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Storm brings sweet change for ranch Livestock deaths force farm family into finding indoor source of income By Kit Miniclier for The Associated Press VILAS, Colo. � The Halloween Eve blizzard of 1979, which killed hundreds of his sows and dozens of his cattle, ultimately led veteran high-plains farmer and rancher Melvin Konkel to a cleaner, sweeter, more enlightening career. "We had to make changes in our lifestyle," Konkel said of tallying $850,000 in blizzard losses. He tried a few other jobs before starting a cottage industry with his wife, Kay. Although Kay Konkel hadn�t made candy before, except for some fudge, a friend encouraged her to try the lollipop business. Since she needed something to do, she did. A couple of weeks after she started, Melvin Konkel happily gave up his interim job recycling aluminum, rolled up his sleeves and joined Kay in their farmhouse kitchen. The couple began filling tables and counters with a daily production of 2,800 suckers. They were used to much harder work. Before the blizzard, he irrigated 1,500 acres of wheat, corn and milo. He also ran both a fertilizer business and a bulk oil and gas business and had 1,000 head of cattle and 600 sow hogs. "That night we had 100 mile-an-hour winds," Konkel said, referring to the storm. "Two feet of snow were left on the ground." He could see dozens of dead cattle from his kitchen window the next morning. That was B.C. � before candy. Konkel, who relishes his sweet success, built a production plant behind his home, next to towering grain elevators and across the street from the farming hamlet of Vilas, population under 100. Although his address is Vilas, the factory is on the townsite of the long-vanished community of Kliesen City, which he owns. Why locate a lollipop factory, which employs 15 people and ships 5 million to 6 million suckers a year, in the middle of flat, parched, virtually treeless high plains in the remote southeastern corner of the state? "Why not? We are right here in the heart of the United States," said Konkel, whose father moved to the area from Kansas in 1903. His lollipops, displayed on trays, in jars, bins and tall displays in retail stores in dozens of states, come in 60 flavors, ranging from fuzzy navel, jalapeno, tutti fruiti and blue Hawaii to cookies �n� cream, magnificent cheesecake and mint julep. "We make good candy," he said, declining to name his favorite. The business is doing so well the family branched out, four years ago next month, and launched the Prairie Candle Co., 10 miles west of the lollipop factory on U.S. 160. At the front of the candle factory is a spacious, aromatic gift shop filled with the sort of knickknacks that grandmothers, their daughters and grandchildren love. Beyond the back door of the shop is a spacious, two-story factory that produces about 250,000 scented candles in individual jars each year. Many more smaller votive candles are made for churches. Each of 16 long tables holds about 150 pounds of wax candles, said Zaylan Konkel, the Konkels� son. The candles, which come in 4.5-, 10.5-, 16- and 22-ounce jars, offer 40 scents in nearly as many colors. They range from "Cinnfully Vanilla" to "Prairie Spring," which has a "sage-spice-outdoor" smell. Each jar candle bears a color picture of an abandoned prairie farmhouse with a windmill in a field. Each glass lid is handpacked with kernels of wheat and broom bloom. Both companies are family owned. Leafing through files in a side office of the candle factory, Konkel, 64, told a visitor, "Right now I�m in the prime of life." His dad, Eldon, who celebrated his 101st birthday last month, "lives in his home and still drives occasionally," Konkel added with a smile. Mail Tribune Home | Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. | Dow Jones & Co., Inc. | Privacy | Contact Us Copyright � 2000 Mail Tribune, Inc.