Stirrup Deep in Grass

Sometimes I just need some wide open spaces.  This photo was taken a few years back while traveling through a portion of the Canadian River country in the Texas Panhandle.  If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you will see cattle scattered in the distance.

It was early Spring, yet you see a good amount of dried grasses among the greening countryside.  This ranch seems to be well managed and supports a large amount of wildlife along with the cattle.  I often see Pronghorn and Mule Deer when I pass through. 

It is an area once covered with American Bison and was a part of what was formerly the Comancheria -- home to the Comanche Indians.  It is one of the last parts of our country that was "domesticated" by settlers.  It was also a haunt of outlaws that raided the north-bound cattle drives during the late 1800's when The Trail shifted west to the eastern edge of the Panhandle.

Although you don't see it in the photo, this is a high-producing area for oil and gas.  In spite of what appears to be land with "nothing" in it, it helps feed the country, fuel the country, provides a home for wildlife and is visually pleasing to this old eye.  I don't think you can get much more sustainable than this.

In my mind I am horseback with my feet just clearing the grass and trailing west....

August Storms

The golden grasses
Crackle under foot
As dusty odors
Rise from my passing.

Even the insects
Are silently waiting
As the tiny dot of promise
Builds on the horizon.

A gentle breeze stirs
The drooping leaves
Of plants not native
To the arid clime.

Hope springs
In the blossoming white puffs
That appear mysteriously
In the blueness of the sky.

Gathering,
The whiteness turns gray
And then the deepest blue
As it hangs curtains on the horizon.

The breeze strengthens
And even the hard stems
Of golden grasses
Begin to shiver with excitement.

As the curtain approaches
A brown smudge appears
Rising against the darkness,
Swelling to a rolling wall.

The odor of dust
Permeates the rising wind
And the first stinging particles
Assail upturned faces

As dollops of moisture
Splash muddy blotches
On greedy surfaces
That quickly absorb.

Brown gives way
To greens and whites
On the backdrop
Of deepest blue-black.

Whack!
Whack, whack!
Pingggggg!
Run!

Peas and marbles
Golf balls and baseballs,
The roar grows
And overwhelms.

The horizon moves nearer
As objects fade
Beneath the torrent
Rolling across the plains.

Prayers answered.
More prayers said.
Fear and thanksgiving
Together swell.

Renewal
Comes
With
Trial.

The People, Not the Land

Thank you to those who responded to my Appeal. I will begin by responding to the question, "Why do you live where you do?" It was posed by both Rodney Olsen and Incognito.


What seems a simple question
Is actually quite complex;
It is one that each should give some thought
Although it might well vex.

The question is what led you
To the land where you now live?
What brought you to this wondrous place
That takes the time you give?

My answer starts with ancestors
Of hardy pioneer stock
Who came out west in earlier times
Than this in which we walk.

My roots reach out to Scotland
Through Georgia and Oklahoma
And from Virginia through Kentucky
And the Ozarks of Missouri.

Each branch eventually converging
In these Plains of endless view
Where to my young parents
Came me, brand spanking new.

I grew up here on these open plains
That stretch as far as eye can see.
I grew to love the emptiness
That made me feel so free.

But then I left and went to school
In a very different place.
It was down in Central Texas
Where I was just another face.

I missed the wind -- it never blew.
I felt smothered by the humidity.
And almost everyone I met
Had grown up in a city.

I felt pressed upon at every turn
Like sardines in a can.
I needed space to get away
Where I could breathe again.

And so upon my settling down
I came back to the plains
And started a family
In this land of infrequent rains.

Eventually, as time went by
My work made me to move
First to Kansas and then the city
Where I never found my groove.

From DFW to Nebraska
We packed our things once more.
Then finally back to Texas
We set foot on friendly shore.

We were home. All was well.
It felt right again you see.
We live here now because
It's where God means for us to be.

It's not the open spaces
Or the wind that ever blows
That makes this Panhandle
The place where our heart grows,

It's the people. It's the family.
It's the friendly open hand
Of the folks that are life's blessing.
It's the people, not the land.

Spring Works

Spring is when most of the big ranches gather their cattle off of the range and work them. It's called "Spring Works" for all you non-agricultural types. The pictures below were taken several years back by a friend of mine who was helping out on one of the big outfits. I hope you enjoy!

Sorting the cattle (separating cows from calves).

Heeling (catching a calf by the back legs).

Easing him out (has one caught and separating him from the rest).

Draggin' (pulling the calf that was caught to where it can be "worked").

Flanking the calf (positioning him for doctoring).

Turning them out.

Taking them home.

Roping and dragging

Aren't common these days.

The ranchers have all

Gone to more modern ways.

They gather the cattle

On four-wheelers now

Instead of the way

Their grandfathers knew how.

They say that it's progress

And that it is smart.

But I think the old ways

Were a work of art.

The Cultural Heartbeat of America

My blogging friend, Angel, over at Womanhonorthyself, seems to think that New York is the cultural center of the universe. I suppose I can understand her "snobbery", being from New York and all, but I think she needs to get out of the city more to learn about real culture.

Here in the Panhandle we have:

The excellent Amarillo Symphony Orchestra -- but we also have the Coyote Orchestra that performs multiple times nightly.

Multiple theatrical companies performing in various venues such as the new Globe Fine Arts Center, or the West Texas A&M Fine Arts Center -- but we also have the outdoor amphitheatre amidst the grandeur of Palo Duro Canyon where there are nightly performances throughout the summer months.

Many internationally and nationally known musical entertainers performing virtually every weekend -- but we also have -- well, actually, many of them came from this area -- especially in the country music genre.

Our multicultural heritage is obvious. Just go into any Walmart. Spanish is as common as English -- OK, in some towns you have to hunt for an English speaker. Hey, that's just like some areas in NYC.

We have some of the world's finest dining. The Lone Star Diner on the old Claude highway southeast of Amarillo is world famous for it's Prime Rib. The atmosphere is unique as well. It is owned and operated by a former professional wrestler. The clientele ranges from the well-to-do in coat and tie to bikers covered with tattoos. It's a real experience.

In most towns in the Panhandle you can sample some of the world's finest ethnic cuisine. Mexican food is the specialty, but you can find Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, Greek, and Italian with no trouble -- Pizza Hut counts as Italian doesn't it?

We have zoos, water parks, theme parks, cultural centers -- the Qahadi Cultural Center in Amarillo -- museums -- The Panhandle Plains Historical Museum in Canyon is the largest history museum in the state and one of the largest in the nation -- great architecture -- and the list goes on and on. If you can find it in NYC, you can probably find something similar right here.

There is one exception though. We don't have an ocean full of water, our ocean is of grass. Watching the wind cause the grasslands to ripple like waves is as hypnotic as the ocean -- and just as beautiful in its own way.

The best part of our culture is the people. You will never find friendlier, more open people anywhere in the world.

Now Angel, I know I didn't do it justice, but I felt the need to share with you that the true cultural center, and heartbeat of America, isn't New York City (reminds me of a salsa commercial), it's Texas. And the crowning point of Texas, the part that wears the hat, is the Panhandle.