I am happy to present Grandfather's stories to all the rest of the family. It was a dream of his to get them printed up so that others could read them. Many of you who lived close to him have heard them directly from him, and no doubt remember his excitement in telling them. Some of the stories were written in his own handwriting, but the bulk of them were written down long hand by my mother Crystal during the 1930's, just as he told them. We children were not aware at that time of the reason for our making such frequent trips from our home in Denver to Wheatland. We looked forward with great anticipation to the opportunity to play with our many cousins there.

We were probably told that Mother was working on Grandpa's stories. We were having such fun visiting their country schools during our spring vacation, helping with the chores, playing dress up, getting to ride their horses and attending Sunday School at the school house during those summers and we were not aware of her work at that time. Our free trips on the train were made possible even during the depression since our father Raymond, worked in the down town office of the Colorado and Southern Railroad quoting freight rates to would be customers. On a holiday or a weekend he would sometimes come along, but usually it was Mom and us three kids.

Some of Joe's grandchildren helped in the 1940's by typing up the stories that were handwritten before his death in June of 1943. My sister Marion helped Mother put the stories in chronological order in the early 1980's shortly before Mother's fatal illness and death in 1984. Here I am another decade later deciphering revising and organizing the stories once more. With the help of my husband Stan, and the modern day computer, I have been able to speed up the process.

I have kept the stories in the vernacular Grandpa used, only adding punctuation and sometimes changing the spelling a bit for easier reading. He had an amazing vocabulary. Included in the book is a page In Joe's own handwriting which shows his enthusiasm in writing out his experiences. Also included is a map drawn by him of the area in western Nebraska where he lived.

It has been almost one hundred years since the two families left Nebraska to seek a better living elsewhere finally making their home in Wyoming. As we read we need to keep aware of the times in which he lived under differ-ent prevailing attitudes and circumstances.

Sibyl Hudson Goerner (Adams)
May 1993

I here wish to pay tribute to one who had more to do toward shaping the lives and characters of his children through story telling than he ever realized. To me as a child my father was the greatest of story tellers, true stories, if you please, for my father was and still is a firm believer In the truth and nothing but the truth.

These stories were related to the oldest down to the youngest as each grew old enough to understand them. Sitting on our father's knee, too young to understand words but not too young to listen to the rise and fall of his comforting voice was indeed a pleasure.

Father could see the humor in the most tragic circum-stance and often in the face of real danger while others would be frantically wringing their hands. He would keep all from certain disaster by some remark or joke that would relax the mind and make for clear thinking. Though my father wouldn't have known the meaning of the word psy-chology he applied those principles every day of our lives. Now when grown real trouble or trying situations are approached with the attitude acquired in childhood. No situation Is ever so bad but what there is some way out, and why not enjoy the experience.

Father and mother were industrious hardy pioneers. My father came to Nebraska in 1873 when he was sixteen years old. His life from then on was one filled with the eventful happenings of his day, and his mind naturally put each happening into story form. His was the day of the trapper, the hunter, the Indian and the cowboy, the rancher and the farmer. He experienced the transition period from the lawless old west, the last frontier, to state hood law and order. He was a part of the historical events of his tUne and because of a vivid memory his stories bring to life the characters and thrilling events to be enjoyed by the following generations.

From the hides and furs of the animals they trapped, such as beaver mink otter and some of the predatory ani-mals, my parents made gloves mittens caps coats and mocca-sins for the family. Some of the hides and furs were traded for flour sugar cloth and other staples of living. Mattresses were made of the hair taken from antelope and deer hides in the process of tanning. Husks of corn and grain straw were used for straw ticks. Later geese were raised and the feathers and down were used for feather beds and pillows. With a feather tick under us and one over us how could we help but keep warm during the cold-est cold snap especially after the family moved to Wyoming where my childhood began. We always had a big pile of chopped pitch wood near our door. The children's job was to carry in a day's supply and stack it back of the stoves each evening.

Father was also a weather prophet and I might say a very accurate one. If at sundown the clouds looked a certain way, he would say, "We'll have a clear day tomor-row" or "That cloud hangs in the right place for wind" or "We had better salt cattle tomorrow" or "we can't haul hay". Always our work plans were made according to his predictions. His bunions played a very important part in these predictions also. I have seen him sitting quietly reading when his face would screw up in pain. He would stamp his feet and say, "Ou--ch! Whee--ew! my bunions!--surely going to be a change in the weather".

Often some happening during the day as my father went about his work, would remind him of an experience in his childhood or younger days. The story would be told that evening. A camping or hunting trip would call for stories of hunting or trapping in father's early days, told with all the thrills, pathos, an danger, adding heroism bravery and honesty for good measure. Character building yes, but little did my father realize his stories were just that. He told them for the sheer joy of it and for the pleasure he saw in our young eager faces.

I would that the real joy his own children experienced on hearing these oft repeated tales could be caught by all those who now read the following pages. These stories were retold as I his youngest daughter took them down in an attempt to preserve them and keep them alive for the generations to follow. It is to them and to friends of the pioneers of Nebraska and Wyoming that we dedicate this book.

January 25, 1942, Crystal Hudson Adams (1895-1984)

©Sibyl Hudson Goerner 1993