If you had known him, you probably would remember him as being rather short of stature. He grew up in this country when we were making the transition from a grass and cattle country to one where dirt farming would be the main business. Being a cowboy was his life. I doubt if he really ever wanted to be anything else. Let's go back a few years. The time is 1934. The land is in the grip of a devastating drought. The grassland and the plowed fields often looked much alike to the casual observer. Many said the grass was dead but the old timers knew better. The rains will come, they believed. The serious business of that time was to hang on until they did. A rather loose partnership known as Minium and Setchell, leased the grassland which joined us on the north. They moved in a cowherd. A young man by the mane of Ben Adfield came with the herd to hold them. The term hold was a carry over from the old days when there were no fences. Cowboys did stay with the herds, and hold them, they did. They watched them by day and when night came they bedded them. If there was no moon the cattle would stay at the bedding ground until first light, unless of course they became aroused by something unusual. If that happened the cowboy could spend the next day gathering strays. Bud soon replaced Ben as the caretaker for those cattle. When the cattle were moved he went with them. Minium and Setchell leased a spread known as the Turkey Track Ranch. It was located about twenty miles due east of Fountain, Colorado. It was a land of sagebrush, rattlesnakes, sand and adobe flats. Bud went to Colorado with the cattle. From that time on Colorado was his home. This ranch had a beautiful view. On a summer morning one could look to the west and the foothills of the Rockie Mountains (about twenty miles away) seemed close enough to touch. The air was clear. It was so clear that the road a mile away seemed much closer. Pikes Peak lay a little further to the north and west, just above Colorado Springs. At that time Colorado Springs was a beautiful country town. Bud spent several years on that ranch. He bached there for a while but he needed a housekeeper. Kansas was still in the grip of the drought and a severe depression. Rosa went to high school at Hoxie one year. She also moved to Colorado, never to return to Kansas for many years. She kept house and finished high school at the Squirrel Creek School, so named because a dry creek known as Squirrel Creek ran through the area. She kept house for Bud until he left the Turkey Track in the spring of 1938. She went to Denver and remained there with sister Winnie for a short time. She then went to Kremmling, Colorado where a large dam was being built. There she married James A. Gibbs. Wallace, (he answered to Bud here in Kansas and many here still call him that but he left the nickname in Kansas), went to Alma, Colo, and tried to get on at the gold mines but never did. A neighbor from Squirrel Creek did get on and worked in the mines for several years. I was up there also but I came back to Kansas and worked in the wheat harvest and returned to high school in the fall. Wallace returned to the Squirrel Creek community and worked on another ranch. It was during this time that he became acquainted with Mary Akers. I believe they married in '39. They moved to Fairplay, Colo. This is not far from Alma. A group of doctors from Colo. Springs owned a piece of property, complete with cabin, suitable for weekend residence. The hunting and fishing was good. Wallace and Mary moved there shortly after their marriage. This is the place near Fairplay which was mentioned. He kept his horses and a few cattle here. He packed for the forest service. J.F. was born there. I was there on one occasion just prior to my enlistment in the Navy. It was a beautiful place but the winters were harsh. The family next moved to Meeker, Colo. I do not know the dates because I was half the world away and a war was going on. Arthur spent some time over there.
My first leave was in 1944 and I came through Denver. He was living in Aurora, Colo. then. I was never very clear on what he was doing then, but I rode with him one day up in the mountains above Denver. We were checking cattle owned by Setchell. The same man he had worked for at the Turkey Track. When the war and my enlistment was over he was living in north Denver. He had been working for Colo. Natural Gas and Fuel Co. We spent the winter of '46 and '47 near Frazer, Colo, logging for a sawmill. He went back to work for the gas co. and moved to Craig, Colo. It was here that he died, the victim of a farm accident. He was drawn into a hay baler and died alone one night. They found him a few hours after the accident. I was probably closer to him than anyone else up to that time. I have often wondered if that is why I feel such a close kinship to J.F., his firstborn son. Some say that the good old days were not so good. I cannot in all honesty take sides in the disagreement. Sometimes I would dearly like to go back to the old ways. I know that the old life as a cowboy was a satisfying one. No it wasn't like the movies. Neither was it glamorous. It was work and long hours. But there were slack periods too. I have known the feeling, to have a good horse under my saddle, the wind and the sun in my face and God's creation before me as far as the eye could see. No people to contend with, just the cattle and the elements with which to match wits and strength. I loved it when the wind was blowing strong. It was a challenge. I cannot tell you how it was. Only those who lived it can really understand and among them, were some who did not like it. And do not think that it was all good. After riding in the dead of winter the feet would get so cold that one had to warm them before the boots would come off. Do you know what chill blaines are? I can tell you. It was a carefree life but I believe that it built strong people. It is my heritage and yours. Be proud of it. It will give you the character that you need so you will always be able to look your fellow man in the eye and say to them "I did the best that I could do, no one can do more." Dad