Going Home

Twilight silhouettes the deserted Burk homestead, which forms the backdrop for a few silent mementos from long ago. Jeff Kida

Snuggled in the foothills of Escudilla Mountain, in the White Mountain range of eastern Arizona, is a little valley where Asahel and Maggie Burk took up a homestead many years ago. In the virgin wilderness, they carved out a full life. Where the wind blew and the snow drifted high, a house was built. Where the weeds and brush covered the land, it was cleared and alfalfa, corn and clover planted. Where the thirsty soil needed moisture, water was diverted from the higher mountain streams. And at last the land yielded a golden harvest.

Where only the howl of the coyote and the moaning of the wind had been heard, the sounds of a happy home and the laughter of children now floated on the breeze.

For over a quarter-century the little homestead was its own world; a world where no quarter was ever asked and none ever given; a world with very little water and almost every kind of rodent, insect, reptile and predator known to that part of the country, including stinging ants by the countless millions. And then it was over . . . the little world was gone. We, the children, grew up and moved away.

Returning to the old homestead today, nearly a lifetime later, the old well, hand dug with sweat and blood, which provided life-sustaining water for so many years, is dry. No more do the sounds of its sweet waters splashing into homemade wooden buckets tempt the thirsty and sooth the parched lip. Neither does it fill the tubs to wash clothes, or clean house, or dishes, or work-stained bodies eager for the Saturday-night bath.

The old cellar, painfully dug and carefully insulated against winter's freezing cold, once held tightly sealed glass bottles of jellies, jams, vegetables and foods of many kinds, raised and stored in abundance to insure life through the long winter. Now the cellar is only an odd-shaped depression in the ground with little to identify what it once was.

Only shambles now remain of what was once a proud and productive barnyard, with granaries, stables, hen-houses, pigpens, hay barns and potato cellars.

Who could forget the sight of a litter of newborn piglets, lying in a row like a bunch of cucumbers laid side by side; or a nest of soft, downy chicks; or a brood of little gray turkeys; or a little calf that would follow you around? Who could forget the slap across the face from a cow's wet, slushy tail, while sitting in six inches of boggy barnyard manure, and working your heart out, pulling and squeezing to get a little squirt of milk from the wet and halffrozen milk faucet of a belligerent cow. Who could forget the containers of milk, the rising cream, the old cream separator, and the butter churn, Mother making cheeses and we, the children always coaxing for another piece of the curd. Could anyone forget the days of labor, hauling firewood from the moun-tains and piling it up in great quantities, for winter's warm fires, the hoeing, chopping and cultivating in the field and the garden so the crops would have a fighting chance, and the numbing fear of crop failure, when army worms attacked the fields in staggering, unbe-lievable numbers.

The farm equipment repaired with bailing wire; the implements that turned the soil, mowed the hay, cut and bound the grain and dug the ditches; the wagons that hauled the wood and a hundred other things; the harrow, the cultivator, the wheelbarrow, and the little red wagon, all have lived out their day. Only fragments remain, the rest claimed by rust, rot, and pilferage.

Here too are the ruins of the old house. The logs, the lumber and the hand-split shake roof made the house, the affection, the songs and prayers, the happy voices of children, a mother's love, and the labor, wisdom and strength of a father made it a home.

Here long winter evenings were spent around the fireplace; here books were read by oil lamp; here there were morning talks and family prayer, fun on the porch on summer evenings and good meals with fresh vegetables from the garden.

Today the old fireplace and hearthstone is rubble piled on rubble. The burning logs, the smell of pine; the crackling of cedar, and the long-glowing coals of oak; the flickering flames and the rising smoke all have vanished.

We know not and we dare not conjecture who lived in this little valley in the past, nor do we know of the happenings and changing scenes that have taken place from time to time over the centuries prior to our time, but vividly and well do we remember those days when it was our home and our world. Today all is gone save the memories. The purpose has been fulfilled, the project completed, a job well done.

It was not in vain.

The old homestead we now pass on to another people for another purpose and another day.

"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day.

Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away.

Change and decay in all around I see.

Oh, Thou who changeth not, abide with me."

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS Proud of Presents The Glory of Nature's Form featuring Willis Peterson photography

Willis Peterson contributed his first picture to Arizona Highways Magazine over 25 years ago. He has always, it would seem, viewed nature's scenic grandeur, plants and animals through the lens of a camera. Here is The Glory of Nature's Form as Willis has found it all over America and in Mexico and Canada as well. This large format book is 10"x14" in size, has 160 pages and 113 full-color photographs, plus it includes a special, separate, 32-page, Guide to Better Nature Photography giving specific tips on "how to" with your own camera. Arizona Highways is proud to have used selected portions from this book in this issue. The Glory of Nature's Form may be found at stores around the country. For Arizona Highways Magazine readers in rural areas, or whose favorite bookstore does not have it in stock, it may be ordered directly from: ARIZONA HIGHWAYS MAGAZINE 2039 West Lewis Avenue Phoenix, Arizona 85009 (Allow 4 weeks for delivery)

$27.50

Simply put your check or money order, in the correct amount for the number of books you desire, into an envelope along with your name and address and send it to the above address. We'll take care of the rest.

Price Includes a Separate 32-Page Guide to Better Nature Photography

Bookshelf by Mary Lu Moore

Inquiries about any of these titles should be directed to the book publisher not ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. Book prices listed do not include postage costs.

Wells Fargo in Arizona Territory. By John and Lillian Theobald, edited by Bert N. Fireman. Arizona Historical Foundation, Arizona State University Library, Tempe, Arizona 85281. 1978. 210 p. $12.50, hardcover; $10.00 softcover.

Wells Fargo! The very name conjures up visions of stagecoach and horses tearing along dusty western roads with precious cargo. It took enterprise and capital to initiate stage operations, for the mortality rate was high. Lines branched out and intertwined in a complex pattern of ever-changing routes. The advent of railroads stimulated stage express, which linked remote hamlets, ranches and mines to mail and shipping services and the outside world. This vast circulatory system of freight and passenger service became part of the economic lifeblood of Arizona, bringing modern conveniences and products not otherwise available to Arizonans and aiding agriculture. Wells Fargo pioneered refrigerated cars, which took produce to market, and initiated banking by mail and money orders. The company accepted for shipment almost anything from Gila monsters to artificial legs. Large amounts of gold and silver from the mines and payrolls for the miners were also conveyed. Just as in the movies, there were spectacular holdups, but Wells Fargo detectives caught more robbers than films would indicate. However, success can sometimes precipitate a downfall. The far less competent U.S. Post Office undercut prices, thus forcing Wells Fargo out of the mail business. Expanding rail and truck lines finally ended the Wells Fargo era in Arizona.

Much of the research for this publication was accumulated during the authors' untiring quest for information for their 1961 book on Arizona postal history. Having combed the countryside for data, they became aware of the inseparable relationship between mail service and stage lines. After John's untimely death in 1973, Lillian continued her research, while Bert Fireman assumed editorial responsibilities. The slightly repetitious narrative is well sprinkled with many black and white photographs of Wells Fargo personnel, agencies and advertisements. A chapter is devoted to the agents, presenting them in alphabetical order, with brief biographies, locations of their assignments and dates of tenure. Some, such as Pickney Tully, L. J. F. Iaeger, Esteban Ochoa, and William S. Oury, were wellknown in other capacities in Arizona Territory. Included is a compilation of locations of Wells Fargo offices, their agents, significant events and dates of operation. These alphabetical listings dimish the need for an index. The bits and pieces of information pulled together are so intriguing that some bibliographic gathering seems wanting. Given the wealth of facts, there are surprisingly few typographical errors. Thanks to Lillian and John Theobald, we now know infinitely more about Arizona stage lines, the agents who managed them, their cargo and routes.

Herbert Eugene Bolton; The Historian and the Man, 1870-1953. By John Francis Bannon. University of Arizona Press, Box 3398, Tucson, Arizona 85722. 1978. 296 p. $15.00, hardcover; $8.95, softcover.

It might be overstating the case to say that had it not been for Herbert Eugene Bolton there would be little knowledge of the greater Hispanic Southwest as we know it today. Then again, it might not. The young Wisconsin schoolteacher worked diligently at his education and at mastering a field of American history that few knew and about which still fewer cared. With graduate degrees from the universities of Wisconsin and Pennsylvania, Bolton began his teaching career at the equally young University of Texas. Undaunted By not being able to teach courses in his chosen area, Bolton quickly grasped the immensity of new information to be studied in Texas history and ethnology. He branched out to other regions of Hispanic exploration and settlement and began making regular forays into Mexican archives to make copies of vast amounts of heretofore unknown documents pertaining to the southwestern U.S. and northern Mexico.

From Texas, Bolton was lured to Stanford and soon to the University of California at Berkeley, where he became a fixture as inspiring teacher and lecturer, absent-minded father of seven, indefatigable researcher of archives and trails and hard-driving head of the Department of History and the Bancroft Library. In his four score and more years Bolton accomplished more than most of us could do in three lifetimes. The archival materials he amassed, his brilliant and prolific research and writing, and his sincere regard for and encouragement of his students were and are unparalleled. While the geographical area he strove to make as famous as the Old South, New England or the Northwest Territory came to be called the "Spanish Borderlands," the author is quite right; it could just as well have been called "The Boltonlands."

"Father Jack" Bannon was one of Bolton's later (1939) Ph.D.'s. As have so many of Bolton's students, he does his mentor proud with his own meticulous research and fine writing. The author shows Bolton to have been a well-rounded individual, excerpting many passages from communications to and from the master teacher. Evenhandedly, he points out Bolton's lesser qualities, such as overextending himself so much that he could not meet publication dates, sometimes by years, not just months. Truly, no greater honor can be paid a professor than for a apt pupil to write his biography. This is a long and complex book about a dynamo of a man who had a long and complex life. The chapter notes and bibliographical essay are very helpful and the index is unusually thorough. The appendices list chronologically Bolton's published works and his "academic progeny," both masters and doctors. There are also a number of photographs of Bolton and his family and two maps of historic trails which the professor traced. Everyone who has an interest in the history of our Spanish Borderlands, from Florida to California to Alaska - yes, I said Alaska, will find this superb biographical study a deeply enriching experience.

Yours Sincerely

Kudos and questions from around the state, the nation and the world.

Editor, Your August, 1979, issue was excel-lent and I'm again counting my days 'til vacation time this year (How-ever) with due respect to Gouldings Tour article by Dan Lee, I would like to make mention of Valle Tours from Mexican Hat, Utah. We participated in their tour two years in a row.

Mrs. John Dietrick Akron, OH Dear Mrs. Dietrick, The omission of Canyon Country Scenic Tours (owned by Howard C. Valle) was certainly not intentional. Communications being what they are, we were unable to reach them for informational details before going on press. Also, considering the mail we have received asking for information about tours, it seems a number of our readers must have overlooked the Editor's note that was included in the issue. Here are the three touring companies licensed by the state and issued annual permits by the Navajo Nation: Goulding's Lodge, P.O. Box 1, Monument Valley, Utah 84536, (801) 727-3231; Golden Sands Tours, P.O. Box 396, Kayenta, AZ 86033, (602) 697-3618. Canyon Country Scenic Tours, P.O. Box 516, Mexican Hat, UT 84531, (801) 683-2226.

- The Editor Editor, On our return recently from our fourth visit to the Grand Canyon . . . we found your June edition awaiting us, and we are delighted with it. Please thank Jack Foster for "The Sound of Silence". It really strikes a chord as it says everything I feel about the Can-yon, but haven't been able to find words to express . . .

Lisa Compton-Jones Capetown, South Africa Editor, I must write and express my congratulations on your enlightening and descriptive article on the Arizona Skies in the June edition . . . For a short time the pressures of today were forgotten as my memory returned to a few short days I spent in the desert of Arizona . . . I could feel the warm rain as it fell on my arms and face. I could smell the good, pungent fragrance of the desert earth. I remember the smiling faces of people willing and proud to introduce a stranger in their land to the beauties and calm of the desert. . . . Thank you for letting me linger in the past for this short while. . . .

David Wilkinson Cheshire, England Editor, If you think Arizona Highways isn't enjoyed by my father, Leon Bradford, of Edgewood, Illinois, how about this: One day last summer, when I called them, his wife, Maude, said "Sorry, Dad isn't here to talk to you. We sorta had an argument and he went outside." Maude, what could you two be arguing about? "Well, the Arizona Highways just came so we got into it over who was going to look at it first!"

Betty L. Jenney Prescott Valley, AZ Editor, May I ask just one simple little question Whose idea was it to dub in that moon on the photograph in the double spread on pages 30-31 of the June issue? It's rather high for moonrise, and I do not think that even the MMT (Multi-Mirror Telescope) at Mt. HopThanks could produce such earthly clouds surrounding the moon where there is no atmosphere.

Dear John, We double-checked with photographer David Muench. The picture was taken just as you see it. The sun had just set in the west, which gives the rock it's warm glow, and the moon came up in the east at the same time. The clouds, too, are real. The entire scene was shot with a 500mm lens on a 4x5 Linhof camera.

- The Editor Editor: I received a gift subscription to your magazine last year. I just wanted to write and express my thanks for the hours of pleasant reading and armchair touring. My family loves the history, art and scenic beauty of your state. We are constantly amazed at the way photographer Jerry Jacka blends the modern with the ancient arts. Please give him and the entire staff our sincere thanks.

Mark von Ehrenkrook Yokohama, Japan

35mm COLOR SLIDES

This issue: 35mm slides in 2" mounts, 1 to 15 slides, 40 each, 16 to 49 slides, 35 each, 50 or more, 3 for $1.00. Allow six weeks for delivery. Address: Slide Department, Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona 85009.

An 800 mm lens, careful stalking and soft early morning light were the basic ingredients which made this a memorable study of the North American mountain goat. Willis Peterson (Back cover) A hidden sanctuary in the midst of the White Mountains welcomes the arrival of the new fall season and beckons the visitor to investigate and take a closer look. Pete Kresan