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| Heartland highlights, Mr. Black and the Formless
by Chris Aaland What makes holidays special are family traditions. No two families celebrate the same. Mine usually forgoes the standard turkey and stuffing dinner in lieu of a trek to Norton, Kan., for a week of pheasant hunting. Norton is a sleepy little burg approximately the same size as Mancos, but the similarities end there. Geographically, it’s about a 10-hour drive from Durango. Economically, it’s totally agriculture based. Politically, it’s the dark side of the moon for pinko liberals like me, deep in the heart of the reddest part of one of the reddest states in the country. Despite what you may think, northwestern Kansas has a unique beauty. Its hills, creek bottoms and draws give you plenty of vertical hiking, often in snow or mud. Think it’s flat? Try hiking 10 hours behind an amped-up German shorthair pointer, chasing after chicken-sized birds that would rather run than fly. You’ll notice the burning sensation in your calves by lunchtime, I promise. By the end of the day, you’ll happily pack away your shotgun and shells and sit in waist-high natural grasses watching the sky turn from blue-gray to blaze orange to dark purple, sipping a celebratory end-of-day beer and petting your dog’s head. The quiet solitude isn’t what makes Norton special, though. It’s the people. And, just as Durango has its share of characters, so does Norton. Take the late Skeeter and Darlene, former proprietors of the Club Silvaire. The Club was a funky little dive and one of a handful of bars in town. Back in the ’80s, Norton County was mostly dry. To drink, you had to have a membership at a social club. Skeet was a haggard recovering alcoholic in his 60s, although years of chain smoking and alcohol abuse made him seem 80. But he had a heart of gold and could mix classic cocktails like no other. When we’d walk in, he’d stop whatever it was he was doing – which was usually bullshitting one of the locals – and immediately fill copper mugs with ice, fresh lime juice, Fee’s ginger beer syrup and vodka, floating a blast of 7-Up on top and a lime wedge. The cocktail was popularly called a Moscow Mule back in the day. (The Ska/Peach Street boys now favor a similar drink called the Copper Cabra, which essentially substitutes ginger beer for the impossible-to-find ginger beer syrup.) Darlene ran the kitchen. Dinner at the club meant picking out your own steak from a cooler. Our favorites were 3-inch-thick club steaks, which came with salad bar and choice of potato. The salad bar wasn’t a collection of fresh veggies, but rather a staggering array of bean salads, potato salads and a big tub of iceberg lettuce. By the time the Club closed its doors nearly 10 years ago, a steak dinner could still be had for less than $10. The décor set the Club apart from any bar I’ve ever been in. The dining room had prints of two famous Western paintings – “The Lone Wolf” and “End of the Trail” – art that you’d see in any steakhouse. What made the Club unique was that there were several dozen prints of each in a variety of sizes and media. The dimly-lit bar featured thousands of trucker caps strung up like Christmas lights. The only per-se Christmas light was actually a red bulb wired to the nose of a mounted deer head. Skeet and Darlene lived about 5 miles east of Norton in what used to be the clubhouse at the old golf course. We’d often stay there, paying $5 or $10 per night to sleep in a room filled with a dozen dormitory beds. Skeet was an antique collector who cruised estate sales and auctions throughout Kansas. Roaming his halls yielded countless treasures. I spent many an evening looking through old 78 rpm records of big band, jazz, blues and country records, most of which were cut between the Great Depression and the Korean War. Skeet and Darlene passed nearly a decade ago, she of a massive heart attack in the Club’s kitchen and he a few years later from emphysema. Their kids and grandkids have all but moved on, leaving Norton for the greener pastures of Kansas City and Denver. Dinner is usually spent at friends’ houses now, with a handful of fast food chains and a surprisingly good Chinese restaurant the only options for eating out. But the memories remain. And somebody somewhere has decorated their house with dozens of prints of two paintings. For those of you stuck in Durango this weekend, there are a few entertainment options to consider. The big hat and silver belt buckle crowd gets the chance to see country superstar Clint Black on Saturday at the Sky Ute Casino Resort Events Center in Ignacio. Black burst onto the scene in 1989 with his debut album, “Killin’ Time,” which featured four songs that topped the country charts. During his nearly 20-year career, Black has had 22 No. 1s. Be prepared to shell out serious coin: tickets cost 85-100 bucks. Niayh brings its psychedelic, hip-hop-infused soul, rock and R&B back to the Summit on Saturday. The latest album by the Portland quartet is titled “Hope.” After the tryptophan burns off, bring your ipod to the Summit on Thursday night and plug into their system before dancing off some of those sweet potatoes and stuffing. The Formless, Durango’s ambient metal and progressive rock band, plays a free show at the Summit on Friday. Versa Vice also appears on the bill. Dave Mensch performs a free solo set for the Festival of Trees at 3 p.m. Saturday at the Durango Train Museum. This week’s Top Shelf list recalls a few more Heartland highlights: - 4H Sheep Fry Dinner. Sheep nuts deep fried at a community fund-raiser, often the day after Thanksgiving - Disc Golf. It’s not just for hippies anymore. - Boulevard beers. The Kansas City craft ales are some of the oldest in the country. - Love’s Country Store. Their heated bathroom is just a 45-second walk from my parents’ fifth wheel (and less if you’re in a real hurry, if you know what I mean). - Neighborliness. Anyone who’s hunted out there has stories (yes, plural) about breaking down and some old farmer’s assistance. • Watch those jet trails carvin’ up that big blue sky? Email me at chrisa@gobrainstorm.net.
Watch those jet trails carvin’ up that big blue sky? Email me at chrisa@gobrainstorm.net. by Chris Aaland
Norton is a sleepy little burg approximately the same size as Mancos, but the similarities end there. Geographically, it’s about a 10-hour drive from Durango. Economically, it’s totally agriculture based. Politically, it’s the dark side of the moon for pinko liberals like me, deep in the heart of the reddest part of one of the reddest states in the country. Despite what you may think, northwestern Kansas has a unique beauty. Its hills, creek bottoms and draws give you plenty of vertical hiking, often in snow or mud. Think it’s flat? Try hiking 10 hours behind an amped-up German shorthair pointer, chasing after chicken-sized birds that would rather run than fly. You’ll notice the burning sensation in your calves by lunchtime, I promise. By the end of the day, you’ll happily pack away your shotgun and shells and sit in waist-high natural grasses watching the sky turn from blue-gray to blaze orange to dark purple, sipping a celebratory end-of-day beer and petting your dog’s head. The quiet solitude isn’t what makes Norton special, though. It’s the people. And, just as Durango has its share of characters, so does Norton. Take the late Skeeter and Darlene, former proprietors of the Club Silvaire. The Club was a funky little dive and one of a handful of bars in town. Back in the ’80s, Norton County was mostly dry. To drink, you had to have a membership at a social club. Skeet was a haggard recovering alcoholic in his 60s, although years of chain smoking and alcohol abuse made him seem 80. But he had a heart of gold and could mix classic cocktails like no other. When we’d walk in, he’d stop whatever it was he was doing – which was usually bullshitting one of the locals – and immediately fill copper mugs with ice, fresh lime juice, Fee’s ginger beer syrup and vodka, floating a blast of 7-Up on top and a lime wedge. The cocktail was popularly called a Moscow Mule back in the day. (The Ska/Peach Street boys now favor a similar drink called the Copper Cabra, which essentially substitutes ginger beer for the impossible-to-find ginger beer syrup.) Darlene ran the kitchen. Dinner at the club meant picking out your own steak from a cooler. Our favorites were 3-inch-thick club steaks, which came with salad bar and choice of potato. The salad bar wasn’t a collection of fresh veggies, but rather a staggering array of bean salads, potato salads and a big tub of iceberg lettuce. By the time the Club closed its doors nearly 10 years ago, a steak dinner could still be had for less than $10. The décor set the Club apart from any bar I’ve ever been in. The dining room had prints of two famous Western paintings – “The Lone Wolf” and “End of the Trail” – art that you’d see in any steakhouse. What made the Club unique was that there were several dozen prints of each in a variety of sizes and media. The dimly-lit bar featured thousands of trucker caps strung up like Christmas lights. The only per-se Christmas light was actually a red bulb wired to the nose of a mounted deer head. Skeet and Darlene lived about 5 miles east of Norton in what used to be the clubhouse at the old golf course. We’d often stay there, paying $5 or $10 per night to sleep in a room filled with a dozen dormitory beds. Skeet was an antique collector who cruised estate sales and auctions throughout Kansas. Roaming his halls yielded countless treasures. I spent many an evening looking through old 78 rpm records of big band, jazz, blues and country records, most of which were cut between the Great Depression and the Korean War. Skeet and Darlene passed nearly a decade ago, she of a massive heart attack in the Club’s kitchen and he a few years later from emphysema. Their kids and grandkids have all but moved on, leaving Norton for the greener pastures of Kansas City and Denver. Dinner is usually spent at friends’ houses now, with a handful of fast food chains and a surprisingly good Chinese restaurant the only options for eating out. But the memories remain. And somebody somewhere has decorated their house with dozens of prints of two paintings. For those of you stuck in Durango this weekend, there are a few entertainment options to consider. The big hat and silver belt buckle crowd gets the chance to see country superstar Clint Black on Saturday at the Sky Ute Casino Resort Events Center in Ignacio. Black burst onto the scene in 1989 with his debut album, “Killin’ Time,” which featured four songs that topped the country charts. During his nearly 20-year career, Black has had 22 No. 1s. Be prepared to shell out serious coin: tickets cost 85-100 bucks. Niayh brings its psychedelic, hip-hop-infused soul, rock and R&B back to the Summit on Saturday. The latest album by the Portland quartet is titled “Hope.” After the tryptophan burns off, bring your ipod to the Summit on Thursday night and plug into their system before dancing off some of those sweet potatoes and stuffing. The Formless, Durango’s ambient metal and progressive rock band, plays a free show at the Summit on Friday. Versa Vice also appears on the bill. Dave Mensch performs a free solo set for the Festival of Trees at 3 p.m. Saturday at the Durango Train Museum. This week’s Top Shelf list recalls a few more Heartland highlights: - 4H Sheep Fry Dinner. Sheep nuts deep fried at a community fund-raiser, often the day after Thanksgiving - Disc Golf. It’s not just for hippies anymore. - Boulevard beers. The Kansas City craft ales are some of the oldest in the country. - Love’s Country Store. Their heated bathroom is just a 45-second walk from my parents’ fifth wheel (and less if you’re in a real hurry, if you know what I mean). - Neighborliness. Anyone who’s hunted out there has stories (yes, plural) about breaking down and some old farmer’s assistance. • Watch those jet trails carvin’ up that big blue sky? Email me at chrisa@gobrainstorm.net.
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The Independent Weekly Line on Durango and Beyond
hat makes holidays special are family traditions. No two families celebrate the same. Mine usually forgoes the standard turkey and stuffing dinner in lieu of a trek to Norton, Kan., for a week of pheasant hunting.