Essays

Moseying: History of the Southern Llano Estacado

Dreaming of a Living History Center
August 17, 2005

“The acquisitions team of the company I work for is considering some substantive investment in the Nashville, New Mexico area, southeast of Hobbs. I wanted to see what has them excited,” Deborah had said.

Nashville, New Mexico? Southeast of Hobbs? There is no such place, as we all know. But it made perfect sense to me – I was fast asleep, dreaming!

In the dream, as we approached Nashville, the first thing to catch our attention was an intricate rock wall ten feet tall surrounded a house on the northeast corner of a crossroads. The rocks themselves had been individually carved. One boulder was a life-size buffalo. Another was an oversized cephalopod spiral. Another rock was carved into an oversized roadrunner. The carved rocks were of pale limestone, while the rocks between were of red Barstow sandstone. As we passed the open gate, we could see an old Victorian two story house with intricate ornamentation. Just beyond the house, a road sign told us that a county park awaited us.

As we turned down the road, we found it led down into a tributary draw that eventually opened out on a huge salt playa rimmed with cliffs and other tributary draws. The fence along eastside of the house revealed rocks carved into the image of a stagecoach pulled by 8 mules. Just below the house was a small parking lot, and just beyond that a stone archway above a flagstone path leading on down into the draw. The draw seemed to narrow as it turned, and all along the pathway were big hackberry trees, festooned with cascading draperies of moonseed vine.

This was so inviting! We parked and began hiking down the trail, merrily admiring many species of plants that we realized had been planted. Turkscap, mexican petunia, purple aloysia, and dozens of other drought adaptive shade plants lined the walkway. As we entered the narrowest part of the draw (now a deep arroyo) a doppelganger of our big gray and white cat (Mindy) appeared on a rock at the side of the trail. Dreams are wonderful, for as soon as we exclaimed how much it looked like Mindy, Mindy himself appeared and ran up to sniff noses with his doppelganger. They played hide-and-go-seek as we continued on down the trail.

The arroyo opened up a bit, giving enough space for several good-sized rock and flat-topped adobe houses. “This looks like one of the old Hispano plazas of the northern Llano Estacado in the 1880’s and 1890’s,” I told Deborah. One trail led into the courtyard of between the buildings, while the other went around, where we could not see. We followed the trail into the courtyard, and it was a glorious southwestern cottage garden, full of dozens of our favorite drought adaptive plants. As we toured the garden, we also looked through the windows of the buildings. It was a historical museum full of displays, along with a well-stocked bookstore, and several meeting rooms.

“We must be early – no one is here.” Deborah said, after she tested a couple of doors. “The lights are on, so something must happen here soon.” We admired the cinnamon toast tree (arroyo sweetwood) in the courtyard. “They must know Steve Lewis at Mertzon. He had a handful of those plants six years ago. And look at this weeping Texas redbud – they must have been to the tissue culture nursery at New Braunfels. And my word, here is a Gobi Rose, too! That means they’ve been to the Boyce Thompson Arboretum in Arizona! This is a fabulous collection of plants – how come we have never heard of this place?”

We went back to the other trail, and on the other side of the buildings the trail rounded another bend in the arroyo, where we were greeted by the sight of four historical buildings. Two were big substantial commercial buildings dated from the hey-day of the early part of the 20th century, while the other two were classic farmhouses of the same time period. In between the buildings a grouping of Comanche tipis and Apache wickiups were visible. We could see into all of the structures, and each was outfitted with artifacts of the era. Everywhere were people in period costume, dusting and sweeping and preparing for an upcoming event.

In the plaza between the four buildings, people were busy unloading trucks and setting out plants in neat rows. Each grouping had attractive signs, so we perused the selections, and again were amazed at the incredible selection of the species. After a quick perusal we asked when the sale would start, and if we could park any closer. We were told we could drive around and park behind the big buildings, and the sale would start in thirty minutes.

“This place is fabulous. It is dedicated to preserving our region’s history and culture,” I told Deborah as we hurried back to our car. After we started our car, we attempted a shortcut, twisting and turning through the park, and came out into a parking lot full of huge horse trailers. Each horse trailer had incredible airbrush artwork on the sides. “These are the famous Driscoll trailers,” I exclaimed. “I have seen these trailers all over west Texas and eastern New Mexico! These are the top of the line – to own one of these is the ultimate for the racehorse and cutting horse folks. I had not realized they were made here!” We threaded our way through the sales yard and found ourselves in front of a building we had not seen before. A door stood open, and through the doors we could see rows and rows of books in a series of bookshelves.

We can’t resist a collection of books. We parked and entered, and both of us found sections of books that appealed to us. We stood apart, reporting our finds to each other. I overheard a woman say, “Mr. Driscoll, someone is in the library.” I turned and a gentleman 6 foot 8 with shoulders almost too wide for the doorway stepped in. He must have been in his 70s, with a full head of white hair swooping down to his shoulders and a big droopy moustache.

I introduced myself, and told him I thought the book collection was superb. He shook my hand and identified himself, but then said, “And you are trespassing.” Two younger men stepped inside. “My grandsons will escort you out.” I stammered, apologizing for not understanding that this area was private, that I thought it was part of his salesroom. We were grasped by the arm and led to the door. When we stepped out, we could not see our car. I fished for the keys and pressed the button for the horn to start honking. Nothing happened. I looked around, panicked, and becoming angry. I woke up as I heard Mr. Driscoll say, “Tell your bosses at Mega-Entertainment, Mrs. Williams, we aren’t selling Nashville.”

Will anyone ever create such a place as Nashville, New Mexico? Living History villages exist elsewhere in the United States – why not on the Llano Estacado? Maybe the Ranching Heritage Museum at Texas Tech could change its mission “just a tad!” Buffalo Gap Historical Village south of Abilene has the best collection of historic buildings and artifacts, but reenactors in period costume are not a daily feature. Buffalo Gap is well worth the visit, but it is 150 miles away!