Graffiti on public buildings, carving into soft desert sandstone and covering signs with insipid stickers all seem endemic these days. Is there a point when vandalism becomes artifact? Reflecting back on my high country meanders, I treasure the shepherd’s tree carvings the most. Throughout the boreal forest on Colorado’s Western Slope one can still find the artistic and now historic carvings of an era in the stretched-out bark of aged aspen trees. The antique engravings, some more than 85 years old, use cursive scroll with creative images to tell a story to an audience they would never meet. There is a plethora of these unique trees in the verdant, shady aspen groves at 9,000 feet elevation. These trees also have a silent narrative to share.
The groves of aspen trees became the novel of the men who guarded the large bands of domestic sheep that grazed United States Forest Service Lands through a brokered grazing system for over 100 years. Hundreds of thousands of sheep fattened on the protein-rich high country grasses and forbs from June to September. These flocks were watched over by men who lived on the high range in distinctive round-roofed, custom wagons that were towed into the mountains each season. Sheep ranchers hired Basque shepherds from Spain’s Pyrenees mountains and on our Western Slope, New Mexican men of Spanish descent were most common. Some Mexican and even Greek immigrants were also employed.
One day in August of 1973, my neighbor in Marble Valley came by and proposed that we take an evening Jeep ride into the Crystal River highlands. My girlfriend and I hopped in the Jeep. After a short drive we followed a lightly used track into an intimate and lush valley fed by a small spring. As we started to turn around we noticed a small shepherd’s wagon parked at the edge of the trees, smoke wisping out the chimney. A short, gray-bearded man came out and waved us over. He was clearly thrilled to have unexpected company. Despite the language barrier he invited us into his tiny abode to share dinner.
On the petite stove he had a pot of savory mutton stew and to our amazement he pulled out a loaf of hot bread from the oven! We ate well and enjoyed each other’s company, communicating through the international language … food. He was from Greece and produced a handful of photographs of his family and hometown for which he clearly longed. The food was delicious and the setting became even more enchanted as orange streaked the evening sky. We never saw each other again but I will savor the magic of that August evening the rest of my life.
I have since found hundreds of shepherds’ carvings throughout Western Colorado, always on aspen trees, always in the lush transition zone around 9,000 feet. The Trujillos, Archuletas, Carillos, the list goes on and on. The villages of Arroyo Seco, Ojo Caliente, Picuris and El Cajon evoke distant places. Many trees have accompanying pictographs. The images are bears, horses, flowers, hummingbirds but very often women. Women were not scarce in these high mountains, they were non-existent! The etchings were of voluptuous women and were often ribald renderings.
I was comparing my historical fascination with shepherds’ carvings with a friend, a retired teacher from a prep school near Satank. He recounted the spring interim project he directed decades ago when the students compiled a scrapbook and narrative of the shepherds’ carvings of the Crystal Valley. He was so pleased with the comprehensive collection of something so especial to our local environment. When the compilation reached the headmaster and he saw the “tree porn,” the project was immediately squashed! We both laughed long at the censorship but also lamented that this body of work was lost forever.
My favorite carving of all has been one I found on a ridge with a panoramic view of the Valley. The bearded caricature had an odd fez-like hat on. It read Nikos Patsantaros “Greek Boy,” dated 1969. There were so few Greeks in our Spanish-dominated shepherd culture that I will always wonder if Nikos was our lonesome, gracious host that August night in the Crystal Highlands.
Throughout the years these aspen trees have more than doubled in size. Many of the etchings have stretched out to become unreadable, many trees have fallen down. Dates on the trees go back into the 1920s. There is still a story being told in these aspen groves. The narrative harkens back to a time much simpler, not without hardship but rich in the romance of a bygone era. The trees have a story to tell but you must have the will to walk and to listen.
To learn more about The Crystal Valley Environmental Protection Association, visit www.cvepa.org
