Having made “one last journey” to the American West from August 12 to 26, 2015, I am going to try and explain my inner feelings and background for loving the west.
It began when I was a boy growing up in lovely Germany Valley in Rabun County, Georgia, the county that forms the hinge of the northeast corner of Georgia. From a tot I was oriented toward the Great Outdoors.
Neal Justus, my father, loved to farm, plus hunt and fish. I learned of the outdoors by following him on hunts in field and woods. Mother, whose formal education included only the seventh grade, was a busy farmer’s wife rearing five boys and one daughter. She lost one daughter at birth, which caused her great grief. Mother read a variety of topics and was much interested in people, places and things. She loved flowers and took me for walks to explore for garnets and amethysts, and had me reading before entering the first grade.
I recall watching for dust rising on the road that indicated the monthly visit of the Bookmobile. Mother and I would get an armful of books to read each month. Seeking more, we went to the county library at Clayton and prowled looking for books we hadn’t read. When I asked about western stories the librarian said, “You’ve read most of them.” My favorite fiction author then was Zane Grey but I also loved early American history, detective, true adventure and exploration stories.
My own personal exploration of the United States from coast to coast began when I enlisted in the US Air Force in 1950. I immediately began to see America by train – from steam driven to diesel – by first riding a train to Texas for basic training at San Antonio and then Wichita Falls, Texas. The blazing sun of summer never hindered my interest in the west and the people I met in many places I went in the next 22 years. Besides Texas I served in Denver, Colorado for three great “Rocky Mountain High” years! There I read up on western history and explored a great part of the state while hunting, fishing and camping.
While serving in a recruiting detachment in old Fort Des Moines, Iowa for three years I enjoyed that “corn belt” region and fine people who lived there. Spring storms could be really bad. A tornado roared right over our house one evening just as we were scrambling down the steps into the basement. It bounced around the area, hitting one house but jumping over others.
As I did everywhere I delved into the history of the old fort and area. Ronald Reagan, one of the best presidents in my time, became a 2nd lieutenant in the 14th Cavalry Regiment on June 18, 1937, which left for the Mexican border in 1940. The WACs trained here in WW II, utilizing former cavalry stables for barracks.
Two great loves of my life lie far apart, the Blue Ridge Mountains of my youth, the “kinder mountains” a friend, Josephine Turney of Denver, Colorado, said after her visit to Georgia. Jo is gone now but to a more beautiful place but some of her offspring are cherished friends who still share by emails and Facebook. They love my mountains as I love theirs.
I made what I call my last visit to the American West with friends in August this year, camping at Wiggins Fork River north of Dubois, and later at the North Platte River below Seminoe Dam. While we had freezing temperatures at night and 90 degree temperatures by noon, I managed to go the course and get home in fair shape. I’m still working on a running narrative and many photos of the trip. Thus the Great American West still calls.
