Trout Haven

Fishing is one of those Summer activities especially popular in the Rocky Mountains, and is encouraged upon young boys by their fathers. I have to admit that there is something attractive about fishing, some sort of primal , hunter instinct that compels men and boys to capture, kill and eat wildlife, and being in the mountains only goes to bring out theses feelings. There is a primal and instinctual feeling about fishing which I displayed once driving in the car with Dad on our way to a fishing adventure. I was quite young and excited about going fishing and I was convinced that I would have good luck if when driving by the river along the way I could summon all the fish to be caught if I yelled out the window of our moving car, at the top of my lungs, "Pooparoodum Fish!" over and over again. This call had an American Indian quality and significance, and for years to come was the the symbolic phrase for fishing.

Dad gave me a fishing rod early on and I remember only using it on very few occasions. The first was somewhere on the trip when we needed to stop in some small remote town and do laundry. Of course the logical roles were taken in that mom did the laundry in the Laundromat while Dad and I went fishing at a nearby lake. As luck would have it there was a bait and tackle store right next to the Laundromat and a perfect fishing lake a few yards away. So off mom went to do her chores as all good women folk should do, while Dad and I attempted to provide game for the tribe. We needed a few necessities for the rod which included bait, hooks, sinkers and floats, which we proceeded to pick up, as well as a bit of advice from the man running the tackle shop. The bait we used was a jar of those pink salmon eggs which resembled red caviar, in fact it was so much like caviar that Dad suggested I could eat it. This was really not too unusual because I recall snacking on these fish eggs with David and Uncle Bob on a few other occasions and remarking on the similarity to caviar, in fact it tasted pretty good and Dad always commented that it was a suitable and cost-effective substitute for caviar if the need ever raised. So upon opening the jar of bait I had to sample a few of the eggs and enjoying the freshness of the new jar. As bait, I'm not too sure how effective the little fish eggs were, impaling a few on the hook simple popped them which resulted in the loose membrane hanging off the hook, which then came off in the water almost immediately. But the fish eggs seemed to be a popular and effective bait so I trusted Dad and the advice of the bait & tackle shop that this would attract fish to my hook.

We also had to tie the hooks, weights and floats onto the line which, even to this day is a frustrating and tedious task always resulting in a tangled mess which inevitably needs to be cut completely off with the scissors from the Swiss Army Knife and started completely over. But we finally get the hooks and everything straightened out and the long awaited moment arrived when you get to cast the line into the water where eager trout wait (with baited breath) to be pulled out. As expected the first couple of casts were awkward and result in potential snagging of oneself by the hook in the eye, but Dad and I quickly got the hang of it and we cast the line way out into the water. The first thing we noticed was that the float was way too small and didn't provide enough buoyancy to stay afloat, and simply sank in the water. This was a little disappointing because it only meant another delay to catching a fish, so Dad sent me back into the bait & tackle shop to upgrade the float to bigger one. The floats themselves were those red and white balls with a little button on top that pushed a hook fastener on either end to attach the line, so it was really easy to switch the float off the line, and I was able to exchange the float for the next bigger size.
I returned to the lake and we attached the new bigger float, only to find out that it too was not enough to keep the hook and weight afloat. So again I returned to the bait & tackle store for a bigger float. This time the upgrade to a bigger float required an additional cost, which meant I had to return to Dad at the lake and ask for more money. I didn't have a specific amount to tell Dad and this only annoyed him but he sent me back with some change to cover the amount, which I think it did, and I came back with the bigger float. Again, it wasn't big enough and while I was disappointed, Dad seemed amused and once again I was sent back to the bait & tackle shop for the next bigger float. This must have happened more than a few times, me going back and forth to exchange the floats and having to struggle with negotiating the extra cost between my dad and the bait & tackle man, because finally the shop guy had enough dealing with me and asked that I just bring the whole fishing rod and he could determine which combination of float and weight would be the best. So I convinced Dad to come with me and bring the rod with us, which revealed for one, the lead weight we were using was way too big, and in addition of changing the weight, we needed one of the big expensive floats. I began to wonder what the point of the other floats were if they didn't actually float, and they shouldn't be sold in the first place. But anyway, after some discussion with the bait & tackle guy we went back to the lake confident we had the proper fishing gear. Indeed, the float stayed on top of the water, but Dads opinion about the size of the float was that it was overwhelming and only scared the fish away. In any event, I stood there patiently and waited for a nibble... which never came.

This experience at the lake with the huge floater and the bait & tackle shop was a source of conversation for Dad to be repeated for years to come as a lesson about how not to fish, and how the guy at the bait & tackle shop was an idiot, but I never got an acceptable explanation about the proper way, only that the bait & tackle man was leading us astray. I now think it was a classic case of miscommunication. But, there is one was for a truly guaranteed way to catch a fish, and that was "Trout Haven". Trout Haven was a trout farm in the town of Estes Park and consisted of a big concrete tank in the ground filled with dozens of rainbow trout. No licence, pole or fishing experienced required. They would give you a bamboo stick with a line and baited hook on it, (the bait was a piece of cheese I remember and wondered if we should forgo the fish eggs and use cheese from now on), and all you would do was dip the hook into the water and less than a minute later a trout would take the hook and you would pull the line up to a guy waiting with a net to get the fish. The guy would then take out a little club and expertly whack the fish on the head to knock it out, The guy would then take it to a little table and sink in the back and clean it for you right before your eyes. Cleaning the fish was somewhat brutal and done without emotion as they cut the belly open and pulled the guts out. I remember the guy cleaning my fish found the still beating heart of the fish and showed it to me on the end of his finger, I asked if the fish was still alive and he assured me it wasn't. The guts were washed down the sink and I noticed that it just washed out into the tank where the other trout were and I had just fished. The trout became excited at the gut water dumping into the tank and there was a mini feeding frenzy going on. This was fishing for tourists at it's best and it took no longer 10 minutes from renting the pole to receiving a completely cleaned fish wrapped in newspaper, ready to be taken home and cooked. For us the logical next step was for me to give it to the Wind River Ranch chef with special instructions to have it ready for breakfast the next day. Not only was this one of the few times I was allowed in the Wind River Ranch kitchen and met the chef, it was also my firs experience with eating fried trout for breakfast, which for us became the normal way to have trout.

Trout Haven became a short-lived tradition however, we returned one of the following years to find out not only did Trout Haven have limited hours of operation, but there was a big ominous sign at the gate telling everyone the price for the experience was $25 per fish. Now realize at the time, given the rate of inflation for 1969, by today's standards this seemed to be about $100 per fish. Dad wasn't the only one outraged by the price because word quickly spread around the ranch about the exorbitant price charged at Trout Haven and could only be explained as an arrogant attempt to rip people off and disappoint children. Dad, as always, took it as a personal insult and was angry that another good thing that he enjoyed went away because of greed and apathy. I have to admit though that Dad did have a knack for making establishments he liked go out of business. Possibly it was because Dad was attracted to the quirky and unusual places, which tended to scare off normal folks, and despite the "good idea" and critical acclaim, they tended to struggle as a business. But as a rule it was a safe bet that if Dad liked the store or restaurant, it was doomed to failure. Needless to say it was obvious Trout Haven was in trouble and disappeared from the list of attractions and tourist activities in Estes Park.

But Trout Haven was a valuable experience, it gave me the confidence and experience to go out there and fish "for real" in a natural lake or stream. And on one occasion I finally got to experience some fishing success. Armed with the appropriate tackle, and now knowing that cheese is a far better bait for Rainbow Trout, I cast my line into the water and patiently waited for that tell-tale nibble on the line. At this point Dad had left me on my own devices to fend for myself, which is the way it should be. The whole point of fishing is two-fold, to go out with other guys to socialize, in this case I was out with Dad, Uncle Bob and David, and also to be left alone. So I was determined to do this all by myself. David was the first to catch a fish, which didn't surprise me since he was older and had more experience. This prompted Dad to encourage me further, to not let David and Uncle Bob get the only fish! I recall the wait wasn't very long and I finally felt the unmistakable tug on the line. It was different than the feeling of getting the line caught in the rocks or catching a stick, it was a vibrating tug with a definite "live" personality that only meant I had caught a fish. Dad and Uncle Bob coached me and I anxiously reeled it in, careful not to tug too hard or let it go. I remember seeing the fish right before I pulled it out of the water and was thrilled at the fact that this wasn't another false alarm, that I had actually caught one. I pulled the fish out and it wiggled furiously on the hook and I struggled to get hold of it as it was both wiggly and slippery. I got a handle on the fish, (it wasn't very big but enough to make a substantial breakfast) and with the help of Dad pulled the hook out of it's mouth. Getting the hook out was more difficult than expected and required force and injury to the fish, which at this point I was still trying to be both forceful and gentle. After I got the hook out I remembered from Trout Haven that you had to bash the trout on the head to knock him out, which I tried to do by holding it by the lower end and smashing it's head against a rock. This attempt was awkward and ineffective, only torturing the poor fish and causing Dad and Uncle Bob to laugh. With the help of Dad we got the fish under control and proceeded to clean it with my pocket knife, a process that was only a little gross and not as difficult as I thought. I made it a point to find the still beating heart and hold it at the end of my finger like the guy at Trout Haven and both David and I thought this was really neato. The next day at Wind River Ranch I proudly ate breakfast caught and provided by me.

The Girl - part 2.

To the blog readers: You might want to scroll down and read "The Girl - part 1." first (Thursday Sept 11, 2008) to keep with the continuity of the story, Sorry to be confusing.

So, off we went the next day, just like any other day on the trip. We packed up the car as usual, filled the ice chests and prepared for the drive to the next destination. All that morning getting ready to leave I was trying to see if the girl I saw at the pool was still around, hoping to catch a passing glance or make one final attempt to get noticed by her before we all departed. However, it wasn't unusual for most families like them to leave the motel at the crack of dawn, way before any of us got up. As a rule we all tended to get going a little later than the normal human being, which might explain why it took us weeks longer than everyone else to drive to Colorado and back. So I was disappointed, but not surprised to find that the girl and her family had already left for the day.

I guess the drive that day was uneventful and I assume I thought about the girl more than once, but even I knew enough not to dwell on a fantasy and quickly forgot about the day before at the pool, dismissing the experience as "passing ships in the night". Besides, there are plenty of other girls out there, one is eventually going to notice me someday, I hoped. In fact, there were going to be other encounters that would be disappointing, or missed opportunities. Only in hindsight do I realize now how stupid I was, that there were golden opportunities for me to make friends, but for some reason or another I was reluctant or scared, or encouraged in the wrong way, or not encouraged at all. This was something that I learned much later in life which deprived me of a valuable element of childhood. Dad was able to show me the entire contiguous Western United States by car, but was unable to show me how to make friends.

At Wind River Ranch, every year brought a new group of guests and potentially new friends to make. Fortunately, David was part of the ranch experience and was my best friend during these times, David was also far more comfortable and adept at socializing than me and when other kids were present at the ranch, I was able to blend in, in the shadow of David. One year two brothers, about the ages of David and I were staying at the ranch. At first I was a little uncomfortable but quickly warmed up to the situation, and the four of us hung out together most of the time. But even then, in this group situation, age and maturity tends to separate friends and the older boys would sometimes become bored with the younger ones, resulting in slightly rude behavior, and valuable lessons about life. This however didn't phase me because us younger boys found ways to cope with being ignored, being cool in our own way, and after a short time we all forgot the difference and were all hanging out together again. This was how actual cowboys dealt with life, and this was how I dealt with it also. When the two brothers had to depart the ranch before us, David and I were both disappointed and sad for quite awhile, not knowing how to occupy our time for the remainder of the stay.

And every once in awhile, girls our own age would come to stay at Wind River, but unfortunately I was clueless about how to handle these situations. I always had a tendency to be attracted to the wrong girl, (maybe like the girl at the motel pool) but I tended to have tastes that were completely out of my league. Like the time this slightly older, very pretty girl with long, straight black hair, came to stay at Wind River. Even then I knew I had a snowballs chance in hell to make friends with her since she was older, more popular, flirting with the wranglers and ranch hands and probably didn't know I even existed. But regardless, I was attracted to her and I thought it would've been nice for her to at least say "hello" to me. At the same time, there was this other girl staying at the ranch, about my age, and not quite as attractive as the dark haired girl. This plainer, more appropriate and friendlier to me girl was forced on me as a companion, and in true stupid boy form, I was rude and rejected her friendship. This didn't seem to phase her though as she continued to hang out with me and we passed the time doing the usual ranch activities together. I like to think now that she grew up to be a gorgeous hot mama, while the other dark haired girl gained 80 pounds and has a 2 pack a day habit. God only knows.

But the most memorable, and biggest lost opportunity was the time the noisy European family with the little girl came to Wind River Ranch. The situation at the ranch required all the guests to interact with each other, eat meals in the common dining room, and do some of the ranch activities together, it was a golden opportunity to make friends. So, this large extended family, who I guess were foreign since they acted very different than us typical American guests, descended on the ranch the same time we were there. One of the men of the family wore what looked like a military coat with a medal, I wasn't sure at the time but I thought they were Russian, but in any case, they tended to be noisy at dinner, drinking and whooping it up more than the other guests, and being somewhat disruptive in general. My family tended to talk under their breath amongst themselves about how rude and noisy they were, and how inappropriate it was for them to be having such a good time. I think someone (one of the other guests) complained and they were told to keep it down, which only offended the Russian family and succeeded to separate us all even further.

But, to her credit, I think my mom liked this family, and wanted to make friends with them, even when one of the men, coming back to the cabin drunk, shined a flashlight in our room to see if anyone was home (mom was trying to get my baby sister to sleep) But mom succumbed to peer pressure and was compelled to reject them as everyone else did.

So, getting back to my point, there was this little girl in this family. Her mom was very pretty I remember and both her parents spoiled her rotten, so she tended to be unfriendly. But I think she was just shy and as uncomfortable as I was, or maybe there was a cultural difference that led to these misunderstandings. My mom was encouraging me to make friends with her, saying she was "cute", which she probably was but I didn't see it at the time, and I think attempts were made by mom to get us together. However, discouragement from our family coupled with the rift established between them and the rest of us guests made that very difficult to make friendly advances, and had mom been more confident we probably would've made friend and shown all the other uptight guests how totally un-Christian everyone was being. I myself had already made all my ranch plans with David and the rest of the cousins and really had no time or interest to pursue a friendship with the little girl. So during the stay this poor little girl had to do the cowboy activities by herself.

One day the little girls mom took her horseback riding in the corral. Already the wranglers were making fun of her and she was obviously uncomfortable around horses, and somehow during the ride the little girl fell off the horse and sprained her ankle. Now from what I heard from the wranglers, she was being a sissy (even for a girl) and made a big deal out of nothing. This only led to more ridicule and rejection from the ranch. From then on the little girl was carried piggy-back by her mom or dad everywhere they went. I have to admit that the girl was being a whiner. So for days afterward the little girl was carried everywhere and became insufferable and a source of morbid amusement to the rest of the guests. To every ones relief the Russian family left and the ranch was back to normal. But to this day it is a huge regret I didn't make friends with the little girl, because if I had, things would have been different, and she would have been running around the ranch instead of being carried.


Always hindsight is 20/20, and during these trips I had plenty of time to think about nothing, and only many years later do I reach a conclusion. But in the case with the girl I briefly saw at the motel pool, nothing could have been plainer.

We reached our next destination, probably another Holiday Inn or something similar, it was hot and I looked forward to jumping in the pool as usual, and as usual there was already a crowd of kids playing at the pool. I got to the pool and I couldn't believe it! There she was again, the girl from the day before! By sheer coincidence our families were traveling the same itinerary and staying at the same motel again. I can't remember if we were coming or going but I wonder if I thought she might be going to Wind River Ranch the same as we were. I was stunned. I remember she was wearing a different bathing suit this time, which made little difference about the way I felt about her, all I knew was that possibly, divine intervention brought us back together again, I was given another chance, somebody was trying to tell me something! So I did the most logical thing I could think of... Nothing.

Wind River Ranch

I thought this might be a good time to talk about Wind River Ranch. Going to the dude ranch was the primary reason we took these trips in the first place and it became the Summer destination for my family for over 10 years.

Wind River was situated smack in the middle of the Rocky Mountains and for me it was about as "cowboy" as one could get, complete with log cabins, horses and wagons and plenty of forest, mountains and meadows to roam around in. The ranch was owned by an old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson. Both of them were extremely nice and always made a point to treat us well, Mr. Hutchinson was an old cowboy type who made all the speeches at dinner while Mrs Hutchinson was one of those old lady cowgirls who wore a lot of big silver and turquoise Indian jewelry. The Hutchinsons kept the ranch running smoothly and more like a resort than a ranch, and nobody ever complained to them to my knowledge. When we arrived for the first time I had no idea what to expect (being only 4 years old and all) but I came to believe this is how all genuine cowboys lived and decided from that point on that I was to become a cowboy (Freddy) when I grew up. So, Wind River became the perfect training ground for the next few years.

Mom, Dad and I got our own log cabin, I remember that the first year we got the cabin furthest away at the very end, so we had to make a hike through spooky woods at night to get to the it. My aunt and Uncle and the cousins got their own cabins which was split up between the adults and kids which meant the kids got to hang out in private cabins, however I don't really remember spending much time in the cabins since there was so many other more interesting things to do. My grandmother, Gammy, got a room in the fancier area of the ranch, in the library or den section with a fireplace and with all the other old ladies who expected special service and were allowed to bring their little dogs to the ranch. Our cabin was very rustic and made of real logs, I remember it being comfortable and not any different from any of the motels we stayed in, other than it being made of logs. We even had maid service every day which was bonus perk for cowboys I thought, all-in-all the cowboy lifestyle seemed pretty cushy.

Which then brings up the meal situation, which was conducted in a big dining room at regular times with all the other guests. Three times a day the meals were announced by someone ringing a big swinging bell on a rope outside, a fancy version of the chuck wagon triangle bell telling everyone to "come an' get it!" All the guests were expected to arrive in a timely manner and be served by young college guys in white waiter outfits. The first year, we were served by a young man named Eric, who I thought was really cool because he was funny and could wiggle his ears, I also thought he was cool because he was also a lifeguard at the swimming pool (another cowboy benefit at the ranch) and he attempted to teach me to swim, which took me a few more years to eventually pick up. Eric was our regular waiter at meal times the first year at the ranch and I was disappointed when we returned the following year and he wasn't there. He did however come to visit one day and we found out he became a fire fighter, which made him even cooler.

The whole family, aunts, uncles, cousins and all sat at a big table together, with all the other guests at their own family tables. Every day the menu changed and the food seemed to be gourmet, or at least it was presented that way. Being a young kid I didn't know or care about the difference and was happy just to get spaghetti and meat balls or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but we were obliged to eat whatever was served us with very little choice other than salad dressing or beverage, which of course was dictated by the grown ups. The only special orders that were allowed was if you caught a fish at "Trout Haven", the kitchen would custom cook the fish for you, usually for breakfast. At first, a whole trout for breakfast seemed odd and out of place, not the usual breakfast fare, but I was convinced by everybody that this was normal, and even a preferred cowboy breakfast. Being explained to me in this way I enthusiastically accepted fried trout for breakfast and it became one of the expected traditions of the ranch.

Every year that we stayed at the ranch happened to fall on my birthday, so every year from the time I was 4 to about 10 I had a "cowboy" birthday. Mrs. Hutchinson during lunch would come out with a birthday cake adorned with sparklers and personally present it to me to blow out the candles. For birthday presents I always got a spiffy new cowboy outfit complete with guns and holsters, and later when I outgrew the cowboy persona, most of the presents tended to be touristy novelty gifts from Estes Park and the "Ripley's Believe It Or Not" magic store. I remember one year getting a magic trick finger guillotine that I amazed everyone with, or the "Magic Rocks" that when I brought home I decided to grow them in a drinking glass, which my 1 year old sister proceeded to drink, sending her to the hospital poison ward for a week. The other dangerous gift I got was something called "Itchy-Coo", a fierce itching powder when applied to the body gave a painful scratchy rendition of the sensation after you get your hair cut, only this stuff was mean and painful and couldn't be showered off or laundered out of the sheets and pillows. After my cousins and I played a trick or two on unsuspecting victims, getting the stuff all over ourselves in the process, the vicious Itchy-Coo was burned in the fireplace voluntarily.

Anyway, meal-time, especially dinner was a time for everyone at the ranch to meet and socialize, there was this den area before you got to the dining room with a fireplace couches and a grand piano, and lots of socializing went on there. One of the regular guests, Mrs. Bowie, could always be found on her favorite couch knitting a sweater by the fireplace. This den area was usually the first place to visit when we would arrive at the ranch and sign the guest book. There was usually a fire going, even in the middle of Summer since the climate high in the Rocky Mountains tended to be cooler. The den area always has a familiar smell and comfortable atmosphere. Every once in a while the ranch would hire a guitar player for the "young people" in the den area. The guitar player was a hippie looking guy and he didn't clip off the extra length of guitar strings, leaving a signature tangled mess at the end of his guitar. He played mostly the contemporary folksy favorites like "Leaving on a Jet Plane", "If you Could Read My Mind". (a girl favorite) and "Abraham, Martin and John". This was an attempt to relate and cater to the teenagers at the ranch who might've been bored with the cowboy activities. Also, for the benefit of young and old alike the ranch had BINGO twice a week in the dining room, where the guests could do some mild gambling. This was conducted by one of the more popular and outgoing waiters at the ranch, or by Mr. Hutchinson himself. I was allowed to participate at BINGO, but never won.

Another function of meal time was for the wrangler guy to come around and sign you up for the various horse rides during the week. There were different type horse rides you could take and this was one of the few a-la-carte features of the Ranch, which meant we needed to ask Gammy permission to take horse rides since she paid for them. This never seemed to be a problem though and everyone was encouraged to take at least one ride. There was the "breakfast ride", this was the most family friendly of rides and it included a hour ride to a regular location where the cowboys had a campfire going where they would cook eggs and sausage for the guests. The older, weather-beaten cowboy would drive ahead in a pickup truck and have everything ready for us city-folk, where we would sit on rocks and eat breakfast off paper plates under the majestic Rocky Mountains. Then there was the "lunch ride", which was similar to the breakfast ride except it was later in the day and we went to a different location, actually close to the ranch where other non-horse riding guests could join us for burgers after the ride. Then there was the "dinner ride" which I was never able to go on because I think it involved steak and beer, which probably made it not kid friendly and expensive. But there were other rides you could take that didn't involve food, but just horse riding and these were offered at numerous times during the stay. These included anything from just a ride around the corral, for the little kids or those terrified of horses, to all day rides into the national park for the heartier folk.

The wranglers in charge of the horses and rides tended to be young, studly and popular guys, although one year the wrangler was a girl, and I remember she kept giving me a horse I didn't get along with. This particular horse was very uncooperative and I was frustrated trying to control her. I would request another horse but this wrangler insisted I take this horse every ride, which tended to discourage me from horses. But on one of these rides the wrangler girl was determined I get used to this particular horse and tame it, I had eventually had enough of the damn horse and I got angry, wielding a riding crop I threatened the horse (without hitting it) and suddenly the horse respected me and cooperated. The wrangler girl was pleased and I was no longer reluctant to ride that horse anymore.

But usually the wranglers were macho guys and played up the alpha-male role, even my cousin, Gail, fell under their spell and dated one of them, even beyond the 10 day stay at the ranch. The wranglers were defiantly cool to hang around and it was cool for us to befriend the wranglers when we were not riding horses. Much of the time David and I hung out in the rec room, a large open space with a pool table, shuffleboard, a piano and soda pop machine. This is where all the cool guys would spend quality time doing guy stuff (even though girls were often involved) and the rec room was place to be a real cowboy. The rec room was also a very convenient place to send the kids right before dinner, which also happened to be "Happy Hour" for the grown ups. Happy hour took place in a mysterious building at the ranch where kids seldom went, and I recall it was the only building that had a TV. I also recall the wranglers cabin had a TV where David and I caught one of the wranglers watching "Adam-12" which to me seemed very un-cowboy-like. But the rec room was often used as a safe refuge for the kids while the adults disappeared for an hour or so before the dinner bell rang. Outside the rec room there were cowboy activities, like a Horse Shoe playing area, and this fake practice horse, which was a metal barrel welded on a big spring embedded in the ground. One could practice rodeo "bucking bronco" without getting on a real horse, kind of like a low-tech mechanical bull, and many hours were spent rocking back and forth on this horse. The wranglers seldom paid much attention to us kids hanging out in the rec room, often they were busy working and we were encouraged to not pester them too much, but all of the wranglers during the years had a positive impact in my cowboy upbringing.

One of the last functions the ranch offered, but was always be expected, and everyone was obliged to participate in, was square dancing. This took place on a Saturday evening, and to my knowledge the only official function in the rec room. This was defiantly my least favorite activity but I was forced to dance with all the different folk. This was also the one activity that involved the other neighboring ranches and people living in the area were invited to Wind River for the evening. The whole Ranch was there to square dance, even the wranglers, who dressed up in their finest "duds" and there was a lot of "cowboy" goings on. Every year there also seemed to be one little red haired girl in a light blue dress who attended, she was about my age and I always got paired with her. I was naturally shy and uncomfortable being with her and I now sense she was the same about me, and David made it a point to tease me about it. But I awkwardly endured this temporary date for the evening, and the beauty about square dancing is that you eventually get to dance with other partners and the relationship with the red haired girl quickly dissolved. Kids were also not expected participate too much and I was compelled to dance only a few dances, which always ended in the "Hokey Pokey" where everyone, young and old, got in a big circle and "shook it all about".

The last day at the ranch was always a sad day, which started with breakfast, and the dining room always seemed a little empty that day. It was somewhat stressful packing and Dad seemed to be at his worst behavior, being an unpleasant transition. Before we left the entire family would pose for a picture on the old fashioned wagon outside the dining room and Gammy would then be driven to the airport by one of the ranch-hands. Uncle Bob was always more efficient than Dad making the departure but stayed to see us off. We all said goodbye to each other, knowing, and hoping that we would return next year.