Essays

Moseying: Locations of Interest

Back roads of Coke County
November 17, 2004

“This is beautiful country -- so rugged – steep red clay hills, old twisted junipers, broad vistas, hidden canyons, oaks, hackberries – so many different trees and shrubs.” Speaking softly, Deborah leaned back against me and kissed me on the cheek. I was standing behind her, hugging her as we both faced the setting sun. We had parked on Mitchell County Road 345, on the big curve overlooking Big Silver Creek in the very southeastern corner of Mitchell County.

On the first Sunday of November we had been moseying down back roads south and north of Robert Lee, collecting wildflower seeds from the roadsides. (When we are through processing the seed, we might have several hundred seeds of some of the species – but we practice proper “wildcrafting ethics,” never taking more than five percent of the available seed.)

High thin clouds had kept pushing in from the southwest all day, but not until sunset did they dare cross the Colorado River “in force.” We were glad the clouds had crossed, for the sunset became a full sky panorama of shades of pink, orange, plum, peach, violet, magenta, and every other variation of the delicious mixing of red and blue. The curve on the gravel surfaced county road has been a favorite sunset spot for years. I have participated in “ranch field days” for over a dozen years in the region – invited over to identify the flora and fauna on the ranches, tell stories of their historical uses and ranges, and add tales of pre-Anglo history.

The area has a number of pumpjacks powered by engines that make noise with differing cadences of pops and chugs. It is not annoying, although some of the sounds can be quite loud if a person is nearby. Twenty miles stretch from one escarpment to the other of the Colorado River Valley. Just west of Robert Lee and Lake Spence the river takes a 90 degree turn, and every direction a person looks are mesas, steep conical hills, and long rows of bluffs. In that wide open country, distant noises make the scenery become even larger, so the pumpjack sounds are quaint – like foghorns on the beach.

“Eryngo! Stop this car Right Now!” Deborah grabbed my arm. At noon we had turned north up the Walnut Draw Road between Sterling City and Water Valley. My book of county maps showed the road wiggling over the divide to join FM2034 between Water Valley and Robert Lee. The eryngo was our third stop – the first was an almost clear-chested redtail hawk sat on a rabbit carcass three feet from the road. We were only moseying at 20 miles an hour, so stopping was quick and sudden. “What the blankety-blank! Fool Humans!” The hawk glared at us – imperially, haughtily, arrogantly – and finally lifted off, leaving the rabbit behind. (He came back as soon as we left.)

A few hundred yards further I stopped for a rattlesnake stretched at the side of the road. When Deborah swung her door open to take a close look, it did not move. “Not a mark – but it is dead. Fresh dead. It must have struck at a passing vehicle.” When we stopped to collect the seed of the pretty purple “thistle” (Eryngo is a carrot, not a thistle) Deborah very quietly reminded me (and herself) “We know it is warm enough for snakes.” We “toed down” (placing our toes to the ground, then our heels) across the carpet of buffalo grass and went slowly through the taller sideoats grama with its red anthers, to fill a small plastic bag with eryngo seeds. Eryngo is wonderful in fall flower arrangements, holding its color for weeks. We have never found it on the Llano Estacado itself, but it is common in all of the watercourse drainages to the east – a botanical icon of “the breaks.”

The Walnut Draw road not is public for its total length. The Lone Wolf Ranch has locked gates that block off six or seven miles of the road. As a result of too much poaching and rustling, the gates were erected within the last decade. At the southern gate an Agarita was in bloom – a totally bizarre find, for it normally blooms in March. For much its length (both ends of it, for we circled around and checked the other end) the paved road is only one car wide. It did not used to be, but without maintenance for years, the vegetation has crept inwards.

We only saw two vehicles (both belonging to deer hunters) on the 10 to 15 miles that was public access. At the southern end, on US87, a brown sign states that the road is part of the Panhandle Wildlife Trail. The sign is there because Sue Mims and Kathy Johnson found Black-capped Vireos (the most northwestern recorded nesting of this endangered species) on the family ranches and starting an ecotourism project, complete with guided tours and a bed and breakfast. (Check out walnutcreek.com for more information.)

Here and there are Historical Markers that give the barest of hints of the region’s history. Learning that that Sanco was named for Sanaco, a local Comanche Chieftain after the Civil War “made me ache” for more comprehensive information. Barbara Barton’s privately printed “Saber, Shield, and Spurs” puts a “little meat on the bones” of history, but only a little. Sanco is on Yellow Wolf Creek, named for a Cherokee that became a Comanche chief, according to Barton’s notes taken from Ulmer Bird, an old-timer of the Colorado River valley.

Every region has its “mythology” of old tales passed along. Often the stories are the product of some original settler known for his “windies” when he was old in the 1920s, so truth and historical veracity can be twisted, limited, or even non-existent. Following generations of local residents will often believe the stories as gospel and retell them as such, not taking the time to learn a broader view of history (in other words, what other people in other places have said about the same events and characters.)

If Yellow Wolf really was Cherokee, his story would be incredible. A couple of Cherokee bands moved to east Texas because of Sam Houston in the 1830’s, but to me, it is doubtful that any ever wandered as far west as present-day Robert Lee. Indian society is based on relationships – and Indian people do not abandon their families or tribe very often or very easily. Another Cherokee named Grey Wolf figures into regional stories west of the Pecos, and a Seneca (from New York) with the same name is in stories even further west – mythological “noble savages” civilizing “wild” Indians. All of these mythical Indians are probably based on characters from James Fenimore Cooper and similar writers!

What is wonderful about such mythical stories, however, is that they represent the innate urge of humans (carried on for untold centuries) to tell stories about their very own home region. With television providing the only myths of the modern world, we have lost even these stories as representational of our local space that we inhabit – and that is a crying shame, about which we should be very embarrassed!

Deborah and I watched the last colors of the sunset as we moseyed towards Sterling City. About 20 miles from town, the “need gas” light started shining. That made the road seem so much longer, and the “need gas” light seemed to get brighter and brighter. Cell phones and Onstar do not work well in the rugged region. “Would she get the ride into town, or me? Or both of us? Will we have to wait for hours for a ride?” I fretted to myself, but she read my mind – “we’ll make it!” (And so we did.)