VI

FARMING IN COLORADO.

GOLDEN CITY, C. T., June 21, 1866.

I VERILY think that if those who six years ago saw nothing but arid hills and fields of cactus, forbidding cultivation, could behold some parts of Colorado at present, they would open their eyes in astonishment. My approach to Denver did not furnish the least suggestion of farming, and all the attempts which one sees from the city are a few patches of vegetables along the Platte. But the agricultural interest, without which a mining community so remote as this cannot subsist, has really reached a development which is remarkable, when we consider the discouragements to which it has been subjected.

I am fast inclining toward the opinion that there is no American Desert on this side of the Rocky Mountains. Belts of arid and sandy soil there certainly are, but I doubt if any of these are more than fifty miles in breadth, while there are many points where an unbroken line of habitable territory may be followed from the Missouri to the base of the mountains. I remember that as late as 1859, the lowest computation of the extent of the Desert was two hundred miles; yet in the Smoky Hill route I saw less than fifty miles to which the term could properly be applied. What I have since learned of farming under these new conditions of climate and soil, leads me to suspect that time and settlement may subdue even this narrow belt; that there may some day be groves and farms on the treeless Plains; that wheat may usurp the place of buffalo-grass, and potatoes drive out the cactus.

It almost seems as if Nature were in the habit of making a last desperate attempt to resist the subjugation of her wild, unploughed domains. For a few years the settlers are obliged to battle with a combination of hostile influences. The droughts of Kansas, and the grasshoppers of Utah and Colorado are exceptional agents, which have given a false impression in other parts of the Union. I found Kansas, as you may have noted, a land of rain, of soggy meadows, and swollen streams; I find Colorado, where farming was pronounced almost hopeless, already crossed by zones of the richest agricultural promise. The effect of energy and industry upon the soil even now shows its fruits; the effect of cultivation upon climate (an agency generally underestimated) is yet to follow.

Two days ago Captain Sopris took me out to his farm on Clear Creek, about five miles from Denver. Crossing the new and substantial plank bridge over the Platte, we first glanced at the adjoining vegetable garden. I must confess, however, that I saw more sunflowers than anything else. Only a part of the garden appeared to be cultivated; the soil was black and deep, and with proper care there would be but little limit to its productiveness. The profusion of sunflowers—not an indigenous growth, I believe— is remarkable. From Fort Riley to the Rocky Mountains, wherever a wagon has made a rut in the soil, there springs up a rank hedge of the plant. The pig-weed, horse-weed, and datura stramonium are also rapidly advancing westward. I found them some distance this side of Fort Ellsworth.

Rising to what are called "the second bottoms," a gently inclined shelf, extending from the mountains to the Platte, we had a view down the river, and saw the first indications of farming. Near at hand was a farm of three hundred and twenty acres, the owner of which is inclosing the whole with a high post-fence, at a cost of about two dollars and a half per rod. A neat cottage farm-house, at the commencement of the river-bottoms, pleasantly hinted of permanent occupation. Beyond this farm, still mostly in the rough, stretched a succession of dark-green fields of wheat, on both sides of the stream, which, divided into many arms, sparkled between its islands and banks of cotton-wood. The rising grounds were already beginning to grow tawny under the summer sun, and these low-lying belts of grain and trees made a dazzling contrast of color. For some miles down the Platte I could trace a continuous line of farms and preemption cabins.

The undulating higher ground across which we struck in a straight line, toward Clear Creek, was covered with grass, lupins, a multitude of brilliant flowering-plants, and cactus. Dry as it appears, it furnishes good pasturage during the whole year, and irrigation will convert the whole of it into grain-fields. I remember that my admiration of the agricultural capacities of California, in 1849, subjected me to many derogatory epithets; hence, one who crosses these brown plains at the end of summer, may laugh incredulously when I say that all the country between the river and the mountains — every upland and ridge where water can be made to flow — will in time be as rich a farming region as any in the East. The capacity of soil to hold moisture will increase ; trees will then grow where it would now be hopeless to plant them; hedges will take the place of costly fences, and the character of the country will undergo a complete change.

Captain Sopris’s ranche is on a bluff overlooking the valley of Clear Creek. From the window of his parlor I looked out upon several miles of’ beautiful wheat, a long pasture-ridge beyond, and the grand summit of Long’s Peak in the distance. Ten farmers here have united their forces, and made a ditch ten miles in length, by which their fields are irrigated. The usual yield of wheat, under this system, is thirty bushels to the acre, and the price, up to this time, has ranged from five to twenty-five cents per pound. You can see that farming, even at the lowest rates, is a good business in Colorado. Oats produce about forty, and corn fifty bushels to the acre, — the price ranging from two to five dollars per bushel.

It is remarkable how soon the farmers have adapted themselves to the new conditions of their occupation. They seem already to prefer the secure yield which irrigation offers, to the uncertain prospects of a more variable climate. The principal labor and expense is the construction of the irrigating canal; that once made, it is an easy matter to watch and flood their fields whenever necessary. This season it has not yet been generally needed; but from now until the end of July, when the wheat ripens, the process must be frequently repeated. Against the plague of grasshoppers there is no protection; this year, however, promises to be free from that scourge.

The vegetables in the garden at the foot of the bluff were thriving finely. But out of three hundred grape-vines which Captain S. has imported, only a dozen are now living. Although the winters are remarkably mild, there are now and then days of such extreme cold that vines and fruit-trees of all kinds perish. If the young trees were procured from Minnesota rather than nurseries further south, they would probably be more likely to endure the climate. Thus far the attempts at fruit-growing have been failures; yet the fact that at Salt Lake, much further to the north, there has been perfect success, should encourage the Colorado farmers to try again.

After dining with the Captain and his amiable family, we returned by a road skirting Clear Creek to Fisher’s Ranche, where I saw six hundred acres of grain in one body. The entire number of acres planted in the Territory this year is estimated at seventy thousand — which will supply the wants of the entire population. The more sanguine expect to send a small surplus to Montana. ‘This is really an astonishing fact. In a Territory only seven years old, six hundred miles from other settlements, which attracts principally a mining and speculating population, and was supposed to have the most limited capacity for agriculture, the people are already independent, self-sustaining, in regard to food!

My friend, Mr. D. T. Smith, piloted me around the immediate neighborhood of Denver, and gave me further opportunities for strengthening the views which my trip to Clear Creek had suggested. I saw that the country to the east of Cherry Creek and the Platte is quite as fertile as that to the westward, and could easily credit the assertion of General Pierce that the supply of water is sufficient, with an adequate irrigating canal, to bring under cultivation four hundred thousand acres of land. I have no doubt it will be found true of all parts of the Plains, that wherever water can be had, farming will be profitable. Even where there are no running streams, wells with water-wheels driven by wind, as in California, may supply their place. An old frontiersman assured me that wherever there is a town of prairie-dogs, water will be found at a depth of from twenty to thirty feet. Now, in my memory, the road from Fort Ellsworth to the Platte is one grand prairie dog metropolis; so there ought to be no scarcity of water. In Kansas, living springs are making their appearance, as the country becomes cultivated. Nature, after vainly attempting to drive off Man, makes up her mind to reward his persistence. Perhaps I dwell a little pertinaciously upon this one point; but, the truth is, I have never been more astonished than on finding this vast central region so very different from what previous accounts had led me to imagine.

A private company is now at work, constructing a large ditch, which is to water the streets and gardens of Denver. This will give the place the one charm it now lacks. Add verdure to its superb situation, and it will be one of the most delightful inland cities in the country. There is at present a small stream, the water of which is chiefly applied to the encouragement of young cotton-woods, both poplar and willow-leaved, which are set out so thickly around some houses that the owners evidently do not expect the half of them to grow. Some of the trees were flourishing vigorously, with a good prospect of life; others, although irrigated, were withered and dying. The difference, no doubt, lay in the care with which they had been transplanted.

This morning I left Denver for my mountain tour. As far as this place, at the base of the first range, — a distance of about fifteen miles, — the country is rapidly coming under cultivation. Ditches are being carried from Clear Creek over all parts of the undulating slope stretching down from the mountains, and it was a cheering sight to find a large field of the greenest wheat upon one of the highest points, in the midst of a plain studded with cactus. A short distance from Denver, one of the ditches has been turned into a natural basin a mile in diameter, forming a lake of that extent, around which large herds of cattle were grazing. We found a number of men at work, constructing new ditches by a very simple process. Several furrows are first ploughed, and then the dirt is shovelled out rapidly by a broad frame of timber, drawn by horses in a lateral direction. Our course was sometimes impeded by the number of these ditches, which are not yet bridged, especially in descending toward Clear Creek, which we struck three miles below the point where it issues from the mountains.

Here we were favored by an invitation to visit the farm of Mr. Miles, and try the flavor of Colorado strawberries. This gentleman, I learn, sold his last year’s wheat crop at eighteen cents the pound (ten dollars and eighty cents per bushel), and is now selling his entire stock of strawberries at ninety-six dollars a bushel! The severe winter two or three years ago destroyed almost his entire stock of plants, but the few he saved are now richly repaying him for the loss.

Mr. Miles was not at home, but his wife welcomed us to their neat cottage of concrete, which, with the barn, stables, and haystacks, already wore an air of old settlement. The garden, though still in the rough, was very luxuriant. The strawberries (Albany Seedlings) seemed to me of smaller size, but of finer flavor than in the East. With the golden cream which our friendly hostess furnished, we could not have asked for anything more delicious. Around the house the lupin, coreopsis, larkspur, and sweet-pea were growing wild.

I here noticed a new, and to me a surprising, result of cultivation. Part of the bottom-land was originally alkaline, the white streaks being still discernible; yet the crops growing upon it were, if anything, more luxuriant than elsewhere. Captain West, my companion to Golden City, informed me that upon his own ranche an alkaline patch, bare of vegetation, has now become the best part of his garden. The use of manure is said to neutralize the alkali in a very short space of time.

Before us rose the curious elevation known as the Table Mountain. As seen from Denver it resembles a slice of cheese lying on its side, and with a crack through the middle. Immediately behind it is the first range of the Rocky Mountains, and this apparent crack is the cañon through which Clear Creek makes its way. On approaching nearer, the straight, slanting summit breaks into a very irregular outline, with bold, rocky buttresses and deep indentations. The top, on both sides of the Creek, is a mesa, or table-land, which furnishes superb pasturage for cattle throughout the entire year. A small lake supplies the herds with water, and the grass, however parched in autumn or dry in winter, never seems to lose its fattening properties.

A drive of about two miles through the gorge between the two parts of Table Mountain, brought us to the beautiful little circular valley in which Golden City lies hidden. Just above the place is the present limit of farming. The cañon of Clear Creek is walled in by steep, forbidding mountains, but there is pasturage on all the heights. Each one of the Creeks which issue from the mountains to join the Platte, is attracting a farming population. On Bear Creek, to the south, and the branches of Boulder Creek, to the north, I hear there are already many fine farms.

If a new system of agriculture has been learned, and such results attained within six years, is it too much to assert that the farming interests of Colorado will keep pace with the development of her extraordinary mineral wealth, and that, no matter what amount of population may hereafter be attracted to her mountains, her plains are capable of feeding them?   NEXT