'Workin' cows"...

Forty years ago, this summer, was the last time I "worked cows". I did it for extra money back in high school, when I thought I was ten foot tall and bulletproof. For those friends and acquaintances of mine that don't quite understand what working cows is, I'll explain.

As you can imagine, sort of like kids, a healthy cattle herd requires daily maintenance of feeding, watering, giving shots, applying medicines and so forth. You get the picture.

So a friend recently asked for my help today in applying tags to a dozen or so new bull and heifer calves. This is where you attach a numbered identification tag to the animals ear... with an industrial strength rivet gun, basically. Keep that in the back of your mind.

I show up, eager to help out a friend in need and needless to say, it went straight down hill from there. First of all there is no horse available to rope the beasts. So we have three grown men, in fairly un-good shape and a strapping young man of about 20, chasing calves around the pen for a half hour. Que the Keystone Cops music.

Someone gets the bright idea to "let Steve have a chance" at roping one of these terrified SCUD missiles on-the-hoof. I reluctantly take the rope and start stalking a calf around the pen... one throw... miss... two throws... not even remotely close... one last try and I actually came close... to roping a fence post.

Ok, next man... he finally gets one...and gives ME the end of the rope. I'm like, "what do I do with this"???. He lets go and just like at Six Flags, the amusement ride begins... immediately. Picture this...a 56 year old man, at full sprint, in boots, behind a furious and terrified 250 pound bull calf, headed toward a steel gate at passing lane speed, with a nylon rope in my hands, and this is where I suddenly remember... I have no gloves.

I am headed straight for a steel pole sticking up out of the ground! Not sure how, but I have the presence of mind to try and wrap the flaming rope around the pole between visions of gruesome injuries, thoughts of funeral plans my wife is about to begin and maintaining some level of dignity while trying not to look like some whimpering sissy with her skirt on fire. It worked! The calf stopped dead in its tracks! The other three wrestled the calf to the ground and applied the tag. One down...

Now I'm not one to whine about helping a friend out, but as we stared at the remaining, much bigger calves that were staring back at us, someone said, "there has to be a better way to do this, and without batting an eye, I said "outsource the job to cowboys"! After an hour and a half and four calves tagged, we were through "working cows" for the day. We fired up the grill and put about ten pounds of one of those calves cousins on the grill in the manner of burgers, sausage and hot dogs. We relaxed under a tree for the rest of the afternoon, sipping water and sweet tea, while reminiscing about all the "work" we'd just done...

So friends, as easy as cowboys make this sort of stuff look on TV, do not be fooled, there's more to being a real ranch hand than riding horses and slowly punchin' dogies and singing trail ride songs as you ride off into the West Texas sunset. "Hey honey, where's the Bengay"???

God bless all y'all and keep it Texas!

The Impulsive Texan

From Europe to Texas, halfway there...

 Frank Vandenbogaerdi and The Impulsive Texan    

Being here in the center of the nation, we get to see a lot of interesting things and to meet some very interesting folks. We're on a busy state/national highway, here in Central Texas and we get a lot of travelers from all over passing through. So yesterday, a friend called me and asked if we had camping spaces available anywhere in Comanche. I told him we had camping spots available in the City Park, but it was going to start filling up on Thursday, so one day would be relatively quiet should he choose to stay. He relayed the message to the man and at about 4:45 he showed up at City Hall. And then an amazing story began to unfold.

Frank Vandenbogaerdi is a teacher from Belgium and he is taking a bike trip across America. He began his journey in Miami, Florida in early March and was passing through Comanche on his way to San Francisco, California, on his bicycle!

After he arrived at City Hall and we set him up with a spot at the Park, he began to tell the story of his adventures and his trip across the USA. He spoke for 30 minutes on some of the things he had done and how enjoyable his trip had been so far.  I asked him "why are you doing this Frank. Is there a charity, or event that your riding for"? He told me that since he was a young teenager, he had dreamed of riding a bicycle across the United States. So he was basically fulfilling an item on his "bucket list".

What is making this trip so special, is that at the end of his journey, his wife will join him in San Francisco to help celebrate his three month journey and to spend some time together on a tour of California and the west coast, before heading back home to Belgium.

I asked one final question before he took off to spend the night at the park. "Frank, what is the one thing that you will take back to Belgium as being one of the most memorable aspects of the trip"?. Without hesitation he said "the incredible generosity of every person he came in contact with is what has been most memorable. He went on to say, "Americans are a kind, gentle and very giving people. So without a doubt it was the way the people treated me so generously and kind, that I will always remember". The heart of the old Implusive Texan swelled up with American pride.

I left work with a very high respect for people like Frank. I also have a bucket list that has twenty-five or so items on it, but only a few have been "ticked" off. Frank is about to fulfill yet another of his bucket list items in June when he completes the cross country tour of America. What a driven man he is and one that I am proud to have met.

I've heard it said before, "People come into your life for one of three reasons...a reason, a season or a lifetime". I like to think he came into my life to try and motivate a tired, old Texan into reaching out and fulfilling more of those "bucket list" items, that are sitting, incomplete on a pad of paper, on my desk. I actually feel a bit of a spark burning inside right now.

Safe travels and God-speed Frank and welcome to Texas, USA!

"Texas, my Texas"...

Well folks, it's been a while since I've posted here on the Impulsive Texan. But my life took a 180 degree turn on September 4th. I'm settled in now and I'm glad to be back writing.

 

 

 

It was 37 years ago, this past July, I left the small Texas town I grew up in. As with most younger folks from Small Town, USA, I couldn't wait to get out. Well, I did just that and spent 23 years serving my country with the U.S. Navy. After that I ended up working for three cities in Texas...Fort Worth, Arlington and Midlothian.

 

Well, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a position came open back in my hometown back in August and at first I wasn't interested. But over the past three decades that I had been gone, my mind started remembering my home, my childhood and my life in my little hometown. So, I put in for the job and by the grace of God, I was chosen over eight others.

 

I've been down here now for about 90 days and it's been quite easy to ease back into the "small town life". Things move a lot slower here and that is the one thing that has taken the longest to get used to.

 

And something else has blossomed to a greater extent since I've came back home... my Texanism. I have rediscovered how cool Texas is, since I've moved away from the metro-mess of North Texas. People wave at you driving down the street, they leave their front doors unlocked when they leave their house and they will stop and say "howdy" whenever they greet you in town.

 

Some years ago, I was missing me some Texas quite fiercely. I was stationed in Southern California, a magnificently beautiful place, but it wasn't my Texas. So after having to listen to me go on about the wonders of my Texas, one old boy from Illinois asked me, "So Tex, why is Texas so special to you"? I thought about it for a second and couldn't tell him one singular thing that made Texas so special. So I told him, give me a few days and I'll get back with you. As a writer, my mind went into overdrive about the wonderful things of Texas. But instead of putting them down in a list, I ended up writing a poem, called "Texas Is Heaven". When I gave it to him, he looked at me with a wondering gaze and said, "well, I still don't get the overly zealous attitude you and all other Texans carry for your state, but this poem has made me realize the place is very special".

 

And since I've gotten back home in Central Texas, on the northern edge of the Hill Country, the "Texas" in me has been bubbling out all over the place. So I thought I'd share the poem with you that I wrote way back in the '90's as a tribute to my Texas. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

Texas Is Heaven

 

 

West of Louisiana and south of O.K. City, is the place that I call home,

"Bob" wire fences and longhorn cattle is the life I've always known.

Growin' up in Texas and bein' part of this land, there's no way for me to hide,

how I feel about where I was born and the place that I'll surely die.

 

Folks from other parts just don't understand when I talk 'bout the land I love.

It's more than just her wide open spaces or the clear blue skies above.

A locust buzzin' in the top of a mesquite or a scissor tail hangin' on the wind,

a horny toad scoots 'cross a caliche road, it's a Texas thang y'all wouldn't understand.

 

October  swelters 'cause of the Indian Summer, but soon there'll be a wint'ry breeze.

So takin' a swim in your best friends tank is the way to cool the Lone Star heat.

It's true the weather here can be a mystery and most times you just can't tell.

This mornin' the weather man said "no chance of rain", this afternoon, four inches fell.

 

A coyote yelps at the midnight hour, oh what a lonely sound.

A young 'un is under a China Berry Tree diggin' doodle bugs outta the ground.

A pickup bounces down a dusty road, carryin' a cowboy home.

He spent the day mendin' fences, in case the cows got the urge to roam.

 

Faded ole' Wranglers and worn out boots is what you'll see us wear.

And Saturday night dances in old honky-tonks is where we let down our hair.

Families here still git on their knees and still go to church together.

And cool Friday nights are all about football and it'll be that way forever.

 

It ain't cause we're that much different than folks from other parts.

We're just a little bit prouder than your average folks, 'cause Texas lives in our hearts.

We give thanks each and every day for this land the Good Lord has given,

and we lay down at night with a smile on our face, 'cause here on earth,

Texas is our Heaven...

 

 

God bless all y'all and God bless Texas...

 

The Impulsive Texan





“You Can’t Go Home Again”...

In the novel “You Can’t Go Home Again”, Thomas Wolfe wrote of how difficult it is to return to a life you knew when you were younger in the place where your childhood took place, especially if you have contributed to the atmosphere of change in that place. Adult eyes see things that a child’s eyes never can. Buildings are bigger, streets are narrower and the people you once knew so well, have changed also. On a recent visit to my home town, I pulled into the yard of my brother and his first words to me were “Welcome home”.

Beginning next week, I am returning home. I have accepted a new position as the City Administrator for my hometown of Comanche, Texas. As I drive through the city now, the hometown I grew up in seems to have shrunk to a much smaller version of what I remember. My grandmother and grandfathers house that once seemed like a mansion on a hill, is in reality a tiny, two bedroom structure sitting on top of rise on the northeast side of town. I used to roll bois d’ arc apples down the hill right beside it as a past time. That road once seemed a mile or more long and again, in reality, its span is only a half a block. I also chased horned toads in their backyard.

But this new venture is actually taking me full circle. I began my working life in that town. I spent time unloading trucks, putting out fresh produce and stocking the shelves of a long-gone grocery store and in its place is a new, modern convenience store with eight or ten gas pumps. And there isn’t a sign of the old grocery around. I also ran the projectors for the Majestic Theater that was razed by a fire years and years ago. It was an old, Austin Limestone structure, that barely held 50 – 60 people, but in the eye of my youth, it was a grand theater with hundreds and hundreds of seats.

Even though I realize I am not returning to the town I knew then, I am returning to the place of my roots. I went all through school and graduated there. I learned to drive an old 1967 Chevrolet pickup with a “three on the tree” that was missing first gear. I learned the finer points of courtesy from my mother and my grandmother, the family matriarch that introduced me to church and to the deliciousness of a frosty Dr Pepper float. She would be waiting for me every afternoon with that float in her hand as I walked up that same little rise from the elementary school just across the street. I recall her blue and white calico dress, neatly adorned with her frilly apron and her clunky shoes with big heels and her hair neatly pinned up in a bun on top of her head. It's amazing at the things we remember from 45 years ago and how easily it is to forget what you had for supper the night before.

With every new position that I was fortunate to have received throughout my life, the responsibility and importance rose too. And with this new position of running a city, the responsibility is of vast importance. Thousands of people are counting on me to keep their little hamlet running smoothly. The Council and the Mayor have placed great trust in their selection of me as they welcome back a wayward son that left so long ago.

Even though the town is small, the lifestyle is laid back and the people are friendly and outgoing, I am beginning to feel the raw emotion of nerves because of the level of responsibility that has been bestowed upon me. If I fail, I not only let my family and friends down, but I will also let down the little town that had such a big impact on me in my youth.

Yes, it’s true, I won’t be able to go back to the home I knew long go. It’s a small, distant memory somewhere in the back of my mind. But I can arrive and walk hand in hand with those memories and hope those still living there, will walk with me. It’s still a fantastic town and with a bit of luck and hard work, I may complete my working circle embraced in its continuous charm. It’s good to be home, even if it’s not the one I left.

 

 

The Impulsive Texan

Wild Texas skies...whatn'uh heck was that?

Alright all of you amateur, semi pro and full time weather guessers out there, located somewhere on this big ole rock we call Earth, help me out if you can. I was driving to work earlier this week and noticed a wall cloud approaching me from the Northeast, halfway between Alvarado and Venus, by golly, Texas. I saw in this cloud, a strange formation I'd never seen before.

 

If you look closely at the "hump", in the middle of the cloud, there are three circular formations to its right. And to the left is one that is just breaking up.

 

Has anyone ever seen anything like this formation of clouds before? And if so, whatn'uh heck is it?

 

 

 

God bless y'all and God bless Texas!

 

 

 

The Impulsive Texan

"I may not get much done, but I sure am slow"...

 

 



New Post from the "Handbook for new Texans"... This weeks post...Courtesy

Hey y'all, welcome to The Impulsive Texan Blog and another post!

Folks raised in Texas, for the most part, were taught to mind their manners and be courteous to others. So when you git here, you may see things you've never seen or hear things you've never heard. Like "thank you sir" or "your welcome ma'am". That's especially true for Texans from my generation of the '50's, '60's and '70's.

So if someone is genuinely being nice to you, take it for what it is, courtesy. Because most Texans don't take courtesy lightly.

This weeks post is another excerpt straight out of my "Handbook for New Texans" and is about courtesy and what you might receive from someone in Texas.

 

 

Courtesy

Folks in Texas tend to be friendly and outgoing, especially in the rural areas. So, if you’re taking a leisurely drive on a back road on Sunday afternoon, don’t drive off in the ditch and through someone’s fence if a person throws up their hand and waves at you as they pass you going in the opposite direction. It is normal and recommended. A Texas backroad-code, if you will.

Men here open doors for ladies. If you notice someone open the door for the lady or ladies you happen to be with, don’t be afraid, he’s just being nice. His intentions are true and in some cases, his mother may be watching to ensure he’s being a gentleman.

 

If a cow or horse gits out of a pasture, it's not uncommon to see a half-dozen trucks stopped on the side of the road helping out the poor cowboy or rancher, whose steed or bovine took to flight. That's the cowboy code and what we Texans do for one another.

 

 

God Blessed Texas!

 

The Impulsive Texan



Texas recipes...Cowboy Caviar

From time to time, I post a new recipe that I enjoy or that catches my eye. Although I've not tried this one yet, I know I'm going to love it because I love it's cousin, "Texas Caviar" or a variation of the recipe "Hopping John" that is so popular in the other parts of the United States.

But this one encompasses everything I love about Texas and southwestern cooking. Corn, onions, black beans, tomatoes, cilantro and onions...mmm, mmm, mmm.

I hope you enjoy this recipe, like I know I'm going to.

  

Cowboy Caviar

  

Minutes to prepare - 10

Number of servings - 24

 

Ingredients

2 - 15 oz cans black beans, rinsed

1 - 17 oz can whole kernel corn, drained

2 - large tomatoes, chopped

1 - large avacodo, diced

1/2 - red onion, chopped

1/4 - cup chopped fresh cilantro

OPTIONAL INGREDIENT

1 - large jalapeno', chopped

 

Dressing

1 - tbsp red wine vinegar

3 - 4 tbsp lime juice

2 - tbsp olive oil

1 - tbsp salt

1/2 - tsp black pepper

 

Directions

1. Combine all ingredients in a large bowl

2. Cover and chill for at least an hour

3. Garnish with avocado slices and cilantro
 
4. Serve with tortilla chips.

 

 

 

 

Texas Tales..."I Found Summer Today"...

I found summer today. I knew it was here, but to me, it just wasn’t official yet because the official announcement hadn’t been made by the unofficial icon of summer. But today and literally out of the blue, summer made its official announcement and simultaneously took me back to my long, gone childhood. I walked outside at around 2:00 and the sun was directly overhead. It was blazing hot and a low-hanging, heavy haze filled the sky. Suddenly, there it was. Can you hear it? Can you hear the ratchety-cadence of summer? A Cicada, or as we called them as a kids, a “locust” was buzzin’ the “cicada serenade” in the top of a tree across the street. Yep, it's official now, summer is here. Welcome to Texas, Summer.

As a child, summer was the most welcome time of the year for me. The heat didn’t affect me at all and to this day I still love summer the best. Late sunny evenings, day fishing trips, long bike rides all over the county and swimming were the activities that awaited us as the last school bell of the year peeled out announcing our three-month stay from the doldrums of education. And almost in harmony, the cicadas would begin singing and buzzing their song of summer.

Up with the dawn, chores out of the way and a shiny quarter in our pocket, away we would go. As we rode our bicycles toward the downtown area of the little Texas hamlet I grew up in, our eyes were focused like lasers on the sides of the roads, anxiously looking for that tell-tale, sparkling glint, beaming off of the glass "coke" bottles, lit up by the blazing Texas sun. Just coke bottles you say? Well, as with most folks in Texas will attest, every carbonated beverage sold back then was a "coke". The conversation would go something like. "I'm going to buy a coke, you want one?" "Yeah, I'll take one." "What kind?" "A Pepsi."....

The bottles lay hidden in the Johnson and Bermuda grass that grew in and around the ditches on either side of the road. On a good morning, we could find ten or twelve bottles and at a nickel apiece that would garner another $.50 to $.75 to put in each of our pockets to help fund that days adventure. In 1968 a dollar in the pocket of a ten year old was a heap of money, considering an ice-cold "coke" was only $.15 and a Baby Ruth bar was only $.10.

After we sold our "roadside bounty" at the local grocery store, it was on to the square, where we’d feast on the fresh peaches, watermelons and cantaloupes that were being offered up by the local farmers and ranchers in the shade of the old Fleming Oak Tree. The Fleming Oak is a county treasure from the days of the Cowboys and Indians and a reminder of the squabbles that had to be won to settle the rough and haggard land of Comanche County. The story goes that Old Man Fleming climbed up in that tree and was not letting anyone cut it down when the county decided to clear a spot for the new courthouse. And if they tried, he would not hesitate to use his old “Number Ten” on them. No one was sure if it was the ten gauge shotgun that was laying across his lap, or the heavy leather, sized ten boots he wore on his feet. The folks decided that it just wasn’t worth the time or pain that might be inflicted to find out which of the two it was. So, the tree is still standing proudly as ever on the square.

The Fleming Oak had a special place in Old Flemings heart from his childhood. As a young lad living with his family on the wide-open Texas Prairie, he claimed that this very tree saved his life as he rode desperately to save himself from a blood thirsty party of Comanche Indians. He said he climbed up into the tree and scared his horse away and just in the nick of time, too. The Indians rode right on by and never knew he was up in the tree. I can imagine how many cicadas have made that old tree home over the centuries. Oh if their song could be understood by us, imagine the stories they could tell.

From the square, we’d head south to the lake that sat three or four miles just outside of town. I’m amazed that us kids made it through all of those summers, what, with the sun baking down on us at over 100 degrees most days, riding bikes on those old two-lane country roads dodging cars, trucks, tractors, motorcycles and any other object that flew around every curve and topped every hill. We’d finally make it to the lake and spend another quarter to cool ourselves at the local swimming pool. It was nestled at the edge of and old oak tree line at the southeastern side of the lake and it was surrounded by ancient pecan trees. And there was always a symphony from the cicada choir to keep us company as we swam the summer away. 

By the end of the day, we were all starving, worn out and charred by the sun and we still had to make that three mile ride back home on that old Farm to Market road we came in on. But the good part of the ride back is that it was virtually down-hill all the way. So, soaking wet from the afternoon swim we’d fly down that hill back toward home as the cicada’s cheered us on from the worn and gnarled mesquite trees that lined that old road in the dusty cow pastures. And even though it was 100 degrees outside, we’d be shivering for the first few minutes ride, as we were all soaking wet from the afternoon of swimming. But in no time at all, sweat would begin to bead up on us once again. As we rounded the last curve before the city limits sign, we would always draw a sigh of relief. We were almost home, only another mile or so, down FM 16 into town, past the square and a right on Walcott and we were home in ten minutes. 

As we coasted into the front yard and threw down our bikes, most Saturday nights would find the smell of fried chicken filling the air. Mama was working her magic in the kitchen and she would always shout out her disapproval of the sunburns we’d received that day. But in the end, she always offered up her prized Aloe Vera plants that she kept on the front porch to cool down the effects of the blazing Texas summer sun. Taking turns, we’d slather one another’s back with the gooey, cool gel that oozed out of the Aloe Vera and always brought immediate relief to our scorched bodies. 

With supper over and the night coming to an end, we would all go sit in the old red metal lawn chairs that were in the shadows of the carport. The cool metal always seemed to ease my burning skin and the heat of the day that was still hanging like a wet blanket on to the muggy Texas evening. The cicadas were still full of life and it was the sound of home and summer. We’d all sit and talk over the day, maybe play catch with a baseball for a bit or laugh at a colorful story mama always seemed to have at the ready. And then, one by one, the cicadas would end their daily performance. And almost on que, the lightning bugs would begin to light up the Texas night sky. Yes, summer was finally an official season now, because the cicadas were here and had officially taken over summer with their welcomed buzz. Everything good and right about summer was in place now and life was grand.

Welcome to Texas, Summer…



The Impulsive Texan

West Texas' rugged beauty, through the eyes of Wyman Meinzer's, "West Texas"...

The rugged beauty of Texas is unparalleled and unforgettable. But none so unforgettable as the region known as West Texas. From the Cap Rock, to the mesa's of far West Texas, there is no other land like it. Mountains, valleys, rivers, boulders and high peaks, this land is as unforgiveable as it is unforgettably beautiful.

Take a trip  and see through the eyes of Wyman Meinzer, the State of Texas' Official Photographer, this vast and gorgeous land that we Texans are so proud of.

So sit back with a hot cup of coffee, turn up the speakers and enjoy this unforgettable trip, through West Texas.

 

 

 

God blessed, West Texas...

 

 

 

The Impulsive Texan