Anytime we meet up with Cousin Scottie, it’s a good day. He is a walking family historian with a genealogical chart as an appendage. I asked him once if he would will me his brain – or at least the family history it contains. He has been our fearless leader on more than one occasion, leading us through the trails of stories and history.
The trip of 2012 was the first time I remember meeting any of my Wagoner cousins, though I had seen their folks several times. We met at Sapillo Creek, New Mexico. The plan was to meet there at the old site of the Brannin Ranch, explore the area, and then follow the route of the family exodus to Montana in 1895-96. Some of us had retraced that trail before.
After meeting, we all went to the Buckhorn Saloon in Pinos Altos for supper. We walked in the door and felt an immediate connection to the past. The dim lights, the long dark toned bar, the wall lined with bottles, the brick wall at the back of the room, the décor, and the wooden ceiling created an atmosphere characteristic of the old west era. Some of the family had already gathered. The young folks sat together and soon the cousins were well acquainted. We talked about our proposed route and got brushed up on some of the family history. Our food was wonderful, and the company was the same. It was open mic night and we got a rare treat. One of the cousins, only 13 years old, sang and played the guitar. His fingers danced across the strings and impressed everyone in the bar.
We all enjoyed staying on the same piece of property where the old Ranch once stood. Sapillo Creek still runs through the property. One of the apple trees planted by my Great Grandfather also stands as a testimony to time. The old tree is twisted and weathered. I wish there was a magic camera on the tree that would replay all the events that took place over 125 years. We would see the uncles all covered in mud when they scared the Sunday wagon drivers; we would get a glimpse of Indians coming off Apache Hill into the Brannin yard asking for something to eat; we would see children playing in the yard; we would hear Stanton talk of the neighboring rancher’s threats; we would see the shingle maker in action; we would hear the one lie Guadalupe told of her heritage. Instead we must rely on the oral and written history that has been passed on to us.
Our time in the area was much too short. One day, I hope to go back and stay longer to explore the area. Would you like to join me? I’ll meet you at the Buckhorn!
Beautifully told there is nothing like that feeling of walking in somewhere and getting that feeling of connection that you have been there or you belong to something greater. Buckhorn Looks like my kind of place love that door thanks for sharing
It was a fun place!