THE MOVE

We have been conditioned to believe that when one reaches that "retirement" stage in life, we either spend our time taking fabulous vacations and cruises, or we become Walmart greeters. We don't hear much about the in between, which is where most of us retirees fall. I never expected to become a pioneer in the north Texas plains, but that is exactly what has happened.

After 35 years in Stagecoach, TX, the time had come to sell our home. Our six daughters were all grown up with productive lives of their own, Bob was ready for a change in his life, and we both felt the need to be closer to at least one of our daughters. Amanda drew the short straw, so the matter was settled--north Texas. The property next door to them was put on the market, and we became the new owners of a charming log cabin situated on twelve acres of pasture land.

Since the cabin had been empty for two years, it was suffering from a severe case of neglect. The driveway was impassable, the wooden deck on the back side of the cabin had rotted out in many places, and extreme drought conditions had caused the cabin to drop at each end, requiring some serious leveling. The inside had not been vandalized beyond some broken windows and doors, so the cabinets were still on the walls. We spent the next several months commuting back and forth to make the cabin livable, and with a lot of help from Tim and Amanda, the place was cleaned, repaired, and made to look new. By Thanksgiving of 2011, we were able to sleep in our new home.

In June of 2012, the Stagecoach homestead was sold, the last of the trailer loads was emptied, and we had become the newest residents of Campbell, TX. It was difficult to say good-bye to all the people who had become our family over so many years, but what wonderful memories we have to help us remember them.

And now, our story begins.

A new beginning

Leveling the foundation

Rotten deck removed by foundation crew

TEXAS IN THE SPRING

It is simply not possible to go any further without introducing you to the beautiful wildflowers that grace this state during April and linger into May. They blanket the rolling hillsides, paint the roadsides with their brilliant hues, and cheerfully wave at all passersby.

Our little family (only Cathy & Ann at that time) moved from San Diego to Houston in August of 1977, which is the absolute hottest month of the year. I was suffering greatly from the intense heat and humidity, especially since I was expecting Kim. I was very lonely, and I felt no joy in this very hostile environment.. Kim was born in late December, and we brought her home after an ice storm. Everything was a huge adjustment for me, and then April arrived--I saw my first bluebonnet.

I had never seen a wildflower like this, and to find them covering the fields and roadways simply took my breath away. After a tough transition, I finally felt that I could be happy in my new home. Every year since then, I have looked forward to this magnificent display of Texas "jewelry" that while brief, is always memorable.

Bluebonnet

Bluebonnets along a roadside

There are stories behind the bluebonnets which I would like to share with you.

The Legend of the Bluebonnets

My name is She-Who-Is-Alone. I am a Comanche Indian who lived in Texas a long time ago. When I lived in Texas, only Indians lived here. They call me She-Who-Is-Alone because my parents and the rest of my family died. They died during the drought, when it did not rain for a long time. Texas is very hot in the summer. Without rain, the crops do not grow. Without food, many people get sick and die. The horses and buffalo need water also.

When the drought came, we prayed to the Great Spirits for help. The people played the drums and danced to ask for help. Our leaders prayed also. They said, "Great Spirit, your people are dying. We need rain to grow the berries. We need food so we are strong enough to hunt the buffalo. End this drought. Tell us what we must do so you will send the rain."

One of the leaders said that the Great Spirits wanted us to make a sacrifice. That meant that everyone had to give up their most valuable possession.

I went back to my tipi to think about what I should do. I only had one thing that I loved—it was my little doll. My doll was special because my grandmother made it for me. It was made from buffalo skin. The face was painted with the juice of berries. On its head were beautiful blue feathers from a bird. I did not want to lose my doll. It was the only thing I had left from my family.

I fell asleep in the tipi. When I woke up, it was dark. I knew what I had to do. I picked up my doll and crept out to the fire.

The night was very still. The air was hot. I kissed my doll and said, "O Great Spirit, here is my doll. It is the only thing I have. It is very special. Please send the rain." Then I thought about all of the people who would die without rain, and I threw my doll into the fire.

I watched the fire until it grew cold. Then, I scooped up some ashes and threw them to the Winds.

When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't believe what I saw. The hills were covered with beautiful blue flowers, the same color as my doll's feathers.

Everyone in the village saw the flowers. They knew they were a sign from the Great Spirit. Soon it started to rain and everyone danced. They even changed my name from "She-Who-Is-Alone" to "One-Who-Dearly-Loves-Her-People."

Every spring, the Great Spirit remembers my sacrifice and covers Texas with the beautiful blue flowers. The flowers are called bluebonnets.******* Author Unknown

The Legend of the Pink Bluebonnet
by Greg Grant

Pink Bluebonnet

White Bluebonnet

A number of years ago while roaming the quaint inner city gardens of San Antonio with noted Navasota garden historian and good friend, Pamela Puryear, we came across an elderly Hispanic woman with a charming tale..."The Legend of the Pink Bluebonnet".
As Pam scribbled with the skill of a court stenographer, I listened to the old tale...

The two children scampered through the April field of wildflowers near San Antonio, on their way to the old mission church to pay their Lenten devotion. They were followed by their slower grandmother, dressed in rusty black. She was painfully thin and her face was seamed with many fine lines.

"Mamacita! Here is a white flower with all the blue ones!” the excited girl cried.

"Those are bluebonnets," her grandmother explained, "and sometimes, very seldom, there is a white one among them. Some even say that the Lone Star of the Texas flag was fashioned after a spot of white bluebonnets amongst a field of blue.

"The little boy stood still and gestured to the bloom at his feet, "But what about this pink one then?"

The small group studied the pure pink bluebonnet a moment before the grandmother turned to the children and spoke.

"If the white ones are special, then the pink ones mean even more." She paused, "When I myself was a little girl, my grandmother told me a special story about these rare flowers. They seem to only grow downstream from the mission Alamo, and that is because of something which happened here many years ago."

"It was when Texas was not part of the United States, but only a remote province of Mexico. The Americanos and other foreigners had not been settled here for long, but trade was busy, and we all had hopes of a golden future for our country.

Our family owned a fine house and farm near the old cathedral. My Papa would rise early, take his tools, and work the land before the day grew too hot. Then after the noon siesta, everyone would begin to wake in the cool of the dusk. The adults would bath in the clear river, while we children splashed in the shallows. Everyone would dance, eat, and visit until late into the evening. Sometimes there were Americanos who came to celebrate with us, but their talk always turned to politics. The men were angered because the Constitution had been overthrown by a terrible Mexican dictator.

The men all went about with frowns, and the women began to be afraid. Then came that bitter spring when we learned that the dictator was on his way to our city with many troops. Papa was torn between joining the Americanos to fortify the old mission compound, and fear for his family.

He decided to hide us in the countryside, and every time I look at the ruins of the mission chapel, I remember the fear we lived in during that time. Day and night we heard the cannons and the rifles firing in the distance. The brave new Texans fought long and hard, but in the end were overwhelmed by the Mexican troops.

After the shots had finally ended, we crept silently home in the darkness. Mama and Papa were thankful that our lives had been spared, but it broke their hearts to learn of the many who had lost their lives in that terrible battle. Mama often cried when she passed the homes where friends had fallen.

One day several years later, I found her putting a pink wildflower in a vase beside the statue of the Virgin. She told me she had found it near the river where it had once been white, but so much blood had been shed, it had taken the tint of it."

The grandmother paused, "That is why you will only find the pink ones near the river, within sight of the old mission," she said.

"So remember, the next time you see a pink bluebonnet, it's not only a pretty flower, but a symbol for the struggle to survive and a memory of those who died so that Texas could be free."

NOTE: Interestingly enough, according to Dr. Jerry Parsons, the only place in the state where the original wild pink bluebonnets were found was alongside the road, just south of downtown San Antonio.

It is my pleasure to share some images of the incredible wildflowers of Texas. There are those of you who may remember that it is due to the efforts of the former First Lady, Lady Bird Johnson, that they are as prolific as they are. She dedicated much of her life to the preservation of the natural beauty of Texas with outstanding results.

Bluebonnets mixed with Indian Paintbrush

Artist's rendering of bluebonnets

Field of bluebonnets

Bluebonnets as viewed through the eye of a Texan

The Grasshopper Wars

There are few places on this earth where the weather, land conditions, and insect populations are considered to be ideal. Every place seems to have some sort of drawback, and in this part of north TX at this time of year, the grasshopper is the bane of our existence. They emerge from the ground and invade all existing trees, shrubs, and anything with foliage, and literally take over your property. They crawl up the walls of your home, target your car, and blanket your porch leaving their residue behind them.

In a time of drought, the hose is in constant use in the effort to clean off the hundreds of dead carcasses that pile up on the porch and are spread out everywhere in sight. Where are the birds to eat these invaders? How can this situation exist and there be no natural predators? How can I defend myself and my property against this relentless army that devours everything in sight?

These are the times when I admire the courage and tenacity of our pioneer forebears who were completely at the mercy of such events. I can't even imagine how I would feel watching an insect eat in a matter of days, everything I had worked so hard to grow with the intent to harvest so my family would have food for the winter months. The thought of certain starvation would definitely be a powerful motivator in propelling one to fight back.

How thankful I am that my life is not dependent upon a grasshopper! I can fight back with chemicals to at least slow them down and create a barrier around the house so that I'm able to step onto my porch without having to brush them off my person. My daughter uses an army of ducks, geese, and chickens to help keep the numbers down.

The hotter and drier the summer becomes, the more the grasshoppers seem to thrive. Their sound is everywhere, both on the ground and in the treetops. Their powerful jaws literally snap off small leafy branches that fall to the ground and provide food for those that are waiting. They will be with us until the first frost arrives, and that is months away.

This part of Texas is mostly prairie land, and I've often wondered at the lack of trees. When the grasshoppers arrive, I understand why there is so little lush foliage, but I still keep looking for the seagulls!