2015 Fur Trade Symposium - Bent’s Fort, La Junta, CO
Tuesday, September 22nd, 2015
Rod and I departed early this morning from Sidney. While we could have done the entire 14 hour drive in one shot, we decided to take advantage of the situation and hit some additional stops along the way, breaking the trip up into two days. At some point we’d be meeting up with friends after we got to Bent’s Fort. The first big stop on our route was outside of Chadron, NE, and we would then be staying with our friend Randy Kane who lives in Crawford, NE, not far from there. The location? The Museum of the Fur Trade.
We met up with Randy and he took us out to dinner before we headed to his place for the night. It’s a really neat place. It’s off the highway enough and looking out the livingroom window you see some pasture, trees and hills. We were able to peruse a copy of the script for “The Revenant”. It’s obvious that it’s going to have its issues, but we’re still looking forward to seeing it.
Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015
The next morning Rany took us to Fort Robinson, which is a historic military fort that operated
from 1874 to 1948, a very long time. It shows a lot of different aspects: surrender of Crazy Horse, K-9 training, mock attack using gliders similar to the ones used during D-Day, CCCs, cavalry horse grounds and a number of other things. They have furnished original buildings that we got to go through, the site where Crazy Horse was murdered, many wonderful displays and artifacts, a swimming pool made by the CCCs, and one of my favorites, an original 1878 Army Ambulance. It covers the American Indian Wars through WW2. If you get the chance, you need to stop by.
The next morning Rany took us to Fort Robinson, which is a historic military fort that operated
Next up was Chimney Rock. It may be just a formation, but it’s something, like Scott’s Bluff,
that I learned about and saw pictures of in grade school…not to mention past by a number of times while playing Oregon Trail :) There is a great children’s display at the visitor center there that has a wagon that the kids fill up with supplies and it tells you how heavy everything is. They also had artwork and period clothing of the time. This time I bought a book and t-shirt for me and book for Kim.
When we finally arrived at Bent’s Fort in La Junta, CO, it was dark. We met up with John Carson (who used to live in Sidney, MT!) who got us squared away. I was able to get John a Sidney Eagles hoodie that he wanted. As we talked we figured out that I currently only live about six blocks from where he used to live! We met Kimberly Wageman-Prack (Kimberly, not Kim) who quickly fixed us up some fajitas. By far the best fajitas this Montana boy has ever had. Rod would be staying in one of the clerk rooms and since it was so late John put me up in the hunter’s room so I wouldn’t have to make the hike to the trapper camp. Rod would be portraying a clerk in the fort for the visitors and I would be portraying a trapper in the camp.
After I changed from my civies into my trapper clothing I stood on the walkway of the wall and just took in amazement at the adobe fort. I watched the peacocks walking and roosting on the walls and the glow of candlelight from rooms. Rod and I met up on the walkway and took everything in and then we went down the stairs, into the courtyard and into a small dining room where I met some new folks. John Luzader, Sam Pisciotta, Park Wood, Greg Waltrip and several others. I did some talking and a lot of listening. John began to tell a story about an event years back about a man who portrayed a doctor giving a lecture on “self abuse” and I quickly realized that John was trying to pull me into the story. So I maintained constant eye contact, listening intently, appearing hapless, doing my best to give no facial indications that I was on the verge of being duped into this plot. I decided then and there that John was an alright guy.
I slept the first night in that hunter’s room with whitewashed adobe walls on my bedroll on the floor, my J. Henry rifle by my side, taking in everything, so very glad to be here at Bent’s old Fort. There are only a handful of places I’ve experienced this, Fort Union and Fort Buford included.
Thursday, September 24th, 2015
The next morning I changed back into my civies and stashed my gear in Rod’s room and we
headed to the train station where we met up with Yvette Bachmeyer for the bus tour. Our guide during the first half of the tour was great. Lots of good history. We had a box lunch not too far from an old mission. I wish we could have gone to see it. We stopped at where Hardscrabble was, a community started from those done with the Fur Trade, so to speak. The bus driver on the return route was very proficient at driving fast on all the curves of the road. We also stopped at Pueblo, which had a museum with a partially reconstructed small adobe post.
When we got back from the bus tour I changed back into my trapper clothing, shouldered my manty pack, grabbed my rifle and headed to the trapper camp. I was not entirely sure of what I was going to find. I felt a bit “unprepared” to suddenly be the “new guy” in camp without Rod. So I summoned my inner Ron Swanson and tarried on. Along the way I met men I only know via Facebook. I bumped into Mike Moore and Kraig Fallwell as I was entering camp while they were leaving it.
The camp was thoroughly established next to the Arkansas River and there was a bit of a corral in place. I noticed there were a few mules. I had an idea that one of them was William Bailey’s, based upon my interaction with him online and the pictures that he posted. There were a couple established fires, a few lean tos and tents set up as well. I introduced myself to a few of the people there and then picked myself a spot off to the side of the camp next to a few trees, after I found two of the largest spiders I’ve ever seen in person in my life. I decided I’d let the spiders have that tree.
Turned out my guess about who the owner was of one of the mules was correct. It was Bill (William) Bailey. He introduced me to his wife Lee. Had some nice conversations about pipes and about one in particular from Fort Union. Bill gave me the rundown about how the camp worked, where to get water, where to get my rations and so forth. We had some good conversation about capotes, moccasins and the artwork of A.J. Miller. I also met Billy Bob Bailey, Duke Frazier, Henry Crawford, Oliver McCloskey, Scott Olson, Tom Karnuta, Darko, Denny Leonard, and Scott Walker. There were others too that I unfortunately can only remember their faces. Many of these men, many of whom are AMM brothers, I have only known through interactions in the online forums and Facebook.
I left the group to get my rations. Not sure exactly of “how much” of “what” I’d be getting I brought my lidded copper kettle, my tin cup, two scarves and a piece of red checked trade cloth I had, along with one of my russian sheeting saddle bags. It was a good thing I brought the trade cloth with me. I was issued: salt cured bacon, rice, beans, dried fruit, coffee, tea, flour, cornmeal, muscovado sugar(?) and a cavendish tobacco.
I stopped in the trade room where Rod, Greg and Sam were and gawked at all the things that were available. They’d been having a busy day. Rod told me that Vic Barkin was looking for me. Vic and I had been talking about Astor medals online and I was able to post a copy of the agreement that let Fort Union participate in the “Indian Trade”, as it was called at the time, on the Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site’s Facebook page thanks to Vic. I took my rations back to the camp.
I met Bill Gwaltney. Great guy. We talked about Fort Union and talked about period games that we play. He then hands me a clay pipe, a package of candy, a deck of spanish monte card and a couple sheets of period game instructions and said he’d teach us how to play monte tomorrow.
This evening I made my way back into the fort to check on Rod to see if he needed rescuing from
those wiley clerks. Those fancy dressed devils aren’t to be trusted. Rod looked pretty beat. Sounded like they were inventorying everything in stock. He directed my attention over to several men enjoying some evening libations. One was Griz MacGillie! The other one greeted me with a hearty “Brother Leif! How the hell are ya?!”, with a firm bear hug. It was Vic Barkin! It’s so great to meet these guys face to face. We talked about an idea Vic had regarding an Astor medal currently residing at Fort Union. I’ll be getting him in touch with our curator.
When we finally arrived at Bent’s Fort in La Junta, CO, it was dark. We met up with John Carson (who used to live in Sidney, MT!) who got us squared away. I was able to get John a Sidney Eagles hoodie that he wanted. As we talked we figured out that I currently only live about six blocks from where he used to live! We met Kimberly Wageman-Prack (Kimberly, not Kim) who quickly fixed us up some fajitas. By far the best fajitas this Montana boy has ever had. Rod would be staying in one of the clerk rooms and since it was so late John put me up in the hunter’s room so I wouldn’t have to make the hike to the trapper camp. Rod would be portraying a clerk in the fort for the visitors and I would be portraying a trapper in the camp.
I slept the first night in that hunter’s room with whitewashed adobe walls on my bedroll on the floor, my J. Henry rifle by my side, taking in everything, so very glad to be here at Bent’s old Fort. There are only a handful of places I’ve experienced this, Fort Union and Fort Buford included.
Thursday, September 24th, 2015
The next morning I changed back into my civies and stashed my gear in Rod’s room and we
When we got back from the bus tour I changed back into my trapper clothing, shouldered my manty pack, grabbed my rifle and headed to the trapper camp. I was not entirely sure of what I was going to find. I felt a bit “unprepared” to suddenly be the “new guy” in camp without Rod. So I summoned my inner Ron Swanson and tarried on. Along the way I met men I only know via Facebook. I bumped into Mike Moore and Kraig Fallwell as I was entering camp while they were leaving it.
The camp was thoroughly established next to the Arkansas River and there was a bit of a corral in place. I noticed there were a few mules. I had an idea that one of them was William Bailey’s, based upon my interaction with him online and the pictures that he posted. There were a couple established fires, a few lean tos and tents set up as well. I introduced myself to a few of the people there and then picked myself a spot off to the side of the camp next to a few trees, after I found two of the largest spiders I’ve ever seen in person in my life. I decided I’d let the spiders have that tree.
I left the group to get my rations. Not sure exactly of “how much” of “what” I’d be getting I brought my lidded copper kettle, my tin cup, two scarves and a piece of red checked trade cloth I had, along with one of my russian sheeting saddle bags. It was a good thing I brought the trade cloth with me. I was issued: salt cured bacon, rice, beans, dried fruit, coffee, tea, flour, cornmeal, muscovado sugar(?) and a cavendish tobacco.
I stopped in the trade room where Rod, Greg and Sam were and gawked at all the things that were available. They’d been having a busy day. Rod told me that Vic Barkin was looking for me. Vic and I had been talking about Astor medals online and I was able to post a copy of the agreement that let Fort Union participate in the “Indian Trade”, as it was called at the time, on the Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site’s Facebook page thanks to Vic. I took my rations back to the camp.
I met Bill Gwaltney. Great guy. We talked about Fort Union and talked about period games that we play. He then hands me a clay pipe, a package of candy, a deck of spanish monte card and a couple sheets of period game instructions and said he’d teach us how to play monte tomorrow.
This evening I made my way back into the fort to check on Rod to see if he needed rescuing from
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| Photo by Dana Dore |
Upon returning to the camp I stood by one of the fires just listening to everyone. Trappers recounting tales, stories and some of pure fabrication. I like this. I didn’t contribute at all to conversation, save smiles and laughter. Still getting to know these men. While I’m no longer a neophyte on the upper Missouri, I am on the Arkansas. I’ll find my stride. I’m in great company to be able to continue learning.
Friday, September 25th, 2015I heard a few coyotes throughout the night. Didn’t seem terribly far away. Seemed kind of pretty.
I woke up to mist and some of the camp moving. It was rather picturesque. Denny and Kraig for sure were walking their horses. I made some sketches and tried to capture what I could having never seen camp life quite like this.
I got water and filled my cup and lidded copper kettle part way. I put some tea in my tin cup and put it by some coals of the first fire to heat up. I then cut up some of my cured bacon and tossed it into the kettle along with rice and some of my dried fruit to eat for breakfast.
Bill Bailey, Denny, Kraig and a few of the other guys took their horses across the Arkansas and
Awhile later Bill Gwaltney showed Scott Olsen, Vic Barkin, another fellow and myself how to play spanish monte. Scott Walker got in on it too. It’s a fun little gambling game. It was decided when the visitors started arriving that there would be a game going and that one guy would be wearing one shoe and one moccasin since he lost one in a game of monte.
About the time visitors started showing up I was sitting on my bedroll with my needle, thread, red checked trade cloth and scissors out. Thank
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| Photo by Dana Dore |
A bit later Scott Olsen and Bill Bailey ended up on horse and mule by my little area, Bill with his pipe in his mouth, what I’d found to this point to be a semi-permanent affixture to his person. They remained there, motionless for a long moment. I didn’t dare speak as I was sure some truly epic exchange, that would embody the life of a trapper, was about to take place. And then, it happened. Bill gave Scott a sideways glance and spoke cooley with his pipe in his mouth. “Where’d you get that horse?” Scott returned the glance with some steel in his eyes and replied slowly,”From the man I shot. Is that going to be a problem?” Bill, with all sternness, hands on his reigns, pipe in his mouth, shook his head slowly and said, “Nope.” Next thing I know they rode off somewhere. Let me tell the reader, the fourteen hour drive getting here was worth witnessing this one exchange alone.
This afternoon Vic had out a newspaper from the 1840s. We were scouring it looking for, and actually found, an advertisement for Martin guitars. It was an interesting newspaper. I need to see if I can track one down for 1851, which is the year Fort Union is reconstructed to. Somehow Mr. Luzader had found out, no doubt through the use of spies, that Vic had this paper and requested that he come for a meal and share the news from it. Vic didn’t seem so sure about this, but figured it best to go along with the request. I hadn’t stopped to see what Rod’s day had been like yet so I headed up with Vic. On the way up we met Bill Gwaltney who inquired about our destination. He said, “Well, you boys will probably need some of this.” He quickly produced a bottle and flicked it on us. It was some danged flower water! I doubt I’ve ever smelled so pretty.
We stopped in to see the clerks. Sam Pisciotta looked Vic up and down when he informed him that he would be having dinner with Mr. Luzader. “You can’t go dressed like that.” Vic raised an eyebrow and replied,”What the hell’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” Sam asked,”Do you have any better clothes?” Vic again asked, “What the hell’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” Sam shook his head and said,”You’ll need to borrow some.” He then sent Vic and another clerk to go get him some “better” clothes. Rod was then put to the task of writing up a bill for the clothing. I thought this seemed suspicious. Fortunately for Rod, he had in one of his notebooks the figures for a new suit of clothes that was purchased at Fort Union to go on.
Rod said things had kept fairly busy again today with the visitors and that tomorrow he was going to catch some of the talks. We agreed that he’d come and get me tomorrow for lunch and we’d catch the afternoon sessions together.
I walked about the fort a bit and watched the activity taking place. I saw Randy Kane and got to meet Carly Kelly in person for the first time. Carly and Randy are both formerly of Fort Union.
Tom Karnuta was playing his banjo so I sat and listened for a while. Banjo is an instrument I should learn.
This evening as we watched from the walls the music that was being performed below, Rod introduced me to Rex Rideout. I’d been listening to some of his playing earlier today. We talked about the different types of period banjos and about how he made his own 1820’s banjo as there is no one who is currently making any.
I went back with Rod to the fort and we finalized our plans for tomorrow. We found Dave and Arleen Finders along Dave Evenson and Yvette Bachmeyer. We had a good conversation for a spell before they headed back into town to their hotel. I headed back to camp myself shortly after, talking with some in the camp for a spell and then crawled into my bedroll and went to sleep.
Saturday, September 26th, 2015
This morning Bill Gwaltney said he’d make breakfast for a group of us and gave us tasks. We
Vic was still in his fancy duds, save his elk skin frock coat, from yesterday’s meal with Mr. Luzader and the other clerks. Vic said that he read from his newspaper to the the group and then they discussed things somewhat. Peacock was part of the meal. He said it was reminiscent of turkey. We were a bit jealous. “Then things got interesting,” Vic stated as he shifted in his seat. He continued explaining how the matter of the bill for his suit of clothes came. “You asked me to come and read to you and I was told I had to wear these. This wasn’t my idea.” Starting to connect the dots, it was plain to see that between the bourgeois and those shifty clerks that there was dirty work afoot. “They charged me $70 for that suit of clothes!” Vic tried explaining that he’d give them back the clothing as he never asked for them and we told he had to wear them. He was told that now the clothing was used and they could sell them at full price. Vic said that there was no way he could afford to pay for these clothes that he’d been forced to wear. And then it became obvious what Mr. Luzader’s plan had been all along. “So then, Mr. Luzader says,’Since you cannot afford to pay for your new suit of clothes, I suppose you could work for the company to make good on your debt.’ What other choice did I have?” We’d lost one of our own! We offered our apologies. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. With Rod and now Vic, we would have two of our own working for the company.
The rice and bacon that Bill Gwaltney made for us was very good. I’ll have to keep this meal in mind for myself .
John Carson stopped by the came with something wrapped up for us to try. It was peacock! It really does taste like turkey!
As the morning went on we started to have more and more visitors entering the camp. Griz, Scott Walker and myself happened to be by one of the fires when a particular group came in. I was discussing with Griz his knapsack that he’d made, patterned after the striped one from one of the versions of AJ Miller’s “Trapper’s Bride”. The new group came up to us and introduced themselves. We talked about camp life, what the trappers would do when they weren’t out actually trapping. Then one fellow said, “Say, what they call you guys?” The three of us introduced ourselves by our names. “No, not those names. What’s your ‘Rendezvous’ or ‘camp’ name that they call you guys?” Without missing a beat, Scott majestically stated,”They call me...Scott.” The visitors didn’t enjoy the response nearly as much as we did.
About lunch right before lunch time I headed into the fort and up onto the wall that looks to the northeast. I kept my eye out for Rod. A lady approached me and asked what I was looking for. “A friend will be returning soon.” “Do you work here at the fort?,” she asked. “I do now.” “Where did you work before?” “I used to trap on the upper Missouri out of Fort Union.” “Why’d you quit?” “I didn’t. The American Fur Company decided they weren’t going to send out trapping brigades anymore and instead focus on the buffalo robe trade with the northern tribes.” “So why’d you come here.” I said the first thing that came to my mind. “I wanted to see if what they said about the senioritas was true.” She was satisfied with my response. Commented on my rifle on my hat and then headed on her way.
I soon spotted someone. It was Rod, but I was pretty sure who it was. I quickly made my way down into the courtyard and out the front of the fort, on the trail the leads out. As I got closer the buckskin clad man with his rifle on his shoulder caught my eye. “Well hello Mr. Halperbuns.” “Hello Mr. Bailey.” It was Bradley Bailey. Another brother I was finally meeting face to face for the first time, and, unfortunately, in this case, for only a few minutes before I had to continue making my way to the parking lot to meet up with Rod. I got to meet Brad’s son and daughter. One of her paintings is hanging in my classroom. While it was short, maybe next time we’ll be able to have a proper conversation.
The Symposium sessions were being held at the community in La Junta. Nice campus. We ate lunch in the cafeteria. Looked like I was one of the few people in period dress. We met up with Dave and Arleen, Yvette and Dave Evenson. Henry Crawford was there as well. I wolfed down my lunch as the next session was going to be starting soon.
I was starting to get a little nervous. There would be two sessions and then after the second one would be the presentations and vote of where the next symposium would be hosted. I would be presenting on behalf of Fort Union. This was my first time to Symposium, in a room full of people who had been here multiple times, and many years more experience with this than me. No pressure.
The first session was by John Luzader on the use of Living Historians. I’m looking forward to getting a copy of the proceedings and reading it through. I thoroughly enjoyed his presentation and was inspired by it. Quality Living History programs are important and vital to the various sites. There is such great learning that can happen if we invest the time to know our subject matter, the material culture around and effectively “set the stage” for the visitors.
The Symposium sessions were being held at the community in La Junta. Nice campus. We ate lunch in the cafeteria. Looked like I was one of the few people in period dress. We met up with Dave and Arleen, Yvette and Dave Evenson. Henry Crawford was there as well. I wolfed down my lunch as the next session was going to be starting soon.
I was starting to get a little nervous. There would be two sessions and then after the second one would be the presentations and vote of where the next symposium would be hosted. I would be presenting on behalf of Fort Union. This was my first time to Symposium, in a room full of people who had been here multiple times, and many years more experience with this than me. No pressure.
The first session was by John Luzader on the use of Living Historians. I’m looking forward to getting a copy of the proceedings and reading it through. I thoroughly enjoyed his presentation and was inspired by it. Quality Living History programs are important and vital to the various sites. There is such great learning that can happen if we invest the time to know our subject matter, the material culture around and effectively “set the stage” for the visitors.
The second session looked at various journal entries, including ones where words were spelled by the inflection of the accent that spoke them. There were two examples for this where the presenter, whose name, regrettably, is escaping me, began to speak them, only to be interrupted by Rex Rideout who spoke them emphatically, to applause by the audience. That left an impression. I’d read those texts before and they made more sense after listening to Rex’s recitation.
Then the time came. I couldn’t find Rod. I knew he was in the room, likely in the middle of the crowd, as would be my luck. I found the rest of our Upper Missouri crew and we sat together to wait my pitch for Fort Union. John Carson went to the microphone, also in period clothing, and told us all that there would be three presentations being made for consideration of the next symposium. One for Fort Mandan, to likely be hosted in Bismarck, ND, one for St. Joseph, MO, and one for Fort Union Trading Posting National Historic Site, Williston, ND.
I kind of felt bad. I didn’t know I was going to be presenting against another site from North Dakota. John Carson called up the speaker for Fort Mandan first. It was an interesting concept. He then called up what I think may have been members of the St. Joseph chamber of commerce who gave out stuff and did a drawing for a real nice Stetson hat. Many of us were confused where they were going with this idea as they really didn’t talk about the Fur Trade at all and when asked “What about the living historians?,” they told us about a local acting guild. Then Mr. Carson called me up. When got on stage John smiled and said “Good luck, Leif,” and I made my presentation. I thought it went alright. I gave the audience a good couple of chuckles and answered their questions. The end result: Lots of interest in both Fort Mandan and Fort Union. Fort Mandan was the final choice. Our upper Missouri crew thought I’d done a decent job of speaking and answering the questions. Jim Hardee and Clay Landry gave me some nice words of encouragement and told me to be sure to present for Fort Union again next time. I really appreciated that. Regardless of the outcome, the Fur Trade Symposium will be coming to North Dakota again, and that’s a good thing.
Then the time came. I couldn’t find Rod. I knew he was in the room, likely in the middle of the crowd, as would be my luck. I found the rest of our Upper Missouri crew and we sat together to wait my pitch for Fort Union. John Carson went to the microphone, also in period clothing, and told us all that there would be three presentations being made for consideration of the next symposium. One for Fort Mandan, to likely be hosted in Bismarck, ND, one for St. Joseph, MO, and one for Fort Union Trading Posting National Historic Site, Williston, ND.
I kind of felt bad. I didn’t know I was going to be presenting against another site from North Dakota. John Carson called up the speaker for Fort Mandan first. It was an interesting concept. He then called up what I think may have been members of the St. Joseph chamber of commerce who gave out stuff and did a drawing for a real nice Stetson hat. Many of us were confused where they were going with this idea as they really didn’t talk about the Fur Trade at all and when asked “What about the living historians?,” they told us about a local acting guild. Then Mr. Carson called me up. When got on stage John smiled and said “Good luck, Leif,” and I made my presentation. I thought it went alright. I gave the audience a good couple of chuckles and answered their questions. The end result: Lots of interest in both Fort Mandan and Fort Union. Fort Mandan was the final choice. Our upper Missouri crew thought I’d done a decent job of speaking and answering the questions. Jim Hardee and Clay Landry gave me some nice words of encouragement and told me to be sure to present for Fort Union again next time. I really appreciated that. Regardless of the outcome, the Fur Trade Symposium will be coming to North Dakota again, and that’s a good thing.
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| Photo by Dana Dore |
Before the music for the fandango started Bill Gwaltney shared some words, as did the superintendent of the site. When the music started we all started standing up. As we did, a nice lady, who I’m pretty sure had been imbibing a bit, I’ll call her Ms. Sante Fe, as that’s where she was from, came over to our table and asked us who was going to dance with her. Dana bowed out so she turned to Scott. “My leg is bad.” Crap, that’s the excuse I was going to use. Before I got a chance to get a word out Ms. Sante Fe grabbed me by the arm and over closer to where people are dancing. Darn you Scott… We two-stepped, I think, while she asked me questions and tried to pull me closer. I think this was when I wore a hole in one of my mocs. She made me dip her too. After an appropriate amount of time after the musicians had ended the current piece, I thanked her for the dance and made a not too obvious escape to the gift shop.
This was the first time I’d been in the gift shop. It’s not an easy place to maneuver when the place is packed and you’re one of 5 or so other guys in the place toting around a flintlock rifle. I knew this was going to be my one chance so I was going to have to stick it out. While I was looking at shirts for my kids, Vic walks up, puts a book in my hands open to page of a J. Henry, taps the picture and said “You need to buy this book.” So I did, along with shirts for the kids, two books for Kim and some bottles of shrub mix for her too. This was all promptly stowed in Rod’s room.
I met up with Rod on the south wall looking down into the courtyard. I talked a bit, listened to the music and watched the people dancing. Ms. Kimberly stopped and talked with us a bit. We talked about different events we’d been a part of, different periods of history we are involved in. Ms. Kimberly has been involved with Bent’s Fort since she was a teenager.
Rod and I decided to see if there were any drinks left so we headed down to the trade room. There was a little left. I thanked him for driving us down to Bent’s and for taking me under his wing when I first started getting involved with the Fort Union Muzzleloaders back home. We talked about living history and the start of Living History weekend at Fort Union. We talked to Scott Olsen and Oliver McCloskey for a bit. We bumped into Ms. Kimberly again and she invited us to a gathering in the billiard room. Rod decided to head back to his room since we’d be taking off early. I heard the sounds of fiddle playing, so I decided to check things out.
Inside I found Red Rideout and another fellow playing their fiddles. I pulled up a seat next them and listened for the better part of an hour, the sound of fiddles to the glow of the candle light, people talking in the background. This was the first time, in a very long time, that I truly listened to, heard and felt the music. It’s sad, in a way, considering I’m a music teacher, that it’s been such a long time. It was like therapy. My heart was lifted and I continued to drink in the wonderful music. Unfortunately, the time came for me to turn in for the evening. I thanked Rex for the wonderful music and what it had done for. He smiled, thanked me for my kind words and said,”Music teachers are some of my favorites.”
The sky was bright with the stars as I made my way back to camp. The mosquitoes were out, however, were not as described in the journals from the Corps of Discovery “unbearbly troublesome.” The camp was fairly quiet. There was just some faint talking. I crawled into my bedroll one final time, my trusty rifle in my arms and fell asleep.
Rod and I decided to see if there were any drinks left so we headed down to the trade room. There was a little left. I thanked him for driving us down to Bent’s and for taking me under his wing when I first started getting involved with the Fort Union Muzzleloaders back home. We talked about living history and the start of Living History weekend at Fort Union. We talked to Scott Olsen and Oliver McCloskey for a bit. We bumped into Ms. Kimberly again and she invited us to a gathering in the billiard room. Rod decided to head back to his room since we’d be taking off early. I heard the sounds of fiddle playing, so I decided to check things out.
Inside I found Red Rideout and another fellow playing their fiddles. I pulled up a seat next them and listened for the better part of an hour, the sound of fiddles to the glow of the candle light, people talking in the background. This was the first time, in a very long time, that I truly listened to, heard and felt the music. It’s sad, in a way, considering I’m a music teacher, that it’s been such a long time. It was like therapy. My heart was lifted and I continued to drink in the wonderful music. Unfortunately, the time came for me to turn in for the evening. I thanked Rex for the wonderful music and what it had done for. He smiled, thanked me for my kind words and said,”Music teachers are some of my favorites.”
The sky was bright with the stars as I made my way back to camp. The mosquitoes were out, however, were not as described in the journals from the Corps of Discovery “unbearbly troublesome.” The camp was fairly quiet. There was just some faint talking. I crawled into my bedroll one final time, my trusty rifle in my arms and fell asleep.
Sunday, September 27th, 2015
I woke early and mantied up my gear. Onto my back one final time for this adventure. Other’s await me. I paused at the entrance of the camp, gear on my back, rifle in my hand, took one final look of the camp and headed up to the fort.
I offloaded my gear into the back of Rod’s truck and then switched into my civies. We loaded the
rest of the gear from Rod’s room and left it the way he found it. We now would drive 14 hours back home. It was a remarkable experience.
I offloaded my gear into the back of Rod’s truck and then switched into my civies. We loaded the
Some parting words seem befitting:
Fairwell Bent's Fort, Arkansas River and senioritas. The Missouri, the Yellowstone, Fort Union and the girl I left behind me are beckoning me back home. I will remember well the time spent with brothers I finally was able to meet, who have accepted me and my brother Rod as their own, seeing familiar faces of other brothers and sisters from the banks of the Missouri, to have feasted on buffalo and peacock, to have enjoyed the music of fiddle and banjo, to have laughed around the fire and to have danced in the Fandango. I hope to once again return.
-- Leifer
