February 2, AD 2011

The Return of Two Old Cowboys
Frank Allnutt

I’ve had to put my writing aside for a while, ‘cause things have been hectic around here.

There’s a story behind it, of course—a story that was interrupted almost 60 years ago. Now it appears the final chapter is being written.

I’ll pick up the story back on one of the saddest days of my life. I was 12 years old. It was in the month of September, 1952. Dad recently sold our ranch and the day had come to auction off our horses and cows—and everything else except a few pieces of furniture and our clothes.

Years before, Dad bought the ranch in fulfillment of a promise to me and my year-younger brother, Dan. Our ranch was located just north of Pikes Peak in the Colorado Rockies, at an altitude of 9200 feet. There were rolling hills, two small streams, a hay meadow and many acres of virgin forests—a variety of ancient pine and aspen.

Our small house had decades before received a coating of white stucco over the original logs. The house, along with the big, weathered white barn, corrals and other out buildings of a bygone era had all seen better days. A vintage Fordson Tractor from a couple of generations past came with the place. How many years it had sat unused in the shadow of the chicken coup was anybody’s guess. In my eye, time and weather had transformed the rusting relic into a work of art.

Dan and I first attended a one-room school house near the road-stop of Divide, about two miles from the ranch. We soon transferred to the school in the little town of Woodland Park at the top of Ute Pass in the mountains west of Colorado Springs. Each morning, we’d help Dad milk a couple of dozen cows and care for the calves, horses, rabbits and chickens. After a hearty breakfast, we’d walk out to the highway to catch the school bus for the five-mile ride into town. After school, we’d do our chores all over again before supper.

In our few years on the ranch, Dan and I not only began to live out our dreams of becoming cowboys; we experienced some things quite unexpected. We became attached to the land and everything on it. And we found a kind of freedom that even then only a few were blessed to experience. At the age of 10 I was driving our Jeep solo around the ranch and plowing with it—that is with the single-bottom plow trailing behind. A favorite pastime for Dan and me was to take off by ourselves with a shotgun and rifle to hunt rabbits.

But back to leaving the ranch.

After the auction, a neighboring rancher invited us to spend the night in an abandoned old cabin. We set-out early the next morning for our new home in Denver.

Over time Dan and I made the best of city living, though I can’t say we fully adjusted to it. Ranch life was in our blood to stay.

After high school, Dan spent three years on an aircraft carrier and I was a Navy parachute rigger at a land base here in the States.

I graduated from Denver University with a B.A. degree in Radio-TV-Film—thanks to music and athletic grants. I was a diver on DU’s swim team, competed in the NCAA Nationals, and was assistant swim coach in my senior year.

After college I was a publicist at the Walt Disney Studio in California, then Walt sent me to WED Enterprises, his planning and design firm for Disneyland and Walt Disney World, where I became public relations manager.

Then came marriage and consecration of my life to Jesus Christ.

After Walt’s death, I left the organization and founded a public relations agency, wrote and published Christian books, and produced Christian TV specials and videos.

In early 1981, I moved with my wife and three kids to Colorado, with the dream of settling down on a small ranch in the Rockies. But all of that was derailed by an unwanted divorce and bankruptcy.

Years later my daughter married into a ranching family that lived near the town of Salida, in the heart of the Rockies. When Dan and I retired we moved to the small town to be closer to my daughter and her growing family. I continued writing and, like Dan, rekindled my childhood interest in art.

Last year we helped my daughter and her family with the house they were building. And after they moved in during the first week of January, Dan and I moved into the old ranch house. And, by “old” I mean 130 years old. My bedroom was long ago a one-room school house in town. Oh, yeah—we call the place Double Cross Ranch, which stands for us two old Christian cowboys.

We’re within walking distance of my daughter’s new place, so we see a lot of her family.

Three generations living on the ranch. It’s a blessing not many experience these days.

Dan and Frank in the backyard of the old ranch house.

I’m pushing 71 now, and Dan is right behind me. He’s spent the last six summers on tractors in the hay fields. We help with branding and do whatever else our ageing bodies will let us do.

It’s taken almost 60 years, but these two old cowboys have finally returned to the life they love.

Dan and I have always been cowboys at heart...and Americans at heart. And making our new home on the old ranch is probably as close as we’ll ever get to the life and land we knew and loved in our childhood days.

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©Copyright AD2011 Frank Allnutt. All rights reserved. Content herein may be quoted, subject to the "fair use" doctrine of U.S. Copyright Law.

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