I grew up on the South Plains, in the northwest portion of West Texas, on the flat table-top Caprock, where the sky looked like a big blue bowl turned upside down on a sea of green cotton or brown plowed dirt. There’s something sacred about it, holding the clean, pure air and sky and land in my heart.
It was the best of times, “the Nifty Fifties", labeled conservative, a classic American era, in which all was right in our country. But the entire population was in the throes of dying innocence, with Elvis, the Hydrogen bomb, the McCarthy hearings, and Marilyn Monroe leading us along. America would never be the same again.
And so in the sixties, the social revolution began. Young men burned their draft cards and young women burned their bras.
Well, I didn't have a draft card, and my bra wasn't big enough to make much of a flame…so I put my two young children with a babysitter, and began college…at age 27.
I married very young. My husband and I took turns going to college for degrees. He earned two, and then it was my turn, back and forth, all the time raising our kids and working, too. Between us, we have five degrees—but I'm not the one with the doctorate.
Thank God for the G.I. Bill.
My life is divided into clear-cut sections. Now? I'm in a wonderful place, where I can "do my own thing." I learned to play golf first, and for years competed for quarters and sometimes a little trophy. Then, due to odd circumstances, I quit golf and took up writing stories. That was in 2004.
I'd like to invite you into my world, where I live and write novels. This place is in Central Texas, and even though we're in a drought right now, I won't live anyplace else. Why? Because it's home, and I feel tied to it just as I did the High Plains.
We live in a big subdivision, which was divided into three-acres plots about forty years ago. My desk sits beside a window so I can look through the sceened-in porch and out the back and watch all kinds of wildlife meander to the bird bath and water bucket.
This is the screened-in porch. Some of the deer, like this doe and her twin walk right up to the back door, knowing that's where that human appears with water, and sometimes vegetable peelings, stale bread, and cantaloupe rinds or banana peelings.
A red fox sneaks up early in the mornings and drinks from the bucket. Then she scurries away toward the back.
My back "yard" resembles typical ranchland around here—live oaks intermingled with a few mesquites and sometimes the juniper (misnamed cedar), which sucks up water ten times more than any other tree. We cut those down.
While I look out on what was once a ranch, I daydream about our pioneers who settled Texas 150 years ago or more. This photo is one of my ancestors. In this beautiful picture, taken around 1840, she is 16 years old, dressed up for her portrait. People like her inspire me to write Western Historical romances.
Two of my books: The Cameron Sisters
|TEXAS PROMISE-BOOK I|
|TEXAS TRUE-BOOK II|
These are the last of the Camerons of Texas series. Please leave a comment to enter a drawing for one of these novels.
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Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas