THE LEGEND OF MUSTANG JANE - SALLY SCULL

Jeanmarie Hamilton is unable to post today, so I'm reposting an article I wrote for the Seduced By History Blog.

The Legend of Mustang Jane

Let me share the legend of a woman about whom I’ve recently learned. Sally Newman, the woman later called "Mustang Jane" by her vaqueros, was born in Illinois in 1817 to Rachel (nee Rabb) and Joseph Newman. Her parents followed her maternal grandparents through several states to eventually settle in southeastern Texas and become part of Stephen F. Austin’s "Old Three Hundred." (If you’re not familiar with Texas history, Stephen F. Austin’s 300 families who were early settlers is a big deal there.) As a pioneer wife, Mrs. Newman was no stranger to conflict. On at least two occasions, she thwarted attacks from Comanche or Apache with quick and decisive action while young Sally watched.

When Sally was sixteen, she registered the brand for the cattle she had inherited from her father. Although she registered the brand in her maiden name, she noted on the application that she was the wife of Jesse Robinson, a man eighteen years her senior. The alliance lasted for ten years. Custody of their children, Nancy and Alfred, was ceded to Jesse when the couple divorced in 1843. Sally kidnapped Nancy, but was forced to return her to Jesse.

Sally’s luck was no better with her second, third, fourth and fifth husbands. Through her third through fifth marriage, she continued to go by the last name of her second husband, Scull. It was while she was married to George Scull (sometimes spelled Skull) that she developed her love for and interest in horsetrading.

While she was losing husbands (with some speculation that she might have assisted a couple of them in departing this life), Sally was gaining a reputation for marksmanship. Whether in skirts or pants, she always wore two pistols belted to her waist and usually wore a bonnet. She was a dead shot with both pistol and rifle, in either hand.

No known photograph exists of her, but accounts say she was a tiny woman with steel blue eyes and weighed 125 pounds at most. Her rough language was notorious, and she spoke Tex-Mex as well as if it were her native tongue. When she wasn’t traveling alone, she rose in the company of several Mexican vaqueros. She roamed the wide territory between the Sabine River and the Rio Grande, making her headquarters at a small settlement called Banquette, about twenty miles west of Corpus Christi. The vaqueros who worked for her and other Mexicans who knew her called her "Juana Mestena," Mustang Jane. She could outshoot any of her ranch hands, roped and rose with the best of them, and could drive a herd better than any of the wranglers in her employ.

Horsetrading was her primary business, a profitable one, and often under questionable circumstances. After a trip into Mexico, she always returned with a nice herd of stock, yet her money belt was still full. Sally knew all the ranches in the area. Ranch wives sometimes hinted that while Sally made eyes at the menfolk, her vaqueros were busy cutting the best horses from the herd. There were also rumors that she had assistance from the Comanche. If Sally admired particular horses and the owner refused to sell, Comanche raiders mysteriously visited the ranch shortly after Sally’s departure. No one ever caught Sally in possession of a horse for which she couldn’t show rightful ownership because she never let anyone inspect her herd.

Sally worked hard and played hard. She was an avid poker player and her favorite haunts included Old St. Mary’s Saloon at Copano Bay, Pancho Grande’s in Corpus Christi, and several places in Refugio. She attended many a fandango due to her love of dancing. Can’t you imagine her dancing while wearing those two pistols belted around her waist?

During the Civil War, Sally’s knowledge of the southern Texas backcountry served the Confederacy. Union forces blockaded Texas ports, stopping all shipments from England. The United States could not block ports south of the border, so Mexico’s ports were open. Sally sold her stock of horses, bought wagons, and turned her vaqueros into cotton haulers. Her wagons became a common sight on the roads from San Antonio to Matamoros on what became known as the Cotton Road. Cotton was traded in Matamoros for guns, ammunition, medicines, coffee, shoes, clothing and other goods vital to the Confederacy and supplies needed by inland Texas settlements. When the war ended in 1865, Sally sold her wagons and resumed the horse business.

Sally had little to do with her son, Alfred, who lived with his father and stepmother and their eight children on Ramerania Creek, about fifty miles northwest of Corpus Christi. No one knows what happened to Alfred Robinson. Nancy and her mother were closer. Sally sent her to one of the best boarding schools in New Orleans. Nancy returned to Texas, married, and lived up to her mother’s dreams. They were close until one visit when one of Nancy’s family dogs growled at Sally and she shot the dog.

No one knows what happened to Sally Scull. Texas mothers used to cajole their children to behave or "Old Sally Skull will get you." Not a nice remembrance, but Sally Scull had defied all expectations of womanhood for her era or any other. She walked tall in a world of strong men and made anyone in her path step aside.

Historian J. Frank Dobie wrote, "Sally Skull belonged to the days of the Texas Republic and afterward. She was notorious for her husbands, her horse trading, freighting, and roughness."

 Sally Scull had defied all expectations of womanhood for her era or any other. She walked tall in a world of strong men and made anyone in her path step aside. Since no one knows where she's buried, it's nice that she's been honored with a Texas State Historical Marker in Refugio that says:

Sally's marker

Women rancher, horse trader, champion "cusser". Ranched NW of here. In Civil War Texas, Sally Scull (or Skull) freight wagons took cotton to Mexico to swap for guns, ammunition, medicines, coffee, shoes, clothing and other goods vital to the confederacy.

Dressed in trousers, Mrs. Scull bossed armed employees; was sure shot with the rifle carried on her saddle or the two pistols strapped to her waist. Of good family, she had children cared for in New Orleans School. Often visited them. Loved dancing. Yet during the war, did extremely hazardous "Man's Work".

Thanks to FROM ANGELS TO HELLCATS: LEGENDARY TEXAS WOMEN 1836-1880, by Don Blevins; http://www.legendsofamerica.com/;
 http://www.tshaonline.org/;
 and http://www.texasescapes.com/

Find out more about Caroline Clemmons at http://www.carolineclemmons.com/ or visit her blog at http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com/   　

Wild Hog Explosion

This month the second book in my Rodeo Rebels series for Harlequin American Romance hits store shelves. The Bull Rider's Secret takes place in Bandera, Texas. Known in the Hill Country as The Cowboy Capitol of the World, Bandera is a unique town with lots of western flavor and a tradition of welcoming the Biker community. I love adding a bit of reality to my stories and that's exactly what I did in The Bull Rider's Secret when my hero Brody enters the Wild Hog Explosion contest at Mansfield Park in Bandera, Texas.


This real life event features a wild hog catch. Teams of two enter a ring to try and catch a real Texas wild hog and then put the hog into a burlap sack. I haven't had the fortune to attend this event in person but one day I hope to return to Bandera to watch these crazy hog-catching people!







The Bull Rider's Secret





Home, sweet home? Not for this cowboy.


Brody Murphy lives one day—one ride—at a time. No home, no responsibility, no one depending on him. As long as the bull rider keeps moving, he can keep it that way. But when Brody meets Ricky Sovo and his mother, rancher Katarina, he finds himself lingering in one place for the first time in years.


Kat’s unlike any woman he’s ever known—feisty, stubborn and determined to make it on her own. But that independent streak has gotten her in trouble with a couple of local ranch hands. She needs Brody's help. Only helping means sticking around, and that’s not something Brody can do. For Kat makes him want more from life, more that he doesn’t deserve. She may be his only chance at accepting his past... but he's not sure he can ever stop running from it.


★★★★ ½
Brody Murphy is a man with a painful past who lives with no ties, moving from rodeo to rodeo, until he meets Ricky Sovo and his mother Katarina. Stubborn and independent, Kat finds herself in need of a ranch hand in a hurry and she really needs Brody's help, if she can talk him into sticking around. Brody's not sure he can stop running, even for the woman who may be able to save his life. Be sure to have tissues handy because Thomas has heartwarming characters who evolve and work to overcome tragedy. Pat Cooper, RT Book Reviews Magazine


Excerpt:


The thunder of Harleys roaring down Main Street threatened to deafen Brody Murphy as he used the pay phone outside the Silver Dollar Saloon in Bandera, Texas.


"Ma'am." Brody tipped his hat to a wannabe cowgirl who sashayed by, leaving a scented cloud of expensive perfume in her wake.


"What's that God-awful noise?" Brody's buddy, Drew Rawlins, shouted through the phone connection.


"The Hell's Angels are in town."


"Where are you?"


"I'm in Bandera."


"Bandera? You were supposed to be here—" meaning Drew's ranch, Dry Creek Acres. "—three hours ago."


Brody ignored his friend's rant as he studied his choices for lunch across the street—Southern Comfort Bakery, Mi Pueblo, Busbee's BBQ and Bandera Saloon & Grill.


"Hey!" Drew snagged Brody's attention. "What are you doing in Bandera?"


Hell if Brody knew. He scanned the area, willing the answer to pop up in front of him. His gaze landed on a flyer attached to the saloon's over-sized red door.

Bandera, Texas
Cowboy Capital of the World
Wild Hog Explosion
Saturday March 20th at Mansfield Park




"Think I'll enter the Wild Hog Explosion." Whatever the heck that was.


"You're kidding, right?"


Maybe. Brody was down to twenty bucks in his wallet and half a tank of gas. Speaking of fuel, Brody gagged on fumes as a second motorcycle gang drove past him.


"I offered you a job," Drew said.


Turning his back to the busy road, Brody rested his arm atop the pay phone. This wasn't the first time Drew suggested Brody quit the rodeo circuit and work for him as a ranch hand. Brody had been a ranch hand most of his adult life—punching cows in Montana where he'd been born and raised. Hell, he loved—make that had loved—working cattle and horses, wide open spaces and the soul-searching loneliness of riding the proverbial range. Two years ago Brody had quit his job at the Black Stone Ranch and now he lived one day and one bull ride at a time.


There was a part of Brody that yearned to hang up his bull rope. He was tired. Lonely. Downright lost. But working for Drew would be like walking around all day with a red-hot poker stuck in his eye.


His buddy understood the demons chasing Brody. He was the only person Brody had confided in about his past. Even so, Brody didn't care to witness the former bronc rider's happiness. Drew had retired from rodeo this past December after he'd scratched at the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. He'd given up a world title for love and a chance to be a father to a son he hadn't known existed until recently.


Drew was happy. Brody was miserable. It would only be a matter of time before Brody's unhappiness ruined their friendship. If that wasn't enough to deter him from accepting a job at Dry Creek Acres, then taking charity from a friend was. Drew had offered the job, not because he needed help, but because he felt sorry for Brody.


"Thanks, but I've got a ride coming up," Brody lied.


"When are you gonna admit you aren't a bull rider?"


Never. "I'll be in touch."


"The job's yours anytime you want it."


"Thanks." Brody hung up and eyed the advertisement on the saloon door. What the hell. He'd head to Mansfield Park and check out the exploding pigs.


Happy Trails!
Marin Thomas
www.marinthomas.com
Buy Marin's books here!

With this post, Marin Thomas begins a new phase on her life. She and her husband are moving across the country, with a new job for her husband, new home, and an empty nest. Because of the multitude of changes she faces in her life, Marin is leaving Sweethearts of the West. We hate like everything to see her depart, but understand that family always comes first. Marin, Happy Trails to you and your husband on this new chapter in your life!

Cooking on the Western Trail

by Anna Kathryn Lanier 

Wow.  You’d think that the diaries of those who travelled West would be full of cooking trials and tribulations.  But no. After choosing this subject, I searched through my many ‘wagon trail diary books’ and found very few references on cooking. In fact, several of the books didn’t even have ‘cooking’ in the index. However, I think I found enough references to make this blog worthwhile.

One of the many tasks women performed on the trail was cooking. Though cooking and baking was second nature to most women (the highly born women didn’t always know how to cook, as they had hired help to do that job back East), cooking on an open flame was not something the women were familiar with. Even Keturah Belknap, who had never cooked on a stove, but rather a hearth, had to learn the ins and outs of cooking on a camp fire.

Helen Carpenter, a new bride making her way west on her honeymoon, wrote: “Although there is not much to cook, the difficulty and inconvenience in doing it amounts to a great deal—so by the time one has squatted around the fire and cooked bread and bacon, and made several dozen trips to and from the wagon—washed the dishes….and gotten things ready for an early breakfast, some of the others already have their night caps on—at any rate it is time to go to bed.” (1)  She also comments, “It is hurry scurry to get breakfast and put away things that necessarily had to be pulled out the last night…nooning is barely long enough to eat a cold bite—and at night all the cooking utensils and provisions are to be gotten about the camp fire, and cooking enough to last until the next night.” (2)

When the wagon train took a break from traveling, either to observe the Sabbath or to give the animals a rest, women “boiled a big mess of beans, to be warmed over for several meals,” relates Catherine Haun in her diary. (2)

Even in wind and rain, the cooking must go on.  According to Amelia Stewart Knight, “(Dreary times, wet and muddy, and crowded in the tent, cold and wet, uncomfortable in the wagon. No place for the poor children [she has seven].) I have been busy cooking, roasting coffee, etc. today….” A month into the journey she writes, “Fine weather; spent this day in washing, baking, and overhauling the wagons” and the next day, “I have been cooking, and packing things away for an early start in the morning.” (1)

When food was found on the trail, it was not wasted.  Eliza Ann McAuley writes “In cutting a way for the road, the boys find thickets of wild currants. There are several varieties, the black, the red and the white. The boys cut the bushes, some of them ten feet long and loaded with ripe currants, which we strip off and make into jelly, currant wine and vinegar, dried currants and currant pie.” (3)

I’ve camped out with my Girl Scout troops and we did a few campfire meals, so I know from experience how much work it is.  I have to admire the women who did it day in and day out, rain or shine for five to six months at a time!

References:

(1)    WOMEN’S DIARES OF THE WESTWARD JOURNEY by Lillian Schlissel

(2)    PLAINS WOMEN: Women in the American West by Paula Bartley and Cathy Loxton

             (3) COVERED WAGON WOMEN:   Diaries & Letters from the Western Trails, 1852 by Kenneth L. Holmes

Promo alert: Next month, I’m doing a month-long workshop PIONEERING WOMEN OF THE WEST on Hearts Through History’s Campus.  Click HERE to find out the details and to register. WIN A FREE WORKSHOP - Just leave a comment and with a contact email and you will be eligible for the drawing.  I'll draw for a winner on July 16th.

All photos are copyrighted and cannot be used elsewhere without purchasing them from dreamstime.com.

Anna Kathryn Lanier
www.aklanier.com

www.annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com

Quackery

My book Doctor in Petticoats is about a modern woman doctor, or as modern as she could be in the late 1880’s. I had her attend a college for women doctors in Chicago to give her the education and respectability I needed for the book.

Reading Bleed, Blister, and Purge; A History of Medicine on the American Frontier by Volney Steele, M.D. I discovered that in the 1870’s and into the early 1880’s most doctors had little to no formal learning. Harvard Medical School in 1870 didn’t even give written examinations because a good number of the students couldn’t write. Medical schools popped up that did very little to teach the students what they really needed to know to be doctors. And in some cases all they had to do was send in $5 or $10 depending on the grade of paper and receive a certificate that proclaimed them a doctor. In some cases people were better off going to a local woman who had herbal cures than going to someone with a certificate nailed on the wall.

Many of the so-called doctors would come up with gimmicks that they proclaimed healed. These were the forerunners of the term “quack” which is from quacksalver; a person who claims special merit of his medications and salves.

During the 1870’s and 1880’s the newspapers cried out about the poor medical treatment of the people in the west and mid-west until finally in 1889 when Montana received statehood, the Medical Practices Act was passed. A Board of Medical Examiners was created. This was the start of controlling the doctors practicing medicine.

Excerpt from Doctor in Petticoats. The heroine is casting the hero’s leg.

“Clay, it’s Dr. Tarkiel, Rachel. You fell and broke your leg. I have it set, but we still need to stabilize it.” She brushed the wisp of wet chestnut bangs off his forehead.

“It hurts,” he whispered.

The sound of his voice squeezed her chest. His pain had become her pain. She placed a palm on his cheek. “I know. If you’re awake enough to swallow, I can give you some medicine to help with the pain.”

“Yes,” he hissed between his lips. Furrows formed on his brow and his color paled.

“Keep holding his leg,” she said to Mr. Smith and hurried to her medicine cabinet. She tapped powdered laudanum into a glass and added water. Stirring the tonic, she returned to the table.

“Drink this. It will ease the pain.” Rachel slid a hand under Clay’s head, raising him enough to sip the liquid.

His nose wrinkled, and he shook his head at the glass. “That’s awful.”

“But it will take away your pain. Try again.” She held the glass in front of his mouth again. His reluctance to drink the foul taste was a good sign.

He drank the remainder.

Rachel settled his head on the table and filled a basin with water. She unrolled an adhesive bandage and placed it in the basin. Picking up a square bandage, she sprinkled laudanum in the middle and placed it over the wound. Mr. Smith held Clay’s leg off the table while she wrapped a clean bandage from his ankle to below his knee. She placed two long flat strips of wood on either side of the leg and wrapped the whole thing with the soaked adhesive bandage. She still marveled at the genius who’d thought to press the white plaster of Paris powder into bandages to make casting material for broken bones.

She rubbed each layer, smearing the plaster together and sealing the layers. The cast was an inch thick when she smiled at Mr. Smith. “That should keep him from doing harm while the bone heals.”

Mr. Smith shook his head. “He’s a hard man ta keep still, Miss.”

www.patyjager.net
www.patyjager/blogspot.com

Breaking Out of Pigeonholes-GUEST Judy Alter

DR. JUDY ALTER

            Writers are easily put in pigeonholes, especially genre pigeonholes. My first novel, After Pa Was Shot, was apparently a young-adult novel. I didn’t know that when I wrote it, but that’s how my agent marketed it. And voila! I was a young-adult author. I stayed in that pigeonhole for several books—seven to be exact—because I was comfortable there and that seemed to be what editors expected of me.

           
But then I wrote a novel, Mattie, which had a few steamy scenes in it and was published by Doubleday in the now-long-defunct DDD Westerns line. I followed it with A Ballad for Sallie, told by a twelve-year-old girl. It’s my contention that not all novels featuring twelve-year-old girls—or boys—are young-adult works, but the editor at the mass market house that reprinted it said Sallie didn’t sell as well because it was a juvenile.

           
The label “children’s writer” still follows me these days, partly because I’ve written a lot of nonfiction for young adults, everything from a history of Montana to a book explaining vaccines and a biography of Harry S. Truman. But by the 1990s I moved into a new pigeonhole: western writer. I was active in Western Writers of America, even president for a term, and I was writing westerns—no, not “shoot-'em-ups” but four of the books I’m most proud of (though choosing  your favorite of your books is, as a friend of mine has said, like being forced to choose a favorite child). 

           
I thought Libbie, a fictional account of the life of Mrs. George Armstrong Custer published in 1994, was my big breakthrough (it proved not to be). It got great reviews from all sorts of publication, including lots of romance review magazines—and one scathing review in the Dallas Morning News because the reviewer, who called himself a curmudgeon, dismissed it as a romance.

Jessie, the life of Jessie Benton Frémont and daughter of Senator Thomas Hart Benton, was next. As the wife of and explorer/adventurer/entrepreneur/lifelong failure and the daughter of a forceful senator and proponent of westward expansion, Jessie was in the midst of the national political scene for many years before following her husband about the country and eventually becoming an author.

Cherokee Rose was based on the life of Lucille Mulhall, the first woman trick roper but the publicity for that book was nil—I saw one brief mention in Entertainment Today. The market for women’s western fiction was either dying or moving away from me. I didn’t publish adult fiction again until 2002 when Leisure Books brought out a mass market edition of Sundance, Butch and Me, told, of course, by Etta Place. I always particularly liked that book because it made my well-read son-in-law laugh out loud.

           
There are still countless western women I could write about. Indeed I wrote a y/a entitled Extraordinary Women of the West, and a friend laughed that I should tell the editors I had about a hundred more women to go. But I saw the handwriting on the wall, busied myself with the non-fiction y/a market and my daytime job, and dreamed of writing mysteries, while reading every cozy I could get my hands on.

AVAILABLE LATE AUGUST

           
 Finally I dipped my toe into the Guppy pond of Sisters in Crime and found myself literally a newbie in a new world. No one knew I had a publishing history, and I certainly didn’t understand the intricate ins and outs of finding an agent and publishing a mystery. In retrospect I wasted a lot of time querying agents and a few of the better known small presses, giving one press an exclusive that stretched out to a year, wasting another year with an agent who decided he couldn’t sell it.

           
Next I queried a new press, Turquoise Morning. They accepted Skeleton in a Dead Space more quickly than they predicted. It’s launching August 29, give or take, and I’m busy planning marketing, on Facebook and Twitter, writing blogs, and learning all kinds of things that didn’t exist when I last published adult fiction. As we all know, in the old days, your publisher did the marketing; today, we do it.

           
Now if I can just jump out of the y/a and western pigeonholes into the mystery one—or maybe a bigger one that encompasses all three? Western mysteries sort of intrigue me, but I haven’t come up with a plot yet. And after my recent trip to Scotland, a mystery set in Scotland has my brain whirling with possibilities.
Pigeonholes be darned!

~*~*~*~

Judy's forthcoming cozy mystery is Skeleton in a Dead Space from Turquoise Morning Press, due in late August or early September.

Her most recent books are Extraordinary Women of Texas and Great Texas Chefs (both TCU Press) and Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books (State House Press).

She is the author of seven published Western Historical novels for adults, nonfiction books for young adults, one collection of short stories, and a critical biography of Texas novelist Elmer Kelton.

Judy's works have won awards from Western Writers of America, Western Heritage Wrangler Award, Texas Institute of Letters, and the Children's Book Council.

RECOGNITIONS:

Owen Wister Award for Lifetime Achievement – Western Writers of America

Named One of 100 Women, Living and Dead, Who Have Left Their Mark on Texas – Dallas Morning News

Named Outstanding Woman of Fort Worth in the Arts, 1988, - Mayor’s Commission on the Status of Women

Named to Texas Literary Hall of Fame, Fort Worth Public Library

I am a regular blogger- http://www.judys-stew.blogspot.com/  and http://potluckwithjudy.com/   and regular reader of the listservs from the Guppies and Sisters in Crime.

From 1982 until 2009 Judy Alter worked at Texas Christian University Press, five years as editor, and the remaining as director. Using her vast knowledge and university degrees, much of her writing has been about the experiences of women in the American West.

She is the single mother of four now-grown children and the grandparent of seven. She lives in Fort Worth, Texas, with Scooby, an Australian shepherd, and Wynona, cat that is part Maine Coon.

Thank you for visiting Judy Alter here at Sweethearts of the West. You're welcome to leave a comment for her.

Celia Yeary

Let's Go To Luckenbach, Texas

WELCOME TO LUCKENBACH, TEXAS-POP. 3

Settled in 1850 by German pioneers, tiny Luckenbach remained obscure until 1970 when Hondo Crouch, rancher and Texas folklorist and writer, bought Luckenbach for $30,000 from an ad he saw in the paper.

GENERAL STORE AND BEER HALL

Luckenbach remains as it was—one unpainted combination general store and beer hall, a traditional rural dance hall, and a sometimes-used blacksmith shop.

COMANCHE TRADERS

  Luckenbach was first established as a community trading post and was one of the few that never broke a peace treaty with the Comanche Indians, with whom they traded.

WILLIE NELSON AND WAYLON JENNINGS IN CONCERT AT LUCKENBACH

Years later, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson memorialized Luckenbach with the song "Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love)"

Author Peter Doggett recalls that Jennings later told audiences that "he hated the song and had admitted 'The guys that wrote the thing have never been to Luckenbach. Neither have I."

Luckenbach, Texas / Back to the Basics of Love

The only two things in life that make it worth livin'
Is guitars that tune good and firm feelin' women
I don't need my name in the marquee lights
I got my song and I got you with me tonight
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
With Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we're livin'
Got us feuding like the Hatfields and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs and
Newberry's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas ain't nobody feelin' no pain

So baby, let's sell your diamond ring
Buy some boots and faded jeans and go away
This coat and tie is choking me
In your high society you cry all day
We've been so busy keepin' up with the Jones
Four car garage and we're still building on
Maybe it's time we got back to the basics of love

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
With Waylon and Willie and the boys
This successful life we're livin' got us feudin'
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs and
Newberry's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas ain't nobody feelin' no pain

Let's go to Luckenbach, Texas
With Willie and Waylon and the boys
This successful life we're livin's got us feudin'
Like the Hatfield and McCoys
Between Hank Williams' pain songs
And Jerry Jeff's train songs and Blue Eyes Cryin' in the Rain
Out in Luckenbach, Texas there ain't nobody feelin' no pain.



CASUAL GATHERING OF MUSICIANS



OLD OPEN AIR DANCE HALL

The little community is still an active home to country music as of 2010, where folks gather by the score to listen to area musicians and drink cold beer, particularly Shiner Bock, a local favorite brewed by the oldest brewer in Texas.

HIGHWAY SIGN

Luckenbach's bemusing ambiance, according to one writer, "is like Brigadoon; you're almost afraid to go back because it might not be there again." It's there, though, in the Hill Country, east of Fredericksburg off U.S. 290, five miles south of Farm to Market Road 1376.
Don't count on the signs, though—thieves swipe them as fast as they can be placed.

Enjoy your visit!

Celia  

COOKIN' AND EATIN' IN THE "OLDEN DAYS"

Nellie Witt Spikes (1888-1977) was a true pioneer woman and the wife of a West Texas plains farmer. For two decades spanning the thirties and forties, she wrote columns for several small town newspapers in Texas, under the title “As a Farm Woman Thinks.” These days, she might be called a blogger. In July of 1942, she wrote the following:

“Well I must get dinner ready for the men in the field. Would you like to put on this bonnet and go with me? First we will get the chicken. Look how wary that young rooster is of crumbled bread and the wire hidden behind my back. Just a jiffy and he will be dressed and cooling. It will not take long to pick some string beans; better get a few cucumbers and onions, and three or four beets, we like them buttered. After the beans are strung and on cooking, we will go to the smokehouse for a hunk of bacon to boil with the beans. Next, to the potato patch, where some small potatoes can be gotten. They are pretty easy to scrape while the skin is so tender. You may beat this bowl of cream for butter. I will make a peach cobbler. Syrup sweetens peaches now as well as it did for our grandmothers. It is so nice to have milk and butter in the refrigerator instead of in the well. Yes, we have walked a good piece, several blocks if we were in town. Meals are so scattered this time of the year, but how nice it is to pick your own.”

This short column says it all about what life was like for women in rural West Texas during the thirties and forties and even the fifties. What a lot of work for just one meal! This passage reminds so much of my childhood, it’s almost painful for me to read it. I cannot count the number of times I tagged along after my grandmother out to the chicken pen around mid-morning, both of us wearing our bonnets she had made. There she would pick out two pullets and wring their necks. No wire to use as a garróte for my grandmother! She had too much to do to be inconvenienced.  …  She would then bring the chickens back into the house, clean them and cook them for dinner, which on the Texas high plains, was the noon meal. When chickens are dunked in boiling water to loosen the feathers, a distinct odor meets the nostrils. To this day, sometimes when I cook an egg, that smell comes back to me. I contribute that to the sense of smell being our most ancient.

Of course we grew a garden and had an orchard, which called for spending the summer of every year canning and preserving. We had no microwave and for a long time, no refrigerator. With the exception of flour, sugar, syrup and spices, everything we ate, we grew. And my two grandmothers cooked it from scratch every single day, including cornbread and biscuits. I can remember thinking sliced bread was the ultimate in sophistication....And in the middle of all of that, my grandmothers and my old aunts did quilting.

It’s hard to believe the changes in eating and food preparation that have occurred in my lifetime. Giving it some thought, I think I’ve just answered the question of why our society has an obesity problem. Eating is too easy nowadays.

Anna

http://annajeffrey.com

http://annajeffreyauthor.wordpress.com