Going to school for the kids living on a ranch that's sixteen miles, over fairly rough roads, from the nearest town school posed some interesting problems and creative solutions. The county roads leading to the outside gate (1 1/2 miles from the houses) of the Currier Ranch were, when Carol and I were children, minimally graveled roads. During poor weather and during heavy snows, sending a school bus to pick us up was not something the school district felt confident in doing. Solution: They offered to send a teacher instead!!!
My grandmother, with some foresight when this was under discussion, decided to build a school house for the grandchildren. When completed, it was a two story log building with the school room on the first floor and an apartment for a teacher on the second floor. Since the teacher couldn't be expected to travel the roads anymore than the school bus could, there had to be a place for her (they were almost always "hers" in those days!) to live during the school term.
The entry to the school was on the West side with an area just inside the door for boots and as well as a long narrow coat room just beyond the entrance area. The actual school room was a large room with good lighting, many windows and hardwood floors. At one end, was an actual raised performing stage with dressing rooms on either side. An upright piano was placed to the left of the stage area for music class and for accompaniment to music and dramatic programs. Grandma thought of everything, including a large, raised sand box for creative water and sand play!
The furnished apartment upstairs featured a large living room/bedroom, a roomy eat-in kitchen and a private room with a bathtub. The sink and toilet were at the top of the stairs and this facility was used both by the teacher and the children.
At the beginning of September after Labor Day, each morning at 9 a.m., the kids who were school age (5 and up) walked to the school (a distance of about two city blocks) and spent the morning learning. At noon, we all walked home for lunch and then back for the afternoon session which ended at 3:30 p.m. Sometimes someone would bring a kid horse to school, usually Mule or Brownie, that would be tied up to the back stairway rail until recess when turns were taken enjoying the fun until recess was over.
One-room schools, such as our school, had a great atmosphere for learning, since the younger children were helped by the older children thus allowing the teacher to teach effectively to all. I recall that the maximum number of students was eight spanning grades from 1st to 8th.
We attended this ranch school from September to mid-December when, due to the deepening winter and the fact that most of the hay for the cattle was used up, we all moved with the cattle to the Grand Junction area for the remainder of the school year and attended local schools, first in the Appleton area for elementary school, and then on to Junior High and High Schools either in Fruita or Grand Junction. The teachers in these valley schools were very helpful in providing school materials that would allow us to flow right into the classes when we arrived in December. Surprisingly, it all worked very well. Today, I'm sure, that lack of flexibility and narrow room for creative solutions would negate this from actually being possible!!
The teachers at the Ranch school usually stayed about two seasons, and then we would get a new teacher. I remember that we had several that were local people who were familiar with the area and several were from elsewhere, perhaps retired from full time teaching, who were looking for something interesting and short termed. They were all welcomed into the Ranch "family" during their tenure there. I think most of us kids remember them fondly for the most part. I hope that they remember us fondly "for the most part...."
Each December, we put on a Christmas program and invited many friends from the community around Collbran including the superintendent of the school district. This was a great event with twenty or so guests who were treated to music, singing, recitations and plays. Of course, there were quite a few snafus with things like recitations going awry (Scrooges "Bah Humbug" speach or Santa getting stuck coming "down" the chimney into the fireplace (everyone had to hold their laughter while he and his bag were extricated), but a wonderfully joyous time was had by all. Following the Christmas program, the Moms put out a glorious spread of food, sometimes including a roasted pig or a giant turkey and all the accompanying sides and desserts. It was a special occasion that the guests looked forward to each year.
The school operated as described through my 8th grade year and Carol's 7th grade year. At this juncture, the school district decided that the roads were improved enough that sending a bus was more economical than paying a teacher. Most of the older kids then opted in September to go directly to their respective schools in Grand Junction/Fruita with the Moms or various grandparents staying down in the valley to look after them during the school week. By the time a couple of us were in high school and of driving age, we often (Oh! Horror!) stayed in our valley home Monday through Friday looking after ourselves and siblings during the week and returning to the high Ranch on Friday after school for the weekend. I recall leaving the Ranch at 6 a.m. or so, driving the 60 miles to the valley to get us older kids to school on time on Monday morning. It was good experience in learning to drive on very snowy roads in the latter part of the fall. In those days, no social service snooper was tasked with rooting out free range kids "living alone". We were FINE...we had learned to be resilient, competent, and responsible and knew who to call in an emergency. Try that today and someone would end up in jail with the kids shuffled off to foster care!! That would be the true HORROR.
Our education in that little school was excellent....what an opportunity to grow and learn in an atmosphere that isn't found anymore. My Dad often said that the death of the small neighborhood schools in the rural areas, as schools were consolidated into larger ones in town, caused death of the close knit communities that once existed, centered around the school, helping each other and socializing. I think he was very right.
As I have said before, we Currier kids grew up in a beautiful, magical place and had a childhood like no other. How lucky we were!
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Fishing in Willow Creek and Cow Creek
One of the fondest memories that I have of summers on the Ranch was that of my Dad, (Uncle Carleton to the cousins), rounding up all willing and interested kids on a warm summer day, most likely in late July or August, for an afternoon of trout fishing. He was a good fisherman himself and enjoyed sharing the pleasure with the Ranch kids.
I loved it too, even though I was not as adventurous as Carol and Tom, who were up to many wild and crazy shenanigans throughout our childhood.
On a warm afternoon when cattleman duties didn't demand his presence, he would put out the word that he was going fishing and anyone who wanted to go should "go dig up some worms and put them in a can" and "grab your fishing pole or cut a willow pole" of his/her choice. The worms were easy to find and we knew to look under old cow pies where they worked away doing their worm jobs. The willows were plentiful growing along Cheney Creek (pronounced "cheeny'). Dad also instructed every time not to wear anything white or light colored. Green, brown, or blue colors were the best, since the light colors would scare the fish.
Dad would load all comers into his pickup truck, most of us riding in the back, with the little ones in the front with him. We would head for Willow Creek (or occasionally Cow Creek) riding and chattering with great joy and anticipation of upcoming adventure, our hair blowing and our rumps bouncing in the pickup bed. The wise kids grabbed a seat on the spare tire if they could...much easier on the behind!!
Dad always brought a big roll of sturdy, greenish fishing line to put on the willow poles and had extra hooks for anyone who didn't have one or lost one. We all had to learn to bait our own hooks with the worms and everyone got good at it, quickly losing any squeamishness about threading the fat, wiggling, resisting worms onto the hooks.
After we got to the chosen section of Willow Creek, usually one with plenty of cold, gently flowing water and several beaver ponds, the bigger kids spread out to find the spot each determined was the best one. These spots usually were deep areas next to the bank where the trout loved to lazily swim about or in beaver ponds that always held lots of fish.
The younger kids stayed with Dad, and he would get a fish on the line and then quickly hand the pole to the excited little one who then "caught a fish" and helped pull it in all shiny and wet and flipping about to the shrieking delight of the little fisherman.
The bigger kids, Carol, Tom, Dan, Beth and I (and any cousins or visitors), fished on our own and thrilled just as the little kids did when a tug on the line indicated that a fish was nibbling the worm. Then there would be a solid jerk, setting the hook in the fish's mouth, to be pulled in glistening, fighting, flopping. The hapless fish was then conked on the head to kill it and strung on a willow fork through the gills and mouth. The willow fork stringer could be put in the cold water of the creek to keep the fish fresh.
When it was time to go, after everyone had filled their limits (I remember that kids under 12 or maybe 14 years of age didn't need a license and could catch five fish while those with a license could catch ten fish), Dad would call us to come back to the truck or honk the horn to signal us. We usually filled our limits, and all the trout were put in five gallon buckets of cold creek water for the ride home. The kids in the back of the pickup were responsible for keep the buckets upright on the bumpy ride home.
Once we got home, the fish were divvied up between our house and Carol's house. Then anyone who fished had to help clean the fish. There was no wimping out on that chore, and we all learned how to gut and clean a trout handily. I can still do it.
The trout were pan sized, from 8-12 inches long and were promptly dredged in corn meal and fried for dinner (called "supper" in the ranching West). The fish were fried with the heads and tails on which helps when the diner removes the bones before eating. We learned to lift the whole bone structure out by peeling the meat off while holding the head.
There is nothing better than the taste of a freshly caught trout, quickly fried and carried to the table to be devoured with gusto. Bread was always served with the fish to carry down the errant little fish bone that might get caught in the diner's throat. No market-bought trout or trout ordered in a restaurant can compare to those fresh mountain beauties. (Note: The fish were mostly brook trout or cut-throat trout with an occasional rainbow trout.) Delicious!!!
Carol reminisces "Of course, just going for a drive or doing anything with
Uncle Carleton was always fun and great to hang out with!"
On a warm afternoon when cattleman duties didn't demand his presence, he would put out the word that he was going fishing and anyone who wanted to go should "go dig up some worms and put them in a can" and "grab your fishing pole or cut a willow pole" of his/her choice. The worms were easy to find and we knew to look under old cow pies where they worked away doing their worm jobs. The willows were plentiful growing along Cheney Creek (pronounced "cheeny'). Dad also instructed every time not to wear anything white or light colored. Green, brown, or blue colors were the best, since the light colors would scare the fish.
Dad would load all comers into his pickup truck, most of us riding in the back, with the little ones in the front with him. We would head for Willow Creek (or occasionally Cow Creek) riding and chattering with great joy and anticipation of upcoming adventure, our hair blowing and our rumps bouncing in the pickup bed. The wise kids grabbed a seat on the spare tire if they could...much easier on the behind!!
Dad always brought a big roll of sturdy, greenish fishing line to put on the willow poles and had extra hooks for anyone who didn't have one or lost one. We all had to learn to bait our own hooks with the worms and everyone got good at it, quickly losing any squeamishness about threading the fat, wiggling, resisting worms onto the hooks.
After we got to the chosen section of Willow Creek, usually one with plenty of cold, gently flowing water and several beaver ponds, the bigger kids spread out to find the spot each determined was the best one. These spots usually were deep areas next to the bank where the trout loved to lazily swim about or in beaver ponds that always held lots of fish.
The younger kids stayed with Dad, and he would get a fish on the line and then quickly hand the pole to the excited little one who then "caught a fish" and helped pull it in all shiny and wet and flipping about to the shrieking delight of the little fisherman.
The bigger kids, Carol, Tom, Dan, Beth and I (and any cousins or visitors), fished on our own and thrilled just as the little kids did when a tug on the line indicated that a fish was nibbling the worm. Then there would be a solid jerk, setting the hook in the fish's mouth, to be pulled in glistening, fighting, flopping. The hapless fish was then conked on the head to kill it and strung on a willow fork through the gills and mouth. The willow fork stringer could be put in the cold water of the creek to keep the fish fresh.
When it was time to go, after everyone had filled their limits (I remember that kids under 12 or maybe 14 years of age didn't need a license and could catch five fish while those with a license could catch ten fish), Dad would call us to come back to the truck or honk the horn to signal us. We usually filled our limits, and all the trout were put in five gallon buckets of cold creek water for the ride home. The kids in the back of the pickup were responsible for keep the buckets upright on the bumpy ride home.
Once we got home, the fish were divvied up between our house and Carol's house. Then anyone who fished had to help clean the fish. There was no wimping out on that chore, and we all learned how to gut and clean a trout handily. I can still do it.
The trout were pan sized, from 8-12 inches long and were promptly dredged in corn meal and fried for dinner (called "supper" in the ranching West). The fish were fried with the heads and tails on which helps when the diner removes the bones before eating. We learned to lift the whole bone structure out by peeling the meat off while holding the head.
There is nothing better than the taste of a freshly caught trout, quickly fried and carried to the table to be devoured with gusto. Bread was always served with the fish to carry down the errant little fish bone that might get caught in the diner's throat. No market-bought trout or trout ordered in a restaurant can compare to those fresh mountain beauties. (Note: The fish were mostly brook trout or cut-throat trout with an occasional rainbow trout.) Delicious!!!
Thursday, October 1, 2015
The Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp.....Oh My!!!!
One late September day, my brother Tom and cousin David, having nothing urgent to accomplish, started brainstorming about how funny they thought nudist camps must be......WHEN a bolt of inspirational lightening struck and the two decided to create a fictitious nudist camp and call it the "Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp" to be "opened" on Bald Mountain which lies above and West North West of our ranch.
And, the two of them didn't do it halfway....they had business cards printed with one listed as "Sports Director" and the other as "Chief Nature Boy." Business Stationary was created with the pertinent staff information as well as a silhouette of a shapely young woman balancing a beach ball. The prototype was sent to the printer and, voila, the Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp was officially 'born.' The business cards and stationary were left conspicuously all over Western Colorado wherever one or the other of the pranksters happened to be.
They needed more publicity and found a great flat-faced boulder in Plateau Canyon that was perfect for painting a promotional sign reading "Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp" and the number of miles to..yes...our family ranch gate!! Of course, the business cards and stationary had to have a phone number for potential "nudist campers" to call, and the two geniuses used my Dad's phone number at the ranch for that bit of information!!! He didn't know about it until he began receiving odd calls for reservations to a nudist camp.
The saga unfolded with fly-overs by various law enforcement agencies to FIND THAT NUDIST CAMP as well as a visit by the local sheriff to discover just what was going on up on the Currier Ranch! The Grand Junction newspaper, The Daily Sentinel, had an article (I believe on September 24 or 25, 1964) with a photo of the big rock "bill board," and a reporter traveled to the Ranch to tease out more details. They interviewed my Dad, whose only comment was "I don't know anything about any nudist camp, but I do know that people around here who haven't smiled in years, are smiling now!"
The Frosty Fanny was "famous" for a very long time and anyone who lived in Plateau Valley and Collbran, Colorado during those years, still remembers and has another reminiscent chuckle.
I do have a copy of the newspaper article, stationary and one of the business cards, however, they have gone into the twilight zone of attic/basement storage and yet to be unearthed. Pics will be posted when I finally find them....
Two teenage boys with spare time can come up with the strangest projects, indeed!!
And, the two of them didn't do it halfway....they had business cards printed with one listed as "Sports Director" and the other as "Chief Nature Boy." Business Stationary was created with the pertinent staff information as well as a silhouette of a shapely young woman balancing a beach ball. The prototype was sent to the printer and, voila, the Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp was officially 'born.' The business cards and stationary were left conspicuously all over Western Colorado wherever one or the other of the pranksters happened to be.
They needed more publicity and found a great flat-faced boulder in Plateau Canyon that was perfect for painting a promotional sign reading "Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp" and the number of miles to..yes...our family ranch gate!! Of course, the business cards and stationary had to have a phone number for potential "nudist campers" to call, and the two geniuses used my Dad's phone number at the ranch for that bit of information!!! He didn't know about it until he began receiving odd calls for reservations to a nudist camp.
The saga unfolded with fly-overs by various law enforcement agencies to FIND THAT NUDIST CAMP as well as a visit by the local sheriff to discover just what was going on up on the Currier Ranch! The Grand Junction newspaper, The Daily Sentinel, had an article (I believe on September 24 or 25, 1964) with a photo of the big rock "bill board," and a reporter traveled to the Ranch to tease out more details. They interviewed my Dad, whose only comment was "I don't know anything about any nudist camp, but I do know that people around here who haven't smiled in years, are smiling now!"
The Frosty Fanny was "famous" for a very long time and anyone who lived in Plateau Valley and Collbran, Colorado during those years, still remembers and has another reminiscent chuckle.
I do have a copy of the newspaper article, stationary and one of the business cards, however, they have gone into the twilight zone of attic/basement storage and yet to be unearthed. Pics will be posted when I finally find them....
Two teenage boys with spare time can come up with the strangest projects, indeed!!
Monday, September 28, 2015
Free Range Kids and Their Shenanigans!
I suppose that if you put two or more kids in a wide open, somewhat remote, mostly sunny, safe place and let them roam and experience freely, a great deal of creative activity would undoubtedly take place. This 'chapter' briefly describes some of the "interesting" things that helped us while away the summer days and grow up strong and healthy and often a bit wiser!
Chickens - pets and victims!
We found the ranch chickens to be quite interesting from trying to figure out how smart they were (not very) to enjoying the tiny little chicks that the hens managed to produce by hiding their eggs so we couldn't find them, and thereby allowing them to hatch.
As small children, we spent lots of time trying to catch chickens and were never very successful. Mother hens were defensive and mean, younger birds were fast and clever, and roosters often looked too fierce to mess with. We did find that if one tied a piece of corn onto the end of a long string, a chicken would peck it up and swallow it, allowing us to lead it around for a while until the corn came back up if pulled too hard. We also found that chickens would eat anything with grain in it and encouraged a couple of hapless birds to eat some kid-concocted, very fermented grain brew which made the unfortunate chickens rather drunk! One actually passed out from imbibing too much. We were sure that we had killed it, but it finally came around!
We knew that chickens were food, both from the hens' eggs and from the younger birds who became fried or roasted chicken. We grew up watching the dads gather a few birds and chop off their heads with a hatchet, staring wide-eyed as the headless birds ran about for a bit before keeling over. My brother, Tom, found a dead chicken in the chicken yard, and, thinking that he was going to help Mom out, carried it into the kitchen and plopped it down on the counter with an announcement "Mom, I brought you a chicken for dinner!" The chicken was way past anything close to dinner except for a coyote or such and was speedily taken away, much to Tom's disappointment.
Magpies
Magpie birds are pests on a ranch. They are great nuisances and, therefore, are very often dispatched. We had a couple of magpie traps on the ranch which were large cages, about 5 feet square and about 6-7 feet high. The chicken wire mesh that covered the entire cage, including the top, was accessed through a door in one side. The top had a round hole with inverted wires pointing down into the cage. Corn was placed on the floor and magpies would enter easily through the hole in the top. They could not, however, get out, since they had to fly up to get out, and the inverted wired pointing down prohibited them from flying out. Most of these captives were "dispatched" by one of the cowboys or our dads.
My imaginative brothers, discovered that some fun could be had by entering the cage and capturing a magpie. The "lucky" bird was attached to the fishing line on a rod and reel and allowed to fly up and away.....until it reached the end of the line with a sudden stop, and was then reeled back in for another flight. If the bird was lucky, it eventually escaped, probably to fly back into the magpie trap and meet its end. Pretty awful looking back, but hilarious then.
Halloween Masks - Oh My!
Living in a remote place didn't offer much in the way of trick or treating for the kids living on the ranch. We did have fun with the holiday though and made stops at all the family houses and those of the hired men and their families.
Carol and I were introduced to Halloween when were probably four and five, when my dad brought home two witch masks for us. We had never had a mask before, and had only heard about witches in scary stories. We scurried off to the bedroom to look them over. We put them on and looked in the mirror and were terrified by what we thought were monsters staring back at us and ran out of the room wailing in fright! It took quite a bit of explanation and comforting for us to finally start to enjoy the scary masks.
Someone, usually Carol's Mom, had delicious apple cider to drink and Granddad Currier let us have a candy from his candy cupboard. One of the hired men gave us some really good cider...looking back, I'm pretty sure it was hard cider since it had quite a fizzy tang!!
Bogs are not for horses!
There were several boggy areas on the ranch where tall grass grew, but which were not generally traversable on foot, on a tractor, or on a horse. We were all educated as to where these were and instructed to stay out of them. But, one day, Carol and her cousin Dinny decided to ride one of the horses through a bog instead of around it so that they could get to the other side faster. It wasn't a fortuitous plan and the horse got bogged down up to his belly in the swamp. They could not get him out no matter how hard they tried and had to walk home and sheepishly beg one of the dads for help! It required a large tractor and rope and chain to haul the poor horse out. Fortunately, he wasn't injured and neither were Carol and Dinny, though they did get some severe lectures for that one.
Cowboys and Indians
One of our favorite games was a horseback game in which various factions warred with each other in wild games of cowboys and Indians or cowboys and rustlers and the like. One particular day, as we finished a great battle, one of the losers had to be brought in as a "dead man." I think it was Dinny (Carol's cousin) who was strapped across the back of one of the horses with her hands and feet tied together via a rope under the horses belly. All was well (though Dinny suffered some serious belly bouncing) until the ropes loosened just a tad, and she slipped down and around so that she was hanging under the horse's belly with her hands and feet up top! She looked so funny dangling under the horse with the horse hopping about, that we all were laughing so hard that it took some time to get her detached. All walked away in good shape fortunately!! No one volunteered to be the "dead man" after that!
Hornets...stinging devils....
Hornets up on the Ranch make huge, grey, papery nests, shaped rather like an upside down pear, and often 12 inches in diameter and over a foot long attached to tree or brush branches. One day, we learned the hard way not to smack a huge hornets' nest with sticks to get the hornets to come out! Why we thought that this was a good idea, I don't know, but all of us involved ran for our lives with a stream of big black hornets chasing us and stinging as we ran!
Fishing for suckers and creek swimming- pure JOY,,,
There was a great, deepish hole in Buzzard Creek about a mile and a half from our houses. In the summer, some of us older kids would walk to this spot which was down below several terraces of hayfields on a property called the Fitzpatrick Place (purchased by our grandfather from someone named Fitzpatrick, I suppose). We would walk there with willow fishing poles armed with treble hooks and worms for bait to catch the big sucker fish that swam in the deep hole in the creek. Suckers are not good to eat, very bony and not very flavorful. After bringing home a big sack of them once, our moms politely told us to not bother to bring them again!
After we tired of catching suckers and playing with them, getting them to kiss each other with their big sucker lips, we would jump into the fishing pool turning it into a swimming hole and having a great time splashing about until it was time to walk home again. Our moms must have thanked the stars above for that hole in the creek, since it meant we would be gone for hours at a time!! We were free range indeed and explored wherever, but always looked out for one another.
Snipe Hunts...for visiting kids (who were generally city kids)
If you don't know what a snipe hunt is, let me outline it for you. The hunt requires one or two unsuspecting visitors, a number of Ranch kids, and a big burlap bag. The hunt always took place at dusk in the summertime when night didn't fall for several hours after dusk.
The visitor was regaled with stories of hunting snipe, a very tricky bird that lived in large groups. The hapless city kid was told to stand at one end of either a big field or a pasture holding the big burlap bag (gunny sack) open and near the ground calling "Snipe, Snipe, Snipe." He was told that the other kids would circle far around and chase the snipes toward him, and that if he/she waited long enough, a bagful of snipes was to be had. Of course, there were no snipes, and after much yelling a whacking of sticks to demonstrate audible snipe herding, the Ranch kids went home and left the snipe bag holder to plaintively keep calling for snipes. Eventually, he/she generally figured out that he/she had been had and came back to the houses with a sheepish look on the face.
Bale Houses....castles in the country!
During haying time, when cuttings of hay had been baled and were lying in neat rows in the fields, waiting to be picked up and stacked, we kids would harness up the afore mentioned Mule (horse), hitch a small slip (a wood sled that slides along the ground) to his harness and gather as many bales as we could taking them to a central location. (Our Dads were happy with this occupation since it made picking up the bales easier, because many were in one place.) With these many bales, we would construct bale houses with long tunnels for access and several stories high. These were great fun and all the kids played for hours in them until the time came for them to be picked up and put in the haystack. Unfortunately, mice loved to hide under bales and we sometimes found them scurrying around in our castles. One time, cousin Beth rolled a bale over uncovering several mice, one of which promptly ran up the inside of her pants leg. You've never seen jeans come off so fast or heard so much screaming! Everyone else got a great laugh out of that one!
Nightime Games
One of the games that we played at night was a scary one. One person was "it" and had to hide his eyes for about 10 minutes while the other kids ran up the road into one of the pastures and hid along the way. The goal was for the kid who was "it" to walk up the road while the others periodically jumped out from bushes or down from trees emitting terrifying screams, howls and other noises. The "it" kid was deemed a winner if he didn't scream or run away in fright!
Building "cabins"
We went through several episodes of deciding to build little log houses in the woods. We would cut down trees, remove the branches, cut the logs to the right length and build little one room "cabins." It was a learning project and the cabins sufficed for summer play, but wouldn't have been very weather worthy in the winter!!
These are just a few of the things that the imaginative kids on the Currier Ranch enjoyed. We truly had a wonderful childhood with not much to be afraid of and lots to do. We were blessed with a place and parents who were not afraid to let us explore and learn. Our parents were not fearful that we would get injured or be eaten by a mountain lion or a bear (there were mountain lions and bears on the ranch)........ All of us grew up with no broken bones and no life-threatening situations. Consequently, we achieved adulthood as confident people, the lessons of the Ranch serving us still.
Watch for a blog about the Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp, soon to appear!
Chickens - pets and victims!
We found the ranch chickens to be quite interesting from trying to figure out how smart they were (not very) to enjoying the tiny little chicks that the hens managed to produce by hiding their eggs so we couldn't find them, and thereby allowing them to hatch.
As small children, we spent lots of time trying to catch chickens and were never very successful. Mother hens were defensive and mean, younger birds were fast and clever, and roosters often looked too fierce to mess with. We did find that if one tied a piece of corn onto the end of a long string, a chicken would peck it up and swallow it, allowing us to lead it around for a while until the corn came back up if pulled too hard. We also found that chickens would eat anything with grain in it and encouraged a couple of hapless birds to eat some kid-concocted, very fermented grain brew which made the unfortunate chickens rather drunk! One actually passed out from imbibing too much. We were sure that we had killed it, but it finally came around!
We knew that chickens were food, both from the hens' eggs and from the younger birds who became fried or roasted chicken. We grew up watching the dads gather a few birds and chop off their heads with a hatchet, staring wide-eyed as the headless birds ran about for a bit before keeling over. My brother, Tom, found a dead chicken in the chicken yard, and, thinking that he was going to help Mom out, carried it into the kitchen and plopped it down on the counter with an announcement "Mom, I brought you a chicken for dinner!" The chicken was way past anything close to dinner except for a coyote or such and was speedily taken away, much to Tom's disappointment.
Magpies
Magpie birds are pests on a ranch. They are great nuisances and, therefore, are very often dispatched. We had a couple of magpie traps on the ranch which were large cages, about 5 feet square and about 6-7 feet high. The chicken wire mesh that covered the entire cage, including the top, was accessed through a door in one side. The top had a round hole with inverted wires pointing down into the cage. Corn was placed on the floor and magpies would enter easily through the hole in the top. They could not, however, get out, since they had to fly up to get out, and the inverted wired pointing down prohibited them from flying out. Most of these captives were "dispatched" by one of the cowboys or our dads.
My imaginative brothers, discovered that some fun could be had by entering the cage and capturing a magpie. The "lucky" bird was attached to the fishing line on a rod and reel and allowed to fly up and away.....until it reached the end of the line with a sudden stop, and was then reeled back in for another flight. If the bird was lucky, it eventually escaped, probably to fly back into the magpie trap and meet its end. Pretty awful looking back, but hilarious then.
Halloween Masks - Oh My!
Living in a remote place didn't offer much in the way of trick or treating for the kids living on the ranch. We did have fun with the holiday though and made stops at all the family houses and those of the hired men and their families.
Carol and I were introduced to Halloween when were probably four and five, when my dad brought home two witch masks for us. We had never had a mask before, and had only heard about witches in scary stories. We scurried off to the bedroom to look them over. We put them on and looked in the mirror and were terrified by what we thought were monsters staring back at us and ran out of the room wailing in fright! It took quite a bit of explanation and comforting for us to finally start to enjoy the scary masks.
Someone, usually Carol's Mom, had delicious apple cider to drink and Granddad Currier let us have a candy from his candy cupboard. One of the hired men gave us some really good cider...looking back, I'm pretty sure it was hard cider since it had quite a fizzy tang!!
Bogs are not for horses!
There were several boggy areas on the ranch where tall grass grew, but which were not generally traversable on foot, on a tractor, or on a horse. We were all educated as to where these were and instructed to stay out of them. But, one day, Carol and her cousin Dinny decided to ride one of the horses through a bog instead of around it so that they could get to the other side faster. It wasn't a fortuitous plan and the horse got bogged down up to his belly in the swamp. They could not get him out no matter how hard they tried and had to walk home and sheepishly beg one of the dads for help! It required a large tractor and rope and chain to haul the poor horse out. Fortunately, he wasn't injured and neither were Carol and Dinny, though they did get some severe lectures for that one.
Cowboys and Indians
One of our favorite games was a horseback game in which various factions warred with each other in wild games of cowboys and Indians or cowboys and rustlers and the like. One particular day, as we finished a great battle, one of the losers had to be brought in as a "dead man." I think it was Dinny (Carol's cousin) who was strapped across the back of one of the horses with her hands and feet tied together via a rope under the horses belly. All was well (though Dinny suffered some serious belly bouncing) until the ropes loosened just a tad, and she slipped down and around so that she was hanging under the horse's belly with her hands and feet up top! She looked so funny dangling under the horse with the horse hopping about, that we all were laughing so hard that it took some time to get her detached. All walked away in good shape fortunately!! No one volunteered to be the "dead man" after that!
Hornets...stinging devils....
Hornets up on the Ranch make huge, grey, papery nests, shaped rather like an upside down pear, and often 12 inches in diameter and over a foot long attached to tree or brush branches. One day, we learned the hard way not to smack a huge hornets' nest with sticks to get the hornets to come out! Why we thought that this was a good idea, I don't know, but all of us involved ran for our lives with a stream of big black hornets chasing us and stinging as we ran!
Fishing for suckers and creek swimming- pure JOY,,,
There was a great, deepish hole in Buzzard Creek about a mile and a half from our houses. In the summer, some of us older kids would walk to this spot which was down below several terraces of hayfields on a property called the Fitzpatrick Place (purchased by our grandfather from someone named Fitzpatrick, I suppose). We would walk there with willow fishing poles armed with treble hooks and worms for bait to catch the big sucker fish that swam in the deep hole in the creek. Suckers are not good to eat, very bony and not very flavorful. After bringing home a big sack of them once, our moms politely told us to not bother to bring them again!
After we tired of catching suckers and playing with them, getting them to kiss each other with their big sucker lips, we would jump into the fishing pool turning it into a swimming hole and having a great time splashing about until it was time to walk home again. Our moms must have thanked the stars above for that hole in the creek, since it meant we would be gone for hours at a time!! We were free range indeed and explored wherever, but always looked out for one another.
Snipe Hunts...for visiting kids (who were generally city kids)
If you don't know what a snipe hunt is, let me outline it for you. The hunt requires one or two unsuspecting visitors, a number of Ranch kids, and a big burlap bag. The hunt always took place at dusk in the summertime when night didn't fall for several hours after dusk.
The visitor was regaled with stories of hunting snipe, a very tricky bird that lived in large groups. The hapless city kid was told to stand at one end of either a big field or a pasture holding the big burlap bag (gunny sack) open and near the ground calling "Snipe, Snipe, Snipe." He was told that the other kids would circle far around and chase the snipes toward him, and that if he/she waited long enough, a bagful of snipes was to be had. Of course, there were no snipes, and after much yelling a whacking of sticks to demonstrate audible snipe herding, the Ranch kids went home and left the snipe bag holder to plaintively keep calling for snipes. Eventually, he/she generally figured out that he/she had been had and came back to the houses with a sheepish look on the face.
Bale Houses....castles in the country!
During haying time, when cuttings of hay had been baled and were lying in neat rows in the fields, waiting to be picked up and stacked, we kids would harness up the afore mentioned Mule (horse), hitch a small slip (a wood sled that slides along the ground) to his harness and gather as many bales as we could taking them to a central location. (Our Dads were happy with this occupation since it made picking up the bales easier, because many were in one place.) With these many bales, we would construct bale houses with long tunnels for access and several stories high. These were great fun and all the kids played for hours in them until the time came for them to be picked up and put in the haystack. Unfortunately, mice loved to hide under bales and we sometimes found them scurrying around in our castles. One time, cousin Beth rolled a bale over uncovering several mice, one of which promptly ran up the inside of her pants leg. You've never seen jeans come off so fast or heard so much screaming! Everyone else got a great laugh out of that one!
Nightime Games
One of the games that we played at night was a scary one. One person was "it" and had to hide his eyes for about 10 minutes while the other kids ran up the road into one of the pastures and hid along the way. The goal was for the kid who was "it" to walk up the road while the others periodically jumped out from bushes or down from trees emitting terrifying screams, howls and other noises. The "it" kid was deemed a winner if he didn't scream or run away in fright!
Building "cabins"
We went through several episodes of deciding to build little log houses in the woods. We would cut down trees, remove the branches, cut the logs to the right length and build little one room "cabins." It was a learning project and the cabins sufficed for summer play, but wouldn't have been very weather worthy in the winter!!
These are just a few of the things that the imaginative kids on the Currier Ranch enjoyed. We truly had a wonderful childhood with not much to be afraid of and lots to do. We were blessed with a place and parents who were not afraid to let us explore and learn. Our parents were not fearful that we would get injured or be eaten by a mountain lion or a bear (there were mountain lions and bears on the ranch)........ All of us grew up with no broken bones and no life-threatening situations. Consequently, we achieved adulthood as confident people, the lessons of the Ranch serving us still.
Watch for a blog about the Frosty Fanny Nudist Camp, soon to appear!
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Grandma Currier
Grandma Currier (Chastine Elizabeth Harris Currier) (1897-1986)
Our paternal grandma, Grandma Currier, wife of our paternal grandfather, Tom Currier, was Tom's partner in homesteading the Tom Currier ranch now known as the X Bar X ( X-X). I'm not certain where her first name "Chastine" came from. It may have been a combination of Charles and Stein as her family had a friend by that name.
She grew up in Grand Junction, Colorado and attended school there. The story goes that, as a young woman living in Grand Junction, she spotted Tom Currier as he rode into town on a good looking horse. As the tall handsome cowboy tied his horse up near the water trough, she was said to have exclaimed "I'm going to marry that man!" And she did. I'm not sure what their courtship involved, but I suppose that they were married in the First Baptist Church in Grand Junction.
Grandma, a town girl, then began the arduous task of learning to live in the remote mountain valley East of Collbran, Colorado in a tent to help "prove" the homestead. It is my understanding that both Carol's Dad, Franklin, and my Dad, Carleton, were babies when they lived in a tent in the summer. Shortly, their first homestead cabin was built from logs harvested on the property. It was a two room cabin with one square window in each of the four sides. Of course, there was no running water or plumbing in the cabin. An outhouse (also know as a "privy") was the norm and, initially, water was carried to the cabin from a spring. (All of the water for the current five houses still comes from mountain springs, though through various pipelines with water pressure delivered via gravity flow.) Heating and cooking were done with a big iron wood cookstove and lighting was provided by candles and/kerosene lanterns.
I'm not sure how long the little family lived in the cabin, but it stood, for many years after, quite near the house my parents built in 1950. It was inhabited over the years by a variety of hired men and finally gave way to old age and decay in the 1990s and was torn down and the pieces hauled away.
From pictures that I have seen, the life was hard and Grandma often looked as if she was a bit worn out by what she had jumped into marrying a homestead rancher. She may have also suffered from some hormonal imbalances, since she had a hysterectomy in the late 1920's, which in those days, was a pretty unpleasant surgery. In addition to the rigors or surgery and recovery, there would have been no knowledge of hormone replacement and, most likely, menopause set in with a vengeance adding to her general misery.
She was, notwithstanding, a hard working pioneer woman who learned quickly how to ride a horse, herd cattle, grow a large garden, wash clothes and babies in a tin tub and cook for a variety of working men.
One saving grace, I'm sure, was the fact that when feed for the cattle ran low in the winter at the mountain ranch, the cattle were moved to lower elevations until the next spring. This meant that the family lived in Grand Junction for the winter and rejoined "civilized" society which Grandma loved.
She was a managerial woman who wanted things done her way and could be very direct and tended to run "rough shod" over anyone who had different ideas. Our moms were often the subject of her heavy handedness and found comfort and humor in having each other to turn to in the early years of their marriages. Our Granddad, Tom, was know to be the butt of her occasional tirades and frequently exclaimed in frustration "Great Scot, Chass!"
All of us grandchildren have many memories of Grandma Currier, most of them good, and some not so much..... She had RULES and ideas and woe be the child that bucked those! Some of the memories follow.
Smashing the "twin berries"
One day Carol and I decided to squish some black colored berries (called twin berries), that grew in profusion in back of Grandma's house, onto the screen door of her house. She had ears that could hear a pin drop and we were caught in the act! She ran out scolded us and 'shook' us both. Here I have to relate the dreaded Grandma Currier punishment, which was to grab the errant child by the shoulders and shake him/her violently. Of course, today, that would be unthinkable, but we all lived through the experience of various shakings. Perhaps some of the oddities in a couple of our siblings are due to these shakings???? We thenhad to clean all evidence of our berry squishing off that back screen door with soap, water and brushes.
Play and games...
Even with the fright of occasional shakings, we all loved going to Grandma Currier's house. She had many games to play, a huge box of old crayons and plenty of things to color, and decks of playing cards. Other than the time during which she took her afternoon nap (woe be the child that woke her from her nap!) or just before noon when she was cooking lunch (called "dinner" in the old West), she was happy to have her house full of grandchildren. She always had Chiclet gum and we usually could score a piece.
Card playing was one of Grandma's favorite pastimes with us and she taught us all a variety of games. We were all proficient at Pinochle and Cribbage and some learned Canasta as well. Grandma never LET anyone win. She would teach the art of the game and help with decisions, but until you were good enough, you didn't beat Grandma at cards! My younger sister, Merial, once played Canasta with another cousin's grandmother and great-aunt who were rabid Canasta players. They were so upset when she beat them that they accused her of being a little cheater and told her she could never come to their house again. They wouldn't accept the fact that Merial had learned at the hand of a 'master' !!
The allowance...
Grandma also had an 'allowance' program for all the grandchildren. I believe that it was as follows:
Ages 2-8 5 cents per week
Ages 8-12 10 cents per week
Ages 12 and up 25 cents per week
We would religiously show up once a week to collect our allowance and if we were away, she mailed a check every so often. I was still receiving a $13 dollar check each year even after I graduated from college!!
The wristwatch...
The majority of the grandchildren also were given a wristwatch for his/her 12th birthday. Each child was allowed to choose the watch that he/she wanted from the Spiegel catalog. I still have mine....a Waltham Swiss made watch which still runs!!
The trip...
Another perk of reaching 12 years of age was that a grandchild then was eligible to go on a trip with Grandma. These were usually driving trips to somewhere in the United States, often lasting two-three weeks. Carol traveled to California and into Mexico. My brother Dan traveled up the coast of California to Portland and Seattle for the 1962 Worlds Fair. I joined them in Portland and got to bring a friend. We traveled in a camper and had a fine time. Another blog will relate that adventure! My brother Tom traveled with her through the South and up the East Coast.
On Tom's trip, Grandma had decided to economize, and she bought a station wagon. Her plan was to sleep in the car some of the time with Tom on the front seat and Grandma and her sister, Aunt Merial, on a pad in the back. She cut newspaper sheets to cover the windows at night. I'm not sure that it was as much fun as she planned, though Tom had a fine time. One night he caught a jar full of fireflies and let them loose in the car where they flickered all night much to the distress of the ladies in the back.
One another occasion, Grandma wanted to get across a railroad track to a road on the other side, notwithstanding the fact that there was no road crossing where she wanted to cross. She crossed anyway and got the station wagon high centered on the tracks. Apparently, Grandma walked down to a bar on the road and asked the men within to come lift her car off the tracks. They did (no one refused Grandma) and the trio of travelers was again on their way.
Sadly, I think the younger grandchildren missed out on these trips.
Grandma's shower....
Grandma also had a shower in her house which we grandchildren found delightful. It was better than taking a bath in a good old tin tub which was the method of bathing until our houses had bathtubs when we got indoor plumbing. Her shower was a small one, but perfectly adequate, and we loved it. One day when Carol and I were taking our shower together, (we must have been 4 and 5 years old) my brother, Tom, decided to join us... He was fully dressed, and it must have been cold outside, because he even wore his jacket, boots and hat into the shower. Carol can to this day, picture him fully clothed just standing in the corner of grandma's shower, to Grandma's irritation!
Even with the fright of occasional shakings, we all loved going to Grandma Currier's house. She had many games to play, a huge box of old crayons and plenty of things to color, and decks of playing cards. Other than the time during which she took her afternoon nap (woe be the child that woke her from her nap!) or just before noon when she was cooking lunch (called "dinner" in the old West), she was happy to have her house full of grandchildren. She always had Chiclet gum and we usually could score a piece.
Grandma's toys were such fun....Lincoln logs, wind-up type toys, a cigarette smoking dog, a Howdy Doody puppet, and a wooden box that was designed so that you put in small wooden pieces into the top and hammered them into the box compartment followed by a few more wooden pellet looking pieces and they would come out of the bottom. Then there were her many wooden puzzles that we enjoyed playing with and putting back together. I still have a number of these puzzles.
Grandma's RULES were that we always had to put all the toys back into the toy cupboard and put the puzzles away. One time, we were very naughty little girls and dumped all the puzzle pieces of ALL the many puzzles into a big pile...we couldn't figure out how to put them all back together correctly, and we ran out of her house as fast as we could. I believe Grandma demanded that our mothers come over and help us put them together again! Don't think we ever did that again... We were in double trouble with Grandma and our mothers!
We enjoyed good times playing Chinese checkers, dominos & regular checkers...maybe even Monopoly and some card games like Go Fish or Old Maid. We all played the games by the rules, no cheating allowed. We grandchildren have many warm memories of playing these games.
Card playing was one of Grandma's favorite pastimes with us and she taught us all a variety of games. We were all proficient at Pinochle and Cribbage and some learned Canasta as well. Grandma never LET anyone win. She would teach the art of the game and help with decisions, but until you were good enough, you didn't beat Grandma at cards! My younger sister, Merial, once played Canasta with another cousin's grandmother and great-aunt who were rabid Canasta players. They were so upset when she beat them that they accused her of being a little cheater and told her she could never come to their house again. They wouldn't accept the fact that Merial had learned at the hand of a 'master' !!
The allowance...
Grandma also had an 'allowance' program for all the grandchildren. I believe that it was as follows:
Ages 2-8 5 cents per week
Ages 8-12 10 cents per week
Ages 12 and up 25 cents per week
We would religiously show up once a week to collect our allowance and if we were away, she mailed a check every so often. I was still receiving a $13 dollar check each year even after I graduated from college!!
The wristwatch...
The majority of the grandchildren also were given a wristwatch for his/her 12th birthday. Each child was allowed to choose the watch that he/she wanted from the Spiegel catalog. I still have mine....a Waltham Swiss made watch which still runs!!
The trip...
Another perk of reaching 12 years of age was that a grandchild then was eligible to go on a trip with Grandma. These were usually driving trips to somewhere in the United States, often lasting two-three weeks. Carol traveled to California and into Mexico. My brother Dan traveled up the coast of California to Portland and Seattle for the 1962 Worlds Fair. I joined them in Portland and got to bring a friend. We traveled in a camper and had a fine time. Another blog will relate that adventure! My brother Tom traveled with her through the South and up the East Coast.
On Tom's trip, Grandma had decided to economize, and she bought a station wagon. Her plan was to sleep in the car some of the time with Tom on the front seat and Grandma and her sister, Aunt Merial, on a pad in the back. She cut newspaper sheets to cover the windows at night. I'm not sure that it was as much fun as she planned, though Tom had a fine time. One night he caught a jar full of fireflies and let them loose in the car where they flickered all night much to the distress of the ladies in the back.
One another occasion, Grandma wanted to get across a railroad track to a road on the other side, notwithstanding the fact that there was no road crossing where she wanted to cross. She crossed anyway and got the station wagon high centered on the tracks. Apparently, Grandma walked down to a bar on the road and asked the men within to come lift her car off the tracks. They did (no one refused Grandma) and the trio of travelers was again on their way.
Sadly, I think the younger grandchildren missed out on these trips.
Grandma's shower....
Grandma also had a shower in her house which we grandchildren found delightful. It was better than taking a bath in a good old tin tub which was the method of bathing until our houses had bathtubs when we got indoor plumbing. Her shower was a small one, but perfectly adequate, and we loved it. One day when Carol and I were taking our shower together, (we must have been 4 and 5 years old) my brother, Tom, decided to join us... He was fully dressed, and it must have been cold outside, because he even wore his jacket, boots and hat into the shower. Carol can to this day, picture him fully clothed just standing in the corner of grandma's shower, to Grandma's irritation!
More naughty girls....
Carol related one more hilarious happening.... one day Carol's mom had gone to town, and she and her cousin Dorinda were outside playing with Carol's sister, Donna, and having fun, when they began to tease Donna a little bit.... (side note Donna had Down's Syndrome and Grandma Currier was very protective of her, which Donna knew all too well!). When Donna had enough of the teasing, she began to scream like 'bloody murder' was going to happen'! Grandma Currier came rushing out of her house to protect Donna (who, by the way, was never hurt), but she had had enough and knew one sure way to get it stopped...Grandma Currier to the rescue!
Carol related one more hilarious happening.... one day Carol's mom had gone to town, and she and her cousin Dorinda were outside playing with Carol's sister, Donna, and having fun, when they began to tease Donna a little bit.... (side note Donna had Down's Syndrome and Grandma Currier was very protective of her, which Donna knew all too well!). When Donna had enough of the teasing, she began to scream like 'bloody murder' was going to happen'! Grandma Currier came rushing out of her house to protect Donna (who, by the way, was never hurt), but she had had enough and knew one sure way to get it stopped...Grandma Currier to the rescue!
Boy were they in trouble! Carol and Dorinda split and ran into Carol's house with Grandma in hot pursuit intent on punishment....perhaps the much dreaded shaking! (Carol's house was three stories, built in 1952 with only the first floor finished at the time. Upstairs had open wooden 2x4s delineating the future rooms). The big girls ran upstairs with Grandma close behind. The stairwell was in the middle which then made it possible to run in a circle around the second floor of the house. The naughty girls ran in circles a couple of times and then zipped down the stairs, out the back door where they hid under the house in the large crawl space. For several minutes they could still hear Grandma running around and around upstairs shouting "Carol! Dorinda! Come here!" Of course, the girls couldn't control their giggles and laughed until their sides were hurting. Grandma didn't hear them and did not find them so no 'shaking' happened that day.
Family gatherings...
Over the years, as we grew up, we still usually spent Christmas Eve with Grandma and Granddad Currier and annually Grandma held a Birthday Party to celebrate ALL the birthdays of her two sons, their wives and all the grandchildren. This was generally in the summer and was always fried chicken (from KFC) and all the fixings. After everyone had families of their own, the big family dinners happened on fewer and fewer occasions, but the memories are with us always.
Monday, June 22, 2015
"Goofy" Milk Cows and Milking Time on the Ranch
Carol and I were reminiscing via email about how much we liked to gather at milking time in the evening. Milking happened twice a day, but usually we kids didn't make it to the early morning milking. All of our milk, cream and butter originated with the milk cows, and none of us will forget the sweet taste of the fresh, warm milk straight from the cow...all foamy, sweet and delicious.
We had three to four milk cows at any given time in the early days, and they usually wandered up to the milking area at the appointed time to be milked. They knew when their udders were full and needing relief. The milking area was near the "calf pen" where their calves were housed. If the little ones had been left with the moms, the milk for us would be gone in a flash with the calves suckling frequently. We always felt a bit sorry for those babies growing up without access to their mamas, but such is life on the ranch. The calves were fed fresh milk in nipple buckets and, later on, were given a "calf formula" manufactured to simulate cow's milk. We loved to pet the little ones, and they became quite tame.
Our dads gave the cows grain in a trough next to the calf pen. And then the milking began.... we kids, with cups brought from home, gathered to get a fresh cup of milk. It was delicious! Sometimes my dad would give one or more of us a surprise shot of milk in the face when we least expected it! There was much laughter and giggling!
The ranch cats, probably up to a dozen, gathered at milking time too and got their reward when our dads would aim a squirt of milk directly at their faces.... The cats became quite adept at slurping up the stream of milk. Then a dollop of milk was poured into a pan for the cats to finish off. This warm milk and all the mice and chipmunks they could catch were the diet of the ranch cats. The cats were never in the houses and, though, some were petted, were really kept to take care of the rodent populations.
My dad always had the funniest names for the cats, cows, dogs, horses and kids... One tabby female cat was known as 'Lots of Cats'; one of her litters was 17 kittens! He named one cow "Crisco" and others were also named for brands of shortening. There was a sweet cow named "Goofy". There were many other names, generally picked due to the nature of the cow. We lived in fear of one cow who did not like children and, if she was approached, would snort and make every attempt to knock the encroaching kid down, there to be rolled around on the ground with her nose. We learned to never go near "Chasey Cow" unless the dads were present. I can remember one kid or another shouting "Chasey Cow is coming" and we would all run for safe territory!
After milking was done, we went to the chicken house and to the other nests to gather eggs. The nests were located in the chicken house and in various outbuildings. We always seemed to have a chicken who managed to hide her nest and produce a flock of chicks. Oh my! Were they ever protective of their babies... If we got too close, the mother hen would charge at you with her wings spread out wide and feathers ruffled, all fluffed up.. Made her look big and scary! Those baby chicks were so cute!
After milking was done, the calves fed and the eggs gathered, the milk in buckets was taken to be "separated" using a machine called a "separator" which filtered the milk and operated by a centrifuged process separating the cream from the milk. Initially, the separator was manually driven with a crank handle to make the milk spin and separate. Later, when electricity was brought to the Ranch, we had an electric separator.
The cream was so thick that, when cold, it was nearly solid and so sweet. The milk was similar to skim milk after this process and supplied three or four households. Note that we all drank fresh unpasteurized milk from childhood to adulthood, and no one was ever the worse for it. Undoubtedly, we came away with strong healthy bones! We sold our excess cream in Collbran at the "Creamery" and in Grand Junction to another place.
Cleaning the milk separator was an arduous task and sometimes when the moms were away, the "big" girls got to do the job. It was very important to do it well and keep it extremely clean. Carol remembers learning to wash it when she was about ten years old.
One funny milking story involved Carol's little brother, Allan, who came running into our house to tell his mom about milking a cow. His excited story went like this: "Mom, Tom, Dan and I milked a cow together!"
Marian replied "How did you three boys manage to milk one cow?"
Allan replied "Tom was on one side, Dan was on the other side and I got to sit at the back end of the cow!" All Marian could do was smile! I think she was thankful the cow didn't decide to cover Allan with a fresh cow plop or kick him out of the way!
Our moms were very smart to never learn how to milk a cow. As my mom put it, "If you don't know how, you won't have to do it!" I, however, decided to learn to milk and did. Consequently, on several occasions, I had to milk one of the cows when one of the dads or brothers were missing! Bad/good choice on my part. There was something very sweet about sitting on the milking stool, snuggling up to the warm side of the cow and rhythmically pinging the milk into the bucket.
More later on the curious naming of the ranch animals and other escapades of the Currier kids growing up free and strong!
We had three to four milk cows at any given time in the early days, and they usually wandered up to the milking area at the appointed time to be milked. They knew when their udders were full and needing relief. The milking area was near the "calf pen" where their calves were housed. If the little ones had been left with the moms, the milk for us would be gone in a flash with the calves suckling frequently. We always felt a bit sorry for those babies growing up without access to their mamas, but such is life on the ranch. The calves were fed fresh milk in nipple buckets and, later on, were given a "calf formula" manufactured to simulate cow's milk. We loved to pet the little ones, and they became quite tame.
Our dads gave the cows grain in a trough next to the calf pen. And then the milking began.... we kids, with cups brought from home, gathered to get a fresh cup of milk. It was delicious! Sometimes my dad would give one or more of us a surprise shot of milk in the face when we least expected it! There was much laughter and giggling!
The ranch cats, probably up to a dozen, gathered at milking time too and got their reward when our dads would aim a squirt of milk directly at their faces.... The cats became quite adept at slurping up the stream of milk. Then a dollop of milk was poured into a pan for the cats to finish off. This warm milk and all the mice and chipmunks they could catch were the diet of the ranch cats. The cats were never in the houses and, though, some were petted, were really kept to take care of the rodent populations.
My dad always had the funniest names for the cats, cows, dogs, horses and kids... One tabby female cat was known as 'Lots of Cats'; one of her litters was 17 kittens! He named one cow "Crisco" and others were also named for brands of shortening. There was a sweet cow named "Goofy". There were many other names, generally picked due to the nature of the cow. We lived in fear of one cow who did not like children and, if she was approached, would snort and make every attempt to knock the encroaching kid down, there to be rolled around on the ground with her nose. We learned to never go near "Chasey Cow" unless the dads were present. I can remember one kid or another shouting "Chasey Cow is coming" and we would all run for safe territory!
After milking was done, we went to the chicken house and to the other nests to gather eggs. The nests were located in the chicken house and in various outbuildings. We always seemed to have a chicken who managed to hide her nest and produce a flock of chicks. Oh my! Were they ever protective of their babies... If we got too close, the mother hen would charge at you with her wings spread out wide and feathers ruffled, all fluffed up.. Made her look big and scary! Those baby chicks were so cute!
After milking was done, the calves fed and the eggs gathered, the milk in buckets was taken to be "separated" using a machine called a "separator" which filtered the milk and operated by a centrifuged process separating the cream from the milk. Initially, the separator was manually driven with a crank handle to make the milk spin and separate. Later, when electricity was brought to the Ranch, we had an electric separator.
The cream was so thick that, when cold, it was nearly solid and so sweet. The milk was similar to skim milk after this process and supplied three or four households. Note that we all drank fresh unpasteurized milk from childhood to adulthood, and no one was ever the worse for it. Undoubtedly, we came away with strong healthy bones! We sold our excess cream in Collbran at the "Creamery" and in Grand Junction to another place.
Cleaning the milk separator was an arduous task and sometimes when the moms were away, the "big" girls got to do the job. It was very important to do it well and keep it extremely clean. Carol remembers learning to wash it when she was about ten years old.
One funny milking story involved Carol's little brother, Allan, who came running into our house to tell his mom about milking a cow. His excited story went like this: "Mom, Tom, Dan and I milked a cow together!"
Marian replied "How did you three boys manage to milk one cow?"
Allan replied "Tom was on one side, Dan was on the other side and I got to sit at the back end of the cow!" All Marian could do was smile! I think she was thankful the cow didn't decide to cover Allan with a fresh cow plop or kick him out of the way!
Our moms were very smart to never learn how to milk a cow. As my mom put it, "If you don't know how, you won't have to do it!" I, however, decided to learn to milk and did. Consequently, on several occasions, I had to milk one of the cows when one of the dads or brothers were missing! Bad/good choice on my part. There was something very sweet about sitting on the milking stool, snuggling up to the warm side of the cow and rhythmically pinging the milk into the bucket.
More later on the curious naming of the ranch animals and other escapades of the Currier kids growing up free and strong!
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Two little girls with bells on their shoes.....
Carol and I grew up together on the Ranch. I was nine months old when she was born, and we spent quite a bit of time together as toddlers and pre-schoolers. The picture below is, from left to right, Carol, my brother Tom, and me with our Great Uncle Frank Ricker behind.... Carol, blond as a child, and Tom and I with very red hair. From whence the red came, no one knows. Tom and I attributed it to our pediatrician!
Unlike today's children, we were definitely "free-range" children. The Ranch is sixteen miles from the nearest tiny town, and, when we were children, the road to travel those sixteen miles varied from gravel to dirt track with grass growing in the middle of the two tire tracks. It was safe from any stranger-danger, and we were taught what not to get into. Other things were self-teaching, like nettles and thistles. A child walks through those only once!
Back to little Carol and little Marcia....since we were pretty much "free-range," our moms decided to put little bells on our shoes so that they could hear us as we wandered about. It was a great idea, however, we discovered that shoes were quite like boats and could be floated down the creek, giving us lots of little-girl giggles. We didn't, however, bring them home after we got tired of floating them. We just pattered home barefoot and told our moms what great fun we had had! They were not happy. Shoes cost money and money was often in short supply.
We each were the recipients of little red wagons that were just the right size for us to pull along with miscellaneous treasures in them. One fine sunny day, we towed our little wagons down the road toward the aforementioned creek and, since it was such a fine warm day, we took all of our clothes off and put them in the wagons and roamed about stark naked for the next few hours until our moms discovered their little nudists. They were somewhat pleased, though, that we hadn't floated the clothes down the creek to join the shoes!!
We also were found in our birthday suits down by the creek on another warm day. This happened after looking through a National Geographic magazine and being wondrously awed at a photo essay that included little black children in Africa. We grew up in an almost totally Caucasian world, but, fortunately, with no negatives regarding other races. Carol, Tom and I stripped everything off and plastered ourselves with dark mountain mud so that we could be like the kids in the magazine. The moms were not happy, though they did giggle a bit, when we trotted our little naked muddy selves into one of the house to show off our new selves. We got hosed off with very cold water in short order.
Our little wagons came in handy on another occasion when one or the other of the moms asked us to go to the garden and get a cabbage and bring it back. We trundled to the big vegetable garden and twisted a cabbage loose and put it in one of the wagons....and found that it was great fun to twist the cabbage head loose from its root. And we found it even more fun to twist many cabbage heads off and load them into our wagons. Our moms were not happy that we decimated about half of the cabbages in the garden, and they had to promptly get busy making sauerkraut so that the cabbages would not be wasted. Not something they were planning for that day!!
Another favorite joy was to pick wildflowers and take back big "bouquets" to our moms. Of course, the stems were all different lengths and the bouquets often had flowers that were upside down, but the moms loved them just the same.
Wildflowers abound at the Ranch with different beauties blooming at different times of the spring and summer. The blooming season is only approximately three months long beginning in late May or early June with the wild iris (also called flags), daisies, creamy white chokecherry, white service berry, and, of course, dandelions, huge, beautiful dandelions. The wild sunflowers start in June and bloom copiously, depending upon water supply, through the summer. The blue columbine is prevalent and gorgeous in late June and early July. Favorite picking flowers were the larkspur and the lupine and in the fall, Indian paintbrush. We didn't pick the prickly wild mountain roses, though we carefully sniffed their sweet fragrance.
As Carol and I grew, another baby joined the Ranch clan, my brother, Tom, and as time passed he became a great pal and co-conspirator, especially to Carol, since they were both very adventurous and mischievous. As I grew older, I became a "house mouse" (a nickname) and enjoyed cooking and sewing and baby tending. All three of us "big" kids, though, participated in many of the adventures to still come in this blog.
Carol and I are still very good friends, almost sisters, and keep in regular touch via email and text. Carol has primary lateral sclerosis which has robbed her of her speech and much of her mobility. She contributes memories to this blog via email and text, a very laborious process, but well done, nonetheless.
Unlike today's children, we were definitely "free-range" children. The Ranch is sixteen miles from the nearest tiny town, and, when we were children, the road to travel those sixteen miles varied from gravel to dirt track with grass growing in the middle of the two tire tracks. It was safe from any stranger-danger, and we were taught what not to get into. Other things were self-teaching, like nettles and thistles. A child walks through those only once!
Back to little Carol and little Marcia....since we were pretty much "free-range," our moms decided to put little bells on our shoes so that they could hear us as we wandered about. It was a great idea, however, we discovered that shoes were quite like boats and could be floated down the creek, giving us lots of little-girl giggles. We didn't, however, bring them home after we got tired of floating them. We just pattered home barefoot and told our moms what great fun we had had! They were not happy. Shoes cost money and money was often in short supply.
We each were the recipients of little red wagons that were just the right size for us to pull along with miscellaneous treasures in them. One fine sunny day, we towed our little wagons down the road toward the aforementioned creek and, since it was such a fine warm day, we took all of our clothes off and put them in the wagons and roamed about stark naked for the next few hours until our moms discovered their little nudists. They were somewhat pleased, though, that we hadn't floated the clothes down the creek to join the shoes!!
We also were found in our birthday suits down by the creek on another warm day. This happened after looking through a National Geographic magazine and being wondrously awed at a photo essay that included little black children in Africa. We grew up in an almost totally Caucasian world, but, fortunately, with no negatives regarding other races. Carol, Tom and I stripped everything off and plastered ourselves with dark mountain mud so that we could be like the kids in the magazine. The moms were not happy, though they did giggle a bit, when we trotted our little naked muddy selves into one of the house to show off our new selves. We got hosed off with very cold water in short order.
Our little wagons came in handy on another occasion when one or the other of the moms asked us to go to the garden and get a cabbage and bring it back. We trundled to the big vegetable garden and twisted a cabbage loose and put it in one of the wagons....and found that it was great fun to twist the cabbage head loose from its root. And we found it even more fun to twist many cabbage heads off and load them into our wagons. Our moms were not happy that we decimated about half of the cabbages in the garden, and they had to promptly get busy making sauerkraut so that the cabbages would not be wasted. Not something they were planning for that day!!
Another favorite joy was to pick wildflowers and take back big "bouquets" to our moms. Of course, the stems were all different lengths and the bouquets often had flowers that were upside down, but the moms loved them just the same.
Wildflowers abound at the Ranch with different beauties blooming at different times of the spring and summer. The blooming season is only approximately three months long beginning in late May or early June with the wild iris (also called flags), daisies, creamy white chokecherry, white service berry, and, of course, dandelions, huge, beautiful dandelions. The wild sunflowers start in June and bloom copiously, depending upon water supply, through the summer. The blue columbine is prevalent and gorgeous in late June and early July. Favorite picking flowers were the larkspur and the lupine and in the fall, Indian paintbrush. We didn't pick the prickly wild mountain roses, though we carefully sniffed their sweet fragrance.
As Carol and I grew, another baby joined the Ranch clan, my brother, Tom, and as time passed he became a great pal and co-conspirator, especially to Carol, since they were both very adventurous and mischievous. As I grew older, I became a "house mouse" (a nickname) and enjoyed cooking and sewing and baby tending. All three of us "big" kids, though, participated in many of the adventures to still come in this blog.
Carol and I are still very good friends, almost sisters, and keep in regular touch via email and text. Carol has primary lateral sclerosis which has robbed her of her speech and much of her mobility. She contributes memories to this blog via email and text, a very laborious process, but well done, nonetheless.
Monday, June 15, 2015
The Tom Currier Ranch....Homestead in the high country....
The Eight Kids On a Horse (7 on and 2 on the ground) would never have happened had our grandfather, Thomas Carroll Currier, not come west in 1892 from Iowa as a boy of 8 years, settling in the Grand Junction area with his parents and four brothers.
In around 1902, as a young man, Tom took advantage of the 1862 Homestead Act and made his first claim in the Colorado high country north and east of Grand Mesa as did his brother Lucius and with the help of a friend. The 1862 U.S. Homestead Act generally allowed a homesteader in Colorado to claim up to 640 acres in designated areas. Following that, the homesteader had to live on and improve the claim for period of three to five years to "prove" it as a viable homestead and then be granted a "patent" by the President of the U.S. which then recorded ownership. He also bought properties available through the Homestead Act.
Tom was very prudent in his first selections, gaining beautiful acreage bordering National Forest Land with water rights that allowed not only grazing but also cultivation and farming. In 1903 he took his first herd of cattle to the homestead property. The three men spent the first three years in an old dirt-roofed, windowless "dungeon" and built the first log cabin in 1906. The pictures below show his covered wagon in the winter and the first cabin built for his wife and two little boys.
As other homesteaders left due to hardship and other reasons, Tom bought up their claims and eventually expanded the Ranch to approximately 8,000 acres where he raised both registered purebred Hereford cattle and a herd of commercial Hereford cattle.
Tom had only an 8th grade education (which is probably more than equivalent to a high school diploma in today's schools!) but was a natural and talented businessman and cattleman who never borrowed money. He was active in the Mesa County Farm Bureau, was President of the Plateau Valley Stockgrowers Association, the Colorado Cattleman's Association and was elected to the first advisory board of the Bureau of Land Management. He held that position until his death. He was also a member of the Grand Mesa National Forest and was a Director in the Grand Valley Water Users Association. A staunch Baptist, he was on the Board of Trustees for the First Baptist Church in Grand Junction. His registered Hereford stock was well-known throughout Colorado. My recollection is that he imported one or two bulls from England who sired many beautiful animals. Cattlemen from all over Colorado came to the ranch to buy bulls for their own herds.
The story goes that our grandmother, Chastine Elizabeth Harris, spotted Tom as he rode into Grand Junction on his horse and proclaimed "I'm going to marry that man!" They were married in November 1916. She was raised in town, and I'm sure that the primitive homesteading was a real challenge for her, especially as they soon had two little boys born, Thomas Franklin (co-author Carol's father) in 1918 and Robert Carleton (my dad) in 1921. She was a tough woman and managed to meet the challenges, improving their living quarters a bit at a time. Tom was oft heard exclaiming about something she had done "Great Scot, Chas!."
Together they built the Ranch which was/is bordered by National Forest and ranch properties homesteaded by Granddad's brothers. Carol's Dad, Franklin, and my Dad, Carleton, worked closely with their dad and after college for both and WWII in the Pacific for Franklin, they joined in the ranching operation and continued it until retirement.
They each married in the mid-1940's, Carleton to Joy Fitzgerald and Franklin to Marian Quist. Beginning in 1945, there was a new Currier baby almost every year. The co-authors of this blog were the first Ranch babies-Marcia then Carol. Carol had two sisters and one brother; Marcia, three brothers and one sister.
The ranch no longer owns any cattle or horses, but grows hay and sometimes leases pastureland to others as well as offering private big game hunting. It is a place filled with memories, incredible beauty, ghosts, abundant wildlife and an aura of healing quiet and calm. Those of us who grew up there have an intense longing to go back, especially in the spring.
We "kids on a horse" were so fortunate to have grown up in such a free and wonderful way. Our adventures continue in future blogs as Carol and I recall our childhood.
Note to siblings and cousins who may read this....please let me know if I have erred in my recollections or if you have any information/stories that might be shared.
In around 1902, as a young man, Tom took advantage of the 1862 Homestead Act and made his first claim in the Colorado high country north and east of Grand Mesa as did his brother Lucius and with the help of a friend. The 1862 U.S. Homestead Act generally allowed a homesteader in Colorado to claim up to 640 acres in designated areas. Following that, the homesteader had to live on and improve the claim for period of three to five years to "prove" it as a viable homestead and then be granted a "patent" by the President of the U.S. which then recorded ownership. He also bought properties available through the Homestead Act.
Tom was very prudent in his first selections, gaining beautiful acreage bordering National Forest Land with water rights that allowed not only grazing but also cultivation and farming. In 1903 he took his first herd of cattle to the homestead property. The three men spent the first three years in an old dirt-roofed, windowless "dungeon" and built the first log cabin in 1906. The pictures below show his covered wagon in the winter and the first cabin built for his wife and two little boys.
As other homesteaders left due to hardship and other reasons, Tom bought up their claims and eventually expanded the Ranch to approximately 8,000 acres where he raised both registered purebred Hereford cattle and a herd of commercial Hereford cattle.
Tom had only an 8th grade education (which is probably more than equivalent to a high school diploma in today's schools!) but was a natural and talented businessman and cattleman who never borrowed money. He was active in the Mesa County Farm Bureau, was President of the Plateau Valley Stockgrowers Association, the Colorado Cattleman's Association and was elected to the first advisory board of the Bureau of Land Management. He held that position until his death. He was also a member of the Grand Mesa National Forest and was a Director in the Grand Valley Water Users Association. A staunch Baptist, he was on the Board of Trustees for the First Baptist Church in Grand Junction. His registered Hereford stock was well-known throughout Colorado. My recollection is that he imported one or two bulls from England who sired many beautiful animals. Cattlemen from all over Colorado came to the ranch to buy bulls for their own herds.
The story goes that our grandmother, Chastine Elizabeth Harris, spotted Tom as he rode into Grand Junction on his horse and proclaimed "I'm going to marry that man!" They were married in November 1916. She was raised in town, and I'm sure that the primitive homesteading was a real challenge for her, especially as they soon had two little boys born, Thomas Franklin (co-author Carol's father) in 1918 and Robert Carleton (my dad) in 1921. She was a tough woman and managed to meet the challenges, improving their living quarters a bit at a time. Tom was oft heard exclaiming about something she had done "Great Scot, Chas!."
Together they built the Ranch which was/is bordered by National Forest and ranch properties homesteaded by Granddad's brothers. Carol's Dad, Franklin, and my Dad, Carleton, worked closely with their dad and after college for both and WWII in the Pacific for Franklin, they joined in the ranching operation and continued it until retirement.
They each married in the mid-1940's, Carleton to Joy Fitzgerald and Franklin to Marian Quist. Beginning in 1945, there was a new Currier baby almost every year. The co-authors of this blog were the first Ranch babies-Marcia then Carol. Carol had two sisters and one brother; Marcia, three brothers and one sister.
The ranch no longer owns any cattle or horses, but grows hay and sometimes leases pastureland to others as well as offering private big game hunting. It is a place filled with memories, incredible beauty, ghosts, abundant wildlife and an aura of healing quiet and calm. Those of us who grew up there have an intense longing to go back, especially in the spring.
We "kids on a horse" were so fortunate to have grown up in such a free and wonderful way. Our adventures continue in future blogs as Carol and I recall our childhood.
Note to siblings and cousins who may read this....please let me know if I have erred in my recollections or if you have any information/stories that might be shared.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Mule, the horse, visits Aunt Marion's house....
Given a remote place with no television and an absent aunt/mom, mischief is bound to happen.....
My recollection is that my brother Tom and my cousin Carol (co-author of this blog) were the dual think tank for this adventure. I was a co-conspirator however.
On with the story....one fine sunny morning, Carol's mom, Marian, left to drive into Collbran (about a 16 mile drive) for some grocery items leaving Carol and her siblings home with my mom down the road a piece to take care of any emergencies. We kids had Mule bridled up. We were not allowed to use a saddle, unless we were with adults, due to the dangers of falling and catching a foot in a stirrup and being dragged by a panicked horse.
Somewhere in someone's mischievous brain, the idea surfaced to see if we could get Mule to climb the 12 or so steps to the back door of Aunt Marian's house. This new idea came to us from watching western TV shows where the cowboys always rode horses into the saloons. With some "encouragement".... pulling the bridle reins, pushing his rear end and using a willow switch for extra incentive to keep moving......Yep, he made it up with no problem and the next devilish idea was to see if he would go INTO the house. A few steps later, Mule was in the laundry room where her balked, backed up and left a suspicious Mule-sized indent in the screen door....and.....then..voila..into the kitchen!
It was at about that time when we heard Aunt Marian's car coming up the road! Immediate panic hit. We had to get Mule out of the house and fast. However, turning a horse around in the narrow kitchen and getting him to move quickly to the front door was a task that, alas, didn't go well for us. He was clopping through the living room and has made it partially out of the front door when Aunt Marian came in through the back door as his rump disappeared. She looked at us very suspiciously. She asked what we had been up to and, of course, we replied "oh, nothing," but when she gave us her knowing look (she had a very good mother's alert system), and asked what Mule was doing in the front yard, we confessed. To give her credit, she wasn't mad, only very amused and burst into gales of Aunt Marian laughter, a wonderful sound, by the way. Luckily for us, he left no horse apples behind.
This horse story spread fast and has never been forgotten by those who were there and those who weren't (but wished they had been...)! We didn't do that again, but imagination brought many more events in our free, growing up days on the Ranch. How lucky we were.
My recollection is that my brother Tom and my cousin Carol (co-author of this blog) were the dual think tank for this adventure. I was a co-conspirator however.
Mule was the kid horse pictured in the initial post to this blog. He was a very gentle and patient buckskin gelding who had been relegated to the job of providing transportation and entertainment for the kids on the ranch. He never kicked, even though his tail was used as a mode of mounting his back when no fence was available. He never bit even though he probably should have....more Mule stories later....
On with the story....one fine sunny morning, Carol's mom, Marian, left to drive into Collbran (about a 16 mile drive) for some grocery items leaving Carol and her siblings home with my mom down the road a piece to take care of any emergencies. We kids had Mule bridled up. We were not allowed to use a saddle, unless we were with adults, due to the dangers of falling and catching a foot in a stirrup and being dragged by a panicked horse.
Somewhere in someone's mischievous brain, the idea surfaced to see if we could get Mule to climb the 12 or so steps to the back door of Aunt Marian's house. This new idea came to us from watching western TV shows where the cowboys always rode horses into the saloons. With some "encouragement".... pulling the bridle reins, pushing his rear end and using a willow switch for extra incentive to keep moving......Yep, he made it up with no problem and the next devilish idea was to see if he would go INTO the house. A few steps later, Mule was in the laundry room where her balked, backed up and left a suspicious Mule-sized indent in the screen door....and.....then..voila..into the kitchen!
It was at about that time when we heard Aunt Marian's car coming up the road! Immediate panic hit. We had to get Mule out of the house and fast. However, turning a horse around in the narrow kitchen and getting him to move quickly to the front door was a task that, alas, didn't go well for us. He was clopping through the living room and has made it partially out of the front door when Aunt Marian came in through the back door as his rump disappeared. She looked at us very suspiciously. She asked what we had been up to and, of course, we replied "oh, nothing," but when she gave us her knowing look (she had a very good mother's alert system), and asked what Mule was doing in the front yard, we confessed. To give her credit, she wasn't mad, only very amused and burst into gales of Aunt Marian laughter, a wonderful sound, by the way. Luckily for us, he left no horse apples behind.
This horse story spread fast and has never been forgotten by those who were there and those who weren't (but wished they had been...)! We didn't do that again, but imagination brought many more events in our free, growing up days on the Ranch. How lucky we were.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Oops...7 on and 2 on the ground!!
Eight Kids on a Horse! Ooops....7 of us on and 2 off one of the "kid" horses named Mule. Poor Mule.......
This blog is a joint effort with stories and reminiscences of my cousin Carol and I. We both spent our entire childhood from birth through college on "the Ranch". The Currier Ranch is located approximately 16 miles east of the little town of Collbran in Western Colorado (northeast of Grand Mesa and about 60 miles east of Grand Junction).
We had a very unique childhood in a beautiful remote place that fostered good values, great imagination and creativity, and a healthy environment. We grew up strong and true following the five cardinal rules for growing up on the Ranch: 1) Never touch Dad's gun 2) Never go into the dynamite shed 3) Never touch to blasting caps 4) Never swim in the pond without a parent present and 5) Come home immediately when Mom honks the car horn. These rules served us well and we all grew up without getting shot, blasted, drowned, or lost!
Carol and I are the oldest of the Ranch cousins....4 kids in Carol's family and 5 in mine. We were born about 9 months apart and grew up together from babyhood. Our mothers were good friends and depended upon each other, since they were the only young women in a very remote and isolated ranch with a mother-in-law that tended to be critical and demanding.
We will try to entertain and inform our readers with true stories of our growing up years and hope that you will enjoy our trials, tears, successes, and "mischieviousnesses." Much more to come!!!
This blog is a joint effort with stories and reminiscences of my cousin Carol and I. We both spent our entire childhood from birth through college on "the Ranch". The Currier Ranch is located approximately 16 miles east of the little town of Collbran in Western Colorado (northeast of Grand Mesa and about 60 miles east of Grand Junction).
We had a very unique childhood in a beautiful remote place that fostered good values, great imagination and creativity, and a healthy environment. We grew up strong and true following the five cardinal rules for growing up on the Ranch: 1) Never touch Dad's gun 2) Never go into the dynamite shed 3) Never touch to blasting caps 4) Never swim in the pond without a parent present and 5) Come home immediately when Mom honks the car horn. These rules served us well and we all grew up without getting shot, blasted, drowned, or lost!
Carol and I are the oldest of the Ranch cousins....4 kids in Carol's family and 5 in mine. We were born about 9 months apart and grew up together from babyhood. Our mothers were good friends and depended upon each other, since they were the only young women in a very remote and isolated ranch with a mother-in-law that tended to be critical and demanding.
We will try to entertain and inform our readers with true stories of our growing up years and hope that you will enjoy our trials, tears, successes, and "mischieviousnesses." Much more to come!!!
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