Symbol of a Bygone Time

 

I know this is not the first time I've led off with the photograph of a Longhorn.  They are picturesque critters and I enjoy seeing the colorful beasts in the pasture.  This one is in fact a Corriente Cross cow and not a pure Longhorn -- whatever such might be.

Painted and splashed with colors galore
She grazes the Great Southern Plains
Not know how symbolic she stands
Of an era dimmed with age.

Once great herds of clicking horns
Trailed up from the brush 
To markets the railways had reached
On their transcontinental quest

Of populating the western reaches
Of a country just beginning to feel
The strength of the mightly economic engine
Swelling with power of imagination

Into the vast unknown lands
Of bewildered tribes who found a new enemy
Much stronger than their ancestral nemises
With whom they had fought for ages.

She and her kind fed the westering hordes
As well as those left behind 
In the growing cities where
Food must be imported from elsewhere.

Today, she is as much a relic
As the American Bison
And the painted natives
That she helped to displace.

A Chuckwagon and a Stew Contest

There are few things that draw attention faster than a chuckwagon.  This authentically restored wagon belongs to some good friends of ours who know how to make you feel you have stepped back in time to the cattle drives.  This weekend it is parked at the Hopkins County, Texas, world famous stew cook off.  This is the 50th anniversary of the event and our friends usually take home the Grand Prize.

The rig utilizes a large canvas "fly" that covers the food preparation area and provides room for some seating.  It is a cool and rainy year, so additional "drops" which create a wall along the north side were hung to keep the rain out.  Even the stakes for the fly are hand cut Bois d'arc reinforced with rawhide for extra strength.  The woven bottom chairs and wagon-slat tables are also authentic.

Ignore the plastic trash can and bag of charcoal and focus on the chuck box which has a foldout work table as well as storage boxes and trays.  On the table in the foreground, the box is full of handmade from Mesquite, wooden utensils, including ladles, spatulas, stirring paddles, serving spoons and scoops for flour and sugar.  The keg at bottom right contains the sourdough starter which is used for the bread which includes loaves as well as Dutch Oven biscuits.

Everything is cooked in cast iron.  The firebox is used to build a large bed of coals which are then placed on and under the Dutch Ovens and as a source of heat for the coffee pots and the cauldron of beans you see cooking.

The Dutch Ovens sit over a bed of hot coals and have additional coals on top to create even heating.  These contain potatoes and onions while others contain Beef Brisket and still others are used for Cobblers.

The contents of each oven are periodically checked to ascertain readiness.  Everything is timed to come out to perfection at just the right moment.

Although you can barely see it for the steam, this is one of the Briskets.

Here the brisket is being sliced for serving.  The potatoes and onions are in the foreground and in the top right corner is the cauldron of beans and pork sausage.

It's hard to beat the taste of properly prepared Brisket.  Notice the "bark" along one edge.

Here is a view of the steaming cauldron of beans and sausage.  There was quite a line ready to be served by the time the meal was ready.

Of course, the meal wouldn't be complete without Dewberry Cobbler made in the Dutch Ovens from locally picked wild Dewberries.

The only thing that might have made the meal any better would be some Blue Bell Ice Cream to go on top of the cobbler.  Although it is thoroughly Texan, it just wasn't around when the wagons followed the herds to market.

Chuckwagons weren't typically seen in this part of Texas back in the late 1800's, but this one adds a real sense of that period to the annual Stew event.  It's a lot of work, but it is a labor filled with joy and a love of the authentic cowboy lifestyle of long ago which is still practiced on many ranches in the western states.

Drifting Mind, Drifting Herds

The period just after the Civil War is one of my favorite in American history.  It was a time of rapid westward expansion into the sparsely settled Plains and mountain fastnesses of the young and growing country.  It was the time of great herds moving northward from the brushy wildness of Texas to the nearest rail head.  Sometimes my mind thinks on what it would be like to be upon those great drives....

Tired from weeks upon the trail

The steers stood slowly.

Colorful hides contrasted with the green lushness

Of early Spring grasses

That drew them ever northward

To the markets that awaited

At the end of the trail.

Squeaking leather signaled

That the horsemen were mounting

For another day of monotonous,

Plodding steps upon the sod

As ever forward moved

This mobile feast toward the rails

Which would carry them eastward

To their demise

And resurection

As sustenance for the growing,

Thriving,

Westward advancing

Civilization.

A Visit to the Mountain Oyster Club

This past Wednesday, I was one of the presenters at a Cattlemen's gathering at the famed Mountain Oyster Club in Tucson, Arizona.  It is a private club with limited membership.  The gathering was tremendously successful.  It's too bad that I couldn't take photos inside the club.  Of course, all I had with me was my Blackberry.  I've GOT to start taking my camera with me when I travel!

There is beautiful Southwestern Art throughout the club as well as historic photos.  Of course, the theme of Mountain Oysters is evident about anywhere that you look.

The Drinking Gene

If you’ve got any “westering” blood in you, you probably also carry the “drinking gene.” Just think about it. Why would men leave the cozy safety of fireside and feminine company for the wilds of the unsettled if they didn’t have something that drove them to it?

You might respond that they were looking for opportunity. Well, that’s all and good except there’s opportunity about everywhere one looks. It’s just a matter of hard work and stick-to-it-ness that turns anything into success.

I suspect many a lazy drunk headed west because his wife drove him to it. Can’t you just hear the conversation?

Her: “Get your lazy rear up and get to work. You won’t never accomplish anything settin’ there with that jug!”

Him: “Ain’t nothing here to accomplish! All the good land is already taken and so are all the good jobs.”

Her: “We got land that could be cleared, wood that needs cuttin’, huntin’ to do and hogs that need butchered and here you sit, sippin’ from a jug and complainin’. All it takes is some industry to turn it into a pretty good livin’!”

A few days go by during which he makes a trip to town where he and his buddies share a jug and a little conversation. They hear tales about the glorious west with furs for the taking, gold for the plucking and land that stretches clear to the horizon. So, filled with liquid courage, our good man goes back to his young bride and says, “You’re right honey, you deserve the good life. I’m gonna head west and make us a fortune and then send for you to come out and join me.

She responds, “You just do that. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve already got. I already do most of the work around here. Don’t come back ‘til you’ve made your fortune.”

That was one scenario. Here is another.

Lewis and Clark are putting together an expedition to map the Louisiana Purchase. They scratch their heads in perplexity at the daunting task of finding a group of men to go with them. They realize they will face hardships and hostile Indians. They know that many of them won’t return. Finally one looks to the other (I’ve no idea which) and says, “Jefferson gave me a good bit of money to get this expedition going, why don’t we head down to the waterfront to one of those bars and see if we can make us a few friends. We’ll get ‘em drunk and then get ‘em to sign on. We need lots of booze because we may have to keep ‘em drunk ‘til we’re half way there. It will need to be far enough out that they will be safer sticking with us than heading back on their own.”

So, they went to the bar and ordered drinks for everyone. Then they issued a challenge: “I’ll bet there ain’t a one of you sorry cases that’s tough enough to join us on a little expedition out west. We only want the meanest, toughest, orneriest types to go with us. We’ll cross some of the wildest lands and fight some of the deadliest Indians on the continent until we get all the way to the Pacific Ocean and I’ll bet there ain’t a one of you that can handle the trip!”

Well, you know that courage pours out of those bottles right along with the colored liquid they contain. Nearly every man in the joint took offense at the challenge and signed on immediately along with belittling and bullying any laggards into doing the same. It only took one stop to fill the quota of men needed and the expedition was ready to go. It only needed two wagons of rotgut booze to make it to the Mississippi and another boatload to start west.

Or, let’s try another scenario.

This one occurs in the Deep South in the early 1800’s after a round of drinking that impaired the judgment of the participants.

“You have impugned my honor for the last time, sir. I challenge you to a duel at 30 paces!”

After the challenger and the challenged have raised their level of courage to a point sufficient to the event by sipping from the little brown jug, they meet at the appointed time and place. Such events were generally considered outside the law even in those perilous times, yet they occurred nonetheless. The trouble was, often the victor became outside the law but was in a better position than the loser who was perhaps, dead. Hence, the victor often traveled west where his past could easily disappear into, well, the past, and no questions were asked.

So, you see, many of the ancestors of us folks out west had a little of the “drinking gene” that drove them beyond the borders of civilization and into the wilds. It makes you wonder if the West would ever have been settled without the little brown jug.

[The idea for this brief piece came from the 1927 book, “Trails Plowed Under” by Charles M. Russell.]

[Since this was published I came across the following linked article:  Genes Influence Your Response to Others' Drinking Habits  -- hmmmmm......]

Music and Western History in Common

This past weekend I attended the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Convention and Trade Show in Corpus Christi. During the afternoons of the two-day trade show, entertainment was provided by John Arthur Martinez and Mike Blakely. These guys are great musicians and talented writers as well. Click on their names for links to their websites. Besides performing his music Mike Blakely is an accomplished western writer.

On Saturday evening after the Trade Show was over, I discovered that the two of them and I were staying at the same motel. A good friend of mine who also has a couple of blogs (here and here) struck up a conversation with them as he was waiting for me to meet him for dinner. When I walked up and was introduced the conversation continued about music and history and kids and values and all of the things that we all seemed to have in common. Before it was time for dinner we discovered that John Arthur's wife knew the wife of one of my cousins who happens to live in the same town (Marble Falls, Texas, and the creative community of CastleRock) with them. As we talked, we discovered how small the world truly is. For great Texas flavor, both the music of John Arthur Martinez and the books and music of Mike Blakely, can't be beat. I recommend you try them out. Check out some of these links to Amazon.

Lone Starry Night - John Arthur Martinez

Stand Your Ground - John Arthur Martinez

Shortgrass Song - Mike Blakely

Moon Medicine - Mike Blakely

West of You - Mike Blakely (music)

Update on "Billy"

Since posting the last entry on the story "Billy" that I had started, I planned on regularly adding sections of it so that it created a series. That is still in the plans. The trouble is, as I began going through it, I found some inconsistencies that needed re-working. I guess that's a good thing. Instead of languishing in the "dustbin" of my computer files, it is now a work-in-progress that is receiving attention.

"Billy" came out of my love of the history of this part of the world. The Texas Panhandle truly was the edge of the "wild-and-woolly" west during its heyday. Characters like Kit Carson, Batt Masterson, Doc Holiday, Charlie Goodnight, Dave Rudabaugh, Casimero Ramirez, Billy the Kid, and other famous and infamous individuals spent time in the area. Place names like Tascosa, Fort Elliott, Adobe Walls, Dodge City, KS, and Las Vegas, NM, are all connected to the Panhandle. It was the home of Kiowa and Comanche Indians until about 1876. It was the "trackless" grassland known only to Plains Indians and Comancheros for many years while areas surrounding it were settled. It was the last stronghold of the Plains Buffalo.

All of this history fits into the story of "Billy." That's why it's taking awhile to prepare the next post. My personality is such that I want the historical setting to be accurate. I want the events to fit neatly into the "real" history of the area. I am a critical reader. When I find events or places in a story that don't fit history, I am at least mildly disappointed and often disgusted if the abuse of accuracy is blatant. Therefore, I will take my time, check my chronology, make sure it all fits together correctly, and then I will post the next section. I'm sure I will miss some things, but I hope to minimize any inaccuracies.

My aim is not to write a "western" novel. My aim is to set a story about a young man struggling with eternal questions of values into a history that is of interest to me. Hopefully it will be interesting to others. Again, any and all feedback will be appreciated.

John

Standing about six-foot-five
Plus two inches of boot heel
If you stood him up straight,
John is topped by a black
Felt hat that's pulled down
Tight because he doesn't like
To chase it in the wind.
Unless otherwise occupied
His thumbs stay hooked in his
Pants pockets because there's
Not much else to do with 'em
When he's talking to someone.
It used to be he always had
A ready smile for just about
Everyone that came his way
But the cares of trying to
Build his own herd have
Made that smile so scarce
You sometimes wonder if
His best friend just died.
His face is lined with years
That age him faster than the
Calendar or his friends from school
That went on to city jobs because
The pay was better and the work
Wasn't nearly so hard.
But John's a survivor made
From the stock that built this
Western country from scratch
Way back before the roads or
The fences cut it into nice, neat
Patches that call it tamed.
He's an anachronism --
Living a life that many a youngster
Once dreamed of living before
Reality crashed and sent them
Scurrying for safety and security.
Loneliness and wind and too much
Sun have left their mark on this man
That was born at least a hundred
Years after his allotted slot in
The ribbon of time had
Already passed by.