Prologue

People all over the world have heard of Texas, and they are almost always surprised when they learn what the state is really like. Foreigners imagine Texas as cowboy hats, cowboy boots and everyone driving trucks with rifles in the back window. Some folks, even here in the US, seem to think we are all married to cousins, say ya’ll a lot and are generally staunch Republicans who harbor a grudge because the South lost the civil war. That last is a sore spot on both sides, so it is best to be sure who you are talking to when you bring it up. More about that in a bit.

Texas is a big state. No, not the biggest, but still a big damn place, and there is room for just about all types here. From the far south where Spanish is more common than English and a noon-time temperature of a hundred and twenty (Fahrenheit) is not all that unusual; to the far north of the state where a sudden snow storm can sweep the high plains and freeze you solid before you can reach safety. From the uber-liberal capital at Austin, often called the Berkeley of Texas; to the town of Vidor, Texas, where there are, at last count, maybe three bloodlines running through the ten-thousand souls living there.

Yes, that was an exaggeration, don’t go quoting me on that. They still believe in blood feuds down that way and I ain’t got time for none of that foolishness.

Here in this huge state of Texas, there are black cities and white towns and brown counties and more Germans and Dutch than you can shake a stick at; but through it all there is a sense of community, of belonging, that is different from every other place I have lived in my life.

I come, originally, from the Hill Country, north and west of Austin, mostly, and our large, German immigrant population meant we were Republicans during the civil war, supporting the union, and remained that way until the parties swapped names. In fact, we stuck mostly with the Republicans until the sixties, then seemingly without any talk or planning, swapped parties, en masse.

Geographically, our area is called a Karst topography region, with lots of hills and the area has a number of caverns. There are several aquifers as well as rivers, and the general temperature here is about ten degrees cooler, on average, than the rest of the state. It’s pretty good cattle country, if you mind what the land is telling you, and a fair place to grow up as a kid.

We learned right and wrong, the value of hard work and the difference between hurt feelings and fighting words; and this was all before we started school. We learned about the birds and bees from watching the ranch animals, and sometimes the ranch hands; and we learned what was family business and what could be said to others.

I had three brothers, all older than me with two, the oldest, being twins. William and Robert were big, corn-fed, football playing, skirt-chasing, Texas boys and lived the stereotype to the hilt. They both wore overalls to school most days, except when they had to go to away games, and often were seen with one or more cheerleaders on their arms down to the Dairy Queen in town.

Michael, the middle brother, was their protégé in every way, except he was probably twice as smart. The twins were planning on taking over the ranch from Dad, when he retired, and had taken on a lot of the management already. Michael was going to college, and while he might come back here, it would more likely be as a livestock management specialist or even an agronomist, though the thought of him turning sodbuster caused my Dad no end of heartburn.

Chapter 1 »