By Jeff Sutherland
US Highway 160 east of Trinidad bisects a barren land of plateaus, juniper and dry buffalo grass as far as the eye can see. Yet this isolated stretch of highway attracts new residents to southern Colorado--an artist who speaks against the inhumanity of mankind; a family that moved from the bustling suburbs of Ithaca, New York, to this quiet, windswept stretch of prairie for a simpler life; and a Forest Service engine boss who knows as much about this land in his two and a half years living here as do those who have lived here all their lives.
East of Trinidad, the first sign of human life along US Highway 160 other than fence posts and power lines is Walt's Corner, a tin-roofed storefront located about 30 miles east of Trinidad at the junction of Colorado Highway 389. Parked in front is a 1953 Chevrolet Bel Aire in mint condition. A wood porch clings precariously to the front of the store. Its panels creak when I walk on them. There are two wood signs over the doors, both hand carved. One says, "Store." The other says, "Gallery."
Tony Bernal, the owner of Walt's Corner, stands behind the glass counter. He leans back on his heels and tucks his thumbs under the straps of his overalls. Laid out in front of him are three bronze sculptures and a knife carved out of a deer's antler.
"I don't think fame and money's where it's at," he says, "as long as you make a decent living."
One bronze depicts a beggar woman--her shoulders bent, one hand clutching a crooked staff, the other reaching out for whatever the viewer could offer.
In another, a Native American man stands beside his horse. His head is bent over in defeat, sis horse's back bent in weariness. Bernal calls this piece "The Vanquished Race."
"I almost called it 'The Empty Quiver' because it's pretty much the end of the line for him," Bernal says.
The third is one of Bernal's favorites, and one of the first pieces he had ever cast. It shows an African slave sitting on a wooden bench. He holds his forehead in his hands, and his face is contorted. A chain binds his ankle to the bench.
He called it "Man's Inhumanity to Man."
"I just had to do it, so I did," Bernal says. The sculpture became one of his most popular. He has sold dozens of castings.
He says that most of his inspiration comes from human suffering, the kind that doesn't leave his mind. Take, for example, the beggar woman. While Bernal was in Okinawa, he saw women like them all the time.
"There's not much you can do about a beggar except for give them a few bucks," he says. "It's my statement about that part of humanity."
Moving to the prairie has helped his creativity as well.
"My mind's a lot freer. I don't have to worry about traffic. You can see a cloud out there and say, "There's an Indian or buffalo.'"
Not having the worries of city life has let him develop ideas that stick in his head, he said.
And the worries of city life are far from this region of Southern Colorado. Walt's Corner is at least 30 miles in all directions from other towns. The closest towns are Trinidad and Kim.
Kim is a small enclave of houses, a bar, a school, and a church. The route there is a 30-mile stretch of roller coaster hills, arroyos and thinning groves of juniper.
Between Walt's Corner and Kim, are a number of abandoned buildings; every couple miles, an abandoned homestead. Some show their skeletons as their shingles flap in the wind. Others are nothing more than a few stones resembling walls.
The largest ruin is what Bernal referred to as the "Old Archuleta Store," located near the Mesa de Maya ranch, a tract of land covering a mesa that extended west for almost thirty miles along the Colorado/New Mexico border.
It stands on a hill like four monoliths--pillars that once supported windows. It was made of reddish-brown limestone, although two or three white bricks stood out.
Once beyond the arroyos and Kim, the land flattens out into rolling prairie. The effect is like always climbing a hill but never reaching the top. The curvature of the earth makes it seem as if the highway is on an eternal incline.
The first town beyond Kim is a prairie metropolis. Rising above the barren wheat fields are three grain silos, all of them as tall as small skyscrapers. This town is Pritchett, and on its main street stands a small cafecalled SheDazy. (SheDazy is a Sioux word meaning three sisters.)
Inside, I watch as Trudy Van Ostrand moves from table to table, carrying plates full of homemade hamburgers, fresh-cut fries and chicken fried steak.
However, only two years ago, she was bookkeeper for a grocery store in the bustling (compared to Pritchett) city of Ithaca, New York.
She and her husband Jim moved here in 2000 after Jim had bought this small storefront they now call the SheDazy Cafe during a trip to Colorado.
"It's just so much more relaxed," Van Ostrand said. "When we first opened, we were so ignorant. People wouldn't get the right meal and not say anything."
However, in New York, Van Ostrand says, the people were much pickier. For example, where they lived, they were required to use clear trash bags. That way, the trash men could inspect their garbage and remove items that could be recycled. Everything that was recyclable had to be recycled.
Here, there's none of that, Van Ostrand says. As a matter of fact, she doesn't even have to mow her lawn. In New York, she said she had to mow three times a week.
The Van Ostrands' moving to Pritchett has affected more than just their family. It has also affected the town.
After collecting my plate, she went to the far wall of the cafe and removed a wooden plaque. It held a Denver Post article about her and her husband restoring life to this small prairie town.
According to the article, when Jim and Trudy first moved here, the only business was one employee operating three grain elevators. Now, there's the SheDazy Café and a gift shop next door.
The café has also become the center of town life. It has even restored relationships. Van Ostrand said that when she first moved here, there were people who hadn't talked in almost 25 years. But when they started coming to the café, they started talking again. They had no choice because there was no place else in town to go.
Before I go, I make sure to order some of her chicken fried steak. She served me the best I've ever had. And the pile of mashed potatoes she put on the plate is excellent, too.
Just 20 or so miles beyond Pritchett is the last town of more than 100 residents. Springfield sits at the intersection of US-160 and US-285. The main street through town is US-285, a wide, four-lane concrete highway with convoys of trucks passing every few seconds.
In Springfield, I stop at the US Forest Service Ranger Station for the Comanche National Grassland. There I met Brian Striffler, the fire engine boss.
Brian tells me that he had moved to Springfield two and a half years ago from Ft. Collins, Colorado, to fight fires. However, from our conversation, I can see fire fighting was not his main passion. Southeastern Colorado is. We talk for almost half an hour over a glassed-in map on the counter. He points out all the major sites I should see--the hieroglyphs in Painted Canyon, the old Spanish mission near Pinon Canyon, and a site where I could see the endangered lesser prairie chickens.
After leaving Springfield, I realized this land is not as barren as it looks. The winter grass is dead, but the people were not. They burn with passion for life and this land.