Dac Crossley's Western Blog

A Dead Zone

We find ourselves caught in a certain dead zone, a period between two holidays, both of which celebrate the spirit of renewal. A week of dawdling, unstructured days, resting in place. We of a certain age try to ignore the media’s pictorial reviews of the year. We don’t look back ourselves – too many goodbyes behind us. We take our diversion elsewhere than from our television. 

I surf my bookshelf and browse my favorites. 

The Eternal Frontier by Tim Flannery. How the West was made. Were I still teaching I would insist all students read this one, a geology of North America. Flannery writes so well, so readably. So many discoveries in historical geology since my own coursework, half a century ago. Flannery lifts your spirits. Life is good. 

The Demon-Haunted World by Carl Sagan. “How do we make intelligent decisions about our increasingly technology-driven lives if we don’t understand the difference…?” This one hits a nerve. With the Web, so much constant circulation, how to judge between information and disinformation? I see it every day, and you do, too. Forwarded nonsense. Sagan is dead serious. I sympathize with him, but put the book away. A bit depressing for this season. 

Wicked by Gregory Maguire. You’ve watched The Wizard of Oz with your children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and enjoyed the fable as a child yourself. Maguire takes it to an amazing level, a fantasy seldom captured in words. Like the movie, it’s to enjoy again and again. Especially if you think you would be a writer yourself. In Wicked e you can lose yourself, in this dead zone between holidays. 

Open a favorite book. And with me, turn a page of life. 

Dac Crossley

12/29/2009 

“We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.” – Kurt Vonnegut

 

 

 

 

Winter Solstice

It’s the gray time of year, when we bring as much color into our homes as we can manage. The sun’s rays are long and low. The cat stares out the window, watching the wind blow leaves through the woods.  

The winter solstice brings promise with it. The sun begins its long return from the south, a little at a time, day by day. I measure those minutes. 

At this season, let us be thankful for family and friends and the smiles of strangers. I’m grateful for the pacific El Nino, the visit of the Christ Child, and the drought-breaking rains it brings. And the promise of renewal. At my age I plan slowly and look back with caution. 

And winter solstice is a season of hope, with the promise of the returning sun. 

I hope that our Legislature can put aside petty things and give us health care, affordable and available to all. 

I hope for a renewed economy and the blessings of new jobs in greener industries, and the decline of our destructive coal-based energy policies.

 I hope for a better vision of our goals in the Middle East, well-defined targets that will soon bring home our men and women of our military.

 And most sincerely, I hope for an end to the rancor and divisiveness that has infected our America these past few years.

 Winter solstice, when things look darkest, is in the end a season of rebirth.

 Merry Christmas to all,

 Dac

12/22/2009 

"Never look back. Something might be gaining on you." -  Satchel Paige 

 

A Constant in a Changing World

Even in a world where the only constant is change, where we struggle to keep pace with the demands of our youthful society, it’s nice to find one entity that is with us forever, even beyond the pale.

 I’m speaking of a university alumni association.

 Today I got a letter from the Texas Tech Alumni Association, addressed to “Nettie K. Crossley,” asking for a donation. Nettie – I called her “Keirsey” – passed away in 1959. That is a half-dozen street addresses away, at least. How did they know where to send that letter?

 I’ve have had phone calls from the Association:

     “Hello, may I speak to Nettie K. Crossley?”

     “She’s not here right now.”

     “Will she be back soon? This is the Texas Tech Alumni Association calling.”

     “I don’t think so. I don’t know which way she went.”

 I’ve talked to two or three of the twinkies those outfits hire. I have also explained to the head honcho that she’s dead. None of this seems to matter to them. Fund raising is an imperative that extends into the next life, it seems.

 No, Miss, she won’t be sending you any money. Not today.

 It’s a good bet, though, that someplace beyond us, Keirsey is having a good laugh. I’ll join her in that.

 Dac Crossley

12/18/09 

“Education is what remains when one has forgotten everything he has learned in school.” – Albert Einstein.

 

 

 

My TV Raises Questions --

The big flat-screen TV abruptly quit. A call to North Georgia Electronics. Ti took two men to carry it off to the shop.

 And I remembered the drugstore tube tester. How many of you old-timers took the tubes out of your B&W TV and tested them down at the corner drugstore? Bought a new tube. Fixed the TV yourself.

 (Once, in the middle seventies, I got disgusted with the University and took a correspondence course on TV repair. For a while there, I could tell you what tube to replace when your TV bombed).

 Changes come at us fast and we don’t realize it, until we look around and something is gone.

 Typewriters – now entirely replaced by electronics

Calculators – the good old Fridens and Marchants, likewise.

 Carburators. No more tinkering under the hood. Vacuum-operated windshield wipers. Remember those? No loss there.  Electric motors are better.

Kodak film. The darkroom. Now, it’s pictures on your computer.

 

Makes me wonder. What object, common in our lives, is suddenly on the edge of extinction?? What’s your candidate?

 

Printed books? Will they be replaced by adult comic books? A good question.

 We are clearly changing the way we communicate with each other. Do you use Twitter? Will it give us an entire new scope of social interactions?

 Change you can believe in?

 Dac

12/13/09

 “Between friends, differences in taste or opinion are irritating in direct proportion to their triviality.” – W. H. Auden.

The Persistent, Insistent Horse

Once upon a time, my grandchildren, we rode horses to work – to school – wherever we needed to go. Horses still walk among us, tokens of another time before Henry Ford and his competitors gave us gasoline power. We don’t horses any more. Or do we?

Whoa, there, Pardner! I know, I know, horses still work on the ranch, in places you can’t use a pickup truck or a four-wheeler or a golf cart. We still run the Derby. We teach our children to ride – for pleasure. They're just no longer essential parts of our civilization, as they were for thousands of years. Is there anyone alive today, who can claim a horse saved his life?

Horses and humans have come along way together, haven’t we? Sure, we’ve bred horses for those characteristics we want. Speed, or strength, or gentleness, or just plain beauty. We’ve raised the colts and trained them, teaching them to accept us, to do our bidding.

 And I wonder – have horses changed us as well? Is there some place in my DNA, a little twist or trait that allows me to understand the needs of the horse kingdom? Have we co-evolved; grown old together, so to speak? Maybe horses do more than reinforce our humanity. Maybe they are a big part of it.

 Perhaps horses now share that certain space with dogs and cats, more than pets but not quite a separate culture. (Well, cats may actually be aliens, watching us.)

 So. What can we learn from horses?

 Dac

12/5/09

 “If you’re married for more than ten minutes, you’re going to have to forgive somebody for something.” – Hillary Rodham Clinton. 

Charles Darwin's Revolution

My friend Jerry W. has warned me about discussing controversial topics in my Western Blog. The purpose of the blog is to promote my writing. Discussions of politics and religion don’t belong here.

 However, I can’t help but notice that today is the 150^th anniversary of Charles Darwin’s book, “On the Origin of Species.” The central concept – evolution as an organizing principle in biology – has led to the realization that all life on earth is related. Today’s biologists recognize that relatedness in all phases of their science, from the molecular to landscapes.

 The evidence for evolution comes not only from biology but from archaeologists, geologists, chemists and others. Yet evolution continues to be branded as “just a theory” in some philosophies.

 The difficulty seems to arise from the conclusion that man is not the center of the universe. That proposition should have vanished long ago. Today’s astronomers continue to show us the true extent of the universe, and the insignificance of planet earth in it. Let us, instead, celebrate the oneness of all earth's creatures, and the thin green layer that covers our planet.

 Whatever your view of the universe, your personal grasp of reality, today would be a fine day for a walk in the woods, a stroll through the fields or along the river bank. Offer Charles Darwin’s universe a belated salute.

 Dac Crossley

11/24/2009

 “God and I have a relationship, but we both see other people.” – Dolly Parton  

Rain and Fire -- Burning the Grasslands

Here in Georgia it’s a cold, dark rainy day, a taste of the winter months to come. Rain is welcome after our long drought, even though we’ve exceeded our yearly average. The forest needs it – it takes at least 25 inches of rain to keep the trees. Otherwise, we’ll revert to grassland or worse.

 Fire is the other factor along with rainfall. In eastern Kansas the border between forest and tall-grass prairie historically shifted back and forth due to burning. Grasses are much more fire-tolerant. On the University of Kansas campus there was (still is?) a “prairie acre,” maintained pristine as “nature’s own sweet way of making her garden.” If they don’t burn the prairie acre it will revert to trees.

 The southern Californian shrub land, the chaparral, is sustained by occasional fires. Seeds of those plants require fire to germinate. Fire is an important management tool for Florida’s pine forests, where the loblolly and slash pine plantations benefit from frequent but low-intensity fires. If left unburned for decades, hardwoods replace the pines.

 In Texas as well. The short-grass prairies of the Texas Panhandle burned periodically, and were rejuvenated in the process (but they weren’t likely to become a forest). Indians  set fires to concentrate game or to harass their enemies. When ranges were fenced in the early 1880’s, grass fires were a retaliation by “open range” proponents in the struggle for free grass. Those XIT ranchers who fenced the prairies were caught unprepared for a major grass fire that swept over miles and miles of grazing lands. And according to J. Evetts Haley in The XIT Ranch of Texas, the spread of fire was helped by – cow patties!

 Propelled by high winds, blazing cow patties rolled across natural firebreaks like “tin plates, blazing little fire-wheels, crossing roads and guards and starting other fires beyond the reach of the parent flames.” One rancher lost his barn when burning cow patties spun underneath it. Revenge of the buffalo? 

Fires in the Panhandle ceased to be a problem with the arrival of the sodbuster, who brought an end to the short-grass prairie.

 So, I’m grateful for the Georgia rain, even on a cold, dark, miserable Sunday. Pax vobiscum.

 Dac Crossley

11/22/2009

 “I used to be Snow White … but I drifted.”  Mae West.

 

 

 

 

The End of the Open Range

The High Plains of Texas and the Llano Estacado, hunting grounds of Comanche and Kiowa, were superb grazing lands of short-grass prairie. Old time Texas Rangers and cowmen such as Charles Goodnight, Thomas Bugbee and Charles Littlefield had their eyes on the plains. In 1875, When the last of the Indians were shuttled off to reservations in Oklahoma, the ranching era began. 

“As steers long shut in a corral eagerly take to water and grass when the bars are down, so the cattlemen stampeded into the country along the Canadian.” (J. Evetts Haley, 1953). The prairie grasses were good grazing, winter and summer. Water was something of a problem. The country was troubled by rustlers and other outlaws, problems the ranchers handled themselves. 

The open range was destined to be short-lived. In 1879, the Texas Legislature passed a law appropriating three million acres of the Panhandle to finance a capitol building in Austin. Eventually a Chicago firm contracted to construct the building in exchange for the land. Most likely, each party thought they had outwitted the other.

 The cornerstone of the magnificent Capitol of Texas was laid in 1885. It stands today, a landmark in Austin.

 The new land owners, the Capitol Lands Company, considered sale of their holdings for colonizing. It was a few years too early. Instead, they established the enormous XIT Ranch, fencing in cattle pastures with the newfangled barbed wire. Again, water was an occasional problem and rustlers were a constant one. Prairie fires could be disastrous. The market fell and rain didn't. English capital came to their rescue. 

Then came the railroad, and with it the nesters. Railroads gave access to markets. Tillers of the plains followed the cowboy, who complained that “the best side’s up, don’t plow it under.” New railroad towns sprang up, displacing the old outlaw hangouts such as Tascosa. 

It was a short span of time, actually, from the last of the Indians in 1875 to the first farming tracts established in 1890. By 1900, much of the Capitol Reservation prairies had become the sites of farms and towns. After 25 years the open range was gone. 

Three decades later came the Dust Bowl. Revenge of the prairies?

 Dac Crossley

11/17/2009 

“One is the master through small details.”  -- Goethe

 

 

 

  

 

  

Cross the Brazos at Waco

A brief report on the latest Texas adventure: Signing books at the Texas Ranger Museum and Hall of Fame in Waco, Texas.

I Hadn’t been to Waco in a while and found a pleasant, bustling little city on the Brazos. Classy lady Luella W. hosted my visit, arranging all from portal to portal. We walked the old suspension bridge to the site of the original Waco Indian village. (They were “Huecos,” pronounced “Waco,” not “Whacko” as my Georgia friends are prone to say it). 

A must-see in Waco is the Mayborn Museum on Baylor Campus, a remarkable complex celebrating the natural science and cultural history of Central Texas. I got the full tour and was blown away. I’m familiar with natural history collections (I’m a curator emeritus in our Georgia Museum of Natural History here in Athens). The Mayfair Museum is in a class by itself, a wonder, from historical artifacts to mammoth bones. Well worth the trip. 

Baylor also has an unusual collection of Robert Browning – Elizabeth Barrett Browning memorabilia. Those old Brahamas who survived Miss William’s classes in King High would be proud of the responses that Luella and I managed to the Browning poetry. 

Luella arranged a mini-reunion of old friends, South Texans and family. We ate Fajitas, toasted and sang the songs of the homeland, thanks to a courageous local guitar artist. 

And yes, signed books at the Texas Ranger Museum. 

After all – Life is good. Thank you Luella and all. 

Dac Crossley

11/10/2009 

“Use what talents you possess: The woods would be silent if no birds sang except those that sang best.” -- Henry Van Dyke.

 

 

 

 

The Final Gift of the Buffalo

That generous animal, the American Bison, provided sustenance for explorers and pioneers (and native Americans), then their hides, and finally their bones. Those giant herds left one final legacy.

Early settlers in those treeless plains, the Llano Estacado, found little wood. Those who settled the little villages of Tascosa or Amarillo lived in dugouts along with rattlesnakes and other varmints. I remarked recently on the Palo Duro Canyon dugout of the early rancher Charles Goodnight.

Absence of wood posed another problem – how to cook? When the Texas Panhandle was opened for settlement in 1882, a careful survey of the Texas-New Mexico boundary was called for. The duty fell to A. C. Babcock. Beginning at the north end, Babcock worked his way due south, accompanied by two cowboys and a Mexican cook named Felix. Babock was fastidious, sleeping on a cot in his own tent. He enjoyed the meals prepared by Felix.

That is, until he discovered that Felix was using buffalo chips as cooking fuel. 

Those remnants of the giant herds were just about the only combustibles available on the prairies. Babcock was horrified, and complained so much that the cowboys began to call the cow-chips “Babcock Coal.”

(Fortunately for Babcock one of the cowboys, a one-armed man named Vivian, had brought along a small supply of wood with which he cooked steaks.)

Thus, the giant herds of bison made their final tribute to life on the Great Plains -- their dung.

There is a moral, an aphorism, to be gained. I hesitate. 

Dac Crossley

11/1/2009 

Albert Einstein: “God does not play dice with the Universe."

Niels Bohr: “Einstein, quit telling God what to do.”