Grandfather’s Stories For
Michelle
By
James Daniel Crawford
As Told To
Sharon Linda Crawford
Grandfather’s Stories For Michelle
By
James Daniel Crawford
As Told To
Sharon Linda Crawford
Last modified January 25, 2009
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CONTENTS
Page
FOREWORD ........................................................................... iii
OUTLINE ..................................................................................1
One of the Tricks played on us while we were in New Delhi ...5
One of the Best Shots I Ever Made while Initiating My New
Rifle................................................................................6
Hummingbird Nest.....................................................................8
How the Crawford Family became Acquainted with one of
their very Best Lifelong Friends ....................................9
The Power of the Oregon Grape Roots ...................................11
Health Problems as a Boy (6/23/08 to 8/29/29).......................12
A. Epidemic Diseases..........................................................12
B. Hand Saw Incident .........................................................12
C. A Forked Tine in the Middle of My Back......................13
D. The Skating Rink Incident in the Middle of the Yampa
River.............................................................................14
E. Jack Always Had It In For Me........................................15
Bill Leakey's Descriptions of Flu Germ ..................................16
Near a Den of Rattlesnakes......................................................17
May 25th, the Opening Day of the Fishing Season, Any
Year - Every Year ........................................................17
Two cooks in the John D. Crawford Home .............................18
The Teepee Ring ......................................................................19
Some Ways the John D. Crawford Family Preserved Their
Food for Winter............................................................20
The Arbuckle Club...................................................................21
A Grouse Hunt ....................................................................21
When Dad Knew He Had the Finest Son He Ever Raised..22
The Cow in the Bell Tower on Halloween ..............................22
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FOREWORD
In the weeks before Dad died, from July 4th to July 18th, Sharon
sat down with himto plan out a book of stories of his life. He wrote
an outline of the book, then told her a dozen of these stories which
she wrote down as he spoke. It’s too bad the project could not have
been started much earlier, since most of the stories exist only as a
title, tantalizing us with how much more we would know of his life
if only we could hear the full stories! The full set of stories locked
up in his mind would have been of interest to a variety of people
interested in the history of Steamboat Springs, Indians, or the
Japanese Relocation Camps. As they exist now, they are probably of
interest only to us descendents. Therefore I have not tried to make
this a polished, completed booklet. I have included his outline, and
all of the notes Sharon wrote in the margins as reminders to Dad of
future stories. These notes, which are not really a part of the stories
themselves, are shown in square braces “[ ]”. Since the spelling and
punctuation of the stories was Sharon’s handiwork, I have tried to
correct them as best I could. Grammar and sentence structure I have
left intact to better reflect how Dad spoke. Occasionally, a sentence
appears to be missing some words, or has repeated some words, or
has words that I cannot decipher; I have fixed what I can, and put a
question mark “(?)” after what I can not. Anything in italicized
square braces “[ ]” are my own comments.
- James L. Crawford, June 2005
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OUTLINE
Dedication
Forward explanation
Sections ?
Chapters ?
My Family Stories
Prospecting & mining
About the neighbors
Hunting
Others
Mine
One shot miracles
Misses
Trapping
Bobcat
Seventeen interesting events with Indians
Pable Aberta’s funeral
Navajo death at Jemez
Canonisto(?) lightening
Elsie Clews Parsons book on Taos reaction
Elizao Swazo – deer & guilty plea
Dorotero Zamora – deer & jail
Sandia Indian deer hunt
Tesinqine(?) Indian Rabbit hunt
T. Mt. muskrat Co-op [Turtle Mountain]
$32000 Canadian Indian checks – trip
Talequaptewa
Albert Yava
Basque Sheep – Pauley Poros, Deer Lodge, Montana
Navajo struck by lightening – Canonisto
Oil & Gas sales in Nat. Parks
WRA Stories
FBI – Short – Brenmand(?) Virginia “One in a million”
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Raid at Camp II
Rabbit raising illegally
Escape tried
John Hunter’s case
Tani & other Secretaries’ work
My dogs as a boy
Toukey
Mike
Tim
Hunting with Dad
Millionaire White’s Park (Elk)
Grouse – Crystal Creek
Cottontail Rabbit hunts W. of Craig
Muskrat testing Dad below SS
Deer near Crystal peaks – barking trees
Packing out Elk – Dad cut grouse’s head off with hand axe near
“Bear Country” camps
The Squaw Hitch
Skinning a muskrat
Unusual Shots
Coyote – Keams Canyon – Holbrook Road (Enos)
Bob Cat – Puerticto(?) Road (alone)
Antelope – N.W. Winnett (Sharon)
Raven – Hopi (Lundeen)
N. Kaibab – deer bedded down – alone
S. Kaibab – deer asleep – 10th jump
Doubles
Sage hens – Ben Butler
Sage hens – Rex
Grouse – Dad – Gunn Creek
Deer – Mom (Edwards) 2 with 1 shot
Deer – Ashland – alone whitetail and mule deer
Deer – Kaibab – skiing
Deer – Kaibab – horn hit – struggle to kill it
Antelope hunts
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Stories I’ve been told
Grandfather breaking egg in napkin ring - Lulie’s wedding
breakfast
Dad – stabbing Mt. Lion with knife (Logan)
Dad – wounding deer then being attacked while starting to dress
it – Deer killed with rock – Head with story to museum
Grandfather’s big deer – 5 pine mesa
Dad – setting 30-30 to kill lion
Dad – Catching bear alive – on Pritchett hunt & subsequent
getting front paw loose – Dad – Logan – Bill Williams
Stories
Camping on Gunn Creek with Dad
Trip to Round & Long lakes with D & M – left pole up Fish
Creek trail
Rattlesnakes while picnicking in 20 mile park
Flu – million of ‘em could hold a dance on the point of a needle
& not touch each other (Bill Leakey)
Uncle Log’s stories
19 elk with 19 bullets (Forgot name of creek half way between
Steamboat & Clark)
Last wolves by Biological Survey in Colo.
Duck hunting at Saguache(?), San Louis Valley (arrowhead
finds here also)
When the St Francis Dam went out above Oji, Calif. 19 bodies
found on his Duck preserve at the river mouth. He saw flood
water hit the Ocean. [Dam burst March 12-13, 1928, killing
420 people. Flood waters reached the ocean at Montalvo
(20 mi south of Santa Barbara) around 5:30 AM.; flood was
2 miles wide at that time. Logan lived in Ventura, which is a
mile north.]
Arbuckle Club
Only few health problems as Boy from 6-23-08 to 8-29-29
Usual epidemic diseases – measles, mumps, etc.
Head cut by Lynn Weasels, neighbor with saw
Skating fall
Climbing Rope fall before Jitney Dance
Bit by Catherine Cocheran’s dog – porcupine cure
Hay fork in back while at Uncle Roy’s in Beloit, Kansas
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Fanobash(?) spike
Finger cut while getting grass for trout at Long Lake – Art
Anderson, Roger & I
Frank Dengg Stories
Oregon grape tea
Dog shied & I was blamed for kicking it
Grouse – hammer click scared grouse – Lake Manitra(?)
Illegal elk when Dad met him – “If you’re a game warden
you’ve got me”.
Story of cabin & lake & elk – knew Logan
How he lost his right arm
Fish flopped out when wheel broke thru ice – Mom, Dad, Frank
& I in area W of Hayden
Eating porcupine giving beef to “old Sport”
[Notes by Sharon taken 7/18/1975: “The Navajo at Canyon
Sieto” was all written up (about 1939 or 1940), many pictures were
taken – these should be in official files. Howard Mosher should
have a copy of the report. Give Lulita a copy of this report, when
found.
“The Navajo Story of Jemez Springs” in daily chronological file
or report to commissioner.
Fit the two above together. Don’t destroy the file. Don’t give to
Bureau (they have copies). Keep them.]
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One of the Tricks played on us while we were in New Delhi
Mom and I had just checked into the _____ Hotel, cleaned up,
changed our clothes, and now wanted to walk around the city awhile
to perhaps do a little “black marketing” in the exchange of coins
between Indian and American markets. We had made arrangements
to meet the father and/or son of Mrs. _____ whose luggage we had
checked on our ticket from New York. We were rather tired sitting
down, as we had been on the plane for ____ hours, and were glad of
the opportunity.
The long malls opened up many ways. We could witness
cooking and trading of the Indian people without walking too far.
As I said, we were in clean clothes and just sightseeing. We
were invited to buy any number of kinds of trinkets and candies and
services. One of the many were the shoe shiners. Our shoestrings
were new and we had already had our shoes cleaned once by some
of the urchins who were working these malls. In fact I was even
getting a little provoked at the word “no” not meaning “no.” Finally
the boys sensed that I was getting a little more angry than they expected me to, and somehow I was made to realize that my shoe had
not its beautiful last polish, but contained a squirt of some kind of
cream which I thought looked a little bit like it might be peach
sherbert. Mom had already gone through making her shoe available
a second time in order that she could get her heels renewed. She
really didn’t want her heels renewed but she lost control of the
situation when they took the shoe with the worse heel across the
street to a larger more permanent stand where the man was doing a
nonchalant job of replacing the heal. So we stopped to talk about the
situation with my shoes with some kind of cream on them, and
Mom’s shoes with one heal on and one heel off, so we finally began
to laugh, and get everybody’s attention and mood in a better frame
of mind, as by now a few policemen had arrived to straighten out the
large crowd. Their solution was to pay a reasonable amount of the
bill and everyone go their own way.
Anyway we learned inexpensively some of the fun the young
folks play on their customers and seemingly get away with. Mom
has a little different version and her story ought to be attached to this
one.
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One of the Best Shots I Ever Made while Initiating My New
Rifle! – [7/4/1975]
Clifford "Red" Whiting had lost a treasured friend whose wife
had asked him to sell the guns that he had, and "Red" had offered me
a nice .270 caliber built by the famous gunsmith Newton. The friend
had wanted the .256 Newton to be re-bored into a .270. It was hard
to get .256 ammunition, and .270 was the craze of the day.
Red and I had planned a deer hunt on the North Kaibab on the
Grand Canyon of the Colorado in fall of 1948(?). In this beautiful
fall winter day we were camped on the west side of the mesa in an
assigned campground. After an early breakfast we climbed into
Red's pickup and headed easterly up out of the branch canyon to
hunt around the rims. The quaking aspen leaves had turned and were
very beautiful among the evergreens. Halfway up the canyon we
found where five deer had crossed the road and they all looked like
big buck tracks. We parked the pickup, got out and began to follow
the tracks in a north-westerly direction. After about a half mile the
deer split up, three branching in a southerly direction, two continuing westerly and almost straight ahead. We decided Red would
take the three tracks because he knew the country.
I had followed the two tracks more than a mile when they hit
down into a pretty steep canyon. After cautiously descending the
canyon perhaps half way, I saw the two bucks for the first time
toping out on the canyon rim to the west. They did not see me but
stayed near the top for several minutes, and I thought perhaps they
were going to bed down for the day near the top of the rim. However,
after several minutes of walking back and forth and around they
decided to move on.
I cautiously descended the remainder of the canyon and climbed
the other side. When I finally reached the top where I could see
beyond, I noticed the two bucks milling around in some rather open
timber and almost immediately dropped down in the snow for the
day's rest. One had his back curved toward me, and the other one
had it curved in the opposite direction, and was watching his approach tracks.
At this time I was looking through several feet of snow-covered
choke cherry and other brush trees. I was finally able to advance on
my knees and stomach till I was within about 475 yards of the two
deer, and approached one last choke cherry bush that still was
loaded with a couple inches of snow.
I crouched there for several seconds, scared to move forward
because the deer would see me, jump and run, and because I was fast
getting chilled in the early afternoon snow. I continued to keep
brushing the snow that dropped on the gun from the overhanging
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branches, sight through the telescope, and wished something would
happen so I would not have to make the decision to shoot at the buck.
Finally I decided things were getting no better and I was a long ways
from camp and that I should shoot at one of the bucks and get out of
there.
I was really excited because of firing at my first big game with
my new .270 rifle, and in not hearing Red shoot any off to my left
where I knew he must be getting close to one of the three deer he
was following.
Finally after deep breathing, squeezing my hair trigger and reacting as a novice hunter, I touched off the set trigger and then I
lunged forward through the brush only to see one large buck deer
standing looking confused in my general direction. I carefully focused the 8-power binoculars that hung around my neck under my
hunting coat and by carefully keeping an eye on the buck deer out in
the open, I scanned the immediate vicinity. In the confusion I had
failed to determine at which buck I had shot. I quickly picked out a
small black streak in the deep snow and analyzed it to be a dead deer.
So I belatedly walked toward the deer. The live one watched me
approach until I was nearly 200 yards away when he turned and
trotted farther away.
I had actually made a beautiful shot, hitting the dear at the back
of the skull, which had then only dropped its head into the snow. As
I approached closer and closer I was more excited because I could
begin to see the long tines famous in the Kaibab deer protruding up
from the snow. It didn't take me long to field dress the deer, but it
was so heavy I could not do other than place it on a sloping tree for
the night where it would nicely drain.
Although this action didn't take very long, I listened for a shot
from Red, because the other deer still stayed close by and had I been
inclined could have undoubtedly killed this other buck also. However, this was one of the unwritten laws that Grandfather and Dad
taught us, that unless emergency or pre-planned hunting, every
hunter shot only the number permitted.
The sunlight was getting pretty low on the southwest side of the
big white quaking aspen trees when I started toward camp, knowing
that I had one big canyon to cross. I noticed when I arrived at the
pickup that Red had not returned, so I hiked down the road to camp.
But it wasn't very long, however, before he drove up, tired, wet, cold,
and no deer. (How he got his buck the next morning, early, is another story!)
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Hummingbird Nest – [7/5/1975]
During more than 65 years enjoying the outdoors, I had observed only three hummingbirds nest in the wilds.
One of these was located near the upper cabin of the Pritchett
Ranch where this hummingbird had its nest in the pink wild roses.
We watched this nest for a long time because it was easily accessible and cousins Margaret and Lulita and Aunt Lulie used it as an
attraction for entertaining visitors.
The second one was found while Aunt Mary, Marjorie Metcalf,
one of her operetta friends from Massachusetts who often spent
several weeks at Aunt Mary's cabin, "high up on Soda Creek," and I
had been fishing up near the junction where Iron and Yellow had
joined together to form Soda Creek. We had picked out a place in
the trail where the pine needles were matted together in a large
enough opening among the spruce trees to make a comfortable place
to have our picnic lunch before really heading back to the cabin. As
we were talking about the day's activities while enjoying our lunch
we noticed a ruby-throated hummingbird quite active in the spruce
tree immediately above us. But as we remained perfectly quiet,
making no unnecessary moves, we found that it soon flew from a
limb to its nest situated on a new growth of the spruce tree near its
tip. The nest was lined with white soft poplar fluff which was quite
plentiful around the trees. It's little dark bill and head turned straight
to the sky on one end and the tail feathers did likewise on the other
end. As we had wanted to watch it more, Marjorie quietly sat back
under the tree while Aunt Mary and I cleaned the fish in a nearby
creek. Soon Marjorie whispered loudly that the hummingbird had
left the nest and we hurried over there to see the inside of it. It was
lined with the fluff and the soft down feathers of the humming bird.
A loose silver dollar I had in my pocket just covered the nest and the
four eggs which looked like they had only recently been laid. We
had a long ways to go back to the cabin and so reluctantly we bid the
nest and bird good-bye and headed down the trail to Aunt Mary's
cabin.
On the east side of our lot in front a hummingbird chose to build
its nest on a quaking aspen limb some twelve feet above the ground.
Although the hummingbirds were quite thick in the flower bed of
the front yard, and we suspected that a nest was located somewhere
close by, it was actually several days before we found the nest itself.
When mother hummingbird began feeding her youngsters, an audience assembled to witness the activity. It was really quite a sight
for it didn't seem possible that four such fat little birds could eat and
sleep and grow in that one little nest, but they grew fast and it was
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only a matter of days before they were ready to head south for the
winter. The hummingbird pair, or perhaps one of the offspring and
its mate returned several seasons to nest here seemingly for our
enjoyment. (I would hope to add a philosophical note on hummingbirds right here.)
How the Crawford Family became Acquainted with one of their
very Best Lifelong Friends – [7/5/1975]
"If you're a Game Warden, you've got me." These were the
rather resonant words that came between the whiffs of pipe smoke,
as the sawyer stopped sawing and welcomed my father John Crawford, your grandfather, into the cabin. My father had already noticed
that he was sawing with his left arm and remembered that his
brother, my Uncle Logan, had told him about a refugee who had lost
his right arm while dynamiting fish on the east side of the Divide.
My father John quickly told him his brother Logan had told him
that there was a stranger trapping in the general area before the snow
got too deep.
Although the cabin was small, it was well-made of red spruce
logs, just enough for one man to lay up. While Frank cooked supper
my father sawed more wood and split enough for kindling with
which to start several fires. Soon it was stacked near one of the walls.
And when the water buckets were filled, the two men sat down to
eat a very tasty elk steak supper, which didn't take long as they were
both very hungry after long hard day's work.
(Although this was one of the most interesting evenings my
father ever spent, with one or two exceptions, I'm going to lump the
evening stories into generalities.)
Frank was a young Austrian lad, born and raised high in the
Austrian Alps. As far as I know he only had a mother living at that
time. They were poor, and although a hard worker and in good
health, it took all of Frank's activities to make ends meet. It was the
custom for the Austrian government to have conscription where
training and service were done for a number of years. But when the
time came and with the permission of his mother he left his home
and with some small savings traveled to America.
Upon arriving in America he quite naturally worked westerly
until he found himself in the Nebraska-Wyoming-Colorado area.
Here he worked at several jobs, not only because he was a good
worker and honest, but because he used much more natural ability
than other workers his age. [For our information we ought to add
here in parentheses, or as a separate story, how Frank lost his arm.]
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He knew it was wrong, but on a Sunday afternoon he wired together several sticks of dynamite and went out to the muddy creek
close to his camp to do some fishing. Probably because he knew it
was wrong, he was not as careful as he should have been and could
have been, for the dynamite went off just before he tossed it into the
stream. His mangled right arm dangled from the cords and muscle.
He was very scared, for now he had also violated one of the laws
of his new country, but with plenty of courage, he did not panic but
severed the hand and forearm and miraculously stopped the bleeding from the main arteries running through his arm.
He realized now that in order for him to survive he must find
something he could do to furnish himself food for the winter.
The accident greatly delayed him getting outfitted.
During his early boyhood he had learned how to trap the small
fur-bearing animals of his native Austria. He had also learned more
about the fur-bearing animals in America. So even though it was a
belated start, late in the fall, Frank had gone westerly near the top of
the Continental Divide in an isolated heavily-timbered area of
Colorado where he hoped to trap a few red fox and marten. He also
realized that he had to have a warm place to stay, and he had to have
food to eat. Unfortunately, he knew that the big game had probably
migrated out of the high country to their wintering feed grounds, but
he had to take this chance. When he arrived in the general area
where he had selected his cabin site, in the tickets red spruce imaginable, he saw where a little band of elk had trailed through there
that morning early.
The following morning he took his rifle, strapped on his home
made snowshoes, and began tracking the band of elk in a generally
westerly direction. Although the snow was pretty deep in some
places, and the elk were traveling more rapidly than usual, I'm sure
they did not realize that they were as desperate as Frank. Hour after
hour he trailed the band. Gradually gaining on them, it was not until
the sun began to slant on the snow that Frank glimpsed the first
movement. He had finally caught up with the band of elk on the far
side of a lake, since then named "_____" by the Crawford Family.
Several times when I was a young boy I camped in this general
area with Frank and I could always say that the Good Lord was with
Frank on that shot. It could never have been made without "special
assistance."
By the time Frank had hiked around and pulled the spiked bull
elk out of the lake, field dressed it, hung it, cut it in two pieces the
right size to carry to camp, it was late afternoon. He pulled in lots of
limbs from nearly fallen trees and prepared to rest himself during
the night, returning to his cabin site in the morning. After a long
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night of feeding the camp fire with suitable fuel, he took out on his
backtrail carrying as much of the meat as he could. Because he was
tired, and that his route lay generally up hill and the load was heavy,
it was nearly dark when he arrived at his selected cabin site.
He had to take the best of care of every pound of meat in order to
make it stretch as far as possible for his winter larder, which would
be added to by the blue grouse also wintering in this area.
Dad stayed several days with Frank helping him do the many
things he had not gained confidence in doing yet, helping him build
a small meat house, and helping him carry out the remains of the
spiked bull elk. He particularly taught him all of the fine secrets of
martin and red fox trapping in deep snow. (Frank added a number of
trapping tricks over the years which made him almost as good a
professional trapper as my father.)
These bits of stories told through the night as these two young
men shared their tobacco mixes are I am sure ones that the Crawford
Family and others very much enjoyed during story telling time in
the hunting and trapping cabins, outdoor camps and other places
where outdoorsmen gathered together.
The Power of the Oregon Grape Roots [7/5/1975]
Several times each summer I was invited and permitted to go
back into the high country with Frank Dengg. This was not only a
special privilege but one that was considered an honor, and hardly
ever turned down for whatever cause. I guess I was considered
closer than a son, reminding Frank of his early boyhood days in
Austria.
This was to be a short trip to the Fish Creek Lakes, Long, Round,
and other bodies of water which had been stocked by trout from
time to time. Because the trip was not long, we did not think it was
necessary to leave Steamboat until the middle of the day. The trail
was well maintained by the Forest Service and we made good time
to the top, where our first body of water was Long Lake. Although
we had expected to camp at Round, Frank was not feeling well and
in considerable pain. We quickly unpacked and unsaddled the
horses except mine and then after making Frank as
camp-comfortable as possible, I was instructed to continue riding
over the Divide on the trail that meets the two little parks until I
found Oregon Grape growing. This I did until I found the roots
growing in the lower floral zone. Here I dismounted and with a
shovel tied in a gunny sack back of the saddle began to dig for the
orange-yellow root. It did not take long after finding the proper
growth area to fill the sack with roots. I caught Bill my red roan
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horse, re-saddled and after tying on the shovel and sack of roots,
mounted and headed westerly back up the trail toward where camp
and a very sick man were waiting.
It was almost dark when I made into camp, and quickly adjusted
the kettle for water, picked up the smoldering fire, and began to ask
Frank for further instructions on preparing his tea, and whatever else
he could eat or drink. Within a few minutes Frank was gulping down
a very bitter tea, already feeling much better with the pains starting
to leave. although it was almost dark I promised Frank I would catch
a mess of trout for dinner if he would just stay quiet and tell me how
to serve him. (And I was able to catch the fish which were feeding
on the surface of the lake.)
By the time I completed the camp chores including changing the
picketing of Betsy, Frank’s mule, the saddle and pack horses, I was
real tired by this time. Falling into my bed roll fully assured by
Frank that he would now be as good as new by daylight.
Health Problems as a Boy (6/23/08 to 8/29/29) - [7/6/1975]
A. Epidemic Diseases
I had the usual run of epidemic diseases as they passed through
the community. As I remember, the hardest of these was the flu
which appeared and then ran itself out generally through the World
War I period.
B. Hand Saw Incident
The Arthur E. Wessells family were our closest neighbors on the
east. There was only one child, Lynn, whom everybody considered
a sissy because he never liked to participate in any of the outdoor
activities. However he and I got along better than most because he
had a new bike, and I didn't, I didn't have any bike at all. But on
occasion we were literally chasing each other around the houses,
barn and places we could keep out of each other's immediate way.
This particular summer morning I had been more than a little
aggravated because he would not go for snaring with me, and I was
pretty determined that he would go out to the pasture where the
machines had dug rather deep sewer trenches in preparation for
subdividing the land into a housing project, and which were alive
with frogs and toads and mice and gophers and other live objects
which were nice to have about, but for which neither Lynn nor his
dainty Mother cared anything about.
I had chased Lynn into the barn and thought I knew where. I
now had him where I could properly persuade him to go with me on
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the morning's excursion. But Lynn was laying for me in the hay
mow where he had quite a number of advantages when I poked my
head up the ladder. Somewhere he had picked up a hand saw, and
when I did stick my head up the hay mow hole, he proceeded to use
my head as a proper sawing block, doing considerable damage even
before I could drop back down to the lower level. His aim was good,
and he had inflicted considerable damage, as evidenced from the
several streams of blood flying out through my hair and forehead.
I wasn't long in letting the other nearby neighbors, the residents
of the block, and probably some of the town shoppers in knowing
that I was hurt. Mr. Wessells who had just driven home for his noon
dinner quickly loaded me in his car and drove me to the hospital
where the doctor wasn't long in cleaning up and sewing up my "very
minor" injuries. My parents came to the hospital immediately and
picked me up, and I was able to spend the afternoon and rest of the
day as a real hero, showing my bandaged head to all the neighbor
children who especially came by to see me.
C. A Forked Tine in the Middle of My Back
My mother Minnie Welch Crawford had an only sister living in
Beloit, Kansas with her husband Roy T. Pagett and her two sons
Rex and Glen. Before World War I it was pretty much an established custom that Mom would go to Kansas for a few days, and
after a two or three year period, the Pagetts would come to Colorado
for a few days. I had it all figured out that high, cool, Colorado, was
much, much preferred to low, hot Kansas. Dad, Uncle Roy, Rex and
Glen did likewise. For there was always extra work in the court
house at Steamboat Springs when it was time for Dad, Mom and I to
take off, and it always wound up with Mom and I having to make the
trip alone, while Dad was laughing up his sleeve at not having to
endure the hardships of the heat. On the other hand, there was no
problem getting the men folk from the Beloit relatives to always
make the Colorado trip.
It was generally harvest time in Kansas, although Rex, Glen and
I managed to do a little Soloman River set line cat fishing, shoot a
few half-grown pigeons from high in the rafters of one of the old
barns, or run down and catch half-grown cotton tail and jack rabbits
which were scared from the shocked wheat by the teams picking up
and loading the hay. But this didn't compare with the several kinds
of trout fishing, prospecting and high altitude camping when the
Pagetts came to Colorado.
The grain-stacking jobs rotated among the hired help, and Rex,
Glen, and I. Usually one would ride the wagon, restacking the grain
or hay so that as much could be put on as possible for each load. The
other two would walk along on opposite sides of the wagon helping
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to clean the grain and hay stacks into the proper sized piles for the
hired man to load on the wagon. But of course the main job was to
be ready when a half-grown rabbit jumped from under the pile. Of
course when this happened it was everybody's responsibility to
frighten the rabbit from the squashed down wagon wheel tracks to
the tall rows of stiff stubble, and run fast after him, dodging back
and forth in order to catch him if possible. And when and if the
rabbit was caught he was carried to a holding box located somewhere in the center of the field where he would be left along with the
other frightened rabbits until quitting time. When taken home in the
evening the rabbits were placed in any one of several long holding
boxes where, when enough had been accumulated, Aunt Grace
substituted fried young rabbit for chicken, a daily part of the menu.
On this particular afternoon we were hauling in our last load and
had sat down on top of the tall load preparatory to returning home
for the night. Rex, Glen and I were seated on top of this load ready
to go when the hired hay-hand climbed up over the side of the rack
and was going to jab the long tines into the load of hay for the ride as
usual. However when he made the jab, unfortunately he had the
pitchfork tines turned the opposite way, and when he jabbed them
into the hay two of them quickly and deeply punctured my back.
First aid was completed in the field and then all of us on the load hay
raced across the field to the old farm car into which I was piled and
driven to the hospital. There really wasn't much to do in doctoring
the holes, but all that could be done was done, and we drove on
home, I to awaken to a very sore and stiff back the next morning,
much too crippled up to hay in the hot sun.
D. The Skating Rink Incident in the Middle of the Yampa River
– [7/7/1975]
The town's children quite often gathered at the skating rink
which was not far from the little foot bridge crossing from town to
Howelsen Hill. We would carry our skates and equipment in an old
gunny sack, leaving it near the pond while we proceeded to ski or
practice jumping. Then when we were tired of skiing or on our way
home we would stop and finish out the day with some shimmy or
other "home-made" skating games. Toukey my faithful companion
liked to chase me on skates and I would like to stay ahead of him
because he often did some skipping while chasing me. There were
only a few boys and girls skating this late in the day and I took off
across the lake urging Toukey to chase me. I didn't fully appreciate
my wondrous skating speed, and before I knew it, everything was
black, I was laying on the ice, quite an attentive crowd worried
about my condition. Outside of having the wind knocked out of me
and a bloody nose, I survived all right.
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The second and only other time I had the wind knocked out of
me was a few years later when I was a freshman in high school. I
was a proud member of the freshman carnival committee who were
putting on the jitney dance during the evening's entertainment as our
money-making activity. Each of the committee members brought
whatever equipment was available at home so expenses could be
kept at a minimum. My donation was a large rope to be used to hold
the crowd back until the jitney members could collect the jitney
tickets before putting the rope away for the next dance.
On the way to the school ground we crossed the play-ground
section which contained several large swing braces, one of which
had been partially dismantled for repair. However, several of the
committee and others had gathered preparatory to entering the
gymnasium, when someone suggested that we use the rope to see
who could climb the highest on the swing frame. A loop was tied in
the end for the foot and, reaching around the taunt rope when his
turn arrived, one began to pull himself toward the top with one stiff
leg in the rope loop. This worked fine, and many of the smarter boys
were able to pull themselves near the top. On my second time
around, I had schemed how I could hold the rope with my arms and
pull a little higher. This worked out fine until I suddenly realized
that I had a knee joint which quickly buckled on me, permitting the
rope to slip off the toe, and I to plummet earthward, landing on good
old terra firma flat on my back. When I awoke from a seemingly
long deep sleep, quite a crowd had gathered, high in the praises that
I had reached the highest point, and was declared the winner. It
didn't take long to re-cooperate, and soon I was inside the gym
working with the committee members, putting the finishing touches
on the carnival preparation. Needless to say, I was pretty stiff during
the evening and even the activities did not retire all my stiffness.
E. Jack Always Had It In For Me
Jack, a Boston bull terrier even though he lived in New York and
could have played his roll wherever he lived, was owned by Catherine B. Cocheran who had taught in New York City for most of her
teaching career. She dutifully lived with her Bostonian parents,
driving them on long trips during the camping season. Although she
was always short of vacation, she pretty well managed to make the
James H. Crawfords' home in Steamboat Springs on her annual trek,
getting back on her main route somewhere to the east, northeast or
southeast.
While the elderly Cocherans visited with Grandmother and
Grandfather, Catherine would always make a trek to Aunt Mary's
cabin to fish a few days for the tasty native black spotted trout.
These trout were small but plenteous in Soda Creek which had a
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pretty good flow of water, flowing out of the high mountains down
the valley owned by Forest Service and Aunt Mary's Homestead.
I was probably a boy of eight when the Cocherans arrived in
Steamboat for their annual visit. Aunt Mary and Catherine were not
long in organizing a trip to her cabin with Jack going along as an
undignified member of the leashed dog group because he was an
"easterner" and really did not know how to behave in the west.
Sure enough, in de-winterizing the cabin which meant taking out
brace poles and other protection materials for the cabin which had to
be used in the late fall to brace the cabin for the heavy deep snows of
winter, gray squirrels had built their nest in the stones even though
the pipe grate and ovens were supposedly well-closed, and Mr.
porcupine had sampled the salt on the table legs and table top and
had gnawed several boards in and around the stove where grease
had been spilled while pouring into the morning hot cake grease can.
Aunt Mary killed the porcupine by whacking it over the head with a
garden shovel, and it was laid up on a pile of logs at the woodpile
near the back of the cabin. Jack immediately took over this porcupine as his, both practically and theoretically, and although he was
properly tied with "eastern equipment", he managed to break the
leather tongs and straps during one of my ambitious runs from the
front of the house to the wash water spring only a short distance
down the trail at the back of the house. During this time Jack found
himself free and ready to utilize his stored up energy on me. As I ran
by the cabin with the empty water buckets, Jack took the few necessary jumps to reach me and proceeded to grab my left thigh in a
huge mouthful, growling and biting with increased energy. However between his healthy bites and my lofty screams, Aunt Mary and
Catherine soon arrived to the rescue and I was separated from this
vengeful mongrel with the long registered pedigree.
This didn't increase my love for Jack, and a couple of days later,
"someone" was careless enough to get the porcupine within his
reach where he properly filled his tongue, mouth, and jaws with
sharp long black and white porcupine quills.
Bill Leakey's Descriptions of Flu Germ [7/9/1975]
Bill was an old hard rock miner who had been in the Hahn's
Peak area from the gold rush days. Everybody liked Bill and Bill
liked everybody. His one eye didn't seem to hinder him from telling
a good story or two every morning at the Routt County Courthouse
where he worked as official county janitor.
I often walked to work with Dad in the mornings to bring back
the mail to the house. On this particular morning Bill was pretty well
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along in his work happy to see us and immediately ready with some
stories. The flu epidemic had been taking a pretty heavy toll of the
citizens of the community, a wife here, a husband there, and Bill
was currently talking about the flu germ. In describing the size of
the germ Bill was sure that "a million of the germs could hold a
dance on the point of a needle, and not touch each other."
Near a Den of Rattlesnakes
The John Crawford Family comprised of Dad, Mom, and me,
and we invariably went picnicking on the campout for both our
evening meals and our Saturday excursions. Part of the family collection of arrowheads, artifacts, and other stone instruments were
gathered on these cookouts. Oftentimes the sweet corn or salads had
been prepared at home the night before, and no time was wasted in
getting started to where we were going that particular evening. And
oftentimes there was a second purpose in where we went - to shoot a
sage chicken or two, catch a few mountain trout, or look for Indian
pictographs on the sandstone outcroppings.
We had chosen to do the later on this cookout and were completing supper by holding our plate in one hand, eating with the
other, and walking through the sage looking for Indian arrowheads.
Dad had gotten started and was maybe fifty yards away when I
heard him quietly call to "come quick, Jimmy, and bring the shotgun.
I'm surrounded by rattlesnakes!" And sure enough, Dad was quietly
standing in a little opening with at least six or seven rattlesnakes
coiled or crawling in a very narrow perimeter. As I got close, it
sounded like a wood saw factory from the buzzing of the rattles. I
followed an opening among the sage which I thought would get me
as close to Dad as I could. And then I started shooting rattlesnakes
with Grandfather's double barreled shotgun. It didn't take long to get
up next to Dad where I could hand him his 12 gauge double barreled
shotgun, and the two of us proceeded to annihilate all of the rattle
population we could find. When it was over Dad proceeded to
compliment me on my part of the performance with "Good shooting,
son; you didn't panic under difficult conditions." In the meantime I
was complimenting Dad and firmly impressing in my mind how
well a difficult situation was handled. Mother was back at the
campfire cleaning camp in order to get out of there, indicating that
with ten thousand places to go, Dad would pick a rattlesnake den.
May 25th, the Opening Day of the Fishing Season, Any Year Every Year – [7/11/1975]
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No important political, economic, or social event was scheduled
for any where around May 25th. Fishermen divided it into two parts
– a few getting up early and catching the fish - trout, grayling,
suckers and squawfish. If fishing was good the better fish were
eaten for breakfast and everything else saved for the evening
fishout.
The family walked down the river with the two large frying pans,
adequate bacon, eggs, and the sourdough pre-mixed before we left
home, butter, syrup, and salt.
Everyone hurried through fishing and breakfast in order that
they could get to work and school on time. Fishing continued after
school and work, and most of the women folks who were not fisherwomen prepared a more sumptuous meal for after the first day of
fishing, the fishermen gladly went back to their fishing routine,
particularly to see who would get the largest one for the season.
Although most any item was available for fish bait during the
year, maggots, grub worms, angle worms, suckermeat, squawmeat,
minnows and every and any artificial lure were the favorites and
used most widely.
I merely want to stress the great fun both children and adults
from the old pioneer families enjoyed on this sacred day of May 25.
So ends my story.
Two cooks in the John D. Crawford Home – [7/11/1975]
Mother did not like to go to bed early at night nor did she like to
get up early in the morning. She put in a good day's work at the
office and we nearly always had a good dinner of steaks or chops or
most any meat from the meat house. Along with these were the
usual corn, potatoes, cabbage or whatever might be in the vegetable
bin. But one could always count on muffins, jams [add here a bit]
and many other with fancy New England names. It's lucky Dad and
I both liked them for they were staple items for our evening meal.
On the other hand, Dad took over the breakfasts, and you knew
it was high time to get up when you could smell the coffee and the
bacon frying. In addition were sourdough pancakes, a platter full of
bacon and eggs, usually fried, but often stirred, with generally a
piece of elk loin or some other wild meat which we were currently
using, well seasoned with Dad's favorite "On-Ton-Pep-Etc" chili
sauce.
If I went to bed at about the time that Dad did, about the last
thing I saw was a replenished starter can for the sourdough pancakes.
Likewise if I was up early, the first thing on the stove I saw was the
sourdough can being divided for the breakfast supply and for later
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use. Several times a month the pancake version was switched to hot
biscuits, together with all the other trimmings. So the Crawford
daily food supply was properly taken care of by Mom's cooking at
night, Dad's cooking in the morning, and the noon lunch either
prepared at home for each of us, or they ate lunch at a cafe or restaurant and I ate at the school cafeteria.
The Teepee Ring - [7/11/1975]
Every year as far as I can remember we had a teepee ring on the
north side of the barn starting at about eight feet diameter and extending some years more than thirty feet. This was our wood pile
although a few other items were stacked there for handy reference.
This had to have one time per year of annual replenishment, but it
was added to from the poles we brought home after every trip to the
valleys, mountains, and other outdoor areas we happened to be in
fishing, hunting, or looking for artifacts. The Dodge touring cars
that Dad had were adapted with a few iron bars which easily carried
long objects.
But the main time of replenishment was in early March when the
deep snows began to melt and a crust would form strong enough to
carry a horse. Fortunately northward and out the main back gate the
terrain sloped steep enough to easily pull a weighted toboggan and
we had a dandy made from home-manufactured skies and properly
tied together with short parts and nails, much like the toboggans
used in the far north with typical Crawford alterations.
It was an annual event for our family and the neighboring families to gather at daylight and go up the long open valleys through the
small groves of quaking aspens. The dead ones we wanted were
easily identified by their dead bark, and these would be pushed over
and dragged to the edge of the grove where they could be loaded on
the next toboggan. Perhaps 28-35 long dry poles could be put on a
load without making it too top heavy. Then with Dad or one of the
older men pulling and steering, one or more of us children would
climb on and have the ride of our lifetime. Getting the load back to
our teepee pole we would quickly untie the ropes and head back for
the next load.
Soon after sunup the snow would begin to melt and we would
begin to break through. That meant that on this trip any wire gates
would have to be locked and everything left the way you found it. It
usually took several mornings to get what we needed.
During the next several days and weekends Dad and I would
neatly stack the dry poles ready for storage. From this master teepee,
a much smaller one was made in front of our woodshed near the
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backdoor. This is the one used to really work with as often the small
logs were sawed by hand by bucksaw. A beautiful big chopping
block next to it was used to split the logs into usable fuel. For when
I grew up we needed paper (usually the Denver Post), several sticks
of dry quaking aspen kindling, and a layer of coal to start our fires.
Some Ways the John D. Crawford Family Preserved Their
Food for Winter [7/14/1975 & 7/16/1975]
Every household had its normal icebox for refrigeration with
daily delivery of ice from downtown in chunks of 50 to 100 lbs
which would fit in the top. All of the older houses and the repaired
ones had a root cellar, very crudely built in the basement. All of the
new homes had a fruit and vegetable cellar basement where most of
the fruits and vegetables could be stored and in several cases was
fitted to store, and which had water, shelving, and adequate space
for the needs of a more normal modern family.
Grandfather Crawford and we had the old time ones. This was
the kind of storage to particularly store the meats when an elk
quarter was brought in from the solid freezing unit and skinned the
next morning after it had been in the cellar all night where the warm
air would soften it. It would be skinned and cut up into the various
cuts for use in the days to come. These would be placed in this type
of storage. One of the few disadvantages was that you pretty much
used that type of meat until it was gone. But it did serve an important
and useful purpose.
Third type: this was the type that was used to hang frozen meat
when it was brought in from the hunt. It would stay frozen for as
long as was needed to age and preparatory for going through the
other steps. But is was a very necessary step and few hunters had an
outside buggy shed almost made to order to hang the larger pieces of
animals. The ducks, rabbits, grouse, sage chickens, fish and other
smaller game all had particular locations in the storage shed directed
by the hunters and their wives from the warm fireplaces within the
various homes.
Dad watched the weather pretty close at this time of year and the
time would come when work clothes and school clothes were
changed pretty fast and the cabbage hill was dug, cabbage cleaned
ever so little and carefully stored with expert hands and knowledge.
Usually the center of the bed was selected for the center of the
storage hill. Dirt was shaken from the roots and the first row of
cabbages were placed on the roots and a beautiful spiral was formed
and began its upward journey. If we had had a good crop then much
of the crop had been used for making sauerkraut which was stored in
the house usually in 60 gallon crocks to be used mainly later, mainly
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consumed in large pot-luck dinners of the Arbuckle Club when they
had their frequent entertainments several times a month.
The Arbuckle Club - [7/17/1975]
One of the most exciting of family fun was the gathering of the
families of the Arbuckle Club. This was comprised of individuals,
the fathers and mothers and the children who were drawn together
mostly because of pioneer affiliation of the John Crawfords and the
Jake Grossbecks who brought in the Butlers, the Sees and others
through one connection or another. So there will be lots of confusion. The membership are as follows:
Crawford – 3 & Log = 4 & later Rex Pagett make 5
Grossbeck – 4 & Major Lawrence = 5
Lola Home (there were older children who participated occasionally when they returned from school on vacations)
Sees – Casey, Jenny, Webster (Web), Louise (& later Margarite)
-5
Burgmans – Frank & Aileen – 2
Wilsons – Floyd & Velma – 2
Butlers – 4
A Grouse Hunt
Whenever we could we camped out. Someone had an old
buckboard wagon, somebody had a team. Somebody had a grub bait
box. Everybody brought their own rolls for bedding. Planning went
on for quite a while. Finally after several weeks of talking about it
most of the details were pulled together and the day arrived for us to
start our camp. Most of the guns and odds and ends including the
women and children were driven by car on some road to the edge of
the valley. One of the cars usually transported all the late workers
and those who could not get to the end of the car road by dark. The
rest of us started out early and walked and rode and took our leisurely time - most of the day - getting to the beginning of the
campsite in plenty of time to set up camp and have supper cooking
by the time the other individuals arrived. One of the favorite spots
was in the Gunn Creek - Crystal Peak area. [Some of the Creek
fishermen, boys, & girls]
Our site was usually in a small park among beautiful scattering
spruce, quaking aspen with occasional smaller trees and groups of
chokecherry and other types of brush and low growing tree. Other
types of growing trees growing up the very small valleys from the
main creek of either Crystal Creek or Gunn Creek depending upon
which one we decided to camp at this year.
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A scouting trip usually brought news of game which had passed
that way. However they did give us pretty good information where
the grouse were located.
After supper was completed and things generally set up for
breakfast, everybody turned in, in one long bed generally made up
family by family, and the bed was generally made up on one of the
old road beds.
If the indications were that there were lots of grouse in the general hunting country the horses were taken care of for the night
usually in a pole corral to keep them from running down through the
meadow at night. A lot depended upon which horses we had for
hobbles and feed and all influenced(?) but to my memory we only
lost one team over all the years we camped in this area.
When Dad Knew He Had the Finest Son He Ever Raised
When the sun hit the tops of the peaks and the early morning
sounds of the coyotes and smells of outdoor camping and the talking
of grouse up several different valleys permitted us to open the day,
one felt it was great to be alive.
[I can’t resist the urge to include one more of Dad’s stories.
When growing up and listening to his stories around the Sunday
dinner table, it was always my favorite, and I’ve retold it often to my
children. To make it consistent with the other stories, I have told it
as if it were in Dad’s own words. If anybody can tell it more like
Dad would have, please let me know. -Jim]
The Cow in the Bell Tower on Halloween
One year on Halloween Eve some of my friends and I decided
we would play a trick on the town. We waited until dark, after
everyone had left the school building. One of us went to get some
hay, one of us got some rope, and one of us went to the pasture to get
Bessy the cow. We met back at the school, where we quietly opened
the door and, by enticing her with the hay, led Bessy up the stairs to
the bell tower. There we put down the rest of the hay and she started
munching contentedly. We then took a short piece of rope and tied
one end to her tail and the other end to the clapper of the bell. At this
point we all snuck back down the stairs and along the streets to our
respective homes. Bessy took a long time to finish her meal, and
then she turned around to see where she was. Of course the bell rang,
which frightened her and made her turn every which way to see
where the sound came from, causing the bell to ring louder and more
often. This woke everybody in town up, and soon a crowd gathered
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at the school to see what was going
on. Somebody finally untied Bessy’s
tail so the bell stopped ringing, but
then nobody could get Bessy down
the stairs, since cows can easily
climb steps, but they can’t go down
steps. Several men had to get on
every side of Bessy and half carry
her down those steps. The town
never did find out whose those three
boys were.
Public School until it burned
in 1910 – notice bell tower
Grade School Dad went to - built in 1911
High School Dad went to – built in 1918
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