Lately I have been corresponding with a woman who lived on some of our property in the early 1970s and managed the camp ground for the people who lived in what is now my red log cabin. Here is one of her memories:



"One year this older guy and his son rented a camping space. The son was about 16 or so. They were from back east as they had very heavy accents. My kid memory, connected with my adult knowledge, wants to say they sounded like Boston residents. Anyway, the kid climbed the hill and sent a lot of large rocks down on the western side of it. They landed in the river but my mom went flying down to the father who standing down by the river encouraging his kid to start throwing the rocks. She was so mad and I swear she was riding a broom since she got down there faster than was humanly possible.

My mom and the kid's father started arguing. She told him his son had to get down off the hill. The father spit in her face and my mom hit him across the face with the hairbrush she was holding in her hand.

We kids were about ready to take a piece out of the old guy (he was probably all of 40 but to us he was old) when he started having some kind of heart attack. He had pills in his pocket and my mom had to give him one. After that he became very friendly and called his son down from the hill. Nice kid was so busy destroying everything he didn't see his dad act like an ass and collapse after a woman hit him which he richly deserved for spitting.

They left soon after with both sides declaring a truce in the war of the hill but it will forever live on in my family history. These days spitting is considered assault due to the numerous diseases that can be transmitted. I wonder if that guy ever thinks of us?"



She sent me this picture because it shows the bridge in the background that was washed away by the big 1976 flood. It was a rickety little bridge but before the late 1930s it was part of the main highway to Estes Park.