Mar. 29, 2007 - 20:53 MDT

TRAILS TO RAILS AND BEYOND

Wasn't too far when I was a kid out to the country, where the farms were, cows, horses and non-city flora and fauna. Including meeting a skunk once, not face to face, but within smelling distance.

Not too far, west across the Santa Fe tracks, across the Platte River, up over Ruby Hill and we would be in the wild land of the farmers.

As a very young child the lady who took care of me would bring her husband out to Bear Valley where Bear Creek ran, where he went was more or less wet land, his sport ? Gigging frogs. She would park at the side of the road in the shade of a tree and as long as I would stay in her sight, I was free. How I enjoyed it, the sound of belled animals, the lowing of cows, whinny of horses and the baaing of sheep, all strange and wonderful to this city lad.

So it was prime territory to explore on my own, or at least with my pals. I guess we were pretty well behaved as we never got into trouble out in the country.

A bit further in age and we would ride our bicycles further out in the country, but never ran out of farms.

Occasionally my folks would take a Sunday ride in their 25 Studebaker coupe out to Morrison, a little town (still there) just south of Red Rocks Ampitheater where present day events take place, including Easter Sunrise Services. Before I was born a train ran from Denver out to Morrison, but all I ever saw was a small portion of the road bed. It had, what I imagined, a frontier town atmosphere and I would play in the rocks around there performing feats of magic and daring, where the sky above was low enough to touch, the ground growing up around me as if I were a tall, tall tree.

Always had a sack lunch, bottle of pop and my jacket with me on the bike. Always came home with only the jacket, sometimes wearing it and sometimes with it wrapped around the handlebars of my bike. And, sometimes soaking wet too. I needed all that and more, enjoyed every minute of it.

Close by, near the river were empty factory buildings that we could explore, getting chased off now and then. Clay pits in one area, where we would set up tin cans and pot at them with Mom's little 25 caliber automatic. That poor little thing was plumb worn out by the time Mom found out I had been using it.

In my very early teens I got a part time job, pounding clay into molds for tile, such as around fireplaces, windowsills and such. Worked hard, made little, learned a lot.

The Junior High School I went to was the original South High School of Denver. Big old red-sandstone building, some of the sandstone carved and intricate. Inside the bulding was all wood, a grand central staircase and rooms pretty much around it. There was a special smell to all that woodwork, much of it probably from the oiled floor mops the janitors used. Some of my classes were above and to the same side as the orchestra room. Even with the windows closed the super sound of music production filtered through, a thrill to me. I couldn't sing, play an instrument, but in me there was such a deep appreciation for music and rhythm, melody and marching music that I was overjoyed with immersion in that glorious sound. I didn't get a grade for that, but it was part of my learning about the good things of life.

One class I enjoyed to the max was in a house on the school grounds, the industrial arts building. I learned how to use a file there, a hacksaw, how to solder and how to case harden the hammer I made. Built a guard for over the hole in our ashpit (most houses had ashpits on the alley then) and installed it myself.

Part of my chores were breaking the big lumps of coal in the coal shed into smaller lumps and filling our coal buckets then carrying them into the house. Then I learned how to split wood and became "Chopper of the House." Along with that was the duty of bringing the fire in the stove back to life and feeding it to get the house warm. But that only took part of the year, spring, summer and early fall it was warm enough that a cooking fire was easily built in the stove at the appropriate times.

I had a pet dog, a wire-haired terrier, Peggy who would mysteriously come up with a litter of puppies now and then. Somehow I had gathered the information that it would be unwise for me to go into the whys and wherefores of the reason for the pups. But I did learn to take care of them and love every miniscule bit of them, shed a tear when each pup was given away.

A bit further along we got a cat, Bedelia. We chummed up pretty quickly and I was fascinated by her contented purr, I managed to keep her motor running most of the time. It got to where she would ride on my shoulders as I went about the neighborhood, purring as I walked.

The generalities of my few short years of childhood could fill a book I guess, many words with little meaning, but such was my life, a day to day sort of thing, each day learning something about something, whether formal education or life off the school grounds.

When the folks went to the mountains it was total heaven to me, the cool zephyrs, the smell of the sunwarmed pines and the occasional glimpses of wild animals and non-city birds. There I could find trails to follow, always remembering to make sure I knew the way back and headed back in proper time.

Closer to home was the Platte River that had a hole nearby deep enough to paddle around in, but more interesting to me were the huge steam engines pulling long strings of cars south. In the cold winter time when a train passing by blew its whistle it was as if it blew in the bedroom and the thunder of wheels on the rails rolled along with it.

And there were rails throughout our town too, mass transit went from horse drawn to cable cars to trolley cars pretty well covering our city. Then after World War Two the trolleys were pretty well done away with, but using trolley busses that could pull to the side of the street to pick up and discharge passengers, then finally to busses, double-jointed ones now, big long ones. In recent years Light Rail has come into being, mostly following the Platte River from about Five Points to Littleton, spurs are being built and some planned to extend east and west as well.

Train rails through town are mostly freight bearing with AMTRAK coming from the east and headed west once a day. The stretch coming in from the west into the area is slow going, creeping in fact coming in through towns and developments cutting speed drastically.

Then we come to the cars, suvs, and air travel of today. I was lucky to come in fairly early and watch TRAILS TO RAILS AND BEYOND . . . . . . . . . . . .

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