The prior post intended to give an overview of the area around Creede, Colorado, and its colorful (no pun intended) history. Many have found the area fascinating, not least those with an affinity for the outdoors and for spectacular mountain scenery.
The post concluded with an allusion to the majority of the people who constituted the original miners, trappers, and settlers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, most of whom remain unknown to us. Like Nicholas Creede, these folks were “modest, reserved, courageous, and decent.”
These are the folks George Eliot spoke of in her masterpiece, Middlemarch: “The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and with me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”
Our most recent visit to Creede was rather rushed as we had limited time; therefore, as we drove the 17-mile Bachelor Loop, and came to the Creede cemetery, as much as I wanted to stop for a while, we simply could not do so and also arrive at that day’s destination before night.
However, we have walked the cemetery in prior visits and photos thereof are easily found online.
I don’t know if this is true, but we were told that people were buried heads to the west and feet to the east so as to face the east on the brightness of Resurrection Day; however, the outlaws that died or were killed in Creede were buried north-south to lie “crosswise” in death as they had lived in life. On my next visit to Creede I’ll look into that to see what truth, if any, there might be in what I was told.
The names of the people buried there are for the most part unknown to most and they outnumber, by far, the more notorious outlaws that lived in the area in the years of boom. The cemetery also attests to the tough life the pioneers faced in the late 19th Century. It seemed to me that babies and children were overrepresented; however, I cannot state that as a scientific certainty. But we did see a good number of tombs holding children and babies.
Some years back I picked up a book of letters from a homestead in southwest Colorado. These were written in 1902 by, Edith Shaw, the wife and mother of that home and are a good representation of the people who ventured far from their birthplaces to make a living and to prosper as best they could.
In this case, the husband and wife moved from Massachussets and eventually acquired a 160-acre homestead.
The following excerpts from the letters give us an idea of the life of many in that area and era:
“The cattle we bought arrived from New Mexico in a poor condition — weak from lack of food and stunted in size for the same reason…. The very next day [after branding and dividing up from other’s herds] after ours were separated from theirs, one of them got mired, and before we found him he was so exhausted that he died before morning. Hadn’t strength enough to pull himself out.
“Two days after that, they were turned out to another field and when the boys went to bring them in, nine were missing. They finally found them at the foot of a cliff, three with legs broken, one with ribs all broken, one with neck broken, two had their back bones broken, and the rest in such a state that they could not walk at all. Ernest [her husband] killed two of ours immediately for they couldn’t possibly get well and Mr. Stark [owner of another herd] also killed two of his.
“It is a great mystery what should have sent them off that cliff for nothing has ever happened like this in this country. Some say it was a mountain lion, some think it may have been a jealous cattle owner who does not want us to come into this country — we shall probably never know the cause….”
More extracts from her letters that year:
“We came to a pitch … the wagon rolled and the near horse fell, thus wedging her between the wagon and the tree. Whatever saved her neck or her legs from being broken is a mystery …. Well, we went back about a mile to a house and borrowed a wagon, put our stuff in it, and started once more….
“Meanwhile, the cattle had wandered on, joined more cattle, and we had a lot of cutting out to do. We struck a swampy place. The horses had balked several times during the day and of course did it right in the middle of the mud. The wheels sank immediately to the hubs and the bronco was also mired. Nothing to do but unload right there and not one inch would those horses pull to get the wagon out. We tried leading, whipping, and yelling — ’till we were hoarse and not an inch would they move.”
…..
“Please all of you write us. I haven’t been homesick at all, nevertheless I am hungry for home news.”
…..
“I have enclosed a very slight object in remembrance of your birthday. You will know that my heart prompts much more than my hands or pocket book can carry out. But a great deal of love goes with it from both of us.”
The following is an extract from the unpublished memoir of the letter-writer’s brother-in-law:
“She was an eastern city girl who knew nothing about wilderness camping such as this. But she seemed to take it all in stride, as I could see when it was my turn to drive the wagon. But we had many mishaps during that lengthy two-day drive to our homesteads, which must have taxed all her physical and spiritual resources to their utmost, and she met them with as much courage as any of those wives of the early pioneers of our West.
“She had my real admiration for her inner fortitude, though she never did know it.”
I deeply admire such folks. Throughout the letters their desire to succeed and to do well was matched by their desire to be of assistance to and to serve their neighbors. The extraordinary work and efforts of such folks were truly community affairs.
The lone wolves were few.
There is a lesser known quote in Middlemarch, which comes to mind as we think about these sturdy folks: “…what do we live for if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?” Paul, speaking in the synagogue in Antioch said similarly concerning David, “… after he had served his own generation by the will of God ….”
To be continued
Creede cemetery
18 years, 5 months, 24 days — allusion to the psalm: “Teach us to number our days….”
The Creede cemetery has folks of all ages; however, the seemingly overrepresented number of children and/or infants has always impressed me
Ernest and Edith Shaw and their two sons, circa 1908. Edith became a crack shot. She died of cancer in 1920 in Montana, age 45. Ernest worked for the US Forest Service and returned to Massachussets where he inaugurated a second career in the cranberry business. He remarried in 1923 and died in 1957. I estimate his age to have been in the early 80s.