
1819-1895
No, he weren’t the first, to see the Santa Cruz,
but the land was cursed, and others got the blues.
Vanquishers from Spain, through Mexico they came,
never could they reign, Apaches took their claim.
Next would come the Padres, robes of black or brown,
then arrived the cadres, the soldiers of the Crown.
Presidios and Missions, soon would dot the Trail,
wild Apache canyons, assured that most would fail.
For peace in the land, make the Spaniard pay,
‘cuz the Chiricuahua band, has got to have its way.
Gotta’ give ‘em tribute, the price the Spanish paid,
no more will they loot, no more will they raid.
Valley fills with cattle, Vaqueros ride the range,
tribe’s no longer feral, did they forever change?
Then Mexico revolts, against the Spanish dolts,
and Apacheria bolts, just like the wild colts.
Dyin’ ain’t so sweet, the Mexicans retreat,
left the cattle and the wheat, knowin’ that they’re beat.
The Mexican War, land’s empty like before,
Gadsden to acquire, in Eighteen Fifty-Four.
Settlers and miners, fillin’ up the land,
jingling cowboy spurs, achin’ to expand.
American Dragoons, playin’ fiddle tunes,
‘til Bascom he impugns, a peace of many moons.
Cochise is on the warpath, settlers they all flee,
runnin’ from his wrath, mercy is their plea.
Now Arizona’s empty, like a broken jar,
surely it’s a pity, prosperity to mar.
Only one holds out, at the Kitchen Ranch,
Apaches cannot rout, a man who’ll never blanch.
Hailin’ from Kentucky, Pete was kinda’ plucky,
brave as he was lucky, to friends he was ducky.
His ranch lush with grass, Rosa by his side,
his fortune to amass, his credo to abide.
The ranch becomes a fort, bastion up above,
raiders he will thwart, Pete’s no turtledove.
One by one the others, are driven from the land,
by Apache brothers, of Cochise’s hostile band.
Kitchen, he holds out, courage does he flout,
no battle is in doubt, whenever he’s about.
Down to his last cow, pigs will have to do,
Great Spirit don’t allow, cuz eatin” pork’s taboo.
Shoot ‘em full of arrows, pincushions they become,
grazin’ with the burros, out there in the sun.
Comes the big attack, the courage he don’t lack,
his rifle it will crack, as they’re driven back.
The Apache get the word, don’t mess with Kitchen’s gun,
no stealin’ of the herd, ‘cuz dyin’ ain’t that fun.
When the wars wars would pause, he hung a few outlaws,
don’t need no legal clause, he hung ‘em just because.
And though it ain’t a sin, the railroad’s done come in,
his profits gittin’ thin, old Pete, he cannot win.
Sells it for some cash, then he makes his dash,
Gambles with his stash, losin’ in a flash.
No, he weren’t the first, to see the Santa Cruz,
Now the land ain’t cursed, ‘cuz Kitchen paid his dues.
LDT Oct 24, ‘21

Pete Kitchen was born in Kentucky about 1819. He fought in the Mexican War of 1846. He may have come to Arizona as early as 1854. In 1862 he started his ranch north of modern Nogales, Arizona. He raised cattle, pigs and produce. His ranch home became a fortified redoubt. No one ventured outside the wall unless they were heavily armed. A sentry constantly patrolled the parapet. The Apache Wars would ravage Arizona until the 1880’s. During the 1861-’72 war with Cochise, the Kitchen Ranch was virtually the only safe haven between Tucson and Magdalena, Mexico.
Kitchen was known throughout the territory for his hams. Pork was the one product that the Apache did not covet. (They hated snakes and pigs eat snakes.) Peace, and the coming of the railroad ended the meat and produce monopoly Kitchen had enjoyed. He sold out in 1883 and moved to Tucson. Bad loans and gambling losses caused his fortune to wither. He died nearly broke in 1895. He was buried in Tucson. His epitaph could easily have been, “Muy valiente! Muy bueno con rifle.”
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