This wasn’t the Colorado of the ever-expanding Denver or the glittery Rockies. The land here was flat and dry. From the highway, brown and yellow fields stretched endlessly on either side. The road signs they passed advertised gun shows and summer potato festivals. One they saw showed the image of downtrodden American Indians being herded onto a reservation, with the ominous headline “Take Away Our Guns.” Grazing cattle and livestock were visible from the road.
Once they got to Greeley they took Route 34, heading west along the river. The water seemed low, the level conspicuously below its banks. The fields on either side were brown and arid. It was clear the entire region was in the grip of an extended drought.
“Not much hope in being a farmer up here,” Hauck commented sadly, remembering what Trey’s family did.
“That’s for sure.” Dani nodded.
The town itself looked like one of those western towns time had forgot. One main street of washed-out, old brick storefronts: a bank, a café, an insurance co-op, a hardware store, and a feed center. All sandwiched around a couple of vacant storefronts. There was no one on the streets. It was clear the place had seen better days.
“I can see why Trey wanted out of this place as fast as possible,” Dani said, as they stopped at the one light.
They’d input the Watkins address into the GPS, and it took them out of town and on a straight country road that followed the river, which continued to be extremely low on its sides.
The sky was vast and wide with a layer of thin, high clouds. Everything seemed bone dry. All they did see were the occasional isolated trestles and the military beige cylindrical structures of oil wells.
About ten minutes out of town, dried-up fields on either side, the GPS had them make a left and they drove along a long, wire-fenced farm, or what would have been a farm had anything actually been growing. Many of the fields were dug, but seemingly not planted with anything. The crops Hauck did see were small and intermittent—onions, maybe potatoes. Some early corn. It was June; they were trying to grow, but nature seemed to have another plan. Irrigation ditches were dug all around, and long, transportable watering trestles sprayed the best they could, but Hauck didn’t see a stitch of real water anywhere.
At the end of the fence, the mailbox read WATKINS.
The house was a traditional red farmhouse with a couple of large barns: one for some equipment and tractors; the other, it appeared, for livestock. A few milking cows and some head of cattle ranged lazily in a field. Hay bales were stacked. A tall wind wheel sat at rest, as if waiting for a breeze. It didn’t take a 60 Minutes piece to see life was hard here.
“How the hell do they even scratch out a living here?” Hauck looked around gloomily.
“Trey didn’t like to talk much about his family,” Dani said. “He just said it was way different than in the mountains.”
Around a dozen cars and trucks were pulled up either in front of the house or on the road. Hauck parked behind one and said to Dani, “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let me talk to Allie first. I’ll introduce you to her.”
“You’re the boss. Let’s go.”
Two people were leaving as he and Dani stepped onto the front porch and held the door. They nodded hello. The inside was austere and sparely decorated; comfort wasn’t a big factor here. Utility was. Sparse, wooden furniture, a simple open kitchen, threadbare couches and chairs, a lot of tartan plaid. There seemed to be around fifteen to twenty people standing around the kitchen and living room, picking at meat-and-potato pies and desserts. A few vases of flowers put out.
Someone called out, “Dani!”
A pretty young woman rushed up to them, her blond hair pinned up, wearing kind of a peasant dress.
“Allie!” She and Dani came together in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry, Allie. How’re you doing? What a stupid question … I can’t believe this has happened. I’m just so sad.”
“I know. I know.” Allie Watkins put her face on Dani’s shoulder and squeezed her. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know you would be here. I know it was such a long drive.”
“Allie, I want to introduce you to my godfather, Ty. He’s from back east. Connecticut. He’s out here visiting.”
“Nice to meet you.” Allie looked up, a brave face, but her eyes a little swollen and red. “I’m sorry this is how you have to spend your trip. It was awfully nice of you to come.”
“Allie.” Hauck squeezed her hand. “Dani’s told me a lot about your husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
She nodded bravely and sniffed. It was easy to see why people liked her. “Thanks. This is quite a place here, huh?” She shook her head at Dani. “The land time forgot. C’mon, let me introduce you to Trey’s dad.”
“Where’s Petey?”
“With his grandma. Trust me, he doesn’t exactly lack for attention here. I don’t even know what to tell him yet. He’s only two. He keeps asking for his dad.”
Dani interlocked her fingers with Allie’s. “I can only imagine how hard this must be.”
They met Trey’s dad, a tall, soft-spoken man with an easy smile but rough, callused hands, wearing a western pocketed shirt and pressed khakis, who introduced himself as Chuck. He was probably in his mid-fifties, but looked older, as such a hardscrabble life might do. They also met Trey’s brother and sister: Nick, maybe eighteen, muscular and fit, short hair brushed forward; and Kelli, in her twenties, pretty, dressed a little more sophisticated than the rest of the family. She explained she worked back in Greeley, at the college.
Her father said she was going to be married in the fall to a professor there.
“Nice of you both to come.” She greeted Hauck and gave Dani a hug.
“Dad, Dani’s a whitewater guide back in Aspen,” Allie explained. “She rode with Trey. In fact …” She stopped before saying what she was clearly about to, that Dani had been the one to find his son.
“He always liked to go fast,” Chuck Watkins said with a shake of his head. “Years back, I caught him diving off that barn out there into a mound of hay as if it was a pond. That’s a twenty-four-foot roof he went off of.”
“How old was he?” Dani asked.
“I don’t know.” Trey’s father looked at his daughter for confirmation. “Eight, maybe?”