Franklin County, Nebraska

For Another Day

An Experience: on down the road on Highway 12.

I first laid eyes on my future husband in front of the stonewall Shopping Bag in the year 1962, when I was a senior in high school.

I was on horseback and he had come to visit our family with his brother, who was married to my sister. That was in the early spring, when the evening air would cool to freezing. I was quick to return the horse to its owner and hurry home to see more of the man from Nebraska, via California, with the dark tan. We were so young, our skin without wrinkles, our minds without worries, and our whole life still ahead of us. We were married the following October and were both blessed by the Lord.

From Stonewall, we made a turn to the east, but we were still on Highway 12, on down around the curve, past the home of my friend Mary and Rudy Lopez, and down the straight stretch of road to the two room school where I attended seventh and eight grade. Then it was past the Stonewall Community Church, where my memories see my sister and myself standing on the front door step, all dressed up for Easter in soft pastel spring jackets. We came next to the Picketwire Lodge, the only place to get gas now, since the Shopping Bag's pumps are gone. When I went to the two-room school, we used to go to the Picket wire Lodge and grocery store for pop and ice cream on the way home from school. At that point, we turned right to go on the road leading to Torres and Tercio. Our car went down the road and over the dump hill, where the bears used to come to eat from the trash bins, and we went on down the valley in hope of seeing some of the many elk and deer that winter here. Well did we ever see the elk? It was about 4:00 p.m. by the time we started down the valley. The elk were way over on the hills just coming out to feed in the meadows, and it was herd after head all the way to Tercio. They seemed unaware and didn't' care that we were traveling this road. They were busy eating their way to the bottom of the meadow. We traveled on to Torres, a little community of several houses in a valley. There were houses once lived in just left to the memories of other's that I don't know. It seemed sad to me to see the ruins of days gone by. I once had a friend in high school that lived at Torres, but I never knew where. Now, beside the houses that used to be are new homes both side by side, as if the old to say to the new "so shall you be someday." Back down the same road we came and onto the other side to the Tercio Ranch, and past it, seeing even more elk as we went. A few of them had short velvet antlers. This valley is protected ground for the elk, so they roam freely.

At Tercio, we drove by the cemetery and the Tercio Company store. As teenagers we spent lots of time over here, going through the old block building. Inside this old store, which was never active in my day, is like an old time western. Stairs led up to a wooden railed landing that went all the way around the top floor. This is a huge building, and from the upstairs railing our voices would echo from its walls. Downstairs it was a store and a post office. The store was the place to get feed, as there are big doors on the outside to back up the wagon too. It was the favorite place for teenagers to go at night in the 60's for the cemetery and the store were perfect for boy girl scare scenes. One time, a bunch of us rode horses over to Tercio, not knowing how long it would take us to get back. Needless to say, Dad was looking for us. Tercio was also a coal-mining town lined with coke ovens (a special form of oven that started the process of the burning of coal). I don't understand why or what they were used for, but I remember row after row of the ovens; now they are gone at Tercio. I hear some of the ovens are protected on the historical register now, not to be ever destroyed, and it's a sight to see. I am sure if I could just spend some time here, there is a person around this area that could tell me all about it.

It was getting late, so we left Tercio, unable to go inside the company store, as this is now private owned land and the bridge to the store is gone, but my heart returned over across the river and my memory felt the effects of this care ride.

Back down the road we drove to the Picketwire Lodge. Along the way, the elk made their way closer to the road. We could see them better now that they have moved closer. An elk is a huge and majestic animal. As we drove slowly to take this all in, we met some people stopped in the road. They yelled, "there's a bear over there." And sure enough, back over next to the trees on the hill was a big black bear. It looked to be doing something around the elk—maybe feeding on something. It was so big its blackness showed up well, even though it was far from the road. In my six years living there I had never seen this many elk ever. There must have been a thousand or more. It was common for us to take drives on this very same road in the late 50's and early 60's to look for wild animals, but we never had an experience like this one. Dad said it wouldn't be long until they would go to the high country and not be seen here again until fall. I am sure my father had seen this before, for he wasn't surprised when we told him what we saw. In his early days he was an avid hunter, covering all of these hills, because he knew the mountains well.

It was back to Picketwire and back out on Highway 12 again, and on east towards Weston CO. We went by Storz Ranch and one east past the two Allen Coal Mines, where my Dad and Uncle worked. We drove down the road to Weston, where our company store was, and still is today. It was where we got our food, my black and white saddle oxfords, and my burgundy-colored luggage that I used when I left home to go to the big city of Denver.

Our trip took us past Weston, to where I rode the school bus to my high school, Primero High. I graduated from there in 1962—well, lets say I should have. When I was a sophomore at Primero High, our school burned to the ground (story for another day), so I attended my junior and senior years at the next town east called Segundo, CO. and graduated from an old school. The very next year, they started school in the new building. But, we did have fun in that two-story school. I wonder if any of my peers are around that remember that old school on the hill in the year of 1961-62.

We continued down the historic Highway 12 and past the bridge with an apple tree beside its waters. That's where my Dad was baptized in the cold water of Purgatory River, beside the bridge. On to Cokedale, CO. where there are still rows of coke ovens made out of red brick, looking so bright red in the sunshine.

Highway 12 is full of history. There are remains of old adobe houses lining its way, just slowly going back to there original state of dirt. Along the highway are many Catholic churches, accompanying every little settlement only a few miles apart, one after the other, mostly all with the same look. They still stand proud telling of a productive time for the settlers of this area. This highway is well advertised to be worth the drive. Then it was on to Trinidad, CO., where we went on some Saturdays to do our major shopping. Trinidad had the shops my sisters and I liked to go inside because they were full of pretty clothes. Most of our time was spent in the Dime Store where they sold dollar rings to adorn our hands. This town has grown a lot in some ways, and yet died in some ways, or maybe it just changed. When I left Charleston, WV at 12 years old, I came to the Greyhound Bus Station by the railroad track at Trinidad, CO. and my life was to make a dynamic change. It's 30 miles up Highway 12 to Stonewall, CO., and when we traveled it in Dad's old black pickup, it seemed so far. As we went along its path, I learned all the landmarks. There are more places and more and more stories for another day. But it was dark, and the Wal-Mart store at Trinidad beckoned us to its doors. So in we went to another kind of Dime store, just a different time period, and the "diamond rings" inside are still a bargain. It's about a 20-minute ride back to Aguilar from Trinidad, and to my Dad's home. He welcomed us inside and we had lots to tell him. I could see in his eyes he could picture all the places we talked about, and I am sure he went there to each and every place as we told of our experience. He had seen those spots many times before, and recognized them as we talked, the way he knew them, as a young man. Sidney Walker has spent 84 years on earth so far, and his health is good, except for his eyesight. He has lots to tell me deep in his memory and I try to hear it all. But, mostly he has shown me by his living that life is good and grand, though imperfect sometimes, and that life is to be measured by simple things; like a thousand elk and a black bear in a place you have never seen before…and Stonewall, CO. and life is worth the trip.

His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true;
His hair was some inclined to gray-Kind words he ever had for all;
He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt. Albert Greene

Rena Donovan, For Another Day.

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