Emporia, Kansas - The December morning dawns unseasonably warm, but misty and damp with low-lying fog. Johnny and I grab some coffee, climb into my GMC, roll through the main drag of downtown Emporia, and head west out of town.
When people think of Kansas, it's usually flat land and wheat that come to mind. While that's not totally wrong, a unique and scenic part of Kansas is the Flint Hills, historically known as Blue Stem Hills. The Flint Hills is a region in eastern Kansas, extending south to north-central Oklahoma. This ecoregion is distinct because it has the most dense coverage of intact tall grass prairie in North America.
Rocks of the Flint Hills were laid down some 250 million years ago when much of the American Midwest was covered by shallow seas. The Flint Hills are composed of limestone and shale. Because of the rocky soil and outcroppings of limestone, this land was not tilled by homesteaders of the mid-19th century. The richer soils of the Great Plains are now devoted to crops. But instead of corn and wheat, cattle replaced the bison that once roamed the tall grass of the Flint Hills. Therefore, the Flint Hills remain the last expanse of intact tall grass prairie in the nation, and the best opportunity for its preservation.
This time of year, the Flint Hills remain brownish and somewhat drab. In spring, the dead grass is burned with controlled fires, serving dual purposes of keeping woody brush and trees from taking over, and enabling new growth of lush grass for grazing. This practice replicates the natural history of prairie fires, and practices of Native Americans who burned the grass by dragging piles of burning brush behind their ponies.
Once across the Flint Hills, the terrain is again flat, the fields alternating between corn stubbles and emerging winter wheat. The winter wheat has not yet reached the lush green stage, just a pale green, with the rows clearly visible.
We reach McPherson where I usually stop at a great coffee shop on the main drag. Today it is closed so we push on to Great Bend, named for its location along a bend of the Arkansas River. We stop at Dillon's Supermarket and their salad bar. It's a way of assuaging guilt for the sedentary life of riding, and the temptation to eat too much of the wrong stuff when traveling. A lunch of lettuce, spinach, and fruit is a nod to health.
Highway 56 roughly follows the Arkansas River and the route of the old Santa Fe Trail that stretched from Franklyn, and later Independence, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Accordingly, U.S. 56 bends southwest to Dodge City, the famous cow town and railhead from which western cattle were shipped to the east. Prior to its notoriety as a wild cow town, Dodge City was a major stop on the old Santa Fe Trail.
As a nod to history, we roll down Wyatt Earp Boulevard to its famous Front Street. We don't stop, but proceed southwest through small towns of Ensign, Montezuma, Copeland, Sublette, Satanta, and Moscow that all look more or less alike, dominated by grain elevators, with small business districts angling off to the side. The fog lifts, the clouds disappear, and the skies are blue once again - pleasant with temperature in the 60s.
This route follows the Cimarron Cutoff of the Santa Fe Trail. The main trail went west from Dodge City, along the Arkansas River to southeastern Colorado, then along a tributary of the Arkansas down to present day Trinidad, Colorado, and to New Mexico. Instead of west, then south, the Cimarron Cutoff heads southwest from the main trail, more directly to New Mexico. The Cimarron Cutoff cut miles off the main trail. However, lack of water and hostility of Native Americans served to discourage pioneers from using that shortcut.
We reach Hugoton, located in one the nation's major natural gas producing regions. From there, its west to Elkhart, the small town that bills itself as "the cornerstone of Kansas."
We cross into the Panhandle of Oklahoma and head west to Boise City, county seat of Cimarron County, westernmost of the three counties comprising the Oklahoma Panhandle. From Boise City, we could go south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands to Dalhart, Texas and US 54. But we opt for the somewhat longer route, straight west to Clayton, New Mexico.
It had been a long time since going through Clayton, regional economic center of New Mexico's high range cattle country. Besides, it would be a chance to visit Clayton's historic Eklund Hotel and partake of their great green chile stew - assuming it would be open.
We reach Clayton and, sure enough, the Eklund is open. Its comfortable dining room, tastefully decorated in territorial style, is closed. But they are still serving dinner in the barroom - good enough.
The friendly youthful waitress brings us our menus. I search for the green chile stew. I don't see it. I ask the waitress where it is on the menu. She informs me that they no longer have it.
What??? No longer serving green chile stew, their signature dish? I ask her why. She doesn't know. I should ask the manager. Maybe I'll send her a copy of this column instead.
After dinner I ask the waitress to point out the location of the bullet holes I have seen on prior visits. She leads us to the end of the bar and points them out.
Sure enough, there they are, two of them, on the ceiling. They are not the result of a blazing gun battle. They were put there by a cowboy celebrating the election of Warren G. Harding to the presidency of the United States.
Nobody was harmed by the incident - that is, at least not by the flying bullets.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
When people think of Kansas, it's usually flat land and wheat that come to mind. While that's not totally wrong, a unique and scenic part of Kansas is the Flint Hills, historically known as Blue Stem Hills. The Flint Hills is a region in eastern Kansas, extending south to north-central Oklahoma. This ecoregion is distinct because it has the most dense coverage of intact tall grass prairie in North America.
Rocks of the Flint Hills were laid down some 250 million years ago when much of the American Midwest was covered by shallow seas. The Flint Hills are composed of limestone and shale. Because of the rocky soil and outcroppings of limestone, this land was not tilled by homesteaders of the mid-19th century. The richer soils of the Great Plains are now devoted to crops. But instead of corn and wheat, cattle replaced the bison that once roamed the tall grass of the Flint Hills. Therefore, the Flint Hills remain the last expanse of intact tall grass prairie in the nation, and the best opportunity for its preservation.
This time of year, the Flint Hills remain brownish and somewhat drab. In spring, the dead grass is burned with controlled fires, serving dual purposes of keeping woody brush and trees from taking over, and enabling new growth of lush grass for grazing. This practice replicates the natural history of prairie fires, and practices of Native Americans who burned the grass by dragging piles of burning brush behind their ponies.
Once across the Flint Hills, the terrain is again flat, the fields alternating between corn stubbles and emerging winter wheat. The winter wheat has not yet reached the lush green stage, just a pale green, with the rows clearly visible.
We reach McPherson where I usually stop at a great coffee shop on the main drag. Today it is closed so we push on to Great Bend, named for its location along a bend of the Arkansas River. We stop at Dillon's Supermarket and their salad bar. It's a way of assuaging guilt for the sedentary life of riding, and the temptation to eat too much of the wrong stuff when traveling. A lunch of lettuce, spinach, and fruit is a nod to health.
Highway 56 roughly follows the Arkansas River and the route of the old Santa Fe Trail that stretched from Franklyn, and later Independence, Missouri, to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Accordingly, U.S. 56 bends southwest to Dodge City, the famous cow town and railhead from which western cattle were shipped to the east. Prior to its notoriety as a wild cow town, Dodge City was a major stop on the old Santa Fe Trail.
As a nod to history, we roll down Wyatt Earp Boulevard to its famous Front Street. We don't stop, but proceed southwest through small towns of Ensign, Montezuma, Copeland, Sublette, Satanta, and Moscow that all look more or less alike, dominated by grain elevators, with small business districts angling off to the side. The fog lifts, the clouds disappear, and the skies are blue once again - pleasant with temperature in the 60s.
This route follows the Cimarron Cutoff of the Santa Fe Trail. The main trail went west from Dodge City, along the Arkansas River to southeastern Colorado, then along a tributary of the Arkansas down to present day Trinidad, Colorado, and to New Mexico. Instead of west, then south, the Cimarron Cutoff heads southwest from the main trail, more directly to New Mexico. The Cimarron Cutoff cut miles off the main trail. However, lack of water and hostility of Native Americans served to discourage pioneers from using that shortcut.
We reach Hugoton, located in one the nation's major natural gas producing regions. From there, its west to Elkhart, the small town that bills itself as "the cornerstone of Kansas."
We cross into the Panhandle of Oklahoma and head west to Boise City, county seat of Cimarron County, westernmost of the three counties comprising the Oklahoma Panhandle. From Boise City, we could go south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands to Dalhart, Texas and US 54. But we opt for the somewhat longer route, straight west to Clayton, New Mexico.
It had been a long time since going through Clayton, regional economic center of New Mexico's high range cattle country. Besides, it would be a chance to visit Clayton's historic Eklund Hotel and partake of their great green chile stew - assuming it would be open.
We reach Clayton and, sure enough, the Eklund is open. Its comfortable dining room, tastefully decorated in territorial style, is closed. But they are still serving dinner in the barroom - good enough.
The friendly youthful waitress brings us our menus. I search for the green chile stew. I don't see it. I ask the waitress where it is on the menu. She informs me that they no longer have it.
What??? No longer serving green chile stew, their signature dish? I ask her why. She doesn't know. I should ask the manager. Maybe I'll send her a copy of this column instead.
After dinner I ask the waitress to point out the location of the bullet holes I have seen on prior visits. She leads us to the end of the bar and points them out.
Sure enough, there they are, two of them, on the ceiling. They are not the result of a blazing gun battle. They were put there by a cowboy celebrating the election of Warren G. Harding to the presidency of the United States.
Nobody was harmed by the incident - that is, at least not by the flying bullets.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
