Wes McKinley
Colorado State House, District 64
Protecting the Land by Wes McKinley
We followed, trying to keep up with the leggy grey gelding as he trotted through the dry creek bed and on down to the small seep where a few scraggly willows shaded a hardy family of bull frogs. Rounding the seep, the valley of sage brush and summer-draped grass spread open before our small party of hard-riding horsemen. The leader, J.W. Moses, gave a tug on the rein, a call for the grey horse to come to a stop. We lined up six across; I watched the five sets of eyes as they swept from the canyon on our left, to the break in the hills that stretched before us, and onto the beloved red rocks on the right.
“Over to the left, those mounds of white sandstone looking rocky and clustered together, is formed from a deposit of growing plants that once lived in the sea. When the sea water receded, they absorbed the mineral material in the water and became petrified wood,” I said.
We rode on over. I gave them an abbreviated science lecture of how this area was all once part of a vast sea. Later I would show them a large flat area where you could see how the water had left its ripple-action on the sea bed and has now hardened into rock.
Riding on, five horsemen and one good mule man, Tuck. (Tuck preferred to ride Miriam, the mule). We continued up a narrow steep walled canyon to a small oasis. At a few hard-to-find places in the dry canyons of the Comanche National Grasslands, there are natural springs that produce a small trickle of good-drinking water. We rode up to the tank to allow our horses a well-deserved drink. I pointed out the many abandoned water animals that survive in the tiny pockets of water that dotted the immediate area. The small pool of water I had pointed out was no bigger than Shiloh’s hat.
“That little pool is a complete world to those water insects that live there. This small pool of water ensures their life. The insects in there now, their grandma and grandpa, and their children for many generations depend upon this small world for their existence. If one of us were to piss in there, their world, all of their life, would cease to exist,” I said.
The horsemen, now demounted, all lied down and carefully peered into the water. They seemed to understand how fragile this environment is. Cameron walked some distance away and carefully peed on a rock.
Mounted up, we rode to a rugged rock formation. Our forceful steeds picked their way thru the jumble of rocks as I told a story about how a powerful tribal chieftain had died here, and this land is where the different gods of the universe are. The gods of water and wellness wanted him to come out and help them, and this area is where they had their fight. Jackson, a little older and with a little more wisdom, looked out at me from beneath the wide brim of his hat. Having their attention I told about the effect of the wind, water and earthquakes and how this was a result of the power of the different elements of our world.
We rode up to a tall column of rock where wind had carved dinosaur heads out on top of them. On our way to the night camp, my grandsons shook out the bed rolls and set up the camp stove. I sat on a comfortable piece of rock and reflected on the peace. My grandfather, father and I had ridden the Comanche National Grasslands, sometimes with cattle, and sometimes just for the peace and pleasure of experiencing our unspoiled environment. How greatly privileged I felt to share this with my own grandchildren. Over the next week, I will show them marks made on the canyon wall by people over 2000 years ago. Native Americans build the ground, and settlers built a cemetery. I had much to teach them.
My soul darkened with the thought of what is to happen in the future here. Will the government officials that take the oath to protect our right to private property come and take our home? Looking at the busy crew-Jackson, Shiloh, Tucker, Cameron, the Trevino’s, all brothers and their leader, Mases, I strengthened in my resolve to protect our heritage, our culture, and our land.
