my father I had heard something about the people who had lived there,
so as I rode I looked for landmarks. I tried to find the pole that spanned
the Fremont River so people could
walk from the north side of the village to the south to attend school
and church. But the pole was not there.
the years after Blue Valley was deserted, the river channel grew wide
from flooding. By 1935 it would have taken many poles to span that crossing.
On the day of my ride, the only standing evidence of a community was
the old Abbott house on the north bank
of the Fremont.
1935, before its destruction by vandals, the walls of the house still
supported a roof. On stormy days, journeying cowpokes, sheepherders
and freighters often sought shelter within.
I had no desire to go inside; I was too afraid of ghosts. In fact my
fear caused me to spur the old mare into a trot, which in turn caused
me to realize how near to death she was. I let her resume her slow crawl.