Grandfather's Stories For Michelle - Crawford House i Grandfather’s Stories For Michelle By James Daniel Crawford As Told To Sharon Linda Crawford Last modified January 25, 2009

Grandfather’s Stories For Michelle

By

James Daniel Crawford

As Told To

Sharon Linda Crawford

www.CrawfordPioneersOfSteamboatSprings.com i

Grandfather’s Stories For Michelle

By

James Daniel Crawford

As Told To Sharon Linda Crawford

Last modified January 25, 2009

www.CrawfordPioneersOfSteamboatSprings.com

www.CrawfordPioneersOfSteamboatSprings.com ii

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

www.CrawfordPioneersOfSteamboatSprings.com iii

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

www.CrawfordPioneersOfSteamboatSprings.com 1

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”


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


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


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.]


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 ex-pected 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.


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 con-tinuing 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 ap-proach 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


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 re-acting 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 fo-cused 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. How-ever, 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 an-other story!)


Hummingbird Nest – [7/5/1975]

During more than 65 years enjoying the outdoors, I had ob-served 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 accessi-ble 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 au-dience 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


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 hum-mingbirds 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 Craw-ford, 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.]


He knew it was wrong, but on a Sunday afternoon he wired to-gether 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 bleed-ing 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 imag-inable, 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


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


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


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 estab-lished 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


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 some-where 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.


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 Cath-erine 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


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 porcu-pine 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 nec-essary jumps to reach me and proceeded to grab my left thigh in a huge mouthful, growling and biting with increased energy. How-ever 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


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 col-lection 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 com-pleting 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]


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 fish-erwomen 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


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 res-taurant 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 ex-tending 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 fami-lies 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


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


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 confu-sion. 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 occa-

sionally 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 lei-surely 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.


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 gen-eral 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


Public School until it burned in 1910 – notice bell tower

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.

Grade School Dad went to - built in 1911

High School Dad went to – built in 1918

Documents

Grandfather's Stories For Michelle - Crawford House i Grandfather’s Stories For Michelle By James Daniel Crawford As Told To Sharon Linda Crawford Last modified January 25, 2009