In the early 1900s, sugar beets were introduced as a cash crop in Colorado, and Great Western Sugar Company factories, where beets were processed into white sugar, popped up in many towns, fueling a sugar boom—in industry, economy, and population! Sugar beets require a LOT of labor, from planting to hoeing, harvesting, and refining and Northern Colorado’s small population couldn’t support the new industry. Looking for a labor force, Great Western started recruiting workers, first in Germans from Russia later from Hispanic and Latino communities.
Separated by time, the story of these children is a story of a vastly different childhood on the banks of the same river. Before popsicles. Before child labor laws.
150 years ago, on July 15, 1874, the conflict over water availability in the Cache la Poudre River Valley erupted. But where did the conflict begin, and why was the river so contentious? Let’s step back in time and find out…
People have been using the water in the Poudre for far longer than 150 years. The Arapaho, Ute, and Cheyenne peoples, along with others, and their ancestors, lived beside and used the Poudre for thousands of years before Euro-American settlement. However, around 150 years ago the way humans used this river, and its water, drastically changed.
While Colorado was not among the first areas to see settlement, by the late 1850s-1860s, the region saw rapid transformation. Spurred in part by the discovery of gold in Colorado in 1859, many people from eastern states like Illinois, Ohio, Missouri, Pennsylvania, and Tennessee moved to Colorado. While some tried to strike it rich, the majority were farmers, feeding the steady market for hay, grains, and fresh produce. Moving from states with significant rainfall (on average 45 inches of precipitation) they initially struggled with Colorado’s dry climate (average precipitation of about 15 inches), before realizing irrigation was the key to success—beginning small scale irrigation ditch building efforts in the 1860s.*
In 1870, 144 families traveled westward on the railroad to create an agricultural community called Union Colony (now Greeley). In need of water, the settlers quickly constructed two working irrigation ditches.
View of Greeley Main Street and Number 3 Ditch in June 1870. Photo Credit: [1971.20.0004] City of Greeley Museums
The Greeley Number 3 supplied water to kitchens, gardens, and backyards. The Greeley Number 2 to water farmers’ crops. (The Number 1 was never constructed). Union Colony flourished drawing more settlers to the Poudre region. Two years later, Agricultural Colony (now Fort Collins), was firmly established upriver.
Which brings us back to the year of conflict –
In an already dry and arid region, the drought in July 1874 brought a grave threat to the people of Union Colony. Reliant on the Poudre River for water to irrigate their crops and gardens, and to meet community needs, farmers woke up one morning to find the Poudre bone dry at the Greeley Number 3 irrigation ditch headgate.** But what had caused their water supply to completely disappear?
Photograph of the Larimer County Ditch ten miles northwest of Fort Collins. Left to right: Teele, R.Q. Tenney, and Riddle. c1911 Photo Credit: Archive at Fort Collins Museum of Discovery. [H07772]
It was discovered that their upstream neighbors at Agricultural Colony and other upstream locations were diverting what little water was available into their own irrigation canals. New upstream irrigation canals, such as the Lake Canal, had the capacity to divert the whole of the Poudre River, and that wasn’t even accounting for the low flow of 1874, a drought year. Capacity had become reality—the newer canals were diverting much of the river’s flow, leaving little for downstream users. Union Colony was outraged, marching to Agricultural Colony with their pitchforks (yes, this really happened) to demand their water back.
To avoid an all-out war, some forty irrigators met at the Eaton schoolhouse on July 15, 1874, to find a solution. “The evening was hot, the structure was small, and the Greeleyites (among them several Civil War veterans) arrived with their guns” (Hobbs & Welsh, 2020).
Fortunately, guns stayed in their holsters and no punches (or pitchforks) were thrown. The injection of Nathan Meeker, Union Colony founder, warned that failure to reach an agreement river water usage could open the floor to allow “a heavy capitalist or corporation” to build ” a huge canal from the Poudre above La Porte [upstream of both colonies] and run it [all the river’s waters] through the Box Elder country” (Hobbs & Welsh, 2020).
Afraid of this outcome, the group laid down their pitchforks and eventually, after many more hours of loud disagreement, came to a compromise. This compromise became the basis of what is known as Western Water Law and the notion of “First in Time, First in Right,” or prior appropriation, still used across Colorado today. Prior appropriation means each irrigation diversion has a priority number—based upon the date they were built and first began to divert (kind of like take a number and get in line). The senior priority users get first use of the water and down the line. However, they can only divert as much water as they hold shares to and must put it to “beneficial use.” The water provisions established 150 years ago, here in the Cache la Poudre River National Heritage Area, were eventually written into Colorado’s Constitution and are still in effect today.
Back of photo reads “Young wheat just starting being irrigated for the first time–Jackburn Baxter.” c1895 Photo Credit: [AI-2526] City of Greeley Museums
This conflict over Western water law not only led to the development of Western water law, but it’s the reason the Cache la Poudre River was designated by Congress as a National Heritage Area.
*Irrigation Ditch: Ditches are man-made channels built to store and divert water to where it can be used by farmers to water crops and provide water to towns.
**Headgate: A headgate is an irrigation structure used to regulate the flow of water from a river into an irrigation ditch. Headgates can be opened or closed to control the amount of water allowed through.
With summer comes the travel bug, and millions of Americans hit the road in search of adventure. While we check to make sure we’ve got our snacks and charged phones, we take for granted that we’ll be safe and served at the place we chose to fuel up, eat up, or rest up. Not long ago, however, safety and service while traveling were not expected by large numbers of Americans. Read on to discover how one Greeley woman was part of an effort to change that. . .
As car ownership exploded across the United States during the 1920s, a road trip became a new reality for thousands of Americans. But the lure of the open road was also filled with risk for African American travelers. Jim Crow laws, segregation policies, and racist “white only” traditions meant Black travelers couldn’t assume a town had a safe place to eat or sleep. “Sundown Towns,” across the country, and as close as Loveland, banned African Americans in city limits after nightfall, often removing them by force, adding to the risk of a car breakdown. Without knowing where they could safely stop, many African Americans were hesitant to embark on a road trip.
In 1936, a Black postal carrier from New York, Victor Green, came up with a solution—the Negro Motorists Green Book. Part travel guide, part survival guide, the annual guidebook helped African Americans navigate a segregated country for 30 years. Beginning with lodging options, the book soon grew to include amenities like gas, restaurants, beauty parlors, entertainment, golf courses, shops, national parks, and other places welcoming of African Americans. In communities with no known Black-friendly hotels, the book often listed addresses of private homeowners willing to rent rooms to African American travelers. While making safe travel accessible to thousands of Americans, the Green Book also supported Black-owned businesses and transformed travel from survival to a vacation.
For tourists planning a trip to Colorado, perhaps to visit Rocky Mountain National Park (noted in the Green Book as welcoming), the guidesuggestedlodging options across the state. One of whichwas within the current Cache la Poudre River National Heritage Area, in Greeley, at the home of Mrs. Eva Alexander.
For 28 years Eva Alexander hosted Black tourists in Northern Colorado. What might Green Book travelers have learned about Mrs. Eva Mae Alexander over a cup of coffee at her table?
Perhaps they would have learned of her Texas childhood, where her parents, Ervin and Mary Cruter, lived and worked in the home of a white doctor as cook and hostler (cared for horses). Would she have mentioned that at eight she was already working as a servant, or would she have instead shared memories of playing with her little brother? Maybe she would have shared that the family moved to Trinidad, Colorado around 1905. How her father got a job as a railroad porter, and she and her mother no longer had to work. What stories would she have shared with Colorado tourists of the southern edge of our state? Did she pass on travel tips or connections?
Perhaps travelers would have coaxed out of Eva that in Trinidad she developed a talent for music, quickly becoming the boast of the town. A traveler from Kansas might have discovered that Eva once lived right around their corner if she shared how, around 1908, she boarded a train and headed to Quindaro, Kansas (edge of Kansas City) to study at the acclaimed Western University. Established in 1865, Western was the earliest Black University west of the Mississippi, and by the 1900s acclaimed for its music school. Did Eva’s home in Greeley have a piano? Perhaps, if it did, travelers might have convinced her to play.
A photograph of a handsome, young man in Eva’s home might have unlocked for guests the story of George Alexander, a vibrant student at Western who caught Eva’s eye. Though she took a job in Washington D.C. to teach music after graduation,she didn’t stay long. By August of 1913 she had returned to Kansas to marry George. The son of a prominent minister and graduate of Western University’s tailoring school, George had quickly worked his way into management of a white owned tailor shop,but also owned and managed his own tailoring and dry-cleaning store for Black residents. The African American newspaper, the Western Christian Recorder (incidentally still the oldest continuously published African American paper in the U.S.), joyously announced the marriage, being sure to mention Eva was an accomplished musician. Eva soon set up her own business, a music studio. Two years later, their daughter, Olivia, was born, followed by William. Eva might have smiled recounting the story, her family was now complete.
But then, Eva’s face might have saddened. With deep connections to the African Methodist Episcopal Church, George had become a minister and the young family had moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1917. Six months later, George suddenly died of pneumonia, leaving Eva, “a lone widow, struggling with two small children for an honest livelihood,” as she would later write. With two children under four, Eva moved to Globe, Arizona, taking a job as a teacher at a segregated public school. With her guests would she have shared her experience, or perspective on the ongoing discussions of school segregation or the Civil Rights movement?
With their coffee long gone Eva’s guests might have asked, “How did you end up in Greeley?” Maybe Eva would have told them what we, historians, don’t know—what inspired her to move two young children to a Colorado town she’d never lived in—packing up Olivia and William in 1922 and moving to Greeley, where she purchased her home—the Green Book stop—at 106 E 12th Street.
The rest of Eva’s life travelers might have been able to observe for themselves. Her deep involvement in her local church. Her care of her elderly neighbor, Rev. W.H. Mance, who appeared alongside Eva in the Green Book as a host for travelers until his death in 1943. Her caring naturewhichled her to pursue careers as a housekeeper, nurse, and later volunteer for homebound seniors. Her generous spirit that opened a home to touristsfrom 1939-1967—the entire run of the Green Book outside of New York. Her strength to raise two children as a single mother, and the pride she must have felt in their success. Olivia went on to lead the HeadStart program in Phoenix where she lived with her husband and daughter. William pursued a career in film—creating newsreels on African American soldiers during WWII, then establishing his own company in New York and London, producing films and later documentaries that went on to win UN awards. He was inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame.
What stories would a guest in Eva’s home have departed with? Heading out, guided by the Green Book and a hope in a more equitable future where tourists to Colorado’s mountains, cities, and parks would be welcomed for a night in any hotel, regardless of race.
In 1948 the authors of the Green Book wrote, “There will be a day sometime in the near future when this guide will not have to be published. . . It will be a great day for us to suspend this publication, for then we can go wherever we please, and without embarrassment.” In 1964 the Civil Rights Act banned racial segregation in restaurants, hotels, and public places. Three years later, in 1967, the final Green Book was distributed. Mrs. Eva Alexander was in the final issue.
Eva Alexander died in 1987, she was 95 years old, and is buried in Sunset Memorial Gardens in Greeley. Her home still stands in Greeley.
If you missed part one of our 1904 flood series be sure to give it a read for the full story!
May 20th, 1904. 7pm—The force of the water had rushed through Laporte, Bellvue, and Fort Collins, sweeping homes from their foundations, knocking all but one bridge, and leaving the communities feet deep in water. For the people downstream, however, the flood was just sweeping into their homes.
Near the bend in the Poudre, Robert Strauss’ tenants were trying to convince him to leave, but he refused, saying he had lived by the river for forty years and knew how to survive a flood. He would attempt to leave later as the waters rose, spending the night knee deep in water and dying from exposure the next morning after being rescued. (Robert was one of only two casualties.) His neighbor, Will Lamb, also dismissed the warnings, but retreated with his wife and son to their hayloft for the night as the waters rose, now including the force of the Box Elder Creek.
Flood Viewed from the railroad tracks looking at Strauss Cabin in Fort Collins. Image Credit: Archive at Fort Collins Museum of Discovery, [H01961].
In Windsor, “…the flood made a general interchange of property, real and personal, that was not destroyed.” For example, “Melvin Kyger, eight miles from Greeley counted elven houses that floated past his house within an hour and twenty minutes.” William Jones lost 60 of his chickens and all 100 of his turkey eggs but did manage to save his carpets (whew).
Because the landscape levels out, the flood traveled slower through the Timnath and Windsor areas, giving the people downriver more time to prepare and move to higher ground. In fact, the flood didn’t even reach Greeley until the wee hours of the next morning (May 21st) but rose from four to fifteen feet. Like their neighbors in Fort Collins and Windsor, the people of Greeley watched from the edges of the much wider Poudre, as the forceful water swept away bridges, houses, chickens on haystacks, and destroyed the cabbage and onion crops. As the Greeley Tribune later observed, “Thousands of people watched the water from every vantage point, and it really looked more like a holiday for the town than a calamity that was destroying thousands of dollars worth of crops.” (May 26, 1904)
By May 22nd, the flood had moved on, leaving feet of mud and destruction in its path. As the Larimer County Independent Reported:
”A wild, roaring, surging flood swept down through the Cache la Poudre valley Friday afternoon and evening doing incalculable damage to property. Houses, tents, barns, sheds, fences, and bridges were swept from their moorings and dashed to pieces by the angry waters. Thousands of acres of the choicest garden and farm lands in the valley covered with luxuriant crops, were laid waste leaving wreck and desolation triumphant.
Larimer County Independent, May 25, 1904
A collapsed train track over the flooded Poudre River in Greeley. Image Credit: [H08350] City of Greeley
One of the biggest concerns as the communities looked towards the future was the repairs needed to the irrigation ditches. Ironic that water in abundance destroyed the very systems the agriculture communities relied on for water in scarcity, but the reality that few headgates remained, and ditches were filled with mud cast a very real reality that irrigation, and therefore a harvest, would be impossible. Though the system did need thousands of dollars of repairs it was not as bad as first anticipated and there was a harvest in 1904.
Apart from the irrigation damage, there was only one standing (or safe) bridge between Greeley and Bellvue and hundreds of families had lost their homes (including 150 of the German from Russian immigrant families in Fort Collins). In the wake of devastation, Will Lamb, the farmer from Timnath who had spent the night in a hayloft, reminded the communities that sometimes humor and gratitude are the most needed in times of crisis:
”May 22—Fort Collins people may blow about their fine waterworks and filters all they please, but I do not believe they amount to a whoop, because there were great quantities of water that went by here last Friday night that never had been filtered, judging from the sediment it left in my barn. Judging from the smell I couldn’t help from wondering if Lon James and family hadn’t been washing their feet in it… I found my hayrake over in Nelson’s field. He swears he did not put it there so I will let him off this time … I feel sorry now that we fed our chickens at all last Friday, as a good portion of them were drowned that night … It took our front gate too, the d---- knows where, I don’t… I was thankful for small things and big ones…this was one of the big ones and I fill truly thankful we are still here.
Larimer County Independent, May 25, 1904, page 8
Floods are not uncommon on the Poudre. The City of Fort Collins is located where it is today due to a flood on the Poudre in 1864 that destroyed the first Camp Collins, originally located closer to Laporte. Residents of the area might remember when the Poudre and Big Thompson flooded in 2013 or when the Spring Creek flooded in 1997 after torrential rains. But the 1904 storm remains the peak discharge in cfs for the Poudre River. For the people along the Cache la Poudre River, both past and present, water—in abundance and scarcity—continues to be one of our greatest adversities.
A group of people gathered to view the flooded river. Image Credit: [H08408] City of Greeley Musuems
This year we mark the 120th anniversary of the 1904 flood on the Cache la Poudre River, or, as the papers called it, “A Great Calamity.” Read on to discover the story of one river, two days, and thousands of “unfortunate victims of cruel circumstances.”
Newspaper clipping from the days following the flood. “A Great Calamity Visits Cache la Poudre Valley. (1904, May 25). The Larimer County Independent, 1.”
May 20th, 1904 began like any other morning along the Cache la Poudre River. Well, perhaps not like any morning—dark storm clouds lay low over the foothills and there were reports that it was raining up-river, and rain in Colorado is unusual—but for the residents of the lower Poudre’s communities the day began like any other.
Down near Laporte Mrs. J.L. Armstrong fed her children breakfast before shooing them out of the house. In Fort Collins, Chris Mason kissed his wife goodbye before strolling over the Poudre to the new dance pavilion he owned on the north bank, pausing to admire the new piano he’d just installed. Down the road, a group of Germans from Russia walked from the immigrant neighborhood to the new Fort Collins Great Western Sugar factory to put in a day’s labor turning beets to sugar.
Further down, at the bend of the Poudre before it wound down through Timnath, Robert Strauss looked out from the cabin he’d built in 1860 on morning light hitting the river. A few miles downriver his neighbor, Will Lamb, told their other neighbor yet again that he couldn’t borrow the hay rake.
Destroyed train tracks and flooded river in Fort Collins. Image Credit: Archive at Fort Collins Museum of Discovery, [H03229].
In Windsor, William Jones let his flock of chickens and turkeys out before collecting a hundred eggs. And down in Greeley, the farmers near the river bottoms surveyed their fields and were grateful the early onion and cabbage crops were growing well, stretching before turning to finish putting in the last of the beets.
Further up-river, however, all was not normal. High in the Poudre Canyon, and in the tributary streams and canyons that feed the Poudre River, rain was falling. Not just a gentle sprinkle, a deluge. On a landscape that sees an average of fourteen inches of annual precipitation, three to eight inches of rain fell within 24 hours (that’s 20-57% of the annual). The mountain streams and Poudre, already swollen from spring snowmelt, couldn’t contain the water. Unbeknownst to the communities below, Boxelder Creek, a tributary of the Poudre, ordinarily a few feet wide was swiftly growing to a raging river from bluff to bluff, while the Poudre itself was deepening and widening as the North Fork, up in the canyon, dumped its gallons into the already overwhelming torrent.
At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon on May 20, 1904, a wall of water ten to twelve feet high burst through the bottom of the Poudre Canyon a few miles above Laporte, quickly spreading out to more than a mile wide. The Armstrong family, found themselves in the midst of the river, cut off from help by walls of water, scrambling to the top of their home for shelter like the rest of their neighbors in Bellvue and Laporte as the river swept away their buildings, gardens, and bridges. Someone managed to phone Fort Collins before the lines were swept aside, alerting the community that a flood was quickly heading their way.
The view looking at College Avenue from the sugar mill during the flood. Image Credit: Denver Public Library, Western History Collection, [Z-1813].
An hour later, at five o’clock, the flood hit Fort Collins. At four o’clock the river was flowing about 900 cubic feet per second, by six o’clock it was flowing at least 30,000 cubic feet per second (afterwards the USGS commissioner estimated it was closer to 40,000cfs, the yearly average today is around 300cfs). As the water commissioner later wrote in the USGS report, “The flood was down …almost before anyone could remove anything out of the way, and had it been in the night there would probably have been a great loss of life as well as property.”
Luckily for the residents of Fort Collins it wasn’t night, but as the newspaper reported, “…scores of families were driven from their homes in great haste, often compelled to wade through muddy water waist deep to places of safety. Nearly all their belongings, except what they had on their backs at the moment, were left to become the playthings of the rolling, surging flood.” (Larimer County Independent May 25, 1904.)
Rolling and surging it was. Moving houses from their foundations or sweeping away the lighter ones, wiping out gardens and fields, and destroying all but two bridges between the canyon and Greeley. Steel or wood, nothing could stand against the flood water. Chris Mason stood on the north bank near the river—now over a mile wide and running down College Ave five feet deep—with thousands of other residents, watching the “work of destruction” and the dance pavilion, piano and all, collapse and be swept away, taking out the railroad bridge. Across the river his wife, with their children, sought refuge on the second floor of their home, “with fear and trembling,” while through the night a river up to the windowsills swept through the lower level. The next morning their neighbor, Jim Clayton, swam out and rescued them one by one although he refused a final trip to rescue the family chicken.
The sugar factory was surrounded by feet of water and the workers found themselves trapped for the night. Thousands of pounds of sugar escaped being ruined by only six inches. Meanwhile, their families, watched as the entire immigrant neighborhood (now the neighborhoods of Buckingham & Andersonville) was swept away.
Flood damage at Buckingham Place which was the Great Western Sugar Factory housing for the German-Russian beet workers located in Lincoln St. between Willow and Lemay. Image Credit: Archive at Fort Collins Museum of Discovery. [H02438]
By seven o’clock the height of the flood swept through Fort Collins (although it would take hours to recede) but was only just reaching the communities downstream …
Read Part 2 for the rest of the stories of Robert Strauss, Will Lamb, William Jones, and the other residents downriver.
They say behind every good man is a woman, but in the case of the hundreds relying on the water of the North Poudre Irrigation Company it was just one woman—Miss Stella M. Newell.
Stella Newell, born in 1885, grew up near St. Louis, Missouri. After contracting tuberculosis, she moved to Fort Collins in 1914, a common move when clean air of the West was thought to cure ailing lungs. Less common, in 1914, was a young woman striking out on her own. For six years Stella worked a variety of jobs—even spending time as postmistress of Coalmont, a rural community near Walden, Colorado—but in 1920, she was offered a job that changed her life, secretary and treasurer of the North Poudre Irrigation Company.
1933 Audit, p.161. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resources Archives, Fort Collins, Colorado.
The North Poudre Irrigation Company, made up of nineteen reservoirs, hundreds of miles of ditches, and hundreds of shareholders, was (and is) vital to farming in Northern Colorado. Shortly after farmers began settling here in the 1870s, they realized rainfall would not provide enough water to grow crops. As a solution, they began constructing a complex network of irrigation reservoirs and ditches, founding companies to build and maintain them, including North Poudre in 1901. Running such a company was no small task, so in 1920 they hired Stella.
Fort Collins Courier June 194, 1920. P.3. Accessed on newspapers.com
Stella managed day-to-day operations and finances, assisted with the purchase and sale of stock and shares, secured renters for farms and water rights, answered inquiries and legal questions, testified in water rights cases, and answered thousands of pages of correspondence. In an era before email, computers, or in some cases direct telephone lines, this was no small feat. In most cases, the correspondence is businesslike, Stella often signing simply as “secretary,” but upon occasion, especially when corresponding with fellow women, personal notes, political discussions, and friendly requests appear. Stella was the brains and heart behind the operation—in fact, a shareholder once wrote that when Stella was out sick none of her bosses knew enough to fill in! In an era where a woman with a career was uncommon, Stella devoted her life to this work.
Annual Reports, 1941-1965, image 110. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resources Archives, Fort Collins, Colorado.
Annual Reports, 1909-1920, image 193. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resources Archives, Fort Collins, Colorado.
Correspondence. February 1935. WNPR Box 39, Cor. 1935 Jan-Mar. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resource Archives, Fort Collins, CO.
Stella was also very involved in the Fort Collins community. She organized the Delphian Society (think book club on steroids), was a member of the Order of the Eastern Star (women’s branch of the Masons), attended the First Presbyterian Church, and was an early and lifelong member of the Business and Professional Women’s Club. While Stella never married, she was loved by many, appearing frequently as an attendee in social gatherings, trips, and wedding parties! She rented a plethora of apartments around Fort Collins, even living in the Northern Hotel for years!
Sadly, the poor health that brought Stella west followed her all her life and in 1953, after thirty-three years in office she resigned from the irrigation company due to illness. She died in 1956 and is buried in Grandview Cemetery in Fort Collins.
You might be wondering, “Gee for such an important person, where’s her photo?” We’d like to know the answer to that too! Despite combing several archives and sources, Cache NHA staff and local archivists have been unable to find a photo of Stella! What we’ve discovered is that despite decades of critical work, her tenure is rarely mentioned or remembered and there is no known photograph of her. In a sad way, this is a bit poetic. A woman who was in many ways taken for granted remains in some ways invisible even to us. Stella offers us a small look at the often-hidden work women did to build industries and communities across the West.
This story was compiled from research conducted by Cache NHA staff including records at the Fort Collins Archives, Colorado State University Water Resource Archives–North Poudre Irrigation Company Records, on Colorado Historic Newspapers Collection/Newspapers.com, and U.S. Census Records.
Annual Reports, 1941-1965, image 110. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resources Archives, Fort Collins, Colorado. https://hdl.handle.net/10217/192915
Annual Reports, 1909-1920, image 193. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resources Archives, Fort Collins, Colorado. https://hdl.handle.net/10217/186350
Correspondence. February 1935. WNPR Box 39, Cor. 1935 Jan-Mar. North Poudre Irrigation Company Records. Water Resource Archives, Fort Collins, CO.https://hdl.handle.net/10217/187557
Throughout her childhood, Dena Egenhoff was surrounded by strong female role models from engineers to professors. She found them “capable of anything they set their minds to.”
“My own mother instilled in me the belief that my gender should never limit my aspirations,” said Egenhoff.
Alyssa Alpe has been a student of history her whole life. It started in her early years where she grew up driving by Windy Gap reservoir, listening to her mother, a former Colorado State University Extension Agent on the North Platte Basin Round table in Jackson County, say that water was THE issue in Colorado.
When she started college, everyone questioned Alpe’s decision to pursue a history degree, unsure of the careers available for historians. But Alpe knew she, “loved researching in the archives to piece together a narrative that interpreted the story of the past,” and that passion would lend itself to her career somehow.
After graduate school, Alpe landed a job at a law firm where she discovered the world of records management, a profession focused on understanding records and making them accessible to others to tell a story or research an issue.
“It’s about being a ‘knowledge keeper’ and finding a way to communicate that knowledge to others,” Alpe said.
In 2015, Alpe was hired as a Records Data Analyst for Northern Water. Alpe has been with Northern Water for eight and a half years now and she has advanced in her career to the Records & Administrative Services Manager.
In the day-to-day, Alpe balances the managerial and Board of Director support roles along with the records and information management program. She can be found figuring out the best way to collect and store records, researching any number of topics like the origins of the Colorado-Big Thompson Project, or making plans for archival projects like digitizing collections to make them accessible. In the future, she hopes to add another job to her plate to work with the communications team to develop the public history components of their website.
“You have to have a bit of background on many issues,” Alpe said. “You don’t have to know everything, but you have to know a little bit about a lot.”
Q&A with Alyssa Alpe
Q: What do you enjoy most about working with/studying water?
“The fact that it’s a constant state of learning. I don’t feel that you ever get to a point where you know everything about water because there is so much to learn. You’re constantly learning and that’s my favorite part.”
Q: What is the most challenging aspect of your job?
“It’s a challenge to keep up with the complexities of managing water in the United States and in our region. There’s been a real transition in terms of the institutional knowledge of folks that have retired during COVID-19 and moved onto different spaces of life. Transmitting that knowledge down the line to the next generation is a constant evolution. My hope is that through records and information management, that knowledge is accessible to our future selves 25 years down the line.”
Q: What has your experience so far been like being a woman in this line of work?
“Northern Water has modernized a lot since I started in terms of more diversity and women into this space. That’s been really encouraging to see. And I think further down the road we will have more and more of that. We have women in leadership roles across the organization which has been a shift from when I started 8 years ago. So, there is a legacy being built by women in these spaces that have historically been male dominated, and their voices will be preserved in our records for the future.”
Q: What’s a project you have worked on in this field that you are most proud of?
“When I first started with Northern Water, our former public information officer was working with a historian over at UNC, Michael Welsh, and he was writing a book along with the recently passed, former Colorado Supreme Court Justice, Greg Hobbs, who wrote prolifically about water in the west. They were working on the book Confluence: The Story of Greeley Water. We were able to dig into our records and give Michael these old newspaper clippings. He really appreciated that because we were able to give him pieces of information that contributed to this big project about the story of water in Greeley. I really loved that project because I got to work with Justice Hobbs before he passed and Michael Welsh as a historian.”
Q: What or who has been an inspiration to you throughout your work experience?
“My number one mentor in all my life has been a former professor of mine, Heather Thiessen-Reily. She is a professor of history at Western Colorado University in Gunnison. She has done a lot of work with the National Park Service, working on public history projects. She has always been my inspiration because she is so driven. I am still connected with her, and she’s been a valuable person that I still go to if I have questions about something.”
Q: What is something you have learned about the water industry that you didn’t know before you started your role?
“It’s been hard for me to fully comprehend the prior appropriation system and how water is allocated because it is very complex. But it is also fundamental because it’s how we get water to our taps. I did not come into my role with Northern Water with a background in water. It’s been an evolution of learning and that’s the system that has been the most complex for me to learn, especially in terms of keeping the records and indexing with the appropriate terminology to be able to track back the history.”
Q: What advice would you give to other women that may want to get into this type of work?
“Be open to anything. You don’t know how that job will evolve. I didn’t think I would get into water when I left grad school and landed at a law firm working in records. I was just trying to navigate life after college. Be open to opportunities because it may not happen overnight, but eventually you do end up navigating your career towards what you want to do. It can get a little discouraging when you are trying to wedge your career into one path, and it’s not working out. But I believe all those experiences come together to make a package that will land you where you need to be, especially if you’re knowledgeable and passionate about things. Ask questions. And always be open to learning.”
“The other part of it is to be engaged with the public agencies, community organizations, your town, and other communities in the region that you may not know anything about. Learn about the region and its many histories, particularly if you are looking to work in the water industry in Northern Colorado.”
Benjamin Eaton grew up in Ohio in the 1830s and 1840s. Upon reaching adulthood, he undertook a series of tasks and adventures that prepared him well for the future role he would play in settling the Poudre River Valley. While still in Ohio, he was a surveyor assistant on the new railroads passing near his family’s farm. He moved to Oakland Township in Louisa County, Iowa, in 1854 where he taught school and initially farmed on shares. He joined the Columbus City, Iowa, Pikes Peak Expedition in spring 1859 that departed for the Colorado gold fields. The group followed the South Platte River into Colorado, camping one night at the mouth of the Poudre River.
That summer, the Iowans searched for gold, encountering the rules and technology being used in the mining districts which permitted everyone to join the search for gold. The Miner’s Codes allocated land and water in a first-in-time, first-in-right manner, making sure that each took only the amount of land and water that he/she could actively utilize. Ditches were dug to move the water out of the streams to the sluiceways. The mining camps had a great need for hay (fuel) for the horsepower needed to keep the mining operations active. Observing this scene and noting its function and needs would serve Eaton well later in life.
After six months, all members of the Columbus City Expedition, except Eaton, returned to Iowa. He decided to check out other mining camps and met another Iowan, Jim Hill, from Wappelo, Iowa – a community less than 20 miles from Eaton’s Iowa farm. In December 1860, Eaton and Hill joined the Second Baker Expedition to search for gold in the San Juan Mountains in southwestern Colorado. The effort was unsuccessful with miners dispersing. Eaton and Hill passed through Fort Garland on their way south where they observed the Hispanic irrigation developments. They begin farming on shares at the Maxwell Land Grant, in Cimarron, New Mexico, working within the acequia system for constructing, maintaining and operating an irrigation ditch.
In late summer 1863, Eaton and Hill departed Cimarron, heading toward Denver, with the intent of visiting Iowa (and, for Eaton, Ohio) before returning to Colorado to homestead. Where to homestead? Before heading east, employed as drivers of freight wagons, they returned to the mouth of the Poudre and camped, again. About 12 miles up the Poudre, where the valley widened and natural hay meadows existed, they staked their claims with a hastily constructed claim ‘shack’.
In March, 1864, Eaton marries Rachel Hill, Jim Hill’s sister. Early summer they depart Iowa for Colorado via covered wagon, to take up the homestead claims made the previous fall. As they travel up the Poudre River in July 1864, Eaton notes the extremely lush native hay meadows at their homestead. Their arrival occurred a little more than one month after the flood that forced the military to move their camp from Laporte to a new site – Fort Collins. Eaton realized, that July, that he could make a large sum of money transporting the large supply of hay from his farm to mining camps – camps he knew well.
Over the next six years, Eaton constructs the B.H. Eaton ditch to water his hay meadows at times other than nature’s one natural irrigation each spring. He establishes a prosperous farm and helps the growing community build its first schoolhouse along the banks of the Whitney Ditch, just north of the Poudre River, southwest of today’s downtown Windsor.
In late 1869 Eaton learns of Nathan Meeker’s and Horace Greeley’s plans to create the Union Colony in the general area of the Poudre River. Eaton suggests the broad area around where the Box Elder Creek enters the Poudre River (near the Council Tree). However, Meeker decides to locate the Colony where the new train tracks cross the Poudre River, and about five miles from where it empties into the South Platte River.
Thus, Eaton had experience with surveying, moving water away from rivers via canals/ditches, and procedures Hispanics and miners use to allocate water among competing users. This, along with his strong initiative, puts him in an excellent position make major contributions to Colorado’s water infrastructure and, in turn, creation of Colorado water law.
Photo Credit:
Archive at Fort Collins Museum of Discovery c. 1911
References:
Norris, Jane E. and Lee G. 1990. Written in water: the life of Benjamin Harrison Eaton. Ohio University Press, Athens.
Hobbs, Greg. 1997. Colorado Water Law: An Historical Overview. Vol 1(1): Water Law Review, University of Denver, Denver Colorado [http://duwaterlawreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/1UDenvWaterLRev1.pdf]