By Cheryl Toth, ecoprenuer, mobile knowledge worker, animal lover, and gardener

Every little Western town's gotta have a charismatic founder. Ours was Rollin Rice Richardson.

Richardson was a Pennsylvanian who struck it rich in oil while in his early twenties. Looking for something to do with all that dough, and having a certain wanderlust, Richardson heeded the call to "go West, young man," and parked part of his fortune down on the San Rafael de la Zanja land grant in 1880. This beautiful expanse of green grasslands was perfectly suited to agriculture and cattle raising.

Pretty soon, some pals of Rollin's talked him in to going into business with them, and the group founded the San Rafael Cattle Company.

Cattle ranching was fine for a hobby, but Rollin, being the baron that he was, decided that he'd better make his mark on the area. So in 1896, he decided to found himself a town, and of course, make it his namesake: Rollin. He built himself a beautiful territorial-style home and with the mining craze in full swing, was successful at getting merchants, minors, and settlers to move to town.

Problem was, Rollin wasn't really liked by many of the locals, and they didn't care much for the town's name, either. In 1899, when residents petitioned the post master general for a post office, they decided to also change the town's name to Patagonia, after the mountain range that towers over the valley.

It's been called Patagonia ever since.

While Patagonia became a bustling hub, other mining towns sprung up around it: Harshaw, Duquesne, Mowry, and Washington Camp were successful settlements located to the east and southeast.

Then the New Mexico and Arizona Railroad came through, connecting Patagonia to the rest of America's train routes. Hotels, boarding houses, an opera house, restaurants, and bars were built to serve the burgeoning population. The town attracted a diverse population of Hispanic, Anglo, and Chinese residents. Patagonia had its own newspaper in 1912, and christened an elementary school on 1914, which still educates preschoolers and lower elementary students today.

But as with many Western towns of the era, the mines went south, and so did the Patagonia's boom days. The last ore was shipped in 1960, and in 1962 the rail line was closed down. The rails were removed and the railroad right-of-way became our beautiful, tree-lined park, thanks to visionary Patagonian Ray Bergier, who lobbied railroad executives for an easement.

Today, the old depot is our Town Hall, which provides both residents and visitor with a nostalgic reminder of days gone by. And the park is one of our most valued treasures, hosting picnics, family celebrations, Fourth of July festivities, the Patagonia Fall Festival, dogs, locals, and visitors alike.