Dac Crossley's Western Blog

The End of Summer

How do we know when the summer’s coming to an end? What telltale signs do you recognize in your neighborhood? 

Down the street the kids are tossing a football around. Baseballs and bat are put away. They know. 

Standing on the deck in the morning sunlight, coffee cup in hand, you’re impressed by the silence. No dissonant mixture of bird songs. They know.

Potted mums appear at the big box stores, Wally-World. Summer clothes drastically reduced, and some Hallowe'en decorations offered for sale.  They know.  

The almanac tells me that dog days are over and cat nights are upon us. All hallows approaches. 

In the night sky Scorpio leans to the west. Sagittarius, the teapot, shines at the end of the Milky Way. Directly overhead Regulus rules, in the constellation Leo the Lion. Cat Nights? 

Here in Athens, Georgia, a cold quiet afternoon rain tells me that summer is over. Not frigid outside, it’s 68 degrees. A steady shower, not heavy, no wind. I stand in the garage, watching the trees accept the gift of raindrops. I can feel it in all my senses – autumn is here. Summer is over. 

Yes, I know, the calendar says another three weeks until the solstice. It will get warmer, even hotter, again. And dry. But I think that's just the last reminder of bright summer days, beer on the deck, potted plants blooming away, lazy hazy afternoons. Now, harvest time approaches us rapidly. 

But summer's not over for my friends in South Texas, living with 100 degrees on a daily basis. Are there some early signs of Autumn in the southwest? 

Dac

August 30, 2009. 

Ubi dubium ibi libertas: Where there is doubt, there is freedom.  Latin Proverb, cited by Carl Sagan, who adds, “Politics is not a science.”

 

 

The Shade of the Mesquite

“To find shade under a mesquite tree is like dipping water with a sieve.”

 Maybe so, but those of us who endured a childhood in the western deserts enjoyed resting under a mesquite tree. In the summertime it offered a dappled shade, a respite from the pounding sun in a gentle breeze. Its multiple, arching trunks were easy for a child to climb; its yellow brush-like blossoms a source of wonder.

 Mesquite beans were an important food source for native tribes in Texas. Eaten raw or pounded into a powder and mixed with water, the beans were dependable. In dry years, mesquites seem to respond with heavier bean crops. Apaches made beer from mesquite powder (those clever devils).

 We don’t eat mesquite today, but the wood is pretty enough for furniture.  It burns nice and hot and fragrant; the heat source of my childhood. Mesquite chips for the grill are sold right here in Georgia. It still makes great fence posts (strip off the bark to get rid of the eggs laid by beetles).

 Mesquite has invaded the former grasslands of Texas. The grass prairies surrounding San Antonio are now mesquite flats. Why did it spread so far and so rapidly? Texans blame cattle. A single cow patty contains thousands of seeds. Remember the cattle drives?

 In New Mexico they aren’t so sure. Perhaps local climates have become more moist, more humid. Mesquites were originally distributed along waterways; they’ve spread out from there. Usually, there is more than one factor responsible, right?

 Mesquites were a constant fixture in the landscapes of my childhood. What’s your signature tree?

 Dac

August 21, 2009

 “Fear is the foundation of most governments.” – President John Adams.

 

 

Book Signing at the Alamo

Just another writer’s event? Not for me! It’s signing my books at the Alamo! 

My mother took me, a six-year-old, into the dark Alamo chapel. She led me by the hand and pushed open the big wooden door, leading me into a world of legend. The heroes, how they died, the birth of the Republic of Texas. Mother was a historian and a teller of tales. (Later, she was the first to tell me of the recently discovered de la Pena diaries, which revealed that Davy Crockett surrendered to Santa Anna). 

So I stood by my table and hawked my books to the surge of tourists in the souvenir shop. Signed my name, over and over. Met some old friends and made some new ones. Discussed Texas and Texas history with Dan P., a knowledgeable reenactor of the Alamo battle. 

And answered questions. The most frequent question – “Where’s the rest room?” (Outside and to the right.). “Is this the entire Alamo?” (No, it’s only the chapel). “Is there a book about the Alamo?” (Steven Hardin’s Texian Iliad). 

And with considerable support from Mary and Bud F., I made it through three exhausting hours of selling Nacho, Red and Whitey. At the end, I discovered a sudden bond with Mom's old stories. As though the cycle was complete, the tale ended. 

The historic site is administered by the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, for the State of Texas which owns it. They do an admirable job of it, too. Tourists seemed delighted with the history presentations outside in the courtyard. So was I. I’ll be back. 

One little boy studied the display of Bowie knives – coffin handle models, boot knives, big blades and other. And he asked me – “Why did he need all those knives?” 

Dac

July 12, 2009 

Dog Days ended yesterday. So did the heat, at least here in Athens.