My Western Roots

By Dave Stevens

Young TJ started life in North Texas, during a dust bowl time.  Life is hard and he must leave home at 16. He is forced to become a man and make life enduring choices.  From cattle drover, to mule skinner, to miner, TJ earns his place in life by falling back on his "roots," the values establilshed by his loving parents.  The rewards can be great, if he survives.   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Stevens
• Release date: Sep 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780595306695

Dave Stevens

Dave was raised as a cowhand, working cattle, mixing feed in a mill, rodeoing, and driving mules in a covered wagon on trail rides.  He spent twenty years in the military and also retired as a deputy sheriff.  His life has been dedicated to helping others and protecting this nation.  This all lead to his writing career, as he has an unquinchable thirst for western history and stories from those who live the life and remember.  Dave's desire is to put his readers into the story and let them become the characters and enjoy a time in history that was only once and will never be again.

Book preview

To my wife, Carolyn

And my sister, Cindy

You made me strive for the best I am capable of.

.

Prologue

Folks that have known hard times will relate to this story.  Life is not always easy.  Sometimes we just have to suck it up, and get through the hard times, as best we can.  Hopefully, the future will be brighter and happy times will return.  But no matter the times, good, bad, hard, or easy, we must have something to fall back on; I’m speaking of our moral values, self-pride, and, or, our roots.  That thing we don’t really think about, it’s just part of our soul.

Our parents, teachers, ministers, and friends, help build our roots, but I suspect our parents are the biggest influence for most.  Look back at your life.  Visualize the opportunities you may have missed or taken advantage of.  What drove you onward?  Was it mere chance that provided you with where you are today?  Or could it have been your roots or upbringing?

This story is about a young man who is cast into a rough world, due to hard times, and all the misery that comes with it.  But he knows he can always rely on his roots to help him make the right decisions.  Sometime hard decisions reap great rewards.

One

Pa was worried.  The dust was thick and there was no rain in sight.  It had been dry more than a month and the corn was near ruin.  Most of the other vegetables were already gone.  The sun burned down like a furnace.  The grass was gone and the cow was starving.  Wild game had left the area. We couldn’t last much longer.  Now, we were surviving on canned vegetables Ma had put up last year.

All the money Ma and Pa could scrape together had been spent on this farm; a dream that Pa had had throughout his sharecropper days.  Now, his dream had turned to dust.  It was killing Pa.  You could see it in his eyes and in his walk.  What could we do?  How would we re-build, even if the drought ended?

The farm started off just like Pa dreamed it would; everything green and beautiful.  He and Ma worked dogged-hard and made the best farm they could.  For many years our vegetables sold for a good price.  Pa had a knack for growing and he spent many hours pampering his crops.  He developed a fertilizer; he called Texas Tea that involved fermenting dried cow and or buffalo manure in water barrels and pouring the liquid over the freshly planted corps.  This seemed to give them the boost they needed to get established and produce beautiful vegetables.

Pa and a few neighbors had built the house and barn.  The house consisted of two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living area, with a small fireplace.  It wasn’t fancy or even a large place, but it was all they had ever wanted. In some folks eyes they may have been considered just poor dirt farmers, but Pa and Ma considered themselves rich and blessed.

Now, that the drought had robbed the land and dust covered everything, our place had taken on a ram-shackled look.  The entire town was covered with a fine, white dust and looked weather beaten.  People were moving away.  The once thriving town was now taking on a deserted look. Even if it rained now, it would take a few years to replace the moisture that the relentless sun had taken.  It was as if nature had made up her mind to destroy everything within the Texas, Oklahoma area.  It was a slow death, not merciful like fire or earthquake.  At least they were quick and you could start to rebuild immediately, if you wanted to.

I remember Pa saying a prayer, one time, at the supper table.  Dear Lord, please help us.  This place is all we ever wanted and we’ve done all we can to keep it together.  Now, the drought threatens our family and I fear we will lose this place, if you don’t provide rain, soon.  You know we are hard working and honest, Lord, and we will abide by your wishes, but we sure need this place and pray you will smile down on us.

Odessa, Texas is just below the panhandle. It is good farming country, most of the time, but water is always a factor.  Even during good times, the area is semi-dry, so when the drought hit us, we began to suffer, right away.  The creeks were small but usually supplied enough water for the crops, between rains.  This year the sun and the dry western winds, had taken their toll.  The creeks went dry first.  There wasn’t even any mud left. And the ponds we had groomed throughout the years had not been enough.  The land had turned to dust, and with the winds, the dust was thick and covered everything.  It made your skin feel gritty, even after a bath.  There was no keeping it out of the house.  It seemed to find small cracks and seep in, until it was useless to try and stop it.  Ma was an extremely neat housekeeper but at the last, even she began giving up on the dust.

The wells were very low.  The bucket had to go very far down to reach the water level.  Some weren’t dug deep enough and had gone dry.  The constant heat made you feel old and you lost your energy.  Everything seemed to be in slow motion or at a stand still.

I was sixteen that awful summer of 1865, in north Texas.  They call me TJ, after the great President and inventor, Thomas Jefferson.  I was strong and proud but I had no idea how to help.  Everybody close by was in the same fix as Pa.  I would have to leave.  Go somewhere and find work.  That would mean one less mouth to feed, and in time, I could send money home to help get them back on their feet.

I wasn’t afraid of work.  I’d been helping Pa since I was big enough to drop the seeds and cover them over.  Then, later with the plowing and harvest, I was right there beside him.  For the past couple of years I had also been working part-time in Mr. Upton’s General Store.

Mr. Upton was a man in his late fifties.  He had no children of his own and his wife was very frail and couldn’t help out much in the store.  He really liked me and I tried to do a good job for him.  He knew my family was struggling and he wanted to help but he wasn’t much better off than any one else in the area.  I believe he would have been a good father, if he had children.  I figured there was enough of me to be part of his family too, so I was always asking him for advice and getting him to talk about his life.  He and I were very close.

There was a lot of work to be done at the store.  I swept the floors, arranged merchandise, and loaded the goods our customers purchased.  Mr. Upton trusted me.  Many times I handled money for him.  I made deposits in the bank and if I delivered merchandise to a customer, I had to collect payment.

One time I was sent to the freight depot to pay for and load up several bags of sugar for the store.  Mr. Upton said, TJ, here is forty dollars to pay Mr. Jenkins, the depot clerk.  Go pick up the sugar that arrived this morning by mule train and put it in the storeroom.

Before I got on the wagon to head over to the depot, I recounted the money and found that Mr. Upton had made a mistake of one dollar too much, when he counted out the payment.  After I returned to the store and unloaded the sugar, I went to Mr. Upton and returned the dollar.

That was a very honest thing you did TJ.  I probably would not have caught my mistake, but it shows the kind of person you are and I appreciate that.  Tell you what, go over to the candy jars and pick out a piece for yourself.

I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Upton.  I have wanted one of those peppermint sticks.  I’ve seen some of the kids buying them but I didn’t have the money.  But returning your money wasn’t for a reward.  I just feel like I’m part of the store and it’s just good business to double check the figures.

Mr. Upton smiled, and said, You’ll go far, boy, with your honest ways and that head you have on your shoulders.

I wasn’t paid regular wages at the store.  Instead, I received things my family sorely needed, such as flour, and sugar, coffee, and salt.  It made life a little easier, between harvest times.

Mr. Upton was a nice man.  But like most folks around Odessa, he had a cash flow problem.  Most of us farmers only had cash money at harvest time.  Then, being honest folk, we paid our debts.

I had grown up mighty fast.  In those days, a boy was expected to carry his share of the load.  Everybody worked.  It was work from can see to can’t see, six days a week.  Sundays were a time for rest and reflection.  We sometimes went to church or maybe we went fishing.  But mostly, it was a day to just laze around and talk or visit a neighbor.

I had a few friends and sometimes we would get together and whittle a stick under the shade trees or go swimming in the creek, or maybe go for a ride in the wagon.  I didn’t know any girls.  Sure, there were a few around, but not many my age. And anyway, I wouldn’t dare speak to one.  They were as foreign to me as those people Ma spoke about with the yellow skin and slanted eyes.  Although, time to time, I had thoughts of a pretty brown haired girl with freckles, that only existed in my mind.

I was a good sized boy, on my way to becoming a man.  I came along late in my parent’s lives.  Ma always said I was a gift from the Lord and that made me feel real special.  I took after my Pa, being around six foot tall and heavy in the chest and arms.  My Ma said I was handsome, but mothers tend to over do.  I think I’m just average or at least not homely.  All my clothes were home spun but my shoes were store bought.

Our shoes or brogans, as Pa referred to them, were of heavy hide and were high topped.  They laced up to the calf.  Ma’s shoes were just like ours, but she also received some heeled shoes that were dressy, for church and going to town.

Once I said, Pa, I sure would like some of those boots the ranchers wear; instead of these old clod-hoppers.

Pa had said, A man needs a good strong pair of working shoes, if he plans to get the job done and not let his feet suffer.  Your feet are only second to your back.  You can’t work with sore feet or an aching back.  If you wore those boots, you’d be limping around in no time.  Didn’t you notice that those ranchers are always riding?  They just don’t walk much, at all.  A farmer needs brogans.  So every year after fall harvest, we each got a brand new pair.  Pa was mighty particular about that.

Life was hard, but we endured.  And to be honest, we had a good life, mostly.  When there is love and someone to share your feelings with, life can be good.  Your work can also be a pleasure.  You can think and dream or you can sing a song that only you and the plow mule get to hear, or would want to.  We were poor, but then so was everybody we knew.

––––––––

Even though we never had much, Ma always made it seem we had everything we needed.  When I was small, I remember her saying, It’s ok to be poor, but there is no excuse for being dirty.  Ma was a real stickler about washing your face and hands and she double checked behind my ears and under my chin, to see if I was following orders.

She was a small woman, only about five feet tall, with brown hair that had a smidgen of gray at the temple.  I remember the smile she always had on when she and Pa talked