water. Parts of the vertical rock have been dropping away into the lake. I fear some day soon it will lose the reason for its name. There was a time in my life when driving over the cattle guard, to the entry of that lake, meant summer and a good time.

Still south down the road we went, wondering why the pines gave no odor at this time of the year. Maybe it's because the sap had not started to rise in the tree. Or does the warm sun have something to do with the smell of the pines? Similarly connected to this, at one time I found a perfume by a popular company called Wrappings that makes me smell like a Christmas Tree. I like that, and I always smile when I spray the fresh fragrance on my wrist. Could there be any better sent than Christmas and happy times.

We stopped at Stonewall, CO. it was the place I came after I left West Virginia and where I spent my teenage years with my family. That place was home to me for six years. Memories rushed into my mind: places like the old C. C. Camp and the Purgatory River that ran through it, where we used to ice skate. Then, there is the Stonewall that rises out of the ground hundreds of feet, giving Stonewall its name. We used to climb the wall for entertainment to its top and would be in awe as we overlooked the settlement of the little town so far below. Another source of entertainment was a walk to the cemetery over on the hill. At 15 years old we thought we would live forever as we looked at the graves with pictures of pretty people on them. I have ridden up that hill since that time to attend the burial of several family members that were so dear to me, and now I know life is too short and is over much too soon. These are all stories for another day.

Stonewall is supported by tourism during the summer. There are cabins and places to stay with lots of people to talk to. It seemed nine out of ten cars were from Texas. The winters for a teenager at Stonewall were long with just school and TV to keep us busy. I would read nights in the cold bedroom that my sisters and I shared, while the ice formed on the inside of the windows. I'd awaken to the noise of my dad shaking the grate in the coal stove as he prepared to build the fire to warm the house and his family.

We stopped to eat at the Stonewall Shopping Bag, a grocery store and a café. We ate the best chiliburger by a window viewing the Stonewall to the north.

So, for want of you not to get bored, I will take a break until next week when I'll continue our trip to this wonderful place of the 1,000 elk and one black bear. Doesn't the word "Colorado" in it self cause you to think vacation and all that goes with the mountains?

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. Anonymous

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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