Me
While I am not a real Casper native, I have lived here since I was 3 years old. In a city that is 125 years old, that means that I have lived here for 44% of the years that Casper has existed. During my years here, I have learned that Casper was named after the fort that had existed here, called Fort Casper. Fort Casper was named after Lieutenant Caspar Collins, who was killed by Indians near the fort in 1865, but the Army misspelled his name. For anyone who has lived here very long…or at least attended public school here, that was common knowledge, as well as a school field trip most of us took. That fact was one of the first things a young student in Casper should know.
When the people of Casper first decided to incorporate, this was a pretty wild town. It was filled with mostly saloons, dancing girls, and prostitutes. That was really quite typical of most early wild west towns. The residents Casper asked the officials of Carbon County, where Casper was located until Natrona County split from Carbon County, if they could incorporate the town of Casper. The request was approved on July 8, 1889…125 years ago today, and Casper was born. Of course, the citizens of Casper knew that things would have to change because there 
were things that made a town a proper town, and things that made it a lawless hangout. A proper town needed water, streets, schools, a fire department, a library, and a government to assure its stability. The people of Casper elected George Mitchell as mayor, and Robert White, Peter Demorest, Alexander McKinney and John Adams as councilmen. Before long Casper would be home to three county courthouses. The first one on David Street built in 1895, the second in the middle of North Center at A Street built in 1908, and the present county building on Center between A and B Streets was built in 1940.
In the early years cattle and sheep ranching was the main source of Casper’s wealth, and the most successful ranchers built the fine houses in Casper’s mansion district located south of the downtown area. Soon, however the wealth shifted more to oil, when the Salt Creek Field, 40 miles north of Casper, a rich source of oil, was discovered. Soon refineries went up, and Casper became a boom town. Much has changed over the years, and I’m sure that very little about Casper is like it used to be. I suppose that if the city founders could see it now, they would be amazed…or maybe they could see that potential all along. 
As for me, I can recall many changes too. I remember when Walsh Drive was the edge of town. Kelly Walsh High School was almost on the prairie. I also remember when Kmart was being built…at the current Hobby Lobby location, and when it was built in its current location. I remember when the Texaco Refinery closed, and a lot of its workers, including my Uncle Larry took the transfer that would move him and my Aunt Jeanette to Louisiana for a number of years. Many businesses have come and gone over the years, as have people, but Casper has remained and thrived. Today is Casper’s 125th birthday. Happy birthday Casper!!!
Sometimes, something we want can be almost within our grasp, but still slightly beyond our reach. That is such a frustrating place to be. Yesterday, Bob and I planned to hike Harney Peak in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and we did…in a way. The hike is 3.4 miles each way, and a lot of it takes you up some serious hills. We have not hiked like we used to in a couple of years, because we were very busy taking care of Bob’s parents, my mom, and Bob’s sister. We have been trying to get ready for hiking in the Black Hills this year, but we haven’t really reached a place where we feel like we are ready.
We hiked two really long sections of the Mickelson Trail the first two days of our trip, and yesterday was for Harney Peak. I think we both knew we weren’t really ready, but we thought we could do it…even if it took us a bit longer. Believe me, a bit was not even close to reality. We probably stopped triple the amount of times as normal. And breathing for me was…well, let’s just say I was gasping for air at times. I couldn’t believe I was that out of shape. But, the last time we dared take on Harney Peak was in 2011.
Nevertheless, we headed out…still tired from the day before, but hopeful that the day would bring success our way. It was a really tough go. I knew we were out of shape, but hoped that I was wrong about how bad it really was. As we walked and struggled, the truth was obvious. The one thing I can say, is that it was one of the hottest days here, so far this summer…but that is really the only excuse I have…and the one Bob agreed on and said we should use.
We did technically hike up Harney Peak, but when it came time to go up the 300 stairs, I has no more “up” in me. Bob could have made it, but he would not go without me. I was so hot and so tired that is wasn’t sure, at that moment, that I could make it back to the car, but I had to…there was no other way back, aside from life flight, and I wasn’t going there. We headed back and while it took us a while, we did make it back. We both agreed that we probably shouldn’t have attempted it, but in the end it was a successful failure. We did technically make it, we just didn’t go up the stairs to the very top. Does that make me feel better…no, but it is all I have.
For a number of years now, Bob and I have walked the Mickelson Trail in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Most is the time the trail seems like just that…a trail, but when it travels through an old cut where the trains went through a hillside, without having to go over it, I am reminded again that it really was a railroad. As we walk through those cuts, I can almost imagine a train coming through there. Bob can too, because he jokingly asked if we should watch out for the train. It is like we can see the trains, like a ghost train or an echo train.
It’s strange to walk where only trains have traveled prior, but with the Rails to Trails program, 
many more people are doing just that. Since the trains are no longer using those tracks, it has become a great way to reclaim the space, and for people to be able to see the countryside on a trail that is a little easier that some of the backwoods trails that seasoned hikers take. Bob and I love our backwoods trails too, but trails like the Mickelson Trail and the neighborhood trail that we walk at home make for a good place to get some exercise without having to go to the gym, and neither of us likes going to the gym anyway.
The cuts in the Mickelson remind me a lot of our travels on the 1880 Train, between Hill City, South Dakota and Keystone, South Dakota. That train goes through a lot of those same cuts, and maybe that is why we can both 
almost hear and see the echo trains. It’s a place we have been before…a lot. We love to ride the 1880 Train. It is usually the highlight of our annual trip to the Black Hills…other than our hike up Harney Peak, which is our favorite hike of all the hiking we do.
As we move on past the cut in the Mickelson Trail, my thoughts move back into the reverie I always feel when I am out on the trail…any trail. There is such peacefulness there, and it’s so quiet most of the time. I can just lose myself in thought, which is probably why we don’t talk much on the trail. We are simply enjoying the scenery, and going where trains have traveled.
As very young girls, my sisters and I were well aware of our Spencer roots. We are among the descendants of Michael Spencer, who is one of the four Spencer brothers who, along with their sister, came to America together, leaving behind all they knew in England. Michael was our 8th great grandfather. The information about our English heritage was passed down from generation to generation. We knew that we were related to Winston Spencer Churchill. We knew that we were related to Princess Diana, who is our 18th cousin, and her children, William and Harry, and now William’s son George. We always knew about all of the things that tied our family to the Spencer line in England.
Mom and Dad were always very proud of our Spencer background…of anything Spencer, really. I remember as a little girl, being allowed to stay up late, even on a school night, to watch the movie “Spencer’s Mountain” whenever it came on. It always felt like it was a story written about our family, even though the number of children didn’t match, and there were no boys in our family. Our family values, and the closeness we all shared, just meshed so well with the family in the movie, that it really was like they were a part of our family. We watched the movie many times, and it was almost like they were our alter egos.
“Spencer’s Mountain” was not the only late night viewing, that occurred in my life, that had to do with the Spencer family, however. When Diana Spencer married Prince Charles, I stayed up late to watch the ceremony, and when Prince William married Kate Middleton, I stayed up late to watch the ceremony, which took place on my birthday…something I really liked. Could I have recorded these events for viewing at a more normal time of day? Yes, and I did record them, but that would never be the same as watching the event live. Maybe other people would think I was crazy, but to me, that’s what growing up Spencer was all about. These people are my family, and this was an important event in their lives. I wanted to watch…first hand. When it was announced that Princess Kate was in labor with George, I was glued to the television set. I couldn’t wait to hear the happy news. I know many people aren’t interested in the English Royals, and I wasn’t really either…until Princess Diana married into the family. That connected my family to the royal family…in modern times at least…the Spencer family has royal ties centuries back too, but I didn’t know of those and wasn’t around then anyway, so Princess Diana was the first royal I knew of.
Every time the name Spencer showed up in a product, movie, or even the phone book, we felt an immediate connection. In reality, for the people in the phone books at least, there is a real likelihood that we are related. I have run into many people over the years that bear the name Spencer, and I only wish that there had been a way to find out for sure what our relationship 
is. I know it would be something that would be of interest to all of us, because everyone becomes intrigued by the possibility of being related to someone they didn’t know about before. There are a number of Spencers in Casper, and I’m sure we are related, but it would take time to trace the ties and find the connection that I have no doubt exists. It is another aspect of growing up Spencer, that will have to wait for another day.
When my grandkids were all little, spending the night with their friends didn’t always work well, but they always knew that they could spend the night with Grandma and Grandpa. Being too young happens to a lot of children. My nephew, Ryan Hadlock, saw his sister Jessi Hadlock Sawdon get to go home for a week or so with her grandparents, my parents, Allen and Collene Spencer, and he really wanted to go too. The adults were all worried that he would miss his mommy and daddy and they would have to make a special trip from Wyoming back to Colorado to take him home. But he promised that he would not do that. Finally, it was decided that they would take a chance on him, so to Wyoming he went. My mom tells me that he was such a good boy, and they were so glad they had given him the chance. I’m sure there were other times that Ryan got to spend the night, but since his family moved back to Casper shortly thereafter, it probably wasn’t such a long way to go when it came time to take him home.
A lot of things can precipitate the need for a rather young child to spend the might with 
their grandparents, and some aren’t so good, like when my youngest grandson was born 5 weeks early, bringing on the need to take him to Denver until his lungs were strong enough to send him home. The time that Josh was in the hospital was 2 weeks, but to 2 1/2 year old Christopher, it seemed a lifetime. While he loved Bob and me, he honestly thought that his parents had gotten a new baby and a new home, and that they didn’t want him anymore. He did very well the first week, but the second week took it’s toll on him, and he would literally cry and the drop of a hat.
Not every slumber party situation is under the best circumstances, or at the best age for a child, but as time goes on, they grow a little, and while they have friends to stay the night with, it doesn’t mean that having a slumber party with Grandma isn’t still a lot of fun. Once, when Bob had to be out of town for a week, I hit upon the idea of having a slumber party with the grandkids. So the came over with their sleeping bags, and on that night my bedroom was wall to wall bedding. My granddaughter, Shai Royce and I slept I the bed, and the rest of the room was taken up by Christopher Petersen, Caalab Royce, and Josh Petersen. We had a great 
time. We played, and watched television, and ate junk food…you know all the necessary essentials for a great slumber party.
It’s funny that, while that slumber party was probably ten to twelve years ago, and my grandchildren are getting pretty grown up, with the youngest, Josh at almost 16, they still remember that slumber party. There were a lot of really good memories made that night. Kids need grandparent time as much as they need parent time, and sometimes, even the most loving parets need an evening away from the kids. I can’t think of a better way to get that than having a slumber party with Grandma.
Bob and I are very much into hiking. We love hiking on different trails in the areas we travel to. Of course, our all time favorite place, so far, is the beautiful hike to Harney Peak in Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and we try to get up there every summer. We have also hiked the Southern Rim of The Grand Canyon in Arizona, and gone down into the canyon a little ways…that was beautiful too. Closer to home, we love the Bridle Trail that is located right here on Casper Mountain and the Platte River Parkway that meanders along the Platte River for almost 8 miles one way. Nevertheless, the reality is that you can’t always be on one of the beautiful trails, because there just isn’t time after work. So most evenings find us walking the city trail that is located a block from our house.
This trail just wanders along next to the alley between the houses from 2nd Street to 15th Street. We usually walk this one between 1 1/2 to 2 hours…thus walking between 6 and 8 miles a day. It isn’t a difficult trail, but it is a slight uphill grade going from north to south, and then a slight downhill grade going from south to north. It is a pleasant trail, and well traveled. We run into people we have never met, people we know only from the trail, and occasionally someone we know from the rest of our lives. But, these aren’t the only friends we run into one the trail…there are many others.
Many people are out walking their dogs in the evening, and while all these dogs are curious about us when we pass by, there are several that are quite special to us. They are all well behaved dogs, and they always come up to us and greet us with tails wagging, hoping that we will take a moment to pet them and talk with them. You really can’t resist, and these friends always understand that you are on a walk, and you can’t talk long, so after a friendly pat, they go merrily on down the trail looking for the next friendly encounter.
There are also the friends who are not on the trail. the dogs in the yards, wishing the could go with us. Some of them just bark at us for a couple of weeks, and then we become boring to them and we are ignored, but others are always there to greet us. Two of the most interesting dogs we pass are the two that are always on the roof of the homeowner’s garage. The deck connects to the detached garage in such a way that the dogs can run freely on the roof. The first time I saw it, I was shocked, but now it is just a normal…even if it is a little bit of a traffic stopper, site. Of course, we also see the birds, and occasionally a duck or two, and we encounter deer, rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional friendly pet cat.
All in all, while our walk on the trails are designed to be relaxing exercise, they really are filled with activity. We may not realize just how much activity there is going on around us all the 
time, but it is there nevertheless. I always love late spring, summer, and early fall, because we have so many for opportunities to get out there on the trails then, and I really miss my trails in the late fall, winter, and early spring, because it is just too cold to get out and reconnect with nature. It’s funny that we have all these furry friends, because Bob and I choose not to have pets of our own. We are too busy. Still, I miss all of my furry trail friends when we are away.
On June 17, 1885…129 years ago today, the Statue of Liberty, in a dismantled form, arrived in New York Harbor. It was a gift from France to commemorate our friendship with them during the American Revolution. While the Statue of Liberty would not be officially assembled and dedicated until October 8th, 1886, this was it’s official arrival. The Statue of Liberty’s 300 copper pieces packed in 214 crates were transported on the French ship “Isere” to America. Although the ship nearly sank in rough seas, it arrived in New York on June 17, 1885. The Statue’s parts remained unassembled for nearly a year until the pedestal was completed in 1886. What really shocks me is that there were only 350 parts to make up the Statue of Liberty. That seems impossible. Having been to, and inside the Statue of Liberty, I know how big it is. I would have guessed more like 1000 pieces. Today Lady Liberty has become known around the world as an enduring symbol of freedom and democracy.
Having been to the Statue of Liberty, I find it very interesting to think that it arrived here 129 years ago today. I don’t know how many of you have been inside the statue, or how far up you were able to go, but I have been to the crown. I was very disappointed that we could not go to the torch, but for safety reasons, the torch has been closed to visitors since 1916, after an incident called the Black Tom explosions in which munitions-laden barges and railroad cars on the Jersey City, New Jersey, waterfront were blown up by German agents, causing damage to the nearby statue. That was something I didn’t know, and sadly there was nothing that would change it, but I was inside the Statue of Liberty, and it was so amazing…like a dream, not a reality!! I know that lots of people have been there and lots have been inside, and lots have even been to the crown, but I had not…and then I had…and, it was surreal!!
When I think about all the people who have sailed past this statue as they came to their new 
home…and how many of them were my ancestors or Bob’s ancestors, it is just mind boggling. If she could talk…what stories could she tell. The Statue of Liberty has seen so much. Ships have come and gone, immigrants have arrived, the city has changed…and been attacked. What stories she could tell of happiness, sadness, floods, hurricanes, and terrorism. She has seen the transformation of her near neighbor from the location of Fort Gibson, to the current site of the Ellis Island Immigrant Station. She watched the planes fly into the World Trade Center…and their fall. When I think about all the changes that have taken place in our nation since Lady Liberty arrived, I wish she could speak, because the stories she could tell of our nation’s history would be amazing.
As another Father’s Day arrives, I find myself feeling less and less a part of the day. Yes, my husband, Bob and my sons-in-law, Kevin and Travis are here, and for them we will celebrate the day to honor them, but my dad and my father-in-law are both gone, and so this day also feels a little empty to me. I really miss my dad, and my father-in-law. Both of these men were so inspirational to me in my life, and I still miss their advise, their smiles, and their ideas about things…but mostly I just miss being able to talk with them. I can’t count the number of times I have wanted to call one of them up, and for a second, I almost forget…then reality sets in…they are in Heaven now.
Having taken care of both of these men in their last years, I feel 
like we had a bond that not many children are given. When you spend a lot of time with someone, you get to know them very well. You know their habits, their sense of humor, the things that annoy them, and the things that make them happy. For both my dad and my father-in-law, nothing is more important than their family. They always wanted their family around them. It gave them great pleasure to know that their children loved them and wanted to be around them. I find myself thinking every day of each of them, and feeling very blessed to have had them in my life for so many years. My only regret is that they are no longer in my everyday life, like they were.
As I think about their great influence on Bob and me, I realize that had our dads not been in our lives, we would not be the parents and grandparents we are today. It was their love for us 
that taught us how to love our children, and then we passed that on down to our children. They were not our friends growing up, but rather, just what they should have been…our dads. They became our friends later in life. They, along with our moms, disciplined us, trained us, and in doing so, they taught us how to do the same for our children. They taught us how to live in this world, taught us our work ethic, and our love of God and country. Their sense of humor, taught us to take joy in life and not to allow depression and despair to enter into our lives. What a great tribute to them and our moms that all their children grew up and became responsible adults, who do the right things in life. I thank God for them and for my husband, Bob, and my sons-in-law, Kevin and Travis…all of whom are wonderful caring dads, who have blessed us with their love and wisdom. Happy Father’s Day to all of you!!
Throughout my childhood years, I can say that I never broke a single bone. In fact, to this day, I can’t be sure that I have, but if I did, it was the second toe on my right foot. Since that was never confirmed, I really can’t make that statement with any degree of certainty. What I do know is that I have very strong bones, and when I was a child, I don’t think I thought that was a good thing. Of course, now I know that it is, but back then I wanted to be like some of my friends who had a broken arm, leg, or finger…I just never was.
Apparently, I was obsessed with the whole idea of a broken leg, because at one point I asked my dad to make me a pair of crutches. My mom thought the whole idea was crazy, and she was very surprised when my dad made me those crutches, but Dad saw no harm in it. He carved a set of crutches out of two single pieces of wood. There was no cushion on the top, and believe me, I can tell you that crutches really need them, but a wash cloth sufficed, and I was set. I loved those crutches, and used them for several years.
Thankfully, I never needed those crutches, but it was cool of my dad to take the imagination of his little girl to heart, and give me the desires of my heart…even if they were silly, and something I would look back on later, and laugh about. Mom told me that she couldn’t believe that Dad actually made them, because like most toys she figured it would be a passing phase and in a week or two they would end up in a woodpile or under the bed, but she was wrong on that one. I played with them a lot, for at least a couple of years.
Looking back I can’t imagine what the draw was for me, except the imagination of a young mind…a little girl who saw some of her friends wearing a cast and using crutches or a sling. I had one other passing phase in the broken bone arena before it was all said and done…the broken finger phase. That phase was when I took a wooden clothes pin and removed the hinge, and wrapped half of it with white medical tape around it and my finger, so it would look like a splint. I even wore that one to school one day…obviously I didn’t think that one through. My teacher saw it and started to be so compassionate, when she stopped by my desk during study time to ask what had happened. Well, I liked this teacher too much to lie to her, so I told her it was fake. She laughed out loud, right there in class, and told me that it had been a great prank, so I wasn’t even embarrassed about getting caught. She was able to 
laugh and still let me save face.
Like all childish phases, my imaginary injury phase went the way of the wind. After a time you just realize how silly some things are. Having a real broken bone would have most likely been a real annoyance to me, especially since I loved gymnastics. I can’t imagine a bigger annoyance to a gymnast that a broken bone that sidelines you for the season. Still, even though there is no picture that I know of, I will always cherish the memory of a dad who gave in to the whims of his daughter, and made her a pair of handmade wooden crutches, so she could pretend to have a broken leg.
About the time my sister, Cheryl turned 12 and went to junior high school, things started to change around our house. We had always danced in some form in the house, but not much of the dancing that went along with rock music. That year marked the end of the immature child’s play for Cheryl, and the introduction of the teenage world for the rest of us. Cheryl and her friends practiced dancing in our living room every chance they got, and the rest of us tried to follow along. As with most people, there were those of us who had a natural rhythm, and those of us who…just didn’t. Unfortunately, I found myself in the latter category. Maybe I was just in those awkward pre-teen years, or something, I don’t really know, but for whatever reason, I was more the bull in the china closet type of dancer. It wasn’t that I hit anything, but more that my moves were really klutzy and I couldn’t seem to hear the beat or find any semblance of rhythm. I suppose that in time and with a lot of practice, I could have figured it out, but I simply decided that I was probably never going to be much of a dancer, and for many years, I danced only with my sisters in the living room, because I figured that if they laughed at my moves, I could live with that, but if my friends did so, it would be the most humiliating thing that could ever possibly happen, and something I chose not to risk.
I don’t recall just how good my little sisters were, but I remember that Alena has always been a pretty good dancer. She was a lot like Cheryl in that way…just a natural talent for it. Caryl, does real well these days too, and has even taken dancing lessons, so she can do some of the really cool dances from days gone by…like the ballroom type of dancing. I don’t remember just how good Allyn was, but then she was only three years old when we started dancing in the living room, so I’m sure she was uninhibited and we all thought she did just fine…and she seems to do just fine these days too. In a way, my younger sisters might have been given a great advantage with those early dancing days, because they weren’t in the awkward years of growth, and they weren’t self conscious either.
Even though I felt self conscious in those days, I still stuck it out, because it was fun to hang 
out with Cheryl’s older friends and my sisters, doing something totally goofy…at least in my mind. I don’t remember if Cheryl ever hated having all her younger sisters hanging out in the same space as she and her friends were, but my guess is that she probably did, because having all your little sisters hanging with your friends is always tough when you are a tween or teen. Nevertheless, she was stuck with us…at least for those dance sessions, and it was probably ok with her if we danced with her when her friends weren’t there. Whatever the case may be, I learned pretty much all of the little bit I know of dancing right there in my parents living room, with my sisters, and I learned that dancing isn’t exactly my forte.
