Snow, Sure Enough--TRIP 3 (2012)

Today is the first day of our fourth week on the road. We woke up to 39 degrees in Hays, Kansas, with predictions of snow for Scotts Bluff where we head in two days.  "You won't need a coat on this trip," Andy had said when we left. "It's only October when we get home."
"Right!"
A few miles out of Hays, the winter clouds stretched across the land, deep grey from west to east, and wind whipped the trees.  All of a sudden we saw color--yellows and golds among the greens. But ironically in two days the thermometers will reach the 70's again, if the weathermen are correct.
More oil wells pumped away in this lonely country.
"It would be interesting to know the average age of people who live in these tiny Kansas towns," said Andy. We had just passed a large school that looked totally empty on a Friday. "The town is dying and with few younger children, they could have gone to a regional school system. That building seems abandoned."

The school, the pride of Nicodemus as the first school in the
county, closed in the 1960's when the population decreased.

Our first stop was Nicodemus, the only remaining all black town established at the end of Reconstruction and a National Historic Site that preserves the five remaining buildings: the St. Francis Hotel (1881), the African Methodist Episcopal Church (1885), the First Baptist Church (1907), the School District No. 1 building (1918) and the Township Hall (1939). All but one of the 11 residents who still live in Nicodemus trace their roots back to town founders. Current residents range in age from 50 to 83. Every summer for 130 years they celebrate heritage with the town's Emancipation Celebration in July.
Founded in 1877, Nicodemus was the first western town built by and for black settlers. It served as an economic and cultural hub for decades.  Formation evolved from Civil War tensions which extended to the frontier, so the Nicodemus Town Company--W.H.Smith, five black ministers and the white town developer W.R. Hill--sponsored the idea of an all-black settlement.

The St. Francis Hotel still stands;
it served as a hotel, school and
place of business since 1881.

About 300 settlers from Kentucky arrived in September of 1877.  The newcomers were so shaken by the spectacle of homes dug in the ground that 60 returned to the rail head in Ellis and some went back to Kentucky.  Those who stayed had to collect buffalo chips, sunflower stalks and twigs to keep warm and cook their food.
But by the late-1800's though Nicodemus prospered.
Education was so cherished that classes started almost immediately after settlement at the St. Francis Hotel and later at the new schoolhouse, built in 1918. It closed in the early 1960's.
Gradual decline occurred due to the Great Depression and the fact that the nearest railroad ran several miles away, four miles down the road west and a mile south. The death knell of Nicodemus was the decision to bypass the town on the rail line.
At its height in the 1880's before the disastrous railroad decision, Nicodemus boasted a commercial district that included general stores, a bank, a millinery shop, newspapers, a blacksmith, law and land offices, a literary society, and many social and fraternal organizations--all hallmarks of a successful community.
The Ranger told us that the wind blows 10 to 15 m.p.h. every day. "Something is wrong if it stays calm for more than a day," she said. "Summers are hot and the wind just blows the heat around; winters are bitter and blustery. It wasn't at all what the Nicodemus Town Company advertised in Kentucky and Tennessee. Their posters said nine months of summer!"
The cold rain started as we left the Visitor Center.  "I think there's even a little snow in this," said Andy, as we dashed for Little Red.  Specks of white on the hood told the story.  And, sure enough, the wind whipped.  It was miserable weather for us but probably good for the winter wheat.

"Is this a tourist trap or what?" asked Andy.
He was only partly correct!

We drove along Nebraska country roads toward Lexington, past fields of dried corn stalks and cut wheat. In some places cows wandered up and down the cut rows, feeding on what was left of the crop. In other spots the hay was bailed in huge rolls. Rain continued to splatter the windshield with occasional bursts of white freezing pellets. "It doesn't know what it wants to do," said Andy. "But after a REALLY cold day tomorrow, it's supposed to warm up by Monday."
In Kearny, Nebraska, we saw a sign for The Great Platte River Road Archway Monument. "Probably a tourist trap," said Andy, as he followed the signs along a twisting roadway.

Interpretive Guide Milt describes what
life was like in a Pawnee earthen house.

Sure enough. A lady in hoops and a bearded mountain man encouraged us to ride the elevated staircase into the roadway museum. Instead, we walked across the bridge to a Pawnee earth house. There, Interpretive Guide Milt told us about the dwelling of the Plains tribe. "Probably two extended families lived here," he said. "That means maybe 35 or 40 people possibly. They used the buffalo and other animals like deer and turkeys." He showed us a heat reflector made of deer hide. "Keeping this focused on the sun would have been the job of a younger boy," Milt said.

Buffalo still roam the Great Plains,
if only in statue form.

We read on the outdoor sign that 60 million buffalo roamed the Great Plains in the 1850's and 1860's. By 1887 there were 541 left. No wonder the Indian tribes of the Plains capitulated. Their entire way of life had been destroyed and left to rot.

Chief Andy warms himself by the Pawnee fire pit. 

Milt had taught a fourth grade class on a field trip earlier in the day. He had a toasty fire going with smoke venting up the central air shaft and displays of pottery and animal hide blankets. We didn't want to leave. Although sparse in furnishings, the earthen house provided a comfortable and spacious dwelling.  I'm not so sure about living with 35 people though.
By the time we left the earth lodge, the rain and snow had stopped, and temperatures warmed slightly. We headed on west toward Lexington.
"Where shall we have dinner tonight?" asked Andy, once we had check in at the motel. "Burger King? Subway? They actually have a winery in this town, but it's after 5 p.m., so it won't be open."
We cruised around town in Little Red, checking out the municipal park, the gas prices and available restaurants.
"Where's that winery?" asked Andy.
"Half a mile north on Route #21," I said, looking at the flier he had given me.
We headed north out of town.
Cars mobbed the parking lot at Mac's Creek Winery and Vineyard.
"It's our Harvest Festival," said the gentleman at the door. "Everyone's invited. Food, live music and five wine samples of your choice for $10.00 a person."

Far enough north today, we start to notice color
along the sides of the road.

Andy chose a two-person table near the band, a percussionist and a vocalist who played keyboard--young guys with a good sound. We dined on huge bratwurst with sauerkraut and barbecue sauce, tossed salad and baked beans.  Tickets "bought" us samples of Pinky's Cranberry, Fruit of the Vine, Manzanas Dulces, Brianna and Spring Mist--an ounce or two of each, and they were all good.
Cheryl and Sindy stopped at our table to visit.  "This is the end of Harvest Festival," explained Cheryl, "but Mac's Creek has a tasting party with hors d'oeuvres and live music every Friday night."
Obviously a popular activity, Harvest Festival in the wine cellar was packed with people in every room. And of the 19 wines on their sales list, seven were already sold out.
We left after our five samples, but with friends, an evening at Mac's Creek would be particularly pleasant.
"It's most locals," said Sindy as we left, "people from within 25 miles."
But the company, even none of whom we knew, was friendly and welcoming. Then again, that's what a little wine will do. And it made the 43-degree temperature that flashed on the bank sign by our motel just a little less frigid. Sure enough.