Knitting Isn't Just for Old Fuddy Duddies!

When I started writing the Miners' Cut series, I inserted women who loved handcrafts. Needlepoint, crochet, embroidery, tatting, and, my all time favorite, knitting!

I can't speak to the joy of the other fiber arts named, but even though knitting can be relaxing and take your mind off your troubles for a little while, it can also be taxing. Reading patterns can be confusing and not for the faint of heart. I won't mention the website, but, several months ago I found a pattern on it that I thought would be a great sweater for me. I began knitting. Things were moving along quickly and I thought, "this is an easier pattern than I thought". What is that old saying about not counting your chickens before they're hatched?

I got almost the entire front panel completed and things started falling apart. From row to row, the stitches didn't line up and the panel began to look like something a novice would have undertaken. Not to toot my own horn, but I am a professional knitter and can normally look at the stitches and identify the problem. Not so this time. I unraveled a portion of the panel. I gave it another shot thinking I had just misread the pattern. Same problem. I unraveled again. Grrr! This happened four times. I tried altering the pattern. Nope! This was a website all yarn and fiber art people would recognize. I took the entire panel apart and chose another pattern from different site. (By the way...the sweater is an awesome light green, cotton, summer sweater in a lovely lace pattern.)

Not to be unfair to the original website, I tried a simple scarf pattern...same thing! Then a friend of mine called a couple of weeks later and said, "Hey, Hazel, have you ever done a project from ....?" And she named the website. I hesitantly said, "Yes, why?" "Because I have been working on a pattern for three days and it never comes out right." I told her to do herself a favor and move on before she ripped her hair out.

The picture today is of a shawl I just finished for my husband's niece who graduated from high school this year. Virgin wool, bright purple, soft, luscious, beautiful. I hope she likes it as much as I. If she hates, it I will pay to have it sent PRIORITY right back to its maker!

The ladies in my book knit. They are fast and furious. They are determined. And they are competitive. Never to be outdone. You'll love reading about the knitting rivalry betweeen Faerie Wright and Augusta O'Keefe.  Both are strong-willed, bullheaded women who think their designs are the best and will not be outdone by the other. Oh....and they are best friends!  Yeah....right!

Red Mountain Mining...Living and Working Above 10000 Feet

Living in Colorado presents many distinct challenges. On some days, simply going for a walk through my neighborhood is a workout. Choosing to do life in a place with drastic changes in altitude, weather and landscape at every turn is definitely an adventure. When employment is added to the mix, one must be sure they are clear-thinking and used to the thinner air and can handle it.

Surely the prospectors who traveled both near and far to the high country of Colorado in the 1800s, were surprised to see what awaited them. It was a different time, for sure. Most people probably had no idea what lay ahead. Surely once most of the Westward travelers were shocked by the sheer beauty of the mountains from a distance out on the High Plains. Pikes Peak can be seen from a hundred miles away.  The closer they got, the more daunting the sight becomes.

It's like this: you walk along on these flowing plains, the wind always blowing, cool breezes coming from the mountain air. Then BAM! All of a sudden, with no warning, you go from lower elevations to THE MOUNTAINS! Like a brick wall. I used to tell my husband when we still lived in Colorado Springs that it felt like the world just ended right at those mountains.

But those people didn't have the roads we have today. They followed trails made by the Native Americans, deer...like that. And it didn't get easier as they climbed. The altitude only got more intense, the air thinner and the ground....ROCK!

So the mining camps were a primitive way to live in the beginning. Imagine breaking ground for gold or silver in a place that was solid granite. On Red Mountain, I have seen the remains of houses, gantries, warehouses and other buildings that are just built right into the side of  mountains that go straight up. I've tried to imagine how in the world they actually built them...and then how they got to them. No steps, no ladders. Just a building hanging from the side of a huge mountain in the middle of nowhere. Hmm.....

Think for a moment about your life. How comfortable it really is in comparison to what went before us. It's cold up in those mountains; some of the mining camps were above tree line, which is 12000 feet above sea level. It's cold there ALL THE TIME; it snows year round, maybe not everyday, but enough that I'd tire of it quickly.

And let's talk about high-grading. High-grading, for those who aren't familiar with the term, is simply when the workers of the mine filled their pockets, hats, shirts, shoes, socks, any old thing, with ore during their shift and making a profit at the expense of their employers. Call it what it is: STEALING! In the early days there were no laws preventing it. It was a new capitalistic venture and they sort of learned as they went.  Now, it's a big deal.

In Cripple Creek just a few years ago, several men were arrested and brought up on charges of high-grading. I don't know the exact amount of gold they took, but suffice it to say, it was six figures. So, take it back to the 1800s and lots of people made a fair share on top of the salary they drew. I've not found anything that says how it was handled in Colorado, but in California the mine owners decided to start a new rule about reporting in for work and leaving at the end of a shift. It went like this: when arriving, the workers would report to a building that housed showers, lockers...much like the locker rooms of today. They would change their clothes, put them in a locker and don a uniform provided by the mine (hats, shoes, pants, shirt...the whole works). At the end of the shift, with a security guard on site, the men would strip down of those clothes, throw them into a bin for laundry and shower before dressing in their own clothes. High-grading virtually stopped in California.

Many towns sprung up all over the region, many at the lower elevations, to be supply ports for the mine and villages at the highest elevations. Silverton and Ouray both wanted to the be port of entry to the mining fields on Red Mountain, each shouting their accolades. Knowing a road was desperately needed, Ouray built a wagon road on the rough, rocky, dangerous terrain, prompting Red Mountain City, which as initially on the Silverton side of things, to move closer to Ouray.

Later Otto Mears built the now famous Million Dollar Highway through the area. Towns began to appear all over the mountain. As more and more prospectors surfaced in the area, their women and children followed and the area became quite populated. Lawyers, land developers, saloon keepers, and the ever-present prostitutes all made decent money. Before long, thousands of people called the Red Mountain Mining District their home.

And none of those people expected or planned for such extreme conditions. At night, a day that had been shirt sleeve weather could become intolerable with temperatures dropping to twenty below zero. Mining accidents caused death and injury. And the Silver Panic of 1893 brought about a change on Red Mountain. Things would never be the same. Three separate fires, one in 1892, another two years later, then another in 1939 destroyed Red Mountain Town. After the last, it was never rebuilt.

There is still mining in the area but not to the extent of its heyday. What was once a productive, mining area now looks like a series of ghost towns. Rich in history, the Red Mountain Project left the mountains scarred. Driving through the District, you might very well find yourself asking, "I wonder what it was like when...."

Enter Peter Dalton - Excerpt from Chapter 25

Peter Dalton was traveling in style. This job was a little out of his element, but if this was one of the benefits of working with a mining whiz, then he'd learn to adjust. All he needed to be set was a lady. But that would come at another time.

Why, he'd be so rich when all this was over, that the women would fall all over him. Or so he told himself.

The truth of the matter was this: Peter Dalton was a contradiction in terms. He was a quiet man, which is not to say he was soft-spoken. His motto was “walk tall and carry a big stick” and his stick held .45 caliber bullets. He was tall and lanky, with wiry blonde hair and a reddish-orange beard.

No one in the family could figure out the reason for such carrot-like color, but thought it might be from his father's side of the family. There were some Irish blokes in the mix back a generation or so, but who was to say. None of the other men were gifted with such an outrageous hue.

Dalton thought maybe his mother had participated in a little “what's good for the goose is good for the gander”. His father was notorious with the ladies, so why not, he thought.

At any rate, he was stuck with this gruesome facial hair, so he chose to make the best of it, letting it grow and grow, sometimes braiding it, sometimes not. But it made people remember him. He always stood out in a crowd. And there was no convincing him that was not always a good thing!

The Cherokee Connection

Meet Marcus Wright: a graduate of Harvard Business School, whose dream was to be a part of the mining boom in the West United States.

Marcus was born of meager means to a Cherokee mother and white father, and lived on the reservation in Tahlequah. His was loved, nurtured, well cared for, and had a dream. And he followed that dream to perfection.

His best childhood friend was a boy named Reggie. Reggie and Marcus were joined at the hip; they did everything together. Marcus knew things in Reggie's adoptive home were not happy. Reggie was born on the reservation as well, but adopted out at birth to an Irish family...O'Keefe was their name...and when he was able, Reggie became a workhorse for the family and a whipping post to his father.

Marcus's mother loved Reginald. Something about him reminded her of someone in her distant past. But Marcus didn't mind the attention she paid to his friend. Marcus knew Reggie needed someone to love him. The two boys were like brothers. Could have been brothers. The two forged a friendship that withstood the test of time.

They made a vow to grow up, go to University, and head out for the mines...and work at wherever they were given a position first. Reggie went to the University of Oklahoma in Norman; Marcus to Harvard Business.

At the end of their college years, Marcus married his sweetheart in a small family ceremony in Boston. Then they set out for Colorado...Ouray, Colorado...where they would meet up with Reggie. Marcus had been given a position in the business end of mining on Red Mountain and had convinced them to take Reggie as well.

But things were different now. Marcus, half Cherokee, knew the cards were stacked against him and he had a lot to prove. He worked hard; he loved his wife; he was successful. But he worried about his friend.

Reggie seemed to be slipping in to a dark abyss. Reginald met and married a beautiful young girl, Augusta, and bought her a monstrosity of a house...a house only the very wealthy could afford. He hired a house full of servants. And he treated Augusta and everyone in the house like so much dirt on his boots.

Marcus, out on a stroll, caught Reggie roaming the streets of Second Avenue...the Red-Light District. He also knew Reggie had gathered together a group of men who were high-grading inside the mines...filling their pockets, boots, hats, shirts full of ore. No wonder he could buy a house like that.

But all good things to come an end. And Marcus would drop the ax.

*****Read more about Marcus and Reginald in "The Disappearance of Simon Archer" to be released soon.

(PHOTO: Red Mountain Town, 1891)

What a Summer We've Had in Colorado

All in all, Colorado summers are mild. The communities in Teller County have a fair amount of part time residents, ranging from about 30 to 45 per cent  who are only summertime residents.

Suffice it to say, that the snowbirds, as they are called, didn't plan on 20 arson fires in our county alone within the span of one week, two larger fires in Teller and El Paso Counties that evacuated approximately 34000 people in Colorado Springs, Woodland Park, Ute Pass and surrounding areas of Lake George and Florissant (where we live).

Then we had the Movie Theater Shootings. It's been 13 years since Columbine, and it brought all those memories streaming back to us. I've read on Facebook comments of how we just need to get over it. I understand how people from other areas would grow weary of our ongoing problems, but a little empathy, please. We are grieving and dealing with loss of one kind or another. All we ask is to be treated as others would WANT to be treated themselves.

People from my hometown in Arkansas, which, by the way, is the home of notorious Bill Clinton interest, Paula Jones, have called, texted, written, facebooked, etc., etc., wanting to know what the devil is going on in Colorado.

Well, my answer is simple: I HAVE NO EARTHLY IDEA WHAT'S HAPPENING. But I'm ready for it to stop.

The day the fire spilled over the side of Rampart Range into the Mountain Shadows subdivision in Colorado Springs, my chest closed up. I couldn't breathe. The fear was gripping.

We live up in the mountains, but we could see the plumes of black smoke as Colorado Springs west side imploded. From our front porch we watched it everyday. A little part of me died during that fire. I will never forget all I've seen.

I lived in Colorado Springs for 23 years before making the move up Ute Pass. A lot of my friends lost their homes that day. 346 homes gone in only  a matter of minutes.

As a result of all we in Colorado have endured this summer, my book is being dedicated to the ones who saved our homes, our businesses, our lives. The first responders. There is NOTHING we can do but owe them our eternal gratitude.

Wanderlust, Money and Mining

Wanderlust, money, and mining....the three went together in the time of mining like a hand and glove.

We all suffer from the terminal American illness. Our forefathers passed it down to us. The pilgrims crossed over in hopes of religious freedom, the Native Americans crossed the Bering Strait filtering out in all directions from the North Pole to the tip of South America, people from all parts of the world have stepped onto our soil in search of a better life.

The miners were no different. From the first cry of "THAR'S GOLD IN THEM THAR HILLS" the rush was on. And what a rush it was.

While researching the mining world for my stories, I settled upon the San Juan Mountains of Southwestern Colorado as my launching pad; however, the research led me to a place on 15 miles from our home in Teller County, Colorado. Cripple Creek and the Cripple Creek and Victor Mining Company.

Today there are reminders everywhere around Cripple Creek and Victor of abandoned mine digs, now just big holes in the ground scarring the landscape. But in 1894 a huge miner's strike took place that got so out of hand that 3000 men were deputized and awaited their notification to move over in Divide, Colorado. (See picture below.) The dispute was over a pay dispute and grew to the point that the miners fought back with dynamite and weapons, destroying property, injuring people and the Governor of Colorado instituting martial law, which, is the only time in US history martial law was invoked over a strike.

So great was the strike that every mine in Colorado honored it and ceased operations. The strike lasted five months. The was chaos.

In 1896 two fires, just days apart, took down much of the city. What was once a thriving, mining town of 35000, once considered as the location for the State Capital, is now a town, dependent upon casinos and the Cripple Creek and Victor Mine.

It is our county seat in Teller County. The history exudes from its very fibers. Sitting at an altitude of 9494 feet above sea level, it isn't a place for the faint of heart, but it is a place for me.

Meet Molly Brown and John Jacob Astor...and All Their Friends

My husband and I live in the Rocky Mountains on land bordering The National Fossil Beds and the Pike National Forest. With all that untouched land, comes lots of wildlife. There are bears, foxes, elk, raccoons...and lots of deer.

One day I was walking through the yard and a ginormous doe comes running up to me, stopping about two inches from my face. "My what big eyes you have, Deer!" I said, my husband laughing. He said, "Good grief. Could she come any closer?"

Well, much to my surprise, she sort of adopted me...so I named her. Molly Brown. At the time, she was VERY pregnant. In July last summer she disappeared for about three weeks and then showed up with a surprise...two fawns, one boy, one girl. Over time, the fawns became friendly towards me, I suppose following the lead of their mother. The girl was a little more standoffish, but the boy...well, he was a real pistol. He wanted to be my buddy. So I named him, too. John Jacob Astor.

Before long, these two began showing up with more and more of their family and friends. One other mommy deer came with her new fawns, twins as well. From neighbors I learned she and the deer I call Molly (aka Pretty Mama by a neighbor lady up the road) are sisters. She's larger than Molly and very distinguishable. She has the biggest dang ears I ever saw. We named her Not Molly.

Not Molly will sit outside with me on a bridge that joins our front yard from the driveway. It sits in an aspen grove and is quite cozy. When I sit there sometimes I get a little nudge on my back, turn around and she's sitting there waiting to be pet between her enormous ears. She's a real love.

Also coming for an occasional visit is one buck we call "Titanic" because he is ONE BIG DEER and probably the Grand Poobah of the group...and more than likely the Stud Muffin for this little harem. He is 14 points and came in the beginning, I have not doubts, to see who this person was who is more interesting to the ladies and kids than he is. He follows me around the yard and I generally tell him he's too close because he's just a little creepy...albeit a magnificent specimen,. He is amazing!

So that's it. We now have about 12 deer who call our yard their favorite hang out. But I must warn you, if you come by to visit, you may just step in it...if you catch my meaning.