By A. C. Greene
It is a harsh, distant kingdom, the place the elements is usually very shut and the horizon far-off. The Brazos state of long-ago Fourth of July fishing expeditions; the grass-grown continues to be of a fashion station of the Butterfield level Line; the streets of Abilene; the sparse grazing lands less than countless skies—all are made resonant through a local son’s affection and realizing. it's a manner of life—resilient and persnickety—that is nearly gone.
Above all, it truly is humans: the author’s grandmother, who had a mortal worry of bridges and whose premonitions of unnamed calamities (that as usually as now not happened), either alarmed and happy the younger boy; Uncle Aubrey, “who married late”; the blacksmith they woke up at nighttime; the frequent acquaintances; the infrequent and deliciously mysterious strangers.
With humor and powerful, unsentimental feeling, A. C. Greene conserves for us the necessary eccentricities of position and individual that are being flattened out—almost actually bulldozed away—by the impatient, insatiable onrush of the 20th century. His West Texas is a really own kingdom, yet what he seeks to percentage could be normal to all who enjoy the thoughts that tie them to their very own precise area of America.
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One time I went up to Scurry County when the last great Texas oil boom was taking place Page 24 there, and went out in the north part to talk to an old rancher named Pie. Dusk was falling in its beautiful purple shades over those rolling plains (the most beautiful time of a summer day in West Texas) as Pie and I sat out on the front gallery of his ranch house. Across the horizon from one end of the arc to the other were the tall lines of electric lights on the drilling rigs, boring away into his land.
I left West Texas several years ago, probably forever. I left it the way a wise son leaves his father and mother, and for a good many of the same reasons. It is an old story and millions of us can tell it. But when I left West Texas it didn't leave me. " I haven't always appreciated the differentiation but I accept the Page 6 general truth of it. I am a product of the place in ways obvious and ways intricate. " It has entered my values and judgments, given me many of my moral standards, and shaped (maybe warped) my ambitions.
Page 20 3 Some Arteries of Time In West Texas "where you are" starts with a highway. House numbers don't count for much. The land is too big to be pinned down by a digit or two, so the significant numerals are on those black asphalt ribbons of road that tie the spaces together. They are good highways, like most of the roads in the state. Building highways is one thing Texas does for the public in a superb fashion. I suppose no state does it better. The roadways are wide, well paved (only county roads are gravel), and marked with plenty of directional signs to keep the traveler oriented.
A Personal Country by A. C. Greene