Of all the remarkable characters who have touched the history of western Colorado, none intrigues me more than Chipeta. The bride of Ouray, she has transcended both time and space as a light in this world. Her powers were certainly not lost on Ouray, the most influential and powerful of the Ute at a time when they yet held sovereignty over the high country.
The treaty of 1868 had decreed that most of western Colorado was reserved for the Utes. As prospectors learned of the mineral riches of the San Juans, the U.S. government sought to renegotiate. Ouray was furious. He was finally persuaded to ride the iron horse east to meet with Ulysses S. Grant to discuss the situation.
Ouray had one condition for making this trip. Chipeta must come. At the time, women were not allowed to participate in such diplomatic meetings. The Ute chief was firm; no Chipeta, no Ouray.
Much to our fortune, the delegation was photographed. Chipeta’s equanimity shines through the stern faces of the men on both sides in this photo. If a picture is worth one thousand words, this one tells the story of why Ouray would not leave her behind. She was the wisest person there.
Nothing could stop the land conquest. The Treaty of Brunot would be signed, ceding mineral-rich lands to the miners. For their efforts, Chipeta and Ouray were given a white-style house on the outskirts of present-day Montrose, where they took to living inside with furniture, fine china and all the trappings of “civilization.”
And too, the calm would not last. In the fall of 1879, the zealous missionary Nathaniel Meeker had insulted proud Ute warriors by plowing up their horseracing course, and then calling on the U.S. Army for protection. In the ensuing milieu, the cavalry was beaten back and the reverend was killed, while hostages were taken and delivered to the care of the shocked Chipeta and Ouray at their quiet little farm. Our Governor Pitkin was screaming “the Utes must go!”
By the end of the following year, Ouray had died of natural causes (and likely a broken heart) while attempting to persuade various Ute bands to accept yet a new treaty with ever shrinking reservations. Reverend Meeker’s wife and daughter reported that they had been welcomed into Chipeta’s house and “were given the house to themselves” until they were repatriated to U.S. authorities. In an act of dark betrayal, Chipeta’s house in Montrose was taken away from her and she was forced to march with the remaining Northern Ute to a reservation on unfamiliar land in Utah. There, she was promised a new furnished house, but that turned out to be more of a shack. She eschewed that, and for the rest of her long life went back to living in a tepee and sleeping on the ground.
Thirty-six years after she was forced to leave Colorado, U.S. Indian Commissioner Cato Sells decided that Chipeta was owed some sort of better tribute by the U.S. government. The local Indian Agent informed him that there was very little that she needed or wanted. Prior gifts of money and other fineries had simply been given away. In the end, Sells arranged to send her some beautiful shawls. Her response was timeless. She sent him a saddle blanket and a note that said “I am in good health considering my age and hope to live much longer to show my friendship and appreciation to all the kind white people. I am also glad that there is no more trouble between the Indians and white people, and hope this state of affairs exists through the rest of my life.” (Letter from Chipeta to Cato Sells, U.S. Indian Commissioner)
Chipeta died at age 81 in 1924, having indeed lived a long life despite sorrows we might only imagine. She was buried by her family on the reservation in Utah. Upon learning this news, the good people of Montrose, Colorado decided they wanted her back. Perhaps they hadn’t wanted her and her kin while she lived, but in death she was again welcomed. Five thousand whites reportedly lined the streets for her reburial in a concrete mausoleum on the grounds of what is now the Ute Indian Museum at the edge of town.
Over the years of my own life I have watched with some dismay as commercial development along Highway 550 has edged ever closer to Chipeta’s resting place. The unnatural parking lot lights of a Target store now cast an eerie glow towards this site.
What is one to make of all this? One cannot look at any of the many photographs of Chipeta without being struck by the consistent serenity on her face. It is Buddha-like.
For me, Chipeta stands as a beautiful testament to the transcendent power of forgiveness. In my various activities as an open space crusader, the opportunities to take great umbrage are endless. Politics are often passionate, and therefore personal. All activists at some point will face this hostility. I was recently called a “liar” during a public meeting by a bitter person who did not care to know the truth of that situation. At times like that I think of Chipeta.
CVEPA is dedicated to the preservation of the Crystal River Valley. We try not to take politics personally. For more information, see cvepa.org