Changing direction
August 13, 2016

We have turned south, heading homeward on Colorado 13 and for a spell on Interstate 70.  Prior to the change in direction, we were back & forth and staying on US Highway 40, one of the original 1926 coast-to-coast routes.

Perhaps it’s time we became reacquainted with the real world, the one where there are lots and lots of people and traffic.  Yesterday, we ventured over to Steamboat Springs to check out the lay of the land and found extreme traffic congestion.  I was so glad we weren’t hauling the Totee through all that.  Of course I realize it’s all relative; we have become happily disacclimated to anything resembling urban.

With apologies to Dad W., who often discussed the proprieties of switching tenses and person midstream in writing  and who always seemed to honor and appreciate my opinion of such things, I will write a bit whilst we are tooling down the road, currently in a narrow winding valley that has been carved out by a nice stream that is flowing toward the Yampa.

We made a very late start this morning; fortunately, we don’t have a long drive ahead of us.  We rose at a far later hour than our usual, and then spent an inordinate amount of time getting email to work.  My connection with pals old and new, email is important to keep me in touch.  For reasons I do not fathom, our provider changed settings and neglected to inform us, thus we had no inkling of what was wrong nor what to do about it.

To allay my gnashing of teeth any more than was already occurring,  my stalwart pard reluctantly but at least semi-successfully went to work as the family techie; consequently, I have received and sent communications through the ethers, although with some work still needing to be done.

Passing history . . .

It is a sad fact that we are each cocooned in our own little universe and mostly know not what has transpired in places we are passing by.  Ripping down the road at 60 miles per hour, we sometimes see signs for what in Colorado are called “points of interest”.  Being of curious natures, we often stop at those, although we laughingly occasionally name them “points of disinterest”.

Unfortunately, when the trailer is following closely behind us, we are required to bypass those which don’t have space for us or which don’t notify us in time to get stopped.

We were fascinated with one this morning, and learned quite a bit in the process.  On one side of the highway was the signage that told us about the homestead of Thomas Hamilton Iles and his wife, Cora Voice.  He gained his land by complying with the Timber Culture Act of 1873, something neither of us had ever heard of.  Enacted by President Grover Cleveland, the legislation granted 16 acres of land for each acre of trees planted and grown.

To fulfill the requirement of planting trees, Iles planted five acres of cottonwood trees by laying cut boughs lengthwise in furrows and watering them.  That really is all it takes.

I know of places in Arizona where cottonwood limbs were used as fence posts, resulting in a fine row of stately trees.  It reminded me of a time when I used a small dry elm branch to support a little garden fence, and much to my astonishment, it began to grow despite having been cut and dried for quite some time.

Okay, back to the Iles clan, nearly hidden in very tall grass on the opposite side of the highway, I spied a memorial marker for Iles and another sign with further explanation about the homestead.

Wandering a bit, we saw what appeared to be an abandoned park within what remains of the Iles tree grove, plus a mountainous stack of cottonwood remains, no doubt the remains of his legacy.

The home of Thomas & Cora Iles.

We are loving this drive going toward Meeker, an area that was recommended to us by Bob & Patty.  We are climbing and have left the nice stream that we followed earlier; occasionally, the valley opens enough to support a picturesque homestead. some currently inhabited and at least one sadly abandoned but still beautiful with a Victorian style house and a formerly fine barn.  Most, however, are of log construction through here, even the newer homes.

Our route on Highway 13 is lovely and scenic (well, there was that long stretch of road construction, which combined with rain to completely trash our outfit, so the señor later went to work washing truck and trailer); I second the recommendation of the area.  The town of Meeker clearly called my name as we passed through; we certainly need to return for a stay there.

A water day . . .

Okay, back to the changing tenses; past tense suffices now.  For our final day in the Craig area, I mentioned we went to Steamboat Springs.  Our destination over there was Strawberry Park Hot Springs - did we ever make up for the weeks of going, going, going!  A few hours soaking in those soothing mineral pools relaxed us to a fare-thee-well.

Set in a forested basin accessed via a long narrow dirt road up the mountain, the off-the-grid facility retains a natural facade as much as possible.  I would characterize it as a mid-point between the less developed Cottonwood Hot Springs near Buena Vista that we enjoyed last summer and Pagosa Hot Springs that we are crazy about but has a much more resort-type atmosphere.  The prices of each reflect their degree of development.

Admission to Strawberry Hot Springs is gained by paying at the ticket truck.

It's not easy being a homebody with itchy feet!  Every time I see garden flowers, I start wondering how my geraniums, hollyhocks, echinicea (insert here every flower in my garden) are doing.

As we made our winding way down the mountain, an approaching storm caught our attention.  I loved the stripes of blue and green with cloud shadows chasing across them.

Sweet Pea's . . .

We have eaten out very few times since we left home; however, the plethora of dining opportunities in Steamboat was far too tempting and the chance to sup while sitting on the bank of the Yampa finalized the decision.  Sweet Pea's attractive large deck shaded by umbrellas and the most gigantic willow tree I've ever seen made me want to sit back and stay awhile.  Actually, that is exactly what we did - mesmerized by the water flowing by, punctuated by the occasional group of tubers.

Impossible to photograph the entire willow tree, said to be 140 years old, but Chris made a stab at it.  It was an awesome specimen with a split trunk that spread over a huge area.

70 again . . .

Fun, fun, fun - birthday cards have caught up with me!  Through the slightly convoluted method of a Florida forwarding service, the greetings have been waiting in Pensacola for a summons and are now in hand.  How nice to know that I haven't been forgotten in other parts; of course, the emails and blog comments are always great to keep me in touch, too - thanks all!

Chris and Benjamin shared a stoical moment in Steamboat.

The most unusual and attractive solar panels I've seen - these were in Parachute (a safe place to land, so says their sign), where we talked with some exceptionally friendly folks at the visitor's center.  A true story: Chris was actually asked to move to Parachute in order to take over the job of organist at the Episcopal Church!  Whaddya think?