Thursday, August 15, 2013

A Cache = A Story

Geocaching may be a little strange, but what hobby isn't?
Every time I go out, something happens that is remarkable.
Last week, in the mountains of Colorado, we (yes, the hub was along with camera in hand..."Do we have to walk all the way over there?" or "Are you sure you have the correct coordinates?" Yes, dear.) learned all sorts of interesting things.  A man tried and convicted of cannibalism, the meaning of slumgullion, things like that. Around here, I visit places nearby that I didn't know existed.
Two weeks ago I found out how much new construction is going on in less than a mile from my house.
Many urban caches are no bigger than a hide-a-key container or smaller.  This one is in "urban" Creede, and placed not so obviously!  I placed it there to show how big it is.
 I remembered my dad when I saw this on the fence.  He was an "Oliver" man, much to the dismay of the other farmers, and much to the delight of the local auctioneer.
 Here was our main hike.  We parked half a mile away and had to skirt around the fence line of some private property.  A pioneer woman was buried up there, all by herself.  She requested it because she knew her family would always keep property in that valley.  Her granddaughter still has the ranch.
 And Creede!  Love that place, in August.  Who else has a mountain at the end of Main Street?

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