My Ranching Life in Colorado

By Argie Peroulis (Argyro Trochalis Peroulis)

Tony was full of life. He was a workaholic and a kind man.

I received my citizenship in 1955. My son-in-law (Steve’s Mom and Dad) George, and Georgia Raftopoulos, were my witnesses. After the court hearing, we went high into the mountains and had a celebration. It was a very simple and delicious picnic. We had a card table for all the food. We all were simple people living our lives. There was nothing fancy about it, which is so different than today.

While I was growing up, I always dreamed of going somewhere else. It was a feeling deep inside me. What I did not realize was how hard it really would be to leave everything you knew in your life and replace it with the unfamiliar and unknown. I didn't know any English at that point in my life, but I did know the life I was entering was at the side of my husband with sheep ranching.

The Greek immigrants who started raising sheep in the early 1900s had no idea what being a “rancher” or what a “ranch” was. They were just looking for a place to raise their livestock. This was also the case with my immigrant father-in-law, Harry Peroulis, who started with just a little bit of money, but worked very hard. Harry applied for and received a land grant of 640 acres located in Routt County in 1940, by the authority of the 1916 Homestead EntryStock Raising Act. There, Harry built his summer ranch off of a road bisecting a county road and started teaching his three young sons the sheep ranching life. He purchased more land from the John Dunckley and Kenneth Carrol ranches. Harry ranched until, at the age of 56, in 1946, he died of a heart attack on a nearby county road where his truck had broken down. Andy and his brothers were all teenagers and their sister barely nine years old when they lost their dad. It was a devastating loss for his family.

Before Harry Sr. received the land grant, he ranched in northwestern Colorado outside of Craig, Colorado. One story I remember hearing is that there were visitors on horses who rode in front of their sheep camp almost daily. This was in the early 1930s. They would see the three boys playing outside the tent and would be very friendly to the family. One day, these men rode by and asked where Tony was. My mother-in-law, Stella said that Tony was sick and inside the tent with a fever. One of the guys got off his horse and asked to see Tony. When this man saw how sick he was, he told Stella to cut certain grasses and boil water and put the grasses into the water and then bathe Tony in the water. In those days, a stranger’s kindness meant just that they were kind and helpful.

My worst first heartbreak was the day Tony died on the first of October 1957 on Gore Pass where he rolled his truck down a steep embankment. I only had known Tony for about two and a half years before he died. I was heartbroken. Tony was a unique individual and I will always remember his kindness to me.

All the Greek women made the food. No one ever had to ask them to make anything to bring to a party or to a Church event. They just did it. Today you have to ask people to bring meals and dishes. All the older women then, like Mrs. Papoulas, Mrs. Kourlis, Mrs. Raftopoulos, Mrs. Charchalis, and others were all wonderful and loving people. They also loved to cook and were excellent at it. These women were all born in different parts of Greece and they were lifelong friends to each other and to me. I don’t think my grandchildren will ever meet people like this in their lives.

Poor Otto got sick with cancer about nine years ago. He did not want to see a doctor or go to town. He wanted to die at his cabin. Unfortunately, Routt County picked up Otto and took him to a Yampa hotel. Otto died two days later in that hotel. Otto’s cabin was quickly demolished and the wood was sold. It was a historic property here in Routt County. Our history is leaving us, one acre at a time.

After Tony died in the fall of 1958, we bought grazing land for our sheep and moved into the cabin that Andy’s brother Tony and sister-in-law, Marie had shared. After Tony tragically died, Andy and our young daughters lived in that cabin for many summers. I could not have been happier in those days. I felt like I was reborn. Now I had my house in Craig for the winters and my summer ranch in Routt County with no running water.

While we were living in the cabin and before we purchased our current ranch, we had an older neighbor who lived by himself up the road. His name was Otto. Once there was a knock on our door and opening it, I saw Otto. I got a little scared because I had never met him. He was a weathered older man and kept to himself. He lived with his horse and wanted to be left alone most of the time.

At our first tiny ranch we brought our little girls here every summer. There was an outhouse, reminding me of my young years in Lemnos, with no electricity or running water. We used a nearby spring for our cooking, bathing, laundry, and outside watering needs. Andy taught the girls how to siphon creek water with a hose into buckets. They would then bring those buckets to the cabin and fill the water barrels we had outside. Because the cabin was built in a place with no trees, the girls found tree saplings and brought them to the cabin with Andy to plant around the cabin. The girls brought the water from the stream and watered the trees every day. Those trees are huge fullgrown trees today and provide much needed shade in the summer months. After we moved to our larger Ranch below Dunkley Peak, we remodeled our first cabin.

Andy had graduated from high school in Craig and a lot of his high school friends married and continued to live in Craig and ranched. Ranchers’ wives were around my age, and we all got together as well. Through the years, we all got together for dinners and barbeques. It was great fun. In particular, Tom Peterson was a really good friend. I remember Andy being very upset when Tom died and named a pasture on the lambing ground. He named it Peterson Pasture in his honor.