The Wonders of West Texas

Martina and I recently traveled to West Texas, and on the first night of our journey, we camped in Monahans Sandhills State Park. What I like about Monahans Sandhills is that, were I to be teleported into the middle of it, I would think I was near the ocean or maybe somewhere in the Sahara.

However, Monahans Sandhills State Park is right up the road from Monahans, Texas, which is perhaps best known as the home of the now-defunct Green Frog Cafe from Guy Clark's "Desperadoes Waiting for a Train." It is also a place where folks go dune sledding, and no, I am not making this up. If you don't believe me, check out the video below.

And here it is. Empirical evidence.

Merry Christmas, Y'all!

Merry Christmas, y'all! I hope the day is filled with peace, love, joy, and all of the blessings of the season.


Here is a picture taken inside the Gage Hotel this holiday season. I love how they deck the halls.

And here is my ol' buddy, Rosco. His version of "Deck the Halls" has its own special chorus. 

Chi-hua-hua-hua-hua    hua-hua-hua-hua!

A Little Devil on the Christmas Tree

This evening Martina and I finally decided to put up our Christmas tree, which has ornaments representing our various travels and experiences. One of my favorite ornaments is a handmade wooden "čert" or "devil" that Martina's mother, known colloquially as Baba Jaja, sent us several years ago from the Czech Republic. On December 5th, Saint Nicholas, the Devil, and an Angel all travel together through the streets of Bohemia. Good children recite poetry to Saint Nicholas and get a treat. Bad children end up in the Devil's sack. There is, of course, no in between.

This year, I made the mistake of forgetting St. Nicholas Day, so I had to improvise with a gift. I asked Martina to recite Pushkin in Russian, but instead she chose to recite the epitaph of the Czech poet Jiri Wolker, which he wrote shortly before his death. Despite the rather morbid nature of Martina's recitation choice, "Saint Nicholas" directed her to click a button on Amazon and buy herself a little present.

A Legend Riding into Town

This week Ramblin' Jack Elliott will be playing in Fort Worth, which got me to thinking about the time Martina and I got to meet him and hear a number of his stories at the now-defunct Live Oak a few years ago. Ramblin' Jack is a living, breathing connection to American musical history, and it was incredible to hear him talk about traveling with Woody Guthrie, about his brief encounter with Lead Belly, and about Bob Dylan's early days on the folk scene. Ramblin' Jack is a national treasure, and I feel very fortunate to have had the chance to talk with this very approachable legend that evening in Fort Worth. It felt as if the Smithsonian had somehow turned into a person, and that person was standing there talking to a handful of strangers as if he had known them all of his life.

Here is "Hard Travelin'" played by Ramblin' Jack Elliott and Jerry Jeff Walker.

  

   

Thankful

Over the past year I have spent a lot of time thinking about the people who have made an impact on my life. I am thankful for the teachers and professors who instructed and encouraged me, my family, which has always supported my quest regardless of how quixotic it may have sometimes seemed, and friends who never doubted my abilities. This holiday season I am truly thankful for all of the wonderful people whose paths I have had the great fortune to cross. Thank you all so very much.

A Tow-headed Boy in the Texas Republic

This week I was pleased to discover a package from the Texas State Historical Association in our mailbox. Receiving such packages is one of the perks of being a card-carrying member of the TSHA, and, as is my custom, I promptly dipped into the book I received, which was a copy of The Texas Republic: A Social and Economic History by William Ransom Hogan.

The style of the book, which was published in 1946, is quite entertaining, and the language reminds me of my grandparents, all of whom were born within about a 30 mile radius in North Texas. On the first page, I came across the word "tow-headed," a term I had not heard in a while, though it was occasionally used to describe me as a child. Well, anyway, I am certainly looking forward to reading The Texas Republic, which contains chapters with titles such as "Fighting the Devil on His Own Ground."

If you happen to read my blog with any regularity, you have probably noticed that I very rarely post pictures of myself. Today, however, I have decided to post a picture of my brother and me in our cowboy get-ups in the mid-70s. My brother is wearing twin pistols, and in an act of blatant anachronism, I am firing a machine gun. When this picture was taken, I was probably about two years past "tow-headed."

McMurtry at the Baskin-Robbins

"What is Baskin-Robbins?" Martina asked one day while sitting in our little garage apartment in Northern Bohemia. She was reading a Czech edition of Cadillac Jack by Larry McMurtry, and the ice cream parlor was mentioned in the book. So I explained what Baskin-Robbins was and told her that I would take her to the land of 31 flavors one day.

Since that time she has read a stack of McMurtry novels in the original and has even visited McMurtry's bookstore in Archer City a couple of times, but until today she had never stepped foot in a Baskin-Robbins. Yes, today, more than a decade since I made that promise, I took her for a scoop of pecan pie ice cream on her name day. Mission finally accomplished.

  

Saint Martin in Texas

November 11 is the feast of Saint Martin in the Czech Republic, and my wife, Martina, claims it as her name day since her father always considered it as such. Martina is trying to talk me into buying her a pet rabbit for her name day, but she will most likely be getting a book, a Thai dinner, and a surprise of some kind.

In the Czech Republic, it is said that Saint Martin comes on a white horse, meaning that he brings the first snow. Here in Texas, that is hardly the case, though strangely enough, there is a chance of winter weather in Fort Worth this Monday. It looks like the old proverb might even apply to Texas this year.

Here is Uncle Willie and Trigger (who happens to be a Martin N-20) playing a little song for us.

Sound Advice

Last Sunday I had the opportunity to attend sessions at the Texas Book Festival. In the morning, I had the chance to attend the O. Henry Prize Celebration, which was moderated by Laura Furman, who is the editor of the prize-winning stories. When she opened it up for questions, I asked the writers, Youmna Chlala and Jamil Kochai, about their philosophies on using languages other than English in their writing.

Being a writer who often uses other languages in his work, I am always curious to know how others incorporate foreign languages into their writing. Youmna Chlala was of the opinion that a writer should "just do it," and Jamil Kochai considered the use of his mother tongue essential to his writing about his native Afghanistan.

Laura Furman provided what I would consider universal advice for writers. She said to always assume that your reader is as smart or smarter than you are. Heeding such advice causes a writer to create work that challenges the reader but also the writer, for he or she should always assume that the person reading his or her work is both wiser and more intelligent. That causes a writer to always strive for excellence. That, I feel, is sound advice that I will carry with me down the road.

       

Measured by Trains

In the place where I live, life is not measured by coffee spoons, but by the passing of trains. But not all trains are alike. A train lightened of its load can rattle by in two or three minutes, though an overburdened coal train can take more than fifteen minutes to chug by. If a train has stopped at the mill, expect to have plenty of time to listen to the Allman Brothers' Fillmore East, February 1970 album in its entirety, or if you happen to be in a metaphysical mood, to contemplate the true meaning of existence. Or you can just be happy to have some time to do nothing but sit quietly and enjoy the opportunity to simply be.

Here is a picture I took at a stop sign on the way to work yesterday when I was trying to outsmart a train. I liked the way the eastern sunlight glinted off the cars but only had about two seconds to point and shoot before having to turn right.

And here is ol' Guy Clark singing about a train from his childhood.

  

Festivals and Memories

This Saturday night I will be reading at the Texas Observer's LitCrawl event at the Texas Book Festival in Austin, and I could not be happier. I am thrilled to have the opportunity to hear writers I greatly respect read their work, and I am extremely thankful to the Texas Observer for allowing me to be a part of the event.

Having such an opportunity reminds me of my rock 'n' roll days back in Europe. My band, By No Means, was an opening act at several music festivals, and I loved getting to listen to the other groups after we played.

One of my favorite memories is of hearing the MCH Band play at the Ctverec Music Festival in Northern Bohemia. The MCH Band is a Czech band founded by Mikolas Chadima, who, along with Nobel Laureate Vaclav Havel and other artists and thinkers, was a signatory of Charter 77, the manifesto criticizing the communist government's human rights record. During communism, Chadima played underground gigs using different band names to elude the police. The danger was real, and another band, the Plastic People of the Universe, was actually imprisoned in the 1970s.   

After hearing the MCH Band, who played one of the most powerful sets I have ever heard in my life, I chatted with Mikolas Chadima by his old car, buying one of the CDs he sold out of his trunk. I was humbled by his artistry and his sacrifice. To this day I am truly thankful to have been given the opportunity to play at that festival, for it provided me the chance to meet a man I will remember the rest of my life.

With that said, I am truly looking forward to this weekend in Austin. There are memories to be made.

If I Were an Aquifer

This morning whilst enjoying a cup of coffee on the porch, I got to thinking about all of the rain that has been falling here in North Texas lately. And then while I was wondering about dams and aquifers and such, a jingle entered my head. So I stepped inside, grabbed my guitfiddle, and wrote a couple of silly quatrains just for kicks.

https://soundcloud.com/heath-dollar/if-i-were-an-aquifer

Flying metal pig reflected in the water in a clay pot

True Story: Not Yolking

The other day my wife stopped by the local feed store and bought some eggs from a nearby yardbird farm. As far as eggs go, these seemed rather huge, like maybe they'd been laid by a pterodactyl or something. Then, when Martina started cracking them open, three in a row had two yolks. That, my friends, raised the peculiarity quotient a couple of standard deviations, so I hopped on the internet to learn more about eggs with two yolks.

It turns out that young pullets new to laying eggs sometimes lay double yolkers and that Rhode Island Red, Leghorn, and Sussex hens have a propensity to lay such eggs. Cracking open three double-yolked eggs in a row seemed like the barnyard equivalent to the royal flush, so I felt the need to share this natural wonder with y'all.

Just for grins, here's Hayes Carll singing about chickens in the front yard.

Reflection on the Words of an Honorary Texan

Yesterday morning after breakfast I finished reading Sam Shepard's Spy of the First Person, written in the months before he died from complications of Lou Gehrig's Disease in July of 2017. Shepard, who was hailed as "the coolest honorary Texan of all time" by Austin360, was able to complete this book of fiction with the assistance of loved ones who helped get his words to the printed page.

One sentence that particularly struck me was the following: "Although internally something must change, externally it remains fairly constant." When I read that aphoristic line, I thought of some of my own short stories, where characters are alone or virtually alone in a desolate setting. The world around them does not change significantly, it "remains fairly constant," but the characters themselves change in some way internally, even if, to the outside observer, nothing would appear different. And I thought about the great writer's final days, the lack of mobility, the unchanging quality of the room around him, and I am very grateful that he chose to record his final thoughts for posterity to ponder.

Krasna Lipa: What's in a Name?

My short story, "Ink Upon the Furrows," which was recently released by the Texas Observer, is set in the fictional town of Krasna Lipa. "Krasna Lipa" literally means "Beautiful Lime," and I chose this name because the lime tree is a symbol of the Czech people. 

The lime tree, it must be noted, does not bear citrus fruit. It is what is known as the linden tree in Germany, and in Texas I tend to hear it called the basswood tree. When my wife, Martina, flew back to Texas recently, she came with Lipový čaj, lime tea, in her suitcase, which is a folk remedy for the common cold. I have included a picture below.

   

Here is a link to "Ink Upon the Furrows," the winner of the 2018 Texas Observer Short Story Contest:

https://www.texasobserver.org/ink-upon-the-furrows/

Texas Pecan: National Coffee of Texas

Today is National Coffee Day, so I reckon I'll celebrate what I consider the National

Coffee of Texas. Yes, indeed, it is a fine day to celebrate Texas pecan coffee, which I sometimes drink by the bucketload. My wife, Martina, is also a fan of Texas pecan, and when she goes back to Europe, she always takes packages to give to family and friends. Considering the rarity of this Lone Star specialty in Bohemia, the coffee is always a smash hit.

And just for kicks, here is an article that includes the coffee-related lyrics found in ten songs by Texas native Lyle Lovett.

https://www.theeagle.com/entertainment/spotlight/java-jams-coffee-has-permeated-lyle-lovett-s-music/article_af2987a4-0445-5061-b8c1-cc5bc3483156.html

   

A Collector of Songs

Folklorist John Avery Lomax was born on this day in 1867 in Goodman, Mississippi, though his family moved to Texas before his second birthday. In Texas, Lomax lived near the Old Chisholm Trail and after hearing the old cowboy songs while growing up decided to write down the words to the songs. This early interest transformed into an occupation, and Lomax traveled the nation collecting folk songs, with his Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads being published in 1910. Lomax, who was among the founders of the Texas Folklore Society, is also known for introducing the nation to the music of Lead Belly, whom he met at Angola in Louisiana. The folklorist died in Mississippi in 1948.

Here is a Lomax recording of Doris McMurray singing "This Little Light o' Mine." The recording was made near Huntsville, Texas, in 1939. 

To learn more about John Avery Lomax, please follow the link to the Texas State Historical Association (TSHA) article, which is the source from which the majority of the information in this blog post originated.

https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/flo07

  

Austin Bound

"Ink Upon the Furrows," a new story set in Waylon County, was named the winner of the 2018 Texas Observer Short Story Contest last Thursday. I am thankful to Judge Natalia Sylvester and the Texas Observer for this dream come true; and I am grateful to the people, both living and departed, whose influence made this story possible, including my late stepfather, Randy Kunze, who, when I told him I had been offered a job in Northern Bohemia, handed me a Czech phrasebook and encouraged me to do what he had always dreamed of doing, move to Europe.

At this time I would like to announce that I will be joining the other Texas Observer Short Story Contest finalists for a reading at a Texas Book Festival Lit Crawl event in Austin on October 27 at Gelateria Gemelli, 1009 E. 6th Street. The event will start at 9:30 pm. If you live in Austin, will be in Austin, or would like to be in Austin for the Bookfest, please mark your calendar. Thanks again to all of my friends and family for your unflagging support. I couldn't make it without you.

  

  

Wedding Kolaches

My wife, Martina, arrived back in Texas last night after visiting her mother in the Czech Republic. When she opened her suitcase, she smiled and showed me the fresh wedding kolaches she had ordered from a bakery in her little town in Northern Bohemia.

Traditionally, wedding kolaches are served at nuptial events as well as given away to coworkers and neighbors. We, of course, are already happily married, but Martina liked the idea of bringing little bite-sized kolaches back for folks to sample.

Cream, poppy seed, and hazelnut wedding kolaches

  

The Writer from Indian Creek

Lately I've been as busy as ol' Beelzebub himself and consequently have not written a blog post in what seems like ages. I have, however, bought a few books, The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter among them, and I have been trying to read at least a short story or a couple of poems each night before going to sleep. 

When I first read Katherine Anne Porter many years ago, I was young and restless with a head full of Kerouac and Hemingway. I was hardly ready to truly appreciate the National Book Award winner from Indian Creek, Texas. Today I am delighted by the richness of her work and look forward to reading more of it.

In this interview, Porter says that when she was a child nobody told her what to read or not to read, which, in my opinion, allows a person to pursue his or her own interests and become an independent thinker. At 26:42, the great author gives her advice for aspiring writers. 

"Come to the Bower"

In "Honkytonking with the Silver Strings," which was recently released in the 2018 Panther City Review, one of the characters is a descendant of Frederick Lemsky, who was the flute player at the Battle of San Jacinto. Lemsky, a Central European immigrant who arrived in Texas in 1836, is believed to have played the song "Come to the Bower" during the famous battle.

To learn more about Frederick Lemsky, please follow the link to the TSHA article: 

https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fle28

Here is "Come to the Bower" played by none other than Townes Van Zandt:

Aretha's Texas Connection

This week we lost Aretha Franklin, "The Queen of Soul," and though she was a Memphis native, she had a Texas connection. You see, Aretha Franklin was backed by the Kingpins, which included Fort Worth's own King Curtis on saxophone and Cornell Dupree on guitar, as well as Houston-born Billy Preston on the keys. In fact, that first jangly lick on "Respect" is Cornell Dupree's guitar.

As a salute to this musical legend, here is Aretha Franklin playing live with the Kingpins at the Fillmore West in 1971. The announcer is concert promoter Bill Graham.

Time and Memory

"Honkytonking with the Silver Strings," a new story set in Waylon County, will be included in the 2018 Panther City Review, which will be released next Saturday at Funky Town Festival headquarters in the Fort Worth Stockyards. In the story, I mention Jean Shepard, a country music singer whose family was part of the Okie migration to California during the Dust Bowl. Although this Grand Ole Opry star was the first female country artist after World War II to sell a million records, she is hardly a household name today. 

In "Honkytonking with the Silver Strings," I also allude to other artists whose work was first released on 78 rpm records, and though not every reader will know every artist, the characters in the story would have known them all. And considering the almighty power of google, I know that anyone with a burning interest to hear the music of any given artist can find it in a couple of clicks.

Here is "Second Fiddle to an Old Guitar" sung by Jean Shepard.

A Ritual of Sorts

When I was a boy, I often spent Friday nights with my grandparents. On Saturday morning after breakfast we would go for a ride in the country, out to where they were raised. Although sometime around 1960 they moved to Fort Worth for a better life for their children, they were still country in spirit and habit. And so we rode along through Wise County, always stopping at the country cemetery where much of the family is buried.

On Saturdays I sometimes visit that same country cemetery myself, for that is where my grandparents are also buried. I pay my respects and then walk along imagining the lives of the people buried there. I contemplate the summations of the grieved found on the headstones. She is only sleeping. The Lord is my shepherd. I contemplate the dates. June 8, 1944. Christmas Day. I walk along reflecting, and then I travel home.

A few weeks ago, I came across the grave of a woman who lived from the times of covered wagons to the years following the lunar landing. Although I never knew this woman, nor is she my kin, I took a picture of her gravestone because I thought her epitaph was beautiful.

     

Fascinating Creatures

At my mama's house recently, I came across a colony of ant lions in the backyard. As a child, I was fascinated by these little creatures, and I loved to gently touch their pits with a twig to watch them kick the dirt back out. Sometimes I would even scoop up the dirt surrounding a pit and let the ant lion run around in the dirt on my palm.

Imagine my surprise when I learned that these fascinating little creatures were only larvae. After going into a cocoon, they emerge with wings and take flight. What an interesting life to live. O brave new world that has such creatures in it.   

Advice Long-Heeded

Many moons ago, I heard Ray Bradbury speak at Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth. I found his words inspiring, and the stories of his early struggles encouraged me as a person and as a writer. Today, more than twenty years later, I still follow the advice he gave to all of the aspiring fiction writers in the audience. "Read poetry," he said. And ever since then, I have always kept a stack of it on the night stand.

One night I might dip into the work of a Texas-affiliated poet such as Christian Wiman, Paul Ruffin, or Naomi Shihab Nye. Another night I might read a bit of Rumi or Gunter Grass or Pablo Neruda. The words and rhythms inhabit my dreams, and come morning, I am somehow better prepared to write.

National Sisters Day in Texas

Today is National Sisters Day, a fact I honestly did not know until this morning after reading a Texas State Historical Association tweet featuring a photograph of the Twin Sisters Dance Hall. Well, this afternoon I got to thinking about sisters, and my mother and her three sisters in particular.

Yes, you heard correctly. My grandparents had four daughters. Back when I was knee-high to a katydid, all four of the sisters even played on the same softball team. If I were a composer of elementary school math problems, I would definitely write a question about that softball team. The answer would be 40%. The Drain sisters made up 40% of the starting lineup.

And here is a song by the fiddle-playing Quebe Sisters from Burleson, Texas. Happy National Sisters Day from the Lone Star State!

      

An Awkward Encounter Near Uncle Willie in Bronze

While in Austin recently, I came upon the statue of Willie Nelson and decided to take a picture for my blog. It was firecracker hot that day, and there was no one else on the street other than a rather attractive woman sitting on the nearby stairs. The woman, who gave me a cynical smile, probably thought that I was taking pictures of her and only pretending to capture the bronze image of Uncle Willie. The scene, quite frankly, was a short story in the making. 

Cadillac Home in My Model A

On a recent pit stop in West, the little Texas town known for its kolaches, I happened across what appeared to be an old Model A Ford on the back of a trailer. I say "appeared to be a Model A Ford" because I am no expert on cars, and also because a lot of the car's parts were being transported where the seats used to be. If you happen to know the make and model of this rusty little gem, please drop me a line.

Here's Bob Wills singing "Cadillac in Model 'A.'"

Parker County Peach Cheesecake

Around our house, cheesecake reigns as the supreme dessert regardless of whether it is National Cheesecake Day or not. Yesterday, although neither of us knew that today was National Cheesecake Day, Martina created what I would describe as a Parker County Peach Cheesecake. The peaches come from my aunt and uncle's place, known colloquially as Nanner Manor, out in Parker County.

Here is a piece of that fine local dessert.

Brand Books

Martina and I recently visited the Doss Heritage and Culture Center in Weatherford. Although I enjoyed all of the exhibits, today I would like to share a picture of one of the Loving family’s Brand Books. Oliver Loving, incidentally, was one of the namesakes of the Loving-Goodnight Trail. Gus in Lonesome Dove is based on him. Notice that the entry at the top of the page is from Larry McMurtry’s home county.

Brand Books, such as this one, are used to track livestock and help prosecute rustlers. 

From Dance Pavilion to Dust

On the weekend, I had business in River Oaks (Fort Worth) and while driving down White Settlement Road came to realize that I was a short distance from the site of the old Crystal Springs Dance Pavilion, which was the birthplace of Western Swing. According to Hometown by Handlebar, even Bonnie and Clyde used to go dancing to the music of Milton Brown at Crystal Springs.

I stopped the car in front of a business and walked across the street in the blistering summer heat to see what I could see. I had read an online thread describing the site of the old dance pavilion, which burned down in the 1960s, and the picture below matches the description. At the very least, the dance hall would have been in the general vicinity of the photo that I took.

Here is Bob Wills, who appeared regularly at Crystal Springs, playing Clyde Barrow's favorite song, "My Mary." According to Hometown by Handlebar, Clyde Barrow often requested Milton Brown to play this tune.

Wash Across Texas

While driving along this morning, I saw the Wash Across Texas Mobile Detail van. The name made me laugh, so I decided to make up some alternate lyrics to Ernest Tubb's country standard.

Wash across Texas
with a squeegee in my arms,
Rub a dub scrub, honey, do!

Here's The Mavericks playing "Waltz Across Texas" at Gruene Hall.

Take a Lefty Frizzell

My old man is a fine product of the Texas oral tradition, and he has always coined his own words and phrases. For example, when I am driving and he is passenging (yes, I make up my own words, too), he will tell me to "take a Lefty Frizzell." A "Lefty Frizzell," incidentally, is a left turn. I imagine the phrase is a play off of "take a Hank Snow," with "a Hank Snow" meaning a U-turn. "Pulling (or taking) a Hank Snow" is a fairly common phrase among the old timers, though I have never heard anyone other than my old man say "take a Lefty Frizzell." If you've heard this term before, drop me a line. I'm curious to know if other folks say it, too.

Here is a little honkytonk tune by Lefty Frizzell.

The 1890 Penny

For reasons I can not completely explain, I keep an 1890 Indian Head penny on my writing desk. Although I was drawn to the penny because many historians consider 1890 the end of Manifest Destiny, I still lament the settling of the West. 

I don't know. Perhaps somewhere deep in my mind the penny is a symbol of irrevocable change. Perhaps it represents my ambivalence toward modernity. Then again, perhaps I keep it there because I wonder where it's been. Regardless of the reason or reasons, the penny still remains.

Here is Texas' own Guy Clark singing "Indian Head Penny."

Panther City Review Launch

I am happy to announce that Panther City Review 2018 will launch at the Funkytown Creative Arts Lounge in Fort Worth at 4 pm on Saturday, August 18. The Creative Arts Lounge, which is located in the Fort Worth Stockyards, holds a special place in my heart. Not only is it the place where Waylon County: Texas Stories was launched, it is within moseying distance of the packing houses where three generations of my family worked.

Two of my new stories, "Honkytonking with the Silver Strings" and "The Pregnancy Test," will appear in this year's Panther City Review. Both stories are set in Waylon County and will likely be included in my next collection. Other writers in the anthology include Donna Walker-Nixon, editor of the acclaimed Her Texas: Story, Image, Poem & Song, filmmaker and writer Mark A. Nobles, author of Fort Worth's Rock and Roll Roots, and Rachel Pilcher, publisher at Sleeping Panther Press. More updates will be coming soon.

    

Grand Texas

July 14 is Bastille Day in France, so I reckon we can celebrate it in Texas with an old Cajun tune. The song I would like to share is "Grand Texas," a French number that was written by Chuck Guillory, a fiddle-playing Cajun from Mamou, Louisiana. Hank Williams' "Jambalaya," which was (possibly) co-written with Texas piano player Moon Mullican, uses the melody of Guillory's song. 

Here is a version of "Grand Texas" featuring Jules "Papa Cairo" Lamperez, who recorded with Dallas' Bluebonnet Records and toured with the Texas Troubadour, Ernest Tubb.

   

Musing on Shaver and Joyce

This morning I was thinking about a line from "I Feel a Change Coming On," a song written by Bob Dylan and Robert Hunter a few years back. The line goes like this: "I'm listening to Billy Joe Shaver and I'm reading James Joyce."

While I'm not foolish enough to pretend to know what's going on between the ears of Dylan and Hunter, whom I consider to be two of the greatest songwriters of the last century, I am foolhardy enough to discuss what the line means to me personally. 

To me, the line shows two different approaches to writing about one's homeland. James Joyce's approach to writing about Ireland was very studied and academic. He incorporated the lore and history of the Emerald Isle into his work. The writing of Billy Joe Shaver, on the other hand, seems to be instinctual. His writing about Texas has a salt of the earth feel to it. Both Joyce and Shaver, in my opinion, are very successful in conveying images of their homelands, though their approaches are very different.

Here is Billy Joe Shaver's "Live Forever."

  

   

A Name that Rhymes with Birmingham

Austin's own Jon Dee Graham is playing in the Fort tonight, and it's a pity we couldn't make the show. Jon Dee Graham, an Austin Music Hall of Famer, played with Jesse Sublett in the 1970s punk band, The Skunks, and played in the True Believers with Alejandro Escovedo after that. Fans of Ray Wylie Hubbard might remember hearing "Jon Dee Graham" rhymed with "Birmingham" in the song "Name Droppin'." I have to say I like the way that rhymes. Well, anyway, I hope we catch Jon Dee Graham on the next go 'round.   

Here is Jon Dee Graham, post Skunk punk, playing on an acoustic guitar.

The Singing Schoolteacher

Today I would like to share a tune by "The Singing Schoolteacher," Arlie Duff, who was born in Southeast Texas in 1924. After World War II, Duff earned a BS and an MA in education from Stephen F. Austin and went on to a teaching and coaching career. During his years in education, he moonlighted as a country singer and songwriter. He eventually achieved such a degree of success that he found himself playing at the Grand Ole Opry. Duff passed away on July 4, 1996.

If you would like to learn more about Arlie Duff, here is a link to a Texas State Historical Association article:

https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fdu74

Here is Arlie Duff performing live on The Red Foley Show.

    

The Cemetery at D/FW Airport

In the introduction to Waylon County: Texas Stories, I talk about having family buried at Lonesome Dove Cemetery. This week I learned some other interesting facts about my family's past. I learned that my grandmother's ancestors, who arrived in Texas in 1840, received a Peters Colony land grant in what is now known as Grapevine.

One of my grandmother's ancestors, James Cate (1818-1908), gave 4.1 acres to his father-in-law, a lay minister by the name of Green W. Minter, for a chapel and a cemetery. Decades later, the chapel was moved to make way for D/FW Airport, though the cemetery is still there on the property of one of the world's busiest airports. A trip to visit this historical site is definitely in order.

Who were Cyril and Methodius?

Cyril and Methodius were two brothers born in Thessalonica in present-day Greece during the time of the Byzantine Empire. The two are known as "the Apostles to the Slavs" and are credited with creating the Slavic alphabet, which is based on the Greek alphabet. Languages such as Russian and Bulgarian use a modernized form of Cyril and Methodius' alphabet. These languages use "Cyrillic" script, with the word "Cyrillic" being derived from the name of Saint Cyril.

In Texas, there are several churches named after Cyril and Methodius, whose feast day is July 5th.  Towns such as Granger, Corpus Christi, Shiner, and Dubina, which was the first Czech settlement in Texas, all have a Saints Cyril and Methodius Catholic Church.

Here is a video taken at the Painted Church in Shiner, Texas. The historical marker in front of the church is shown near the end of the video in case you would like to learn more.

Pickup Trucks and Roman Candles

In today's study of the mental processes of young males, I would like to share a Fourth of July story about pickup trucks and Roman candles. When I was seventeen, a couple of pickups filled with teenage boys were heading out to the lake to join other teenagers to shoot fireworks. However, rather than wait until we reached the lake to shoot our fireworks, those of us in the backs of the two pickup trucks began lighting Roman candles and firing them at our friends in the other pickup. I distinctly remember standing up in the back of the second pickup holding onto the top of the cab so that I could see the little fireballs that were shooting towards us.

No one was shot or injured during the pickup truck exchange of fire. However, once we reached our destination by the lake and were able to shoot fireworks from stable ground, a kid we did not know shot one of my buddies, who I will call Billy Bob, in the noggin with a fiery red ball. Ol' Billy Bob's hairdo was altered by this shot, for now he had a silver dollar size bald spot on the side of his melon. There was a heated exchange of rhetoric at that point, though the exchange ended in a harmonious understanding of the evening's purpose, and a peaceful teenage fireworks extravaganza ensued.

Today, from the hoary perch of adulthood, I now understand why municipalities ban fireworks within their boundaries and why one must often head to a firework friendly county to purchase lady fingers, Black Cats, and the like. Well, friends and neighbors, at this point I would like to wish y'all a safe and happy Fourth of July, and please be sure to heed the sagacious words of Evel Knievel, "Don't try this at home."


Here is "Roman Candles," a song off one of my favorite albums from my childhood.   

Remembering Hemingway

Back in my Yellowstone days, I once traveled to the Sawtooth Range, to Sun Valley, Idaho, to pay my respects to Ernest Hemingway. When I arrived at his grave, a chill ran through my body, for I realized that I had unknowingly arrived on July 2nd, the anniversary of his death. Today I pay tribute to him once again.

Here is Texas' own Guy Clark singing about Papa Hemingway.

Gotta See Uncle Willie

About the time the firework stands start popping up at the county line, I begin to get excited about sitting in the devilish summer heat slathered in sunscreen and sweating profusely whilst Uncle Willie lights into the first notes of "Whiskey River." Today we will be sitting in that summer heat once again. Uncle Willie will be headlining the Outlaw Music Festival, which is still Willie's Picnic to me, and Martina and I will be a part of the red, white, and blue bedecked throngs.

In anticipation of the event, I had Willie's new LP, Last Man Standing, sent to me through the magic of two-click modern convenience. Here is the title track. 

Dumb Things Done: The Formative Years

In my formative years, I did many dumb things. One time a built a seesaw above a four-foot concrete dropoff between my house and that of my neighbors. I then placed a garbage can on one end of the seesaw, climbed into the trash can, and turned the lid upside down so that I could hold it in place. I then asked some neighbor kids to jump on the other end of the seesaw in order to catapult my primitive ejection capsule into the air. The kids jumped in unison, and I flew into the air and crashed into the side of my house. After clattering around on the pavement for a few seconds, I climbed out of the garbage can with my bell rung. The sheer lack of logic still eludes me.

Adobe Walls

In 1874, the Second Battle of Adobe Walls took place in the Texas Panhandle. Approximately 700 Comanche, Kiowa, and Cheyenne attacked a camp of around 30 buffalo hunters and laid siege for several days. According to the Texas State Historical Association, the main significance of the battle was that it caused the Red River War, which ended in the relocation of the Southern Plains Indians to what is now Oklahoma.

Here is a song by Fort Worth's Cody Jinks from his Adobe Sessions album.

Big Times in Little D

On the weekend we headed up to Denton to visit the Patterson-Appleton Arts Center, where we saw the work of Texas Woman's University professor Colby Parsons. We found his work, which he describes on his website as "the intersection between physicality and immateriality," to be quite intriguing. His use of light, shadow, and ceramics in this exhibition, which is called Structured Light, is both unique and innovative.

After leaving the gallery, we headed to Recycled Books on the square where I acquired an old Folkways Records LP of Woody Guthrie playing with Leadbelly, Cisco Houston, and others, which I am currently enjoying whilst typing these words. It is always a fine time when we head to Little D.

Here is a short video of Colby Parsons' work that was displayed on Navy Pier in Chicago.

A Fire to Light Our Tongues

This week I was absolutely thrilled to learn that my story, "A Frontier's Passing," will be included in a new anthology titled A Fire to Light Our Tongues. The anthology, edited by Donna Walker-Nixon, Rachel Crawford, and Elizabeth Dell, "explores the intersections among writing, spirituality, and the landscapes and cityscapes of Texas." I am extremely grateful to have my work included in this project. I truly feel blessed.

"Poetry [is] more necessary than ever as a fire to light our tongues."

-Naomi Shihab Nye

Our Lady of Loreto Chapel at Presidio La Bahia in Goliad

A Picture Show View

This evening while flipping through pictures on my magical thinking machine, I came across some photos taken on this date three years ago. I was pleased to see that on June 20, 2015, I was in Archer City, Texas, visiting Larry McMurtry's bookstore. Here is a picture taken that day. The last picture show is in the background. 

Every Rabbit is Named Ferda

My wife Martina calls every rabbit "Ferda," which is the short form of Ferdinand in Czech. Granted, Ferda is a fine name for a rabbit, but it can make things a trifle confusing considering the sheer number of rabbits living in our neighborhood. Martina does, however, make a distinction with baby rabbits. A baby rabbit is called "Ferdíček," which is the diminutive form of the name. When Ferda or Ferdíček is in our backyard or on our porch, we jiggle the doorknob a little to give him a head start before the dogs run out.

This is clearly a photograph of Ferdíček.

This is Ferda.

You guessed it. The little guy by the rock is another Ferda.

Here is a song called "Rabbit" by Ray Wylie Hubbard that I can't seem to get out of my head.

A Botanical Chandelier

While taking a stroll near a small lake recently, I happened across a tree that had what appeared to be little chandeliers of seed pods hanging from its branches. While I stood there marveling, I imagined Mr. Possum and Miss Armadillo having a little iced tea party at a table just below the seed pod chandelier.

Upon arriving home, I searched the internet trying to identify the tree, and I also consulted my Trees of Texas Field Guide, but I still don't know exactly what tree this is. My guess is a kind of mesquite or acacia. If you happen to have this piece of botanical knowledge between your auricles, please be kind enough to let your digits do the talking and share. 

The Father of Western Swing

This Father's Day, I would like to celebrate Milton Brown, the Father of Western Swing. Brown, who was originally a part of the Wills Fiddle Band, was the first to introduce electric steel guitar and piano to the genre. According to the Texas State Historical Association, Milton Brown was also instrumental in making Fort Worth become known as the "Cradle of Western Swing."

Click below to hear "Easy Ridin' Papa" by Milton Brown and His Musical Brownies. Watch for the great photographs of Fort Worth's Crystal Springs Dance Pavilion.

Here is the link for a short TSHA article about Milton Brown.

https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/xgm01

A Song for Ol' Hoss

This morning while checking out my Instagram account, I saw that country artist Chris Wall had posted a picture of himself and Waylon Jennings taken in Austin in 1993. Today would have been Hoss' 81st birthday, and Chris posted the photograph in honor of that honkytonk hero.

Here is "An Outlaw's Blues," a song Chris Wall wrote about the passing of Waylon Jennings in 2002.

A Leaner with American Short Fiction

I recently learned that my 999 word short story called "Porkchop" was a semi-finalist for American Short Fiction's Short(er) Fiction Prize. Only two finalists were announced, so "Porkchop" was definitely in the short stack. Although I didn't get a ringer, I at least scored a leaner. I'll take a leaner any day. Congratulations to the two writers who scored those ringers. To learn more about their winning stories, please click the link below.

http://americanshortfiction.org/2018/05/15/the-2018-american-shorter-fiction-prize-winners/

Side note: When I lived in Yellowstone, a tourist really did ask about the little orange dogs they saw by the buffalo.

Riders of the Purple Thistle

Growing up, I wasn't wild about purple thistle. It was sharp to the touch, hard to get around, and sometimes taller than I was. These days I am at one with purple thistle. I like the fact that it feeds goldfinches and painted lady butterfly larvae and that it makes bumblebees happy as well. The other day I saw some while on a walk and decided to take a picture.

The Outlaw Mockingbird

Wildlife has been scarce around our house since that screech owl came a calling, but yesterday evening I was pleased to come eye to eye with a young mockingbird perched upon the stockade fence. The mocker cocked his head and glared at me like a pugilist, and I grinned and cocked my head, too. He kind of reminded me of the protagonist in Steve Earle's "Tom Ames' Prayer," who sure ain't scared of no one. Sit back, relax, and listen to the song, and you'll see what I mean.

 

A Hat on the Bed

The other day when Martina and I were packing up to go to Fredericksburg, she tossed my ball cap on the bed. Although I never said a word, I gently picked up the hat and put it on the nightstand. Somehow, after all of these years, I still carry the old superstition about putting a hat on the bed within me. 

When I was a little boy, I remember a story about someone blaming the death of a family member on a cowboy hat being place on a bed. After hearing that, I never intentionally allowed one of my hats to be on a bed, and especially not a cowboy hat, for it could not just bring bad luck but actual calamity. Today, of course, keeping hats off the bed is more of an old custom than an actual superstition, but then, maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, that old irrational worry has never left.

Here is Jason Boland, who I once had the pleasure of seeing open for Merle Haggard at John T. Floore's Country Store, talking about hats on the bed and singing about luck.

A Mosquito by the River

This morning while reading the poetry of West Texas native Christian Wiman on the porch, a mosquito landed on the corner of the book. The pages moved slightly in my hands, with the angle of the read-pages' plane causing the mosquito's shadow to lengthen or shorten with what seemed my every breath. 

Texas Pecan Coffee and a Sufi Poet

This morning I sat on the porch reading Rumi, a thirteenth century Sufi poet who knew a whole lot about living and life. The sun shone through the red yucca blooms in the yard, making them almost seem translucent, and the wind swayed the desert willow in the background. I just sat there drinking Texas pecan coffee and contemplating the words of a wiseman from another place and time.

Yet I am not the only Texas writer who enjoys this particular poet. A few years ago I read an interview with Robert Earl Keen, and he talked about reading Rumi at his Scriptorium. For your listening pleasure, here is a song by that venerable Texas songwriter.

   

An Afternoon in Fred

While in Fredericksburg recently, we stopped by the place formerly known as Choo Choo Trolley, a fine purveyor of pots, yart, and ceramics. I've always liked the place because of the live music on weekend afternoons. A few years ago, I even sat in with Gale, commonly known as Galevis, who had a regular gig there. Although we did not purchase a ten foot metal armadillo with a Texas flag on its back to hang above our mantle, Martina did buy a funky little ceramic lizard to go in one of the cactus pots on our back porch.

Picking Peaches at Nanner Manor

Through some odd morphing of nicknames over the years, my uncle has come to be known in certain circles as "Nanner." His dwelling place, of course, is called "Nanner Manor." At Nanner Manor, my aunt and uncle have peach trees. We visited their house on the weekend, and Uncle Nanner of Nanner Manor gave us a couple of burgeoning bags of those Parker County peaches. Martina then turned many of those peaches into a fine Czech-Tex cobbler.

Here is an action shot of Uncle Nanner on a ladder picking peaches at Nanner Manor.

  

A Raptor on the Roof

This evening our neighbor sent me a photograph that solved a mystery around our house. Martina and I had been wondering why we had not seen many birds in our backyard lately. We had not seen mockingbirds, purple finches, or even sparrows around the house. We had, however, seen a fair number of rabbits, though their numbers had seemed to have thinned out as of late.

When I first looked at the picture, which was of my neighbor's garage taken at two in the morning, there was a car in the driveway, and I figured my neighbor had sent me a picture of a creep stalking the neighborhood. However, when I called and he pointed out the owl on top of his roof, everything made sense.

Here is a cropped version of the picture my neighbor took. Even though the photo now appears grainy like the ones of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster, I still used The Cornell Lab's Merlin birding app to try to identify the owl. According to the app, this nocturnal visitor was most likely an Eastern Screech-Owl.