Soapweed
Well-known member
Mrs. Bowring died on January 8, 1985, one day shy of her 93rd birthday. She willed the ranch to the Nebraska Game and Parks Foundation, which was another way for her to remain in control. This way the Bowring name will live on in immortality, as the ranch will always be referred to as the Arthur Bowring Sandhills Ranch State Historical Park.
In the spring of 1985, there was a sale of surplus Bowring Ranch equipment that would no longer be needed by the Game and Parks personnel. It was a nice day in April, and the whole neighborhood was in attendance. One of the featured items was the ranch pickup, a 1980 Ford F150 four-wheel-drive outfit. It only had 42,000 miles on the speedometer, but they were pretty rough miles as the pickup had hardly ever been on pavement. The auctioneer was taking bids, and I made the last one, purchasing the truck for $1800. There was maybe a little more wrong with the pickup than I had first assumed, and the frame had even been broke and welded a couple times (this was a weakness in all of the 1980 model Ford trucks.) Another of the pertinent problems was the fact that there was very little oil pressure. Soon after I had acquired the vehicle, I took it to Cody Motor Company at Cody, Nebraska. I told Bob Schneider, proprietor, of the many problems that needed to be fixed. As an afterthought I said, "If you happen to have a radio that would fit in this pickup, I'd like to have you install it, also." Bob instantly had a great big grin and replied, "As a matter of fact, I have on hand the very same brand new radio that Mrs. Bowring had me take out of this pickup when she bought it brand new." The radio fit perfectly, and made my ranching more enjoyable. Mrs. Bowring just didn't want her help to enjoy life any more than absolutely necessary.
In retrospect, Mrs. Bowring deserves a lot of credit. She was a legend in her time, and still does an admirable job of running the ranch from her grave.
Joy Fairhead was my grandmother's brother. He was born in 1892. Arthur Bowring was quite a bit older, having been born on April 20th, 1873 in Dow City, Iowa. Joy's parents, G.O. and Julia Fairhead, and their family were living three and a half miles east of Merriman, between the highway and the railroad track. Usually Joy and his siblings would take the team and buggy into Merriman each day to attend school. On one particular day, the parents planned to use the team and buggy to travel. Their plan was to pick up the younger children in Merriman late in the day to take them home, but twelve-year-old Joy was expected to walk the three and a half miles home to do chores, so that would be done when the rest of the family arrived. Joy walked down along the railroad track right after a train had gone through.
As occasionally happens, the train had a hot bearing or something and set a couple fires along the tracks. The adjoining meadow belonged to Arthur Bowring. Joy didn't have anything to fight the fires with, but he did have a big brand new black hat that his father had just purchased and given to him. Joy hated very badly to wreck his new hat, but he had no other choice. He fanned out the flames and prevented a much worse disaster. One of the two fires came within about twenty feet of a big eight-ton haystack, but Joy was in the right place at the right time and saved the stack. He walked the rest of the way home with mixed emotions. He was proud to have put out the fires, but he was also fearful of telling his father about the ruined hat.
When G.O. Fairhead heard of the happenings, he was proud of his son. He was also quick to forgive him for the charred and unusable hat. He said, "I'll bet when Mr. Bowring hears of you saving his haystack, he will buy you a new hat."
A few days later Joy saw Arthur Bowring on the streets of Merriman. He timidly walked up to the man and said, "Mr. Bowring, did you see where the train set two fires in your hay meadow?" Mr. Bowring acknowledged that he did. Joy continued, "And did you see where one of those fires came very close to your haystack?" Again this was confirmed. Joy courageously then took the bull by the horns and said, "Mr. Bowring, I put out those fires as I walked home from school. The only thing I had to fight fire with was my brand new hat that my father had just given me. He thought maybe you would buy me a new hat since I saved your haystack." Even though seventy years had gone by since the incident, my Uncle Joy was still disgusted. He said, "Mr. Bowring reared back, glared, and said, "Well, when I start buying new hats for the neighbor kids…..that will be the day." "
Arthur Bowring's first wife was Mabel Holbrook, who happened to be Joy Fairhead's favorite teacher of all his school years. Probably if the truth were known, Joy may have even had a slight crush on Miss Holbrook. The young Mrs. Bowring was heavy with child, and died during childbirth. Arthur Bowring was at the time about twelve miles away, putting up hay at their east ranch. He was staying overnight at the hay camp, and Joy Fairhead figured he should have instead been with his wife during her critical time. Joy was still displeased with Arthur Bowring when he told me of the incident in around 1980.
During the school tem of 1961 – 1962, I was in the fourth grade. Most of my grade school years were spent in the Merriman town school, but to keep our District 75 as a country district, with lower taxes, country school needed to be held at least every five years. Five years had elapsed, so this would be the year. The school building was on the far side of the district, and not convenient to where kids were available. My dad and Ronald Snyder obtained a small trailer house from Royal McGaughey. At that time Royal and his wife, Belva, lived on the Niobrara River where Bob and Nancy Simmons now live. The trailer house had been for Belva's mother to live in, but she no longer lived there. The trailer would become our country school for the next year, and there was a bedroom at the back where the teacher could stay during the week.
The teacher for that term was Mrs. Charles Nelson. She and her husband had a farm about five miles east of Gordon, Nebraska. Students for the year were: Linda Goodwin, sixth grade; Vonda Goodwin and I, fourth grade; and Gerry Goodwin and my sister, Sandra Moreland, were in the first grade. The Goodwin girls lived with their parents and younger sisters five miles to the west on the Bowring Ranch, where their dad, Gerald, was foreman. Usually Gerald or their mother, Inez, would drive the girls over for school, and one of them would come again in the afternoon to pick up the students.
Gerald had a hired hand named Ray, from Missouri, who helped on the ranch. Ray was a pleasant chap, and occasionally he had the duty of chauffeuring the girls to school. One Monday morning Ray didn't show up for breakfast at the Goodwin house. Gerald thought this to be rather odd since Ray's car was still in its usually spot in front of the bunkhouse. Gerald knocked on the bunkhouse door but there was no answer. He opened the door and went in. A note was on the table which declared that Ray was hitchhiking to the highway to leave the area. The note went on to instruct Gerald to call Ray's sister in Missouri to come get his car and clothes. All of this seemed very strange, so Gerald looked around outside. There had been a skiff of snow which allowed Ray's tracks to be seen. Gerald followed the tracks as they proceeded through a sandy gate by the barn and up over a small hill where there was sort of a junk pile in a gully. There appeared to be freshly dug dirt, and right away it became apparent that Ray had dug a hole in the side of a sand bank and crawled in. He had then attempted to cave off the dirt so he would be smothered. Gerald dug frantically with his hands to allow air into the cave, before going back to the house to phone for additional help.
Clyde Weber, Cherry County Deputy Sheriff from Merriman arrived on the scene, as did my dad, Bob Moreland, and Clyde's son, Bruce Weber, from a nearby ranch. My dad said that besides trying to smother himself with lack of air, Ray had also taken in a small propane bottle which was opened up to add gas to the situation. The men dug enough to get Ray out of his suicide chamber. By then Ray was having second thoughts about doing himself in, and seemed happy enough to inhale some good fresh Sandhills air. Looking back on the preceding week, Ray had acted rather strange. Goodwins had invited him to go along with them to a movie, but he had declined. This was the night he had done a lot of digging to form the cave. He had also gone to town and purchased a black scarf. At breakfast the next morning, Inez had complimented him on his new black neck scarf. Ray had kind of grinned and said he really liked it, too, and was going to wear it until it rotted off of his neck.
Ray got his life straightened around and moved back to Missouri, where he became a barber. For many years thereafter, Goodwins received Christmas cards from Ray. He never failed to thank them for saving his life.
Back before I was old enough to ride to the brandings, there was an incident that happened at Bowring's Bar Ninety-Nine branding one spring. A young cowboy was working for the Snyder Ranch. He was a good hand but a little on the wild side. Back in those days of the early 1950's horse trailers were not in vogue because they really hadn't been invented yet. The ranch hands from the Snyder Ranch had ridden across country the eight miles to get to the Bowring branding.
Everyone takes turns with the different jobs at a branding, from being a "wrestler" holding down the calves, to applying the branding iron, to vaccinating, castrating, ear marking, or anything else, to the most prestigious and fun task of roping the calves to drag them to the fire from your horse. Normal procedure in this area is to heel the calves, preferably by both hind legs together, to drag them the short distance to the working area.
This wild young cowboy from the Snyder Ranch was necking the calves instead of catching them by the heels. He was laughingly warned a couple times that if he continued to do that, someone was going to cut his rope. Finally, the man doing the castrating emphatically told him, "You do that one more time, and I'm going to cut your rope." The one more time happened, and sure enough, the fellow doing the castrating leaned over and slashed through the rope. It was a forty foot lariat, and only about a foot and a half was cut off right by the hondo, but the wild young cowboy got mad and rode off to town. He didn't even choose to stay for dinner. He bought a brand new 40 foot lariat at Lessert Hardware in Merriman, and was back at the Snyder Ranch before dark. That short piece of rope hung on a fence post at the Bar Ninety-Nine branding corral for quite a few more years, and was always a source for historical conversation.
Mrs. Bowring had three sons from a previous marriage. The boys' last name was Forester. Don and Mildred had a son, Bill, who accompanied them to the ranch in the spring of 1965 when Don came to take over management of the operation. Don was electrocuted in August of 1965 while attempting to get a tall beaverslide stacker under a power line. Bill and his dad got along fine and were both taking active parts in working on the ranch, but after Don's death, Bill and his grandmother didn't hit it off too well. My dad was looking for a new hired hand, so Bill came to work on our ranch. Bill was a few years older than me, but we had a lot of enjoyable times working together. During the infamous Blizzard of 1966, Bill was on hand to help us try to save baby calves. I remember my dad driving a 1957 International crawler pulling a 12' x 18' haysled with a layer of hay on it. Bill and I rode along on the hay, and our job was to pick up calves laying in snow banks, and then hold them on until we got back to the house. All of these calves were hauled down into the basement of our house, where they got warmed up and most of them recovered. We just had a little old 12 inch black and white television in those days, but Bill and I would watch TV after supper. Bill taught me to play Chess. Some of the shows I remember watching then were F Troop, Andy Griffith, and Gomer Pyle, USMC. I also recall Bill and I sitting at the supper table watching Nancy Sinatra sing, "These Boots Are Made For Walking." I think we both fell instantly in love with that pretty girl. Bill was a good friend, and he now lives in Oregon.
After the Bowring Ranch was turned over to the Nebraska Game and Parks Foundation, it became a nice place to entertain company. The annual Sod House Sunday, the last Sunday in June, has become a favorite place for friends and neighbors to gather to have fun team penning and taking part in other contests such as post hole digging, nail pounding, three-legged races and the like. Occasionally a wedding is even held on the patio of Mrs. Bowring's big white house.
My sister and her husband, Nancy and Shawn Vineyard were married at this location on July 5th,, 1991. It was a lovely summer evening, and there was a wedding dance later that night at the open air dance hall by the rodeo grounds on the west side of Merriman. I supplied a horse and buggy for the bride and her attendants to ride to the archway leading to the patio. Amy Boyce sang some lovely songs, and her mother, Carolyn Boyce, accompanied her on an electric piano. As Amy was singing one song, a thud was heard from just behind her. A big bull snake had fallen out of a nearby cottonwood tree right at Amy's feet. Amy never missed a beat, and had complete control all the way through the song. I think the snake beat a hasty retreat out of the populated area. My mother is deathly afraid of snakes, but was sitting where she didn't see the happenings. As my sister later commented, had our mother been sitting closer it could have been a wedding and a funeral all at the same time, at the same location.
My sons don't often attend Sod House Sunday, but one year I talked both of them into entering the team penning contest with me. Our expectations weren't real high, but darned if we didn't win first place, getting beautiful belt buckles as well as a little extra jingle in our jeans. The following year they weren't quite as hard to convince that we should go again and try to defend our title. Alas, we didn't win the penning, but my youngest son came away with an even better prize. This was the time and place that he met a beautiful young lady from Idaho, who later became his bride and the mother of their cute little blonde-haired son.
The Bowring Bar Ninety-Nine Ranch has been established since the 1880's. It has a very prominent position in Merriman area history, and is probably the longest running ranch in this immediate part of Cherry County, Nebraska. Ranch superintendent, Diane Burress, and her helpers are doing a superb job in keeping the Arthur Bowring Sandhills Ranch and State Historical Park a living memorial to the Bowrings and other pioneers that paved the way.
In the spring of 1985, there was a sale of surplus Bowring Ranch equipment that would no longer be needed by the Game and Parks personnel. It was a nice day in April, and the whole neighborhood was in attendance. One of the featured items was the ranch pickup, a 1980 Ford F150 four-wheel-drive outfit. It only had 42,000 miles on the speedometer, but they were pretty rough miles as the pickup had hardly ever been on pavement. The auctioneer was taking bids, and I made the last one, purchasing the truck for $1800. There was maybe a little more wrong with the pickup than I had first assumed, and the frame had even been broke and welded a couple times (this was a weakness in all of the 1980 model Ford trucks.) Another of the pertinent problems was the fact that there was very little oil pressure. Soon after I had acquired the vehicle, I took it to Cody Motor Company at Cody, Nebraska. I told Bob Schneider, proprietor, of the many problems that needed to be fixed. As an afterthought I said, "If you happen to have a radio that would fit in this pickup, I'd like to have you install it, also." Bob instantly had a great big grin and replied, "As a matter of fact, I have on hand the very same brand new radio that Mrs. Bowring had me take out of this pickup when she bought it brand new." The radio fit perfectly, and made my ranching more enjoyable. Mrs. Bowring just didn't want her help to enjoy life any more than absolutely necessary.
In retrospect, Mrs. Bowring deserves a lot of credit. She was a legend in her time, and still does an admirable job of running the ranch from her grave.
Joy Fairhead was my grandmother's brother. He was born in 1892. Arthur Bowring was quite a bit older, having been born on April 20th, 1873 in Dow City, Iowa. Joy's parents, G.O. and Julia Fairhead, and their family were living three and a half miles east of Merriman, between the highway and the railroad track. Usually Joy and his siblings would take the team and buggy into Merriman each day to attend school. On one particular day, the parents planned to use the team and buggy to travel. Their plan was to pick up the younger children in Merriman late in the day to take them home, but twelve-year-old Joy was expected to walk the three and a half miles home to do chores, so that would be done when the rest of the family arrived. Joy walked down along the railroad track right after a train had gone through.
As occasionally happens, the train had a hot bearing or something and set a couple fires along the tracks. The adjoining meadow belonged to Arthur Bowring. Joy didn't have anything to fight the fires with, but he did have a big brand new black hat that his father had just purchased and given to him. Joy hated very badly to wreck his new hat, but he had no other choice. He fanned out the flames and prevented a much worse disaster. One of the two fires came within about twenty feet of a big eight-ton haystack, but Joy was in the right place at the right time and saved the stack. He walked the rest of the way home with mixed emotions. He was proud to have put out the fires, but he was also fearful of telling his father about the ruined hat.
When G.O. Fairhead heard of the happenings, he was proud of his son. He was also quick to forgive him for the charred and unusable hat. He said, "I'll bet when Mr. Bowring hears of you saving his haystack, he will buy you a new hat."
A few days later Joy saw Arthur Bowring on the streets of Merriman. He timidly walked up to the man and said, "Mr. Bowring, did you see where the train set two fires in your hay meadow?" Mr. Bowring acknowledged that he did. Joy continued, "And did you see where one of those fires came very close to your haystack?" Again this was confirmed. Joy courageously then took the bull by the horns and said, "Mr. Bowring, I put out those fires as I walked home from school. The only thing I had to fight fire with was my brand new hat that my father had just given me. He thought maybe you would buy me a new hat since I saved your haystack." Even though seventy years had gone by since the incident, my Uncle Joy was still disgusted. He said, "Mr. Bowring reared back, glared, and said, "Well, when I start buying new hats for the neighbor kids…..that will be the day." "
Arthur Bowring's first wife was Mabel Holbrook, who happened to be Joy Fairhead's favorite teacher of all his school years. Probably if the truth were known, Joy may have even had a slight crush on Miss Holbrook. The young Mrs. Bowring was heavy with child, and died during childbirth. Arthur Bowring was at the time about twelve miles away, putting up hay at their east ranch. He was staying overnight at the hay camp, and Joy Fairhead figured he should have instead been with his wife during her critical time. Joy was still displeased with Arthur Bowring when he told me of the incident in around 1980.
During the school tem of 1961 – 1962, I was in the fourth grade. Most of my grade school years were spent in the Merriman town school, but to keep our District 75 as a country district, with lower taxes, country school needed to be held at least every five years. Five years had elapsed, so this would be the year. The school building was on the far side of the district, and not convenient to where kids were available. My dad and Ronald Snyder obtained a small trailer house from Royal McGaughey. At that time Royal and his wife, Belva, lived on the Niobrara River where Bob and Nancy Simmons now live. The trailer house had been for Belva's mother to live in, but she no longer lived there. The trailer would become our country school for the next year, and there was a bedroom at the back where the teacher could stay during the week.
The teacher for that term was Mrs. Charles Nelson. She and her husband had a farm about five miles east of Gordon, Nebraska. Students for the year were: Linda Goodwin, sixth grade; Vonda Goodwin and I, fourth grade; and Gerry Goodwin and my sister, Sandra Moreland, were in the first grade. The Goodwin girls lived with their parents and younger sisters five miles to the west on the Bowring Ranch, where their dad, Gerald, was foreman. Usually Gerald or their mother, Inez, would drive the girls over for school, and one of them would come again in the afternoon to pick up the students.
Gerald had a hired hand named Ray, from Missouri, who helped on the ranch. Ray was a pleasant chap, and occasionally he had the duty of chauffeuring the girls to school. One Monday morning Ray didn't show up for breakfast at the Goodwin house. Gerald thought this to be rather odd since Ray's car was still in its usually spot in front of the bunkhouse. Gerald knocked on the bunkhouse door but there was no answer. He opened the door and went in. A note was on the table which declared that Ray was hitchhiking to the highway to leave the area. The note went on to instruct Gerald to call Ray's sister in Missouri to come get his car and clothes. All of this seemed very strange, so Gerald looked around outside. There had been a skiff of snow which allowed Ray's tracks to be seen. Gerald followed the tracks as they proceeded through a sandy gate by the barn and up over a small hill where there was sort of a junk pile in a gully. There appeared to be freshly dug dirt, and right away it became apparent that Ray had dug a hole in the side of a sand bank and crawled in. He had then attempted to cave off the dirt so he would be smothered. Gerald dug frantically with his hands to allow air into the cave, before going back to the house to phone for additional help.
Clyde Weber, Cherry County Deputy Sheriff from Merriman arrived on the scene, as did my dad, Bob Moreland, and Clyde's son, Bruce Weber, from a nearby ranch. My dad said that besides trying to smother himself with lack of air, Ray had also taken in a small propane bottle which was opened up to add gas to the situation. The men dug enough to get Ray out of his suicide chamber. By then Ray was having second thoughts about doing himself in, and seemed happy enough to inhale some good fresh Sandhills air. Looking back on the preceding week, Ray had acted rather strange. Goodwins had invited him to go along with them to a movie, but he had declined. This was the night he had done a lot of digging to form the cave. He had also gone to town and purchased a black scarf. At breakfast the next morning, Inez had complimented him on his new black neck scarf. Ray had kind of grinned and said he really liked it, too, and was going to wear it until it rotted off of his neck.
Ray got his life straightened around and moved back to Missouri, where he became a barber. For many years thereafter, Goodwins received Christmas cards from Ray. He never failed to thank them for saving his life.
Back before I was old enough to ride to the brandings, there was an incident that happened at Bowring's Bar Ninety-Nine branding one spring. A young cowboy was working for the Snyder Ranch. He was a good hand but a little on the wild side. Back in those days of the early 1950's horse trailers were not in vogue because they really hadn't been invented yet. The ranch hands from the Snyder Ranch had ridden across country the eight miles to get to the Bowring branding.
Everyone takes turns with the different jobs at a branding, from being a "wrestler" holding down the calves, to applying the branding iron, to vaccinating, castrating, ear marking, or anything else, to the most prestigious and fun task of roping the calves to drag them to the fire from your horse. Normal procedure in this area is to heel the calves, preferably by both hind legs together, to drag them the short distance to the working area.
This wild young cowboy from the Snyder Ranch was necking the calves instead of catching them by the heels. He was laughingly warned a couple times that if he continued to do that, someone was going to cut his rope. Finally, the man doing the castrating emphatically told him, "You do that one more time, and I'm going to cut your rope." The one more time happened, and sure enough, the fellow doing the castrating leaned over and slashed through the rope. It was a forty foot lariat, and only about a foot and a half was cut off right by the hondo, but the wild young cowboy got mad and rode off to town. He didn't even choose to stay for dinner. He bought a brand new 40 foot lariat at Lessert Hardware in Merriman, and was back at the Snyder Ranch before dark. That short piece of rope hung on a fence post at the Bar Ninety-Nine branding corral for quite a few more years, and was always a source for historical conversation.
Mrs. Bowring had three sons from a previous marriage. The boys' last name was Forester. Don and Mildred had a son, Bill, who accompanied them to the ranch in the spring of 1965 when Don came to take over management of the operation. Don was electrocuted in August of 1965 while attempting to get a tall beaverslide stacker under a power line. Bill and his dad got along fine and were both taking active parts in working on the ranch, but after Don's death, Bill and his grandmother didn't hit it off too well. My dad was looking for a new hired hand, so Bill came to work on our ranch. Bill was a few years older than me, but we had a lot of enjoyable times working together. During the infamous Blizzard of 1966, Bill was on hand to help us try to save baby calves. I remember my dad driving a 1957 International crawler pulling a 12' x 18' haysled with a layer of hay on it. Bill and I rode along on the hay, and our job was to pick up calves laying in snow banks, and then hold them on until we got back to the house. All of these calves were hauled down into the basement of our house, where they got warmed up and most of them recovered. We just had a little old 12 inch black and white television in those days, but Bill and I would watch TV after supper. Bill taught me to play Chess. Some of the shows I remember watching then were F Troop, Andy Griffith, and Gomer Pyle, USMC. I also recall Bill and I sitting at the supper table watching Nancy Sinatra sing, "These Boots Are Made For Walking." I think we both fell instantly in love with that pretty girl. Bill was a good friend, and he now lives in Oregon.
After the Bowring Ranch was turned over to the Nebraska Game and Parks Foundation, it became a nice place to entertain company. The annual Sod House Sunday, the last Sunday in June, has become a favorite place for friends and neighbors to gather to have fun team penning and taking part in other contests such as post hole digging, nail pounding, three-legged races and the like. Occasionally a wedding is even held on the patio of Mrs. Bowring's big white house.
My sister and her husband, Nancy and Shawn Vineyard were married at this location on July 5th,, 1991. It was a lovely summer evening, and there was a wedding dance later that night at the open air dance hall by the rodeo grounds on the west side of Merriman. I supplied a horse and buggy for the bride and her attendants to ride to the archway leading to the patio. Amy Boyce sang some lovely songs, and her mother, Carolyn Boyce, accompanied her on an electric piano. As Amy was singing one song, a thud was heard from just behind her. A big bull snake had fallen out of a nearby cottonwood tree right at Amy's feet. Amy never missed a beat, and had complete control all the way through the song. I think the snake beat a hasty retreat out of the populated area. My mother is deathly afraid of snakes, but was sitting where she didn't see the happenings. As my sister later commented, had our mother been sitting closer it could have been a wedding and a funeral all at the same time, at the same location.
My sons don't often attend Sod House Sunday, but one year I talked both of them into entering the team penning contest with me. Our expectations weren't real high, but darned if we didn't win first place, getting beautiful belt buckles as well as a little extra jingle in our jeans. The following year they weren't quite as hard to convince that we should go again and try to defend our title. Alas, we didn't win the penning, but my youngest son came away with an even better prize. This was the time and place that he met a beautiful young lady from Idaho, who later became his bride and the mother of their cute little blonde-haired son.
The Bowring Bar Ninety-Nine Ranch has been established since the 1880's. It has a very prominent position in Merriman area history, and is probably the longest running ranch in this immediate part of Cherry County, Nebraska. Ranch superintendent, Diane Burress, and her helpers are doing a superb job in keeping the Arthur Bowring Sandhills Ranch and State Historical Park a living memorial to the Bowrings and other pioneers that paved the way.
