IRENE

We just came home from eating at the Happy Wok. This is a new restaurant in Liberty Hill owned by a man who came to the USA with the boat people long ago from Vietnam.


While eating, the TV on the wall was nonstop coverage of hurricane, Irene. What a hoot. They had the guy in the studio wearing a MacIntosh! The guys reporting were either standing in the surf (I am not kidding) or standing on  a pier with the wind whipping them around. All for a wimpy category 1 beast. Bah.


If this hurricane had been coming into Texas, or Mississippi, the big media would have given it some comment about once every thirty minutes. But, because it is coming in to Washington DC, the center of the civilized world, and NYC, the center of big media and big everything self-possessed.


They have a cumulus lapidum (pile of rocks), and they thing the are big stuff. The wind may blow over a newspaper vending machine. What thrills. And, I love the way Mayor Bloomingspleen and Governor Chrissy threatened the people to get them off of the beach. Is it a free country yet? Can we decide when we are safe? Maybe we are all that dumb after all and need Big Nanny to keep us out of trouble.


So, I only wish Texas could have one good hurricane. We need the rain so bad.


I offer a tribute to Irene, the show girl of bluster:

TEXAS

Texas as it is-- Made in Texas by Tejanos.


Want to see more?-- Nacodoches

DANCING 'NEATH A LIVE OAK TREE

A story from the Monte of Mexico

Juan Vargas moved on at the crack of dawn,
     Deep into Texian land;
Tortillas for one, his riata and gun,
     And a running iron in hand.
He rode softly along, with a hum and a song,
     A seniorita on his mind;
A padron in the Monte, and tamales picante,
     All waited him far behind.

Juan Vargas was born where the Inca doves mourn,
     In the drought of sixty three;
His mother- a goat herd, his father- a Spaniard,
     "Just passing through," you see.
He grew up in the dust, the timbers and rust,
     Of Montezuma's bygone day;
That past age of glory, the enchanting story,
     Made the here and now feel gray.

Juan Vargas, he thought, then he thought some more,
     He would leave the goats and cactus;
Up in Texas he learned, he could get him a herd,
     To sell to some pastor do vacas.
So he slipped our of sight, in the black of the night,
     And visited Don Maldanado.
Who promised a price, and a job very nice;
     If he would increase Don's manada.

So, it's on down the way, in the heat of the day,
     And cut out some steers and calves;
He just needed to send, for a vaquero friend,
     Then brand'em and ride home for halves.
He'd been to this store, a few times before,
     And the steers were fat and handy.
Or, so he thought, as he picked up a trot,
     And he spotted some longhorns dandy.

A big steer here, cow and calf over there,
     'Til he had a small herd pointed south;
Then on down a draw, so nobody saw,
     And water and bed them down;
No fire tonight, no smoke is in sight,
     If the padron comes gettin' antsy;
For a rustler free, and a live oak tree,
    And a brand new rope for dancin'.

Up with the sun, and off at a run,
     For the Rio's cool libation;
Just one more day, then he would stay,
     In the Monte's sweet liberation.
With his running iron friend, give the business an end,
     They would all have a bright new brand;
I'll turn the "BE" into the bar "BB",
     But first, cross the Rio Grande.

You weren't fast enough, through the brushy and rough,
     Juan Vargas, theyr'e onto your trail;
If they catch you now, with the padron's cows,
     You'll be blessed if it's only jail.
There's Big Foot Walker, the Commanche stalker,
     With the boss of the old "BE";
Juan Vargas alone, and far far from home,
     Will dance 'neath a live oak tree.

The buzzards came down, to wait on the ground,
     For Juan Vargas to age some more;
It's a buzzard's fiesta, and Juan Vargas' siesta,
     Midst the mud and the blood and the gore.
If you ride out that way, the the heat of the day,
     A haunting sight meets your gaze;
A rope hanging free, from the live oak tree,
     The end of a young man's days.

Every Nana's son who's tempted to run,
     From the Monte's dusty hills;
All of you hombres, consider Juan Vargas,
     And beware of those Texian thrills.
Find a nice seniorita, a pretty chiquita,
     Get married, be happy and free;
Herd your goats every day, in the antiguo way;
     You won't dance 'neath a live oak tree.

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Definitions: Some Spanish and some Texian

Riata- A Mexican lariet made of woven leather with a looped end.

Running iron- A branding iron with only a bar for altering brands.

     It was customary in the old days to hang a man for even

     carrying one while on the open range. The running iron was

     made for only one use-- altering existing brands. This was

     done by adding a bar or filling in an "E" to become a "B" etc.

Seniorita- Unmarried lady

Chiquita- Coloquial for a pretty girl

Picante- Hot or spicey

Monte- High place- also prairie area south of San Antonio and

     in northern Mexico

Pastor do vacas- Herder or owner of cattle

Manada- Herd of cattle

Vaquero- Mexican cowboy

Padron- Owner of a ranch or hacienda

Brushy- Brush country south of San Antonio

Fiesta- Feast of party

Siesta- Nap in the midday

Nana- Grandmother

Antiguo- Old fashioned

Hombres- Men or working men

Copyright © Stephen Van Nattan 2011

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