Prairie Gothic: The Story of a West Texas Family

Chapter Twenty-five: Afterthoughts

190 Chapter Twenty-five: Afterthoughts Dan Flores had a low opinion of West Texas memoirs and dismissed most of them as “naive horse operas that resonate nineteenthcenturyancestorworshipratherthantwentieth -andtwenty-firstcentury significance.” (Flores 1990: 165) I have not intended this to be a naive horse opera. I view it as the story of a group of people who were never as virtuous or strong or knowledgeable as they wished to be, but who managed to dignify their times and places in spite of their shortcomings. They didn’t give much thought to “twentieth- and twenty-first century significance,” or if they did, it never occurred to them to write about it. Until I came along, nobody in my family had ever dreamed that someone from Seminole or Perryton could aspire to being a writer, or that life in rural Texas would be worth recording. They were so busy raising children, washing clothes, plucking chickens, and battling the elements of nature, the instinct to pause, observe, and record the details of their lives never had a chance to take root. They were modest people who tried to avoid anything that smacked of self-promotion or self-absorption. They kept no diaries, burned most of their letters, and shunned the recorders of local and regional history. They seemed content to be remembered through their deeds and their children. Most of those children also burned their letters, but some, especially my mother, passed along a rich heritage through the telling of stories. 191 Afterthoughts One member of my family who was inclined to take a broader view of things, and wrote down her thoughts, was a Sherman-by-marriage, Aunt Mary D, the wife of Forrest Sherman—a woman I never knew but wish I had. I doubt that she would have placed a high value on the little manuscript she wrote for her grandchildren, but I have found it wise and illuminating. In writing about her own family, the Ramseys, and her husband’s people, the Shermans, she dealt with the questions: Who are we and what have we done on this earth? “The great outdoors does something for people. The prairie and skyhadawayoftrimmingpeopledown to size or changing them into giants—into people to whom nothing seemed impossible. They came to a big country needing big men and women to live in it. There was no place for the weak, man or woman. We were brought up to know that the cow people were good people, with stamina, courage, and a capacity for endurance. Many of the men were rough in their speech and given to vigorous action, and they were let alone and respected, but close association revealed much kindness about the inner man. “My people were strong, independent, and adventurous. They lived close to nature and God. We read at night by lamplight from the few books we had. We were taught not to substitute education for intelligence. My parents spoke on matters of principle always. This is a little sketch of your cowboy ancestors. I think you should learn something about them. You have a little of their blood in you—and it is good blood.” (Mary D Sherman manuscript, no date: 6-7) It seems strange now that after all their scuffling on the Llano Estacado, the Shermans, Underhills, and Currys left no seeds to sprout on the land they so desperately wanted. The only members of my family left in Gaines County are in the cemetery. The Curry girls married men 192 Chapter Twenty-five who had no desire to shoot dice against the weather, and moved on to Houston, Roswell, Lubbock, and Perryton. Both of the family ranches, seventeen thousand acres that gave misery and meaning to the Currys and Shermans, have passed into other hands, probably the greatgrandchildren of “nesters.” In good years, that red sandy soil fulfills every dream that floated through the mind of Paris Cox. In bad years, it confirms the darkest expectations of the early explorers. For those of us who carry the blood of West Texas pioneers into the twenty-first century, what remains is a memory—insubstantial, yes, but also possessing a reality that defies the erosion of wind and time. Buildings rise and fall, land changes hands, fashions come and go, and money is only paper backed by promises. What endures is a memory projected upon the mind in the form of...