The school teacher of Hermit Lakes Here is some excerpts from her small book (Rio Grande Recollections) about her life at Hermit and educating the Masons, Browns and Bents. This book was sent to her friend and student Luella Mason Dunkelberger. In 1916, you could teach school if you passed Teachers Tests which meant tests in a series of subjects, issued by the Colorado State Superintendent of Schools. These were given under supervision of the local superintendent. A certificate or license to teach would then be issued: First, Second or Third, ac¬cording to the grade you made, except that, though a rating of 90% was attained as required for a First, you had to have had several months of teaching experience before you would be issued anything other than a Second Grade Certificate. Also, you were supposed to be eighteen years old for either grade, though this was sometimes tacitly ignored, as it was in my case. Personal family circumstances required that after graduating from high school, I get a job. So I took the State Tests and passed them with a grade of 91%. In those days, I had a lot of confidence in me and I was not at all surprised. At fifteen, I had thought I knew everything worth knowing, and at sixteen I was sure of it. At seventeen, I was less sure. There was a little summer school in our county at Hermit Lakes in need of a teacher. Since it was in a somewhat isolated region, it had not been too easy to find a teacher willing to accept and stay on the job. For instance, one of the Lake City young women who had taught part of a term at Hermit, warned me that it was too lonely for words and that Id just die if I went there. I was not perturbed, never having been really lonely in my life. My people had a ranch about eight miles north of Lake City, and as my mother could not conveniently move into town for the school term -- she did so just once to my knowledge -- I was boarded out in private homes and thus sent to school. The town was like a big family to me. There was scarcely a pantry in the place to which I did not feel free to go if I were hungry. For weeks before my departure to Hermit, I was advised that Hermit Lakes was the wildest, most uncivilized place anyone ever been; that my pupils would have to be rounded up, roped and tied like calves in order to get them into the school house; that I should have concentrated on teaching to rope rather than to dance. It was a beautiful early June morning when I started for Hermit, riding the dearest little mare, Firefly. I was accompanied by Grandpa Will Hunt who would lead my horse back to Lake City after I had met Bert Bent, who was coming half way with a team and buggy. I ran across a letter recently, dated April 1916. in which Mr. Bent said it would be a great convenience if I could so meet him. My clothing, aside from a few pieces and some toilet articles carried bag back of my saddle, had been sent by express two weeks before to Creede where it was picked up and taken to Hermit Anyway, we three started out together. After we had left the Lake Fork and were on the road leading on and up the Slumgullion, that massive earthslide that is responsible for beautiful Lake San Cristobal, I was in new territory. We were riding along, Grandpa and I, side by side, with Aunt J. close behind us, when we heard a sudden thud. Aunt Jen had fallen off her horse onto the edge of the road. I dont know which one of us reached her first though I think I did, but after it seemed she was not visibly badly hurt -- she said she had felt dizzy and had, apparently, blacked out for an instant -- Grandpa decided he must go back to town for Dr. Cummings. There was nothing for me to do but wait and be of as much comfort to Aunt J. as possible. When she remarked that she wished it had all happened nearer water, as she felt terribly thirsty, I immediately got my drinking cup -- one of those collapsible things that held just a cup and no more! -- and was off down over rocks and brush to the stream, which seems now to have been quite a distance, but at the same time no big deal, though I do remember thinking Id have to be extremely careful if I were to return with a full cup. However, with my usual luck -- I am convinced all the stars out at my birth were happily fortuitous -- I found an old tomato can. It was rusty but it was of decent size and it held water. I carried it with remarkable success, considering the terrain, to refresh Aunt Jen who seemed to have recovered her usual cheerful self, much to my relief, for truth to tell, I had been scared to pieces_ Eventually, the doctor arrived in his Model T Ford -- one of the first three in Lake City -- and almost at the same time Mr. Bent, who said he had felt sure I had been delayed, so he had just come on. Mrs. Woodruff got into the car, Grandpa got onto her horse and, leading mine, they were off to Lake City and I was in the buggy with Mr. Bent on the way to Hermit. An odd thing, perhaps, but I do not recall even a qualm of any kind at parting with anyone, not even my family at the ranch whom I had left the day before. Not even Grandpa, whom I loved dearly -- his stories of experiences in the Civil War had given me my foundation in that history! But, as I said, I was in new territory and entranced! Bert Bent was a most friendly and interesting person, and at once I discovered we had a common ground -- geology. Having been reared in a mining area and accustomed to miners talk all my life, and having at least a basic understand¬ing of minerals from textbook study, I was eager to listen. Bert Bent was familiar with Lake City country and its mines -- had lived there; his father was buried in the cemetery there; his first wife, a Lake City girl, Eva Morgan, and he, had prospected practically all the area through which we were passing. I have known men of many callings and I feel that miners are definitely a special and separate breed. Among no others does one find more zeal general enthusiasm. Hermit is about thirty-five miles from Lake City and in a buggy, even if drawn by two horses, as ours was, the trip takes hours, but I was startled when we came to a spot where we could look at the little valley, dotted with lakes, and Mr. Bent pointed it out as home. In a way it was a dreary scene. Aside from the blue of the lakes, it was a series of flats, dull and drab with patches of willows equally dull -- the leaves were out and some early flowers in bloom in Lake City! I think I must have become quiet -- had chattered animatedly much of the trip I am sure -¬for Mr. Bent said he was sure I must be tired and hungry; that we would soon be there; supper would be ready, etc., etc. Shortly, we were. A log cabin -- two large rooms I later discovered -- appeared midst the willow clumps with a smaller one next it, below the dam of a lake whose waters were no longer blue but the gray of early twilight. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of a long-legged teen-aged boy before he darted behind a willow cluster. Then there was another youngster and ANOTHER! 0, surely not! Surely -- I thought -- what Tony had said, could not be coming true! Before I could soar to the zenith or sink to nadir, a door opened and a woman with one of the sweetest faces I ever saw, and with a baby in her arms, came to meet and welcome me. Once inside, I was given a chair and a glass of water. Then five Bent children - - three boys and two girls -- lined up to inspect me -- the baby had been placed in a carriage at one side. I was accustomed to children (goodness knows!), having come from a large family and having often been a baby sitter, only we called it stayin with the kids! but I must have been somewhat disconcerted, and, for a minute, seemed unable to do anything to relieve the situation. I just sat and stared until one little girl sidled up to me and whispered, Weve got CAKE for supper! That did it! With an arm around her I went to the carriage and became engrossed with the baby, Dorothy Bent. There seemed always to be a baby in the Bent family and how clean and sweet they all were! One never hesitated to pick up one of Debby Bents babies -- if they were ever spoiled, they certainly did not smell that way! When I was able to look about and assess the room, I found it quite large and furnished as dining room-sitting room -- also bedroom with a pretty oak bed: mine, I was to learn. There was a long table that could seat eight or eighteen nicely. There were some straight wooden chairs but only three or four. Blocks cut from what must have been a huge aspen log, served for other seats at the table. I was given a chair but soon gave it up for one of the aspen stools. They were light and easily rolled about and they were not hard, though whether softened by time and/or use I know not. There was a big rocker which I at once guessed as Papas, a small couch and a lovely old reed organ. I loved it all. There was a comfortable assurance of contentment and good will permeating the whole. Evenings we would gather around the organ, which Mr. Bent played, and sing. After our meal, that evening, which was simple and delicious -- the rice pudding we had for dessert with the cake was something, and try as I have, I have never been able to make it as Debby Bent did. The dishes picked up and carried to the kitchen (the other room) to be done by the two older boys, Mrs. Bent picked up the baby and prepared to depart to the sleep-cabin next door, the rest of the family having melted away. She placed an extra blanket at the foot of my bed and expressed her wish that I sleep well, said Id be called in time to dress, etc., before breakfast. Then -- bless her! -- she leaned and kissed me. I sat for a time looking out the window at the moon-lit waters of the lake. I could not do without the stars and I would be desolate to some extent without a moon -- it does so much for things and people! I sat and realized that for the first time in my life I was away from home among people I had not always known! It was a queer feeling. Was I at my mature years going to be homesick? WELL! I thought, Ill just go to bed and sleep and worry about all this tomorrow! Tomorrow came and from then on I was too busy, too interested, too utterly fascinated and too happy for anything else. This is how I came to MY COUNTRY. It was a lovely summer here in this little valley among the Bents, Masons, and Browns, whose children made up my little school. How kind and understanding they all were! I dont think I can ever forget any of it but among notes kept at random -- I did not keep a regular diary -- I see that I had a difficult time doing up my hair. I had seldom worn it in any fashion other than tied with a ribbon, hanging down my back even through high school years, except when one of the girls did it up with pins atop my head. Mrs. Mason sensed my problem at once and suggested I let it hang, at least on Saturdays and Sunday. Bless her! These people were all engaged in a commercial fish business. They netted trout -- mainly Brook -- from the lakes, dressed and packed them in ice in special shipping crates and sent them by express from Creede to markets -- restaurants and cafes -- to Denver. Fish -- per se were rare in my life. In fact there had been practically none. There was little fishing done in the Lake Fork until I was half way through high school due to mine waste -- mill tailings -- being dumped into the stream. There were trout in small lakes about Lake City and in San Cristobal, but these were not easily available to us. In the fall -- October, usually -- my father and some of our neighbors would go deer hunting over on the Blue -- Blue Mesa country. The last day out they would fish and bring back sacks -- heavy cotton sacks known as Seamless -- of little trout -- Natives about eight inches long. Mother would fry ours brown and crisp, and we youngsters would eat them practically bones and all. I still like fish but none will ever taste better than those from The Blue! Still, how delicious those trout we had almost daily at Hermit. The larger fish were ours to eat as the markets at the time wanted smaller ones - three to the pound -- since they paid by the pound and one trout per order was served in restaurants and cafes. There was a spike-nail driven into a log just outside the door of the kitchen cabin of the Masons at Hermit. The fish was hung on this and Luella Mason with her pocket knife -- a most excellent utilitarian article with which she could, and did other carving, such as figurines from aspen wood -- would make three or four deft slashings and then strip off the skin. The fish would then be laid on a board where it was cut into sections of four or five pieces, depending on the size of the trout. These were dredged with cornmeal or a mixture of flour and corn¬meal, previously seasoned, and fried in bacon drippings, or often in butter made by this same Luella. Along with a big bowl of steamed, buttered rice, hot biscuits and honey, here was a meal. While on the subject, I must say that any left-over was never wasted, including fish. Mrs. Mason made an especially tasty salad with the meat taken from the bones and mixed with any left-over vegetable -¬peas, carrots, beans or the like, pickles -- and a dressing of thick cream and vinegar. Mm, Mm, good! Another interesting angle of the fish business was the netting. On Saturdays and some week day evenings, I accompanied Luella Mason -- the men being occupied with other tasks -- to the landing where the rowboat lay. Wed get in and dispose ourselves, Luella manning the oars, of course. My previous experiences on water in a rowboat had been most unpleasant, and in one instance so hair-raising that none of us involved ever told our parents of the episode, but I never felt the least uneasiness with Luella, though whitecaps covered the waters at times. Rowing out to the spot where the net was set -- floats bobbing -- we would lift the net (one and three-fourth inch mesh, the size for catching the three-to-the-pound the market required) and take the fish one at a time, dropping them into the boat. It was a thrilling sight, all those beautiful speckled brook-trout, it seemed half a boat full! We had to be careful not to step on them. The fish out, the next step was to tow the net to another spot (anchor-lifted) and reset it. Then back to the landing where some of the men met us and transported the fish by wheelbarrow, generally, to the dressing area. Sometimes Luella assisted with this process but I Away seemed to have business elsewhere and after an initial spectator-ship, I was convinced this part of the business was not so fascinating. I did watch the packing of the fish in chipped. ice in large wooden crates for shipment by express from Creede, thirty miles away. I think that at this time they sold for thirty-five cents per pound. In the beginning, the Hermit Lakers received twenty-five cents per pound. At the end of the marketing business, years later, the price was ninety-five cents. Before I end my dissertation on trout Ill answer a question Ive often been asked: Did you ever fish? Yes, I went with Mr. Mason a few times. He liked to fly-fish evenings. The first time I accompanied him he showed me how to cast and then put the pole in my hand. Almost at once -- strictly luck! -- I caught a big brook, weighing about three pounds. I drew it up to the boat where Mr. M. was ready to assist me. It was so beautiful, this fish, so full of the joy of life! I was excited at having caught it, but I said, 0, couldnt we let it go! and that sweet understanding man agreed, removed the hook and the fish slipped away. It was the only one I ever caught though I tried a few other times. In reference to my teaching duties which, after all, was the purpose of my being at Hermit -- all else fringe benefits! -- I must say that my experiences in that little school are priceless in my treasury of pleasant memories. I was so very young! Sometimes I wondered who was teaching whom! I was very earnest in my intentions and if I am to rake any real credit for my efforts that summer at Hermit and in other schools later, it lies in any ability I had to instill in my pupils a desire to learn -- a thirst for knowledge. Perhaps they already had this but I feel I had a talent for fostering it. Most of my pupils had known interrupted schooling -- had seldom been en¬rolled at the beginning of a regular term in a town or city school where they had attended and often they had to leave before it ended. But their education had not been neglected even in the winters they sometimes spent at Hermit. The parents saw to this. The first big snow sealed the family or families in for a long winter. There were many chores. Trails had to be broken to the barn to feed th stock, milk the cows, etc. Apropos the BARN — - I always think of it in capitals -- it was a large structure and fascinating to me as all barns are and have been since childhood, but this one held special significance because its shingled roof had known the handiwork of a boy visiting Hermit while on a tour of the West. He was to die while still a boy of eighteen, in the air over France in 1918: Quentin Roosevelt. Other chores were the ever-lasting wood-cutting, ice to be broken on Mason Creek (known as Carson Creek for years until Rube Fullington renamed it) for water for stock and household, etc., etc. No one was idle. During the long evenings, in addition to special lessons, there was much reading: classical literature, good magazines, etc., and much profitable discussion of same. The excellent diction of the youngsters impressed me at once. Considering todays modern schools with the beautiful buildings, unbelievable equipped class rooms, teachers trained for specific teaching, special education classes, etc., that little Hermit Lake school seems incredible! There is another angle and this, I think, the crux of the entire matter -- social relationship. Today there are no town kids and country kids, just KIDS. In my day there was, too often, a difference, a definite prejudice against country children. I was not aware of this at the time but I was one of the lucky ones. I lived in an area where no such caste system prevailed. Todays school buses carry students from one school to another for scholastic meetings, athletic confrontations, etc. There is healthy competition and most important is the socialization -- the learning to live with each other. I cannot say that I think schools like that at Hermit are best. I just say they were good. Debby Bents Recipe for Rice Pudding — as best I recall it Put into a large size, buttered baking dish (no use making a small amount as youll just wish for more) about two quarts of whole milk. Add a cup of rice. Put into a slow oven for four hours or so. Occasionally stir as a thick skin will form -- stir this into the pudding. After cooking almost to the end of the time, add no more than a half a cup of sugar and two teaspoons of vanilla and stir again. As I have indicated elsewhere, I have never been able to make this so that it tasted as good as Debbys, but its not bad. PS more to come later.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 01:16:20 +0000
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