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When I was a kid, I guess I wasn't any different than other kids of that day and age. I was enamored by cowboys. Oh, sure, there were plenty of "hands" that worked for Dad, but you know how it is, the ones from "across the fence" are always more glamorous. And, when I think back on it, I do believe that all of the cowboys of that period were more glamorous than any of the ones nowadays.

One of the earliest of these fellows that I can remember was a neighbor boy by the name of Joe Janeck, who lived with his parents on their homestead on Deer Mountain across the river from our place.

Joe was born in Czechoslovakia but had come here at an early age. I think Joe's father worked in the mines near Walsenburg for a while before arriving here. But Joe was young enough when the family settled on the homestead that he literally grew up cowboying.

Joe helped Dad frequently, but only as a cow hand. He never fed cattle here or worked on the hay crew (that I remember). When I was little, my impression of Joe was that he was strictly a cowboy, although after I grew up, I learned that he had done other work, such as driving teams on road construction.

But Joe looked exactly like what a cowboy was "supposed" to look like - tall, dark and slim. He also dressed the part and sang "The Strawberry Roan." That is the earliest I can remember hearing that song.

I think because he was rather shy as a young man, Joe didn't marry a local girl, or maybe it was that he thought a partner of his own nationality would be more compatible (and there weren't any here in our neighborhood). Anyway, Joe ordered himself a "mail order" bride. Blanch was of a Czech background, although I don't think she was born in the old country. She came here from Oklahoma, and I think she probably was born in that state, where she was a practicing and certified "practical nurse."

All of the community was excited about the romance that ensued (by correspondence). And Joe kept all advised as to the progress he was making. The principal requirement that Joe had stipulated was that the lady must be able to bake a cherry pie as good as his mother's before she could become his bride. And she assured him that she could definitely do that. Well, a tentative wedding date was set, contingent on Joe's approval of the cherry pie. The entire community turned out for Blanch's welcoming party at Mad Creek Village.

At the party, Blanch presented Joe with the required cherry pie, and Joe stated that it was acceptable. And so they were married and raised two fine children, Betty and Melvoy.

Actually, mail order brides weren't all that uncommon in those days. In a range country, like Routt County was at that time, there were a lot more fellows than there were ladies. Work on the range naturally attracted men from anywhere and everywhere, but women did not arrive in proportionate numbers. The same was true with gold mining (which had brought the first major wave of pioneers into this area).

Even when the country started filling with "nesters," the majority of those were bachelor homesteaders. The solution? Well, some of those homesteaders brought families with them, which meant schools were needed. And schools meant importing "school marms." A school district was lucky to keep a new school marm through one term before some cowboy or bachelor homesteader had swept her off her feet. But, the school marm supply was hardly sufficient to fill the demand. After all, that (at best) only brought in one a year in a district that could have as many as a couple dozen prospective suitors. So, why not just shop for a bride by mail?

Almost any bunkhouse or cow camp was sure to have paperback literature such as the Ranch Romance magazine lying around. And such publications always had ads, such as: "Join the Lonely Hearts Club." And they worked.

And how did a fellow bide his time when there were no girls to date, and the one with whom he was corresponding was taking her time deciding whether to plunge into the unknown wilderness?

I remember how in his single days, Joe used to ride horseback to our place to spend winter evenings playing cards. Some of the games they played were pitch and rummy. I think another was called "razzle-dazzle," and there undoubtedly were others that I've forgotten.

Years later, Joe told me that the coldest he had ever been was on one of those occasions when he had played cards at our house until nearly midnight, and then made that four-mile horseback ride home with the mercury at 40 degrees below zero. I don't know why he hadn't stayed all night at our place, for he'd certainly have been welcome. I suppose he figured he had to be home to milk the cows before daylight. Anyway, Joe told me that he had thought he and his horse would freeze to death before he made it home. Do you suppose there's anyone today who'd forsake their TV in favor of riding four miles to the neighbor's ranch to play "razzle-dazzle" all evening and then ride those four miles home at 40-below?