Flagler Memories

Windy Tales

Stories abound describing Eastern Colorado winds. We query records of weather phenomena to try to explain why intensity of our wind has changed in different eras of our history. In general, the jet stream gets blamed in these later years, since learning about it. Whether or not this is the cause, Eastern Colorado has a history of fierce gales from time to time.

An Easterner was riding on the "Rock Island," sharing a seat with a native returning to his home. He began to notice tumble weeds rolling across the flat prairie, blown by a healthy gale. After visiting for some time he remarked, "Gosh! You certainly have wind here!"
The Native answered, "Oh, this is a calm day! "If this is calm, what's it like on a windy day?" the Easterner asked.

"Well, it gets strong enough at times it is hard to walk around in, it, and for protection, we have ways of measuring this," answered the Native. Seeing interest, he continued, "Everyone here has a log chain hanging on the tail of their windmill. In mild breezes, the chain trails back at an angle. In a medium to strong wind, the chain extends straight back from the tail. On days when we take caution, the chain begins to whip, and we definitely stay inside when links begin to snap off the ends of these chains!"

Across the narrow isle of the car, taking in with interest this interesting conversation, was a rancher from the Wild Horse area. After introducing himself, he broke into conversation saying, "Down where I live we gauge wind with a barbed mire fence. If the, barbs are all within 90 degrees of each other, its windy, but when they all line up together, look out!"

The Flagler Native, desiring to impress the Easterner even more added, "We had a homesteader next to us on the south. He was lean and thin from hard work. On one windy day, he went out to round up some cows and while on his way the wind skidded him down into a sand creek he had. In order to finish his job and get mobile again, he had to think of some way to overcome the strength of the wind. He wrapped baling wire around his overall legs at his ankles, filled his pants up to his crotch with sand, and thus was able to keep himself anchored to the ground. When he reached his cows, they were lying down in the grass with their feet braced against the wind to keep from rolling over. Needless to say, the homesteader gave up and laid down with the cows until the wind let up!"

At this point of conversation, the Easterner began to realize that Eastern Colorado winds blow in more places than atmosphere. He changed the subject to potato-raising in the hilly land where he lived. He said his dad planted potatoes over the top of their tallest and most steep hill. When harvest time came, he just bored a hole in the bottom of the hill where the best crop of fine potatoes rolled out! Before the Colorado natives could stop him, he completed a dialog on "Side Hill Grazers," a special breed of cattle they raised having short legs on one side. This made them ideal for grazing steep hills off their pasture!

To top off his conversation, and before two experts could stop him, the Easterner told of a farmer who had cleared a large area of his land. He was diligently removing stumps when a huge bear appeared, showing an interest in using him for a meal. The farmer ran, hoping to find a tall tree, with the bear galloping after him. He came over a rise, and there was a lone, tall tree! As he neared it, he noticed the lowest branch was some 30 feet above the ground. With no alternative at hand, he leaped. He hoped to grab a low branch. He missed it! Not to worry, the Easterner said, the farmer caught it on his way back down!

Feeling quite lucky the train had arrived at the depot, two somewhat relieved Natives dismounted. They tipped their hats, bidding farewelt to a man from the east who could equal them in tall stories! They made their way up Main Avenue from the depot. Sitting on a bench outside of "Cuckows," an early farm store, were several old timers. One was Bill Kratz. Bill was telling of the most obedient team he ever owned. He said he was working them in a field located along-side a 200 foot cliff. Before he realized how close he was, he had driven the team right over the edge! Bill said, chewing on the curved stem of his well used pipe, "There wasn't really a big problem. Just before the team, and all hit the ground, he hollered "WHOA," where they stopped! Bill said he then eased the team on down to firm ground!

The native, and Wild Horse raricher looked at each other, admitted some defeat in delivery of tall tales, and decided they had experienced quite enough wind for one day!

Lyle Stone, from The Prairie Times, August 1993

Grandpa's Violin

Grandpa, not unlike others in many early families, played horn-pipes, schottische, waltz, and two step tunes for dances held in his community. Entertainment of this time was home made. There was no TV and little radio then. He played for square's and adapted to local innovations of "The Rye Waltz" and others. He had one tune which was quite special. He utilized it to rest a moment amid countless fast and sprightly tunes because it was easy to play. I remember it to be simple and sweet. He found time to play his own rendition of cherished classical, and old church hymns I haven't heard since. "Plinking Pennies," though perhaps not a proper title, fascinated me. It was a special tune he played using a combination of plucked strings and bowing.

The old violin came apart in the 30's. I think it happened after a flood of that time. There was a lot of dampness around for a while. With home made clamps, glue, and a lot of fortitude, he reassembled the old instrument. To complete a time consuming renovation he experimented many times with sound-post and bridge. At last he determined the violin to be sound, but the thinning hair in his bow troubled him. I had a hand in this part of renovation when I rounded up old "Blizzard," a dappled grey mare with very white mane and tail. She contributed a generous hank of hair from her tail. Grandpa washed, combed, and fitted one end of many strands of this hair into a small clump of rosin over Grandma's old coal stove. He glued this end into the bow and after a time of combing and adjusting he fastened the opposite end of hair strands to the bow's other end with a wooden wedge. Glue held this wedge at the tightener end.

When grandpa couldn't maneuver anymore, I was given a responsibility to do his chores. When I arrived at grandpa's place each day, I was usually summoned to the bed where he rested. I had learned to accompany his violin tunes with chords played on a Spanish guitar and for a half an hour or so every afternoon I gave background to music my grandfather loved to play. It was a time for creation of precious memories to be re-lived throughout my life. After each session, I completed duties on his farm. A grateful grandmother usually treated me to a "before-supper" snack.

I didn't realize at that time how special memories of grandfather and grandmother would become. Truly, grandpa had a unique talent in the care and playing of his cherished violin. He taught me, perhaps without realizing it, some very special abilities. In accompanying him I had provided a satisfaction for both of us. The violin is an instrument which sounds better when used often and its appreciation is enhanced with accompaniment.

With grandchildren of my own, I am aware of a need to pass on to them some of my talents. Among today's advancements, especially TV, this is difficult for any grandpa. I have an advantage of a lifetime in electronics, but even with this talent it is hard to capture interest. How great it would be for all grandpa's to create memories that could last like ones I have of my own.

Lyle Stone, Flagler, CO - July 1995