Given that Golden Prairie played a prominent role in my early years and that I had never been to Albin, it was surprising to me how close they were to one another, a grand total of 17 miles.
When we left the cemetery where my uncle Dean is buried, we headed straight west, back through Albin along highway 216, then south on 213.
If I ever visited Albin, it was too early in my life to recall. As with my uncle, I just have a handful of sketchy stories. Golden Prairie, on the other hand, is loaded with memories. Both of these places were important to my grandparents' life and ministry.
Three miles south on 213 we found a little sign indicating the Golden Prairie Baptist Church was off to the left. And sure enough, in another quarter of a mile we found a straight dirt road on the left, that is, heading east, with a cattle gate at its end and small white signs indicating that the Baptist Church was somewhere ahead.
Apart from the cattle gate, which I don't remember, and, I suppose, the late October absence of wheat, this was exactly what I remembered -- the huge fields on either side, the single-wire telephone poles, the fine loose-gravel "paving," the dark spot in the distance that would materialize into a church and a parsonage as we approached.
It was at or very near this cattle gate where we got stuck in drifts one Christmas Eve in my father's pickup. Although it had stopped snowing and the county road had been plowed, the side roads hadn't. The wind had blown snow into deep drifts. My father, who could drive through most anything, found himself mired this time. So we bundled up with everything we had and hiked the mile into my grandparents' house. My father left a kerosene lantern burning in the cap he had built on the back of the truck to keep the from freezing. As I remember, of particular concern was a television set we were bringing out for my grandparents.
The church itself, a simple wood-framed rectangular sanctuary with a basement for Sunday School classes, opened to a wood porch and steps when my grandfather was pastor. A new entry appeared to have added space for classrooms, an elevator, and perhaps an office. My grandfather, as I recall, had used one of the two bedrooms in the parsonage as his study and office.
Usually we would slam the door behind us on the way out, shutting Jerry in. By the time he got out, we were all riding away on the tank, and because he was too small to get on by himself, we would pretend he was being left behind.
I remember this game as enormous fun. Perhaps Jerry remembers it with less affection.
My last previous memory of Golden Prairie was in early June of 1958. My mother, 8 months pregnant with Jonas, my brothers John and Jerry, and I had moved to the parsonage while my father, my grandfather, and my oldest brother, Jay, packed our house in Laramie. When they arrived, we were to leave for our new home in New Hampshire.
Although cautioned by my grandmother that my impatience would not bring them any sooner, I spent several days outside with my shirt off, watching the end of the road for signs of my father's trucks. In the end, they arrived when they were supposed to and I had a painful sunburn for the start of our journey east.
Stefan and I wandered around the yard a bit, took some pictures, discussed what might or might not be housed in the addition to the original church, before we decided to move on. One thing I hadn't remembered is that the road hits a T about 150 feet beyond the church. Both are ranch roads, one to the north and one to the south, about a mile and a half apart and each the better part of a mile from the church.
We got back on 213 heading south, absorbing what seemed familiar as an authentic feel of the west. We passed an abandoned barn at one point that made me want to hike out to look around a long freight train a bit further on.
I didn't climb the fence and wade through the tall grass, but I pulled it closer with my camera to have a look.
By the time we reached the interstate and headed west again, we had decided to skip Cheyenne for sure and to stop at Vedauwoo, provided the snow clouds had moved on and the roads were passable.
In the mean time, it was after 2 and we were just hoping to find a place to eat lunch.
