It's 360 miles from Colorado to Gillette, Wyoming, my jumping off place to
the Oshoto area. I made the trek in 2006 - probably my last visit to this very
isolated area.
First on the agenda of my trip "home", a bi-annual Terry family reunion in
Gillette. That's always fun and people come from across the country.
After the reunion, a friend (Linda), whom I'd gone to grade school with and
also roomed with while going to high school, kidnapped me (NOT) and we traveled
some 70 miles to her sister, Ione's (pronounced I O ne) ranch near New Haven,
Wyoming. The biggest portion of this on graveled roads!
I must tell you first a sorrowful secret here. Oshoto has been torn down. We
came round the bend of a wheat covered hill and only a peaceful ranch house,
barn and a few outbuildings remain.
One rancher whose father homesteaded near us is still allowed to use Oshoto as a
post office address. Raymond Shepherd and his wife Jeannie. I smile when I
receive a letter from them - for that return address and other reasons of
course.
Oshoto was the center of knowledge, news, friends, groceries, gas and so many
other important parts of a community.
We arrived at the ranch in the afternoon and they patiently let me take
photo after photo of life as I remembered it, but very much more modern.
At right below is a watercolor of a very old, rugged, iron cook stove.
At right; I painted a watercolor from a photograph taken while at this
ranch - walking through the pastures. I did not realize Ione and her late
husband had purchased the property that my great Aunt and Uncle had homesteaded.
The stove has been left as is, reigning in silent - well, splendor, if you will.
I stayed over night with these two fascinating women raised near where I
was. Linda lives in Idaho and I don't get to see her very often. We had a
wonderful time visiting and catching up that evening. And I was able to sit down
to dinner with Linda's brother John Fowler whom I had gone to school with for
six years. Seeing these three people who knew me the entire time of my young
life, and had not seen for decades, was a very moving experience.
As we were leaving the next morning, this modern cowboy pulled up to say
hello (left). The son, back from morning rounds. His faithful collie with him;
the four wheeler a new "necessity" on a ranch.
We said a happy/sad goodbye to mother and son, and left on our way to the
beautiful little cemetery where my parents are buried. Deep in the forest, in a
quiet glade off a graveled road, they lie with other homesteaders of the area,
and with the two children who died as babies.
How quiet and peaceful it was there. Wild turkeys (which just would not
hold still long enough for me to photograph) and other creatures of the forest.
We took a narrow graveled shortcut to the highway that leads to the Devil's
Tower. We had a great time visiting and laughing over the predicaments we found
ourselves in. Such
as the four horses ( below right) crossing a reservoir dam. No hurry either, and
with no desire to go left (into the deep water) or right (over the steep side of
the dam).
We just laughed and slowly herded them along.
The majesty of the Devil's Tower was visible long before we reached the
site. It's a National Monument (The first ever named in the United States), and
Linda had a lifetime pass.
When we reached there, the "Settlers" picnic was in full swing. There I met
so many people who had known my father and mother. Some remembered but most only
ghost memories of people spoken of by my parents.
Raymond and Jeannie Shepherd shared their picnic with us as we had come
unprepared to stay long. This couple lived, and still do, about 6 miles from our
homestead and we knew them quite well, of course my father and Raymond's father
both homesteaded the area.
Linda and I stayed for several hours and then continued on to the Brislawn
ranch, which had been one actual planned visit!
Homesteader Bob Brislawn had begun searching out pure blood Spanish
mustangs, from the wild horses left by the Spanish invaders of Mexico; when he
was quite young. He did raise cattle once, but later dedicated his ranch to
these unique horses. Many years ago he was even featured in the National
Geographic for his work with these animals.
The year Linda and I visited that ranch happened to be chosen from among
many states that year to sponsor the 50th reunion of the Spanish Mustang
Registry. It was
quite an honor.
When Linda and I arrived, there were still about forty horse trailers with
all sorts of living quarters attached. We came at the very end of the
celebration and many people from all over the West. They had traveled almost
forty miles of graveled road to get there - after what was probably an already
long trip.
Far on a hill, (right) sagebrush abounding, these three Spanish
Mustangs gather on a cloudy day.
Many of the mustangs were out on the prairie and we missed joining one of
the tours
 they
gave. But we did get in on some horse shoeing, (shown at left).
But best of all was seeing my artist friend Mack Brislawn; his sister Karen who
was a baby last time I saw her - and Emmett and sister Dipper who were somewhat
older than I.
Linda and I left after I had taken as many pictures as I could think of, and she
took me back to Gillette, where she had relatives she was staying with for the
night. I bid her a rather sad Goodbye.
Was I tired of the heat and the country roads? I guess I wasn't, because I
volunteered to drive my niece Brenda out to our old home two days later. She had
been there as a baby but wanted to see it and remember it. I said I'd drive if
they could find a 4 wheel drive vehicle. My sister Laura and Brenda's daughter
Chantel went also. Laura's son Leroy very kindly loaned us his 4X4 Chevy SUV. So
the hardy present day pioneers set out in their monster 4 wheel drive with
excellent air conditioning - in the steps of our parents, grandparents and great
grandparents who had all made the trip by team and wagon.
Besides many miles of graveled and then dirt roads, we had to cross a small
tributary of Terry Creek. Not far from the old homestead, all four Terry
children crossed it to go to school - on foot or horseback depending on if it
was flooded. Now the creek had a deep sided, narrow, muddy bridge!
At right is a
photo of this "bridge" in the early '80's, Gilbert standing on the culvert that
allows flood waters through. It had been repaired since but was very muddy and
deeply rutted from rains and from farm vehicles crossing it.
Mentally crossing all my fingers and toes, I drove across - more or less
safely. While the rancher who owns the property now, parked on the other side
and laughed at me!! He's known me since I was born so I guess he had the right.
Four giant Black Angus bulls (pictured below) greeted us at the old ranch,
and kept us from any adventures inside the ranch house yard. Also the mosquitoes
and the heat kept us at bay. What a bunch of wimps!!! We four women, the new
pioneers, did however, enjoy what may very well be our
last look at a small page
of history.
But then we had to leave.
So, what does my smart self do? I decide to leave a different way, not wanting
to cross at that "place" again. I'd been told the crossing about a quarter mile
farther up was dry.
Only you had to cross two reservoir dams and go up and over two big hills
with tall grass - no road. I did, I made it and didn't take any pictures because
I wasn't about to stop! The dams were muddy and narrow, and after crossing them
I ran in mud grassland till I got to another crossing of The Terry Creek. This
crossing was dry (the "okay" crossing) and we were on our way.
Oh happy days with only bumpy dirt and gravel roads. In case you are
wondering how we reached our home when people still lived there, there was yet
another actual road not far from the house. My dad kept this road up, no dirt
bridge, just cross the creek. Usually. In winter we left our vehicle across the
creek and walked home. Now that road is impassable - the creek at that
point was always a slow bog and dad put many loads of tree branches, rock and
everything he could find in the crossing. In less than a year it would slowly
disappear.
Anyway, now we were on our way - not home though. My sister wanted to
visit our parents grave which was 14 more miles on the county graveled road.
Then on to Hulett, Wyoming where we were going to stop for lunch. Laura had gone
to high school there her first year. Now we decided it was lunch time; No, guess
not. The only restaurant in town was now a bar and four brand new Harleys were
parked in front.
So on (Oh lovely now we are on a paved road!) to the Devil's Tower again,
where we stopped for lunch at a crossroad. My sis called a friend close by who
joined us. For what has to be the worst meal I've ever been served. Aw well, I
was just happy to eat and very happy for the great company.
We made it home and all was well. And it only cost us $50 in gas. It was
worth it. Mosquito bites and all, we arrived back in Gillette happy and very
tired! So there was home, and later I was home here in Colorado, happy and
thrilled I'd been able to make the trip.
Yes, you can go home again - in memories.
And I will mention here, though I shouldn't, that on this trip I visited
with the only two people left in this world who still call me by a name
bequeathed to me by sister Marie. The name? Mud. She couldn't say Mildred, I
heard was the reason. Sure!! I have to admit it was a bit heartwarming to hear
that name after over 50 years.
Millie
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Some Firsts' in My Life (VIII) |
My first flight. Below right is a photograph of my oldest
sister Laura and myself. Laura is holding her son Oren, and I have my arm around
Terry, my sister Maries' son. Marie was taking the photo; in the background a
piper cub airplane ready to take us into the air. I am 13 years old in this
photo.
Marie, her son Terry, and I had taken a bus from Moorcroft, Wyoming to
Cortez, Colorado - around 700 miles - to babysit while Laura had her second
baby, Leroy. Obviously, the little guy had already arrived.
The plane ride was so wonderfully exciting, and I was not afraid at all.
This trip was also only my second time out of the state of Wyoming and
during the long bus ride we passed through many wonderfully huge towns,
including Denver, Colorado. As we drove through Denver we saw a working
television in a window. I'd heard of them, but that was the first time I'd seen
one - and the last for two more years.
My first ride in a vehicle was a truck. Probably a "pick-up" as they used
to be called. But I was only three years old and it was as if it were a giant
machine of some kind. Too young then to know why I was in the truck, all I can
remember is one of my sisters with me; of being terrified all around - the noise
of the vehicle, the stranger driving it (a stranger only to me, I'm sure) and
not knowing where we were going. It was actually the day we all moved to our
"new" home. A four room log cabin beside the same "Terry Creek" we had lived
near; a huge barn; and most important of all a well with endless water. As I've
mentioned in another part of my stories, the spring of fresh water at our "old"
home was slowly drying up. One part of the trip of about one mile that I
especially remember, is crossing the Terry Creek. To find myself staring down
the steep banks from this monster I was in, was almost more than I could bear. I
remember nothing else - our "old" home was a blank mystery to me always.
First trip out of the state of Wyoming - at left are myself, sister Marie and my
dad, Ezra Terry. In 1950 the three of us took an unusual trip - Any trip over 60
miles being extremely unusual. Pictured here, we are in South Dakota, near a
town called Meade. We had stopped here to visit the school teacher who had
taught us for six years. Dad rests tiredly on his second ever vehicle, a Ford
pickup. His goal on the trip, however, was to see his two aunts that were in a
nursing home.
I remember little of the trip, too short to see much out of the pickup and
too shy to say anything to a stranger. I do remember the trip home as we took
with us one of the aunts.
Now - my dad was a big man, 6' 2" and obviously hefty, then my tall sister,
then my aunt - all crammed into the front of the pickup. At that time ranch
vehicles were not made for real comfort. I sat on my sisters lap and we drove
all night. I can't imagine what the trip must have been like for this lady. I
know the trip must have been over 200 miles but it seemed a thousand. And roads
and vehicles weren't made for speed. So my first adventure out of state was not
something I remember with much nostalgia. Wish I did - I had too little time
with my dad and my sister.
My first pet. Though all the animals on the ranch were my playmates, this
little lady grew to be a companion that was
always there as I grew up. Tuffy, a
pure bred border collie, she loved the family, but she wasn't wild about
strangers.
At right, if you look in the far bottom left of the photograph, a tiny
puppy is biting my sister Laura on the foot. You can sort of tell that if you
see my sisters face. I can't tell for sure, but I believe I'm smirking.
Tuffy never did make a good sheep dog, which was dad's goal. She did love
to "heal" anything though, and a few times I feared for her life as she took off
after a horse. Tuffy lived to a good age for a big dog.
She was almost 14 years old, and I had moved far away, when Mom found her
asleep forever in her little bed, back behind the bush by the old log cabin.
There were other firsts of course, but most I don't remember at all.
Particularly strange, the first day of school. I had so looked forward to
it, but that's all I remember. Probably too frightened to. I was five years old
in first grade, because of the month my birthday fell in.
My first boyfriend. Well, I do
remember that, but it's truly not very memorable, and since it wasn't Gilbert,
forget that!!
My first day at high school in town. Don't remember at all. I'd already
spent one year of high school at home, as I've mentioned, taken correspondence
classes. There was no "Middle" school then.
My first paying job was on a ranch some distance from home. I was 13, and having
been noticed by the rancher who was
also the 4-H agricultural agent, was asked
to work the summer and help his new bride by cooking.
I was able to cook for the
entire ranch, but when the Southern bride's nephew asked me for a date,
I was swiftly swept away back home. It was only for a horseback ride, but
that young fellow was in college!! (Ranch at left)
My first car. When I was 23. Gilbert
bought me a white Olds convertible with a red top. For sure one of my favorite
firsts! Sadly, I have no photos of it.
My first "grown up" job (Below
right), is one you won't find in any developed
country any more!
At right is a photo of me, very hard at work on the switchboard Christmas day
of 1965,with a hand set telephone and a 100 lines of switchboard.
It was a day of leisure (NOT) where we could wear
dress slacks.
Though no one was allowed into the area
without permission, we were required to wear
dresses and nylons
at all times. And I worked the night shift!
Have things changed? I believe so. I don't know if any
kind of answering services' exist now. But that job
prepared me for any confrontations in the big
dangerous city!
Thank you again for stopping by.
This is the last story for now. Come
back though,
There will be more. Millie
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