It was my grandfather who
homesteaded land in Lincoln County,
Colorado, in the early years of
this century. In 1915 my father took over the place, by that time a cattle
ranch, with our dwelling in the town which had grown up on both sides of the
Union Pacific Railroad. There were stockyards, a section house, two frame
school buildings, two general stores, a post office, and a scattering of
dwellings.
Most of our fun included the whole
family. A so-called literary society met in the schoolhouse at night. There
would be debates for the big folks and recitations for the little ones. One of
the debate topics that I recall was “Resolved: That the Sandy
Side Is Better Than the ‘Dobe Side of the Big Sandy River.” The “river” was
the sometimes dry, sometimes flooded stream, edged by cottonwoods, that
bordered the town.
Box suppers and pie suppers were
favorite activities. The women brought food enough for two in fancied-up boxes
which were sold at auction to the gentlemen, the buyer sharing the contents
with the supplier. It was not considered proper for the girl to hint which box
was hers, but the beau seemed to have a pretty good idea of which box was
whose. After all, he had carried it in, hadn’t he?
One awful night I brought my pie in
an elaborately frilled basket. Imagine my embarrassment when the fancy handle
flopped over when the auctioneer held it up. I felt disgraced, and was sure no
one would bid on the poor thing. But “he” came through nobly, and nobody
laughed-openly!
One of our teachers put on
operettas which included parents. I recall one in which my parents were in the
cast and I played the piano. When my father came to his solo, he couldn’t get
on the key. He stood, trying bravely to find the note I kept sounding for what
seemed like an age! Fortunately his part was supposed to be comic.
Sales, especially livestock sales,
brought people together. The only other gatherings which incited greater
response from the community were funerals. When a young woman we knew died of
pneumonia, her funeral was attended by practically everyone in the county.
Those poor little prairie cemeteries were dreariness itself.
We shared-perhaps that was the
keynote of our lives. Great days! I wouldn’t have missed them!
Mrs. John J. Pinney
Ottawa, Kansas