It was a well thought out decision that prompted my husband and me to seek a more suitable environment in which to raise our children.

Ken had fulfilled his service obligation and with his discharge from the Air Force we were ready to conquer a new territory.

The Colorado mountains beckoned to us, bravado prevailed, and we set our sights for parts unknown to us both.

I remember the anticipation and apprehension when we loaded all our worldly goods into a U-Haul attached to our six-cylinder station wagon. Our two small boys were bedded down in the back of the wagon, while our two-month-old baby girl was cushioned by an assortment of pillows and blanket against their sometimes riotous activity.

With the added weight in and on top of the car it didn't take us long to realize that it was packed to capacity plus. On the steeper grades we went snail’s pace not from desire but from necessity. Faces of passers by registered disbelief; there was never a question of who had the right of way. They almost always yielded. I took this as a sign of respect, a tribute to our courage.

It seemed like more than once we rounded a corner like a semi-truck, tires screeching, weight shifting and that's at slow speeds. I often held my breath, wondering if we would ever make it to the state line. Luckily Ken was an excellent driver, who took every precaution. When we filled up with gas he always checked the tires, the trailer and the engine fluids.

We plugged along and the trip was relatively uneventful until the night of March 10. The desert had long since given way to the majestic Colorado mountains, and it seemed the end of our journey was near. It was then we made the acquaintance of the infamous Monarch Pass. Snow was falling lightly, the edge of the road bore signs of a long, hard winter reluctant to leave. We crawled slowly up the imposing peak where a sign had read ‘Summit 14,000 ft.’ It was then that the motor grinded to a halt.

With a few well chosen but unprintable words, Ken attempted to restart the engine. Instead, the weight of the U-Haul shifted and caused it to jack-knife, luckily across the road toward the mountain and of course blocking the road.

I reached back for what seemed the millionth time to cover the sleeping boys. As I did so, I glanced out the window. Fear seized me causing a cold chill to creep up my spine. The shoulder of the road had vanished and I stared into an endless bottomless space.

My heart began to pound, my mouth was suddenly void of moisture and I could not speak. It was then that my eye caught the shining silver figure resting on the dashboard of the car. A ray of moonlight enveloped our friend and protector, St Christopher. At that moment the fear subsided leaving a calm peace within my soul. It was almost as though the small statuette had spoken had spoken to my inner being and said "The Almighty wouldn't bring you this far, only to dash you over some foreign cliff." It didn't occur to me then but I have had time to wonder where that ray of moonlight that bathed our little figure in light had come from, for the sky had been pitch black with only the snow falling.

I was startled by the sound of a human voice. I looked out and saw Ken talking to a truly Good Samaritan of the open road. Thank God: A truck-driver had happened by and was imparting his many years of experience to my husband.

My memory fails me as to how we got old Betsy moving again but before long we reached the summit.

It was then that our littlest boy Toddy, seventeen month old raised his tired little head and whimpered "Mama." The truth became known to me as to why we had been spared the canyon depth a few miles down the hill. His jaws were suspiciously grotesque. No doubt he had the mumps.

I had packed the baby’s formula in ice, so with a little mother's ingenuity I extracted some of the still solid pieces of ice, wrapped them in a clean diaper and applied it to my son's painful swollen jaw. It seemed to be just the solution to an almost insolvable problem, but long before the end of our trip the ice was gone, the formula spoiled and Toddy looked like the descendent of a chipmunk.

We came down from the perilous mountain country. The landscape looked more like the desert whence we had come. The earth was dry and parched from the lack of rainfall, contrary to the wet slopes we had just descended. Far off in the distance could be see the tell-tale signs of civilization. Truly it was a welcome sight

As we came closer, however, my hopes crashed, for there in the center of town rose an ominous black monster covered with centuries of soot and steel dust. It dwarfed the ancient, tired structures weathered by the years and natures torrents. The steel mill spewed a mixture of colored poisons into the atmosphere, that infiltrated and clung to the air, making it almost impossible to breathe. It exuded an odor which was an affront to our then delicate nostrils.

I was nearly to the point of tears partially due to exhaustion, but also from the disappointment I witnessed in my husbands face. He tried so hard to be cheerful, but I knew this was for my benefit. He's like that, always putting my feelings first, but I sensed that his cheerfulness was only half-hearted.

After getting lost on one-way streets we finally pulled into a motel. A kindly waitress brewed a batch of formula for our now starving infant. There was a handy ice machine by our door. Even though it did not help the swelling in Toddy's jaw, it did help the discomfort.

At long last the children were tucked into bed and fell fast asleep. Now we were confronted on where to go from here. Quite frankly we were tempted to turn around and go back to Nevada where at least it was warm.

Our first consideration was to take stock of our financial resources which by now were nearly depleted. With this in mind we began looking at the want ads, our primary concern being to secure adequate housing for our wandering tribe.

Ken had signed up and paid for school while we were in Nevada. It was telegraphy school (before the times of modern communication). Part of the arrangement was that he would have a job, and we would be provided living quarters. The next day, we found out that 700 men had been laid off at the mill so there were no jobs to be had. We looked at some of the houses but that also did not pan out for in the first place we looked at, I encountered a huge rat.

Luckily I had a profession that allowed me to get immediate employment, because I was a Registered Nurse trained in psychiatry.

The other large employer in Pueblo was the Mental Hospital that had a census of 4,100 patients. I was hired for the Denver-Adams division and was the only nursing supervisor for 622 patients and 124 employees. The grounds were like a sprawling campus with huge trees and manicured lawns. My Division alone had 5 two- and three-story buildings. At least this way we would be able to feed ourselves.

We stayed in the Motel as long as we possibly could afford, looking every day for a proper place to move. God must have been smiling on us for we found a basement apartment we could manage. It was spacious enough that we could but the boys in the huge front room, and we and the baby would take the bedroom, plus there was a large country kitchen. We had a fully furnished apartment for a very reasonable sum. When we walked in with the children, our oldest boy, Bobby, looked around and saw the walls were covered in knotty pine. He turned to Bill (our soon-to-be landlord) and said, "We will take it!" Bill was so tickled he knocked off $50 dollars just for the little boy. I heard him tell his friends many times about the little boy who loved knotty pine.

I don't suppose that through the years we ever regarded them as landlords, but as friends. Bill is much like an uncut, unpolished diamond in the rough. He tends to be opinionated but generous to a fault. There were times in the beginning that money was really scarce. I only got paid once a month.

Bill would say, “Forget about this month’s rent. It is on the house.”

And when the school for Ken hit hard times and closed, he got a job roofing and was out of town a lot. Bill would stop by to check on us and bring us a home-cooked meal. Jenny possessed a sense of humor that served as a buffer to all the brashness Bill attempted to muster. We found them to be vastly contradictory individuals, who are really all heart, and proved to be our salvation. Perhaps that is what life is all about. Troubles come but it is in our fellow man that God gives the answers. In the past years Bill and Jenny have given us hope, joy, encouragement, but most of all love.

It was as though they adopted a new family even when we added another darling baby girl to the mix. Kenda and Kali became their own little darlings. Every holiday they came bearing gifts for the children—stuffed animals, Easter baskets, etc.

It is now nine years later and we are contemplating another move, this time east and across country. We still have our St Christopher even though he has been deposed and discredited. We have four children now, a hamster, a parakeet, and a German Shepard. I'm sure our possessions would fill a large moving van, plus a U-Haul. My only hope is that where we are going, there will be another Bill and Jenny in case we lose our way, for they were more than true and dear friends. They were our Saints in Disguise.