Helene Rose Cook Tyree
"Some of Us Go Home Again"


Written circa 1983.
When I was growing up in our part of West Texas one had to look for, even search a bit in that rather dry environment, to see and properly appreciate the variety and vastness of the land, for that was its beauty. It was said in those days that Texans, no matter what, had a love for the land; the sky, so much of it to see, was, I believe, a part of this feeling. I was a cloud watcher. Looking at the sky from the top of our strawstack was a pleasant childhood pastime. I tried to see, or I imagined that I was seeing, the enormous white clouds in shapes of familiar objects. We observed, to some extent, weather in the making; a line of deep blue appearing above the northern horizon meant a blue norther was on the way. In winter, dark, angry clouds in the north could mean a blizzard was coming - in warmer seasons it might mean a tornado. And there were times when we thought we were seeing snow-skies and were disappointed when snow did not fall. Folks talked a lot about the weather and some liked to make predictions, although everybody in Texas knew that only newcomers and foolish people did that.

Our ranch house stood on a broad, open space at the top of a rise in a pasture of prairie grass, mesquite trees and an occasional prickly pear cactus. Hardy weeds, some with pretty blossoms, were part of the landscape along with wild flowers in the spring.

Tumble weeds when dry and brittle broke off at the stems and were lifted by the winds and sent tumbling over the pastures until caught against barbed-wire fences, against bushes, or just dropped in a ditch or low place. My introduction to fireworks happened one pleasant winter evening when my brothers and their friends gathered a huge pile of dry, airy tumble weeds for a bonfire - beautiful against a calm evening sky, but like real fireworks, the magic disappeared all too quickly.

"The Tumbling Tumble Weed" is a haunting song to those who know, or have known, the prairies.

Sunflowers grew in abundance, especially by the water tank and windmill, and even though the large leaves and stems were sandpaper rough and also sticky and the heavy flowers tended to droop a little when picked, Ruth, or I, often took bouquets to the house. Today, as I write I can see, in my minds eye, sunflowers in a smooth, brown crock pitcher on the sideboard in our dining room.

The mesquite tree, native to the southwestern states, is lovely in the spring with its delicate pale green leaves and just as pretty later on with red and yellow mottled beans hanging like placed decorations. We used to chew the beans as they were sweet, something like sugar cane, until Aunt Addie told us we might chew a worm. Today, because pastures have been overgrazed and because other detrimental practices have been used over the years, mesquite shrubs in some areas have become a menace to farmers and ranchers.

Wild flowers covered the pastures in May - when we had been blessed with April showers. May was a special month. It was the beginning of summertime, school was out and Mama let us shed our shoes and stockings and go barefooted every day. The house was opened for warm weather - all five outside doors and the many windows; we could dash in and out from almost any direction. Banging screen doors became the sounds of summer. June bugs and lightning bugs would soon be coming - it was a great time of year.

Buttercups, soft, and of the most luscious yellow, covered a large patch of pasture a few yards from our house. We strung them on strings or on the long stems of bachelor buttons; sometimes, not every year, "wild sweet peas" with the fragrance of perfume covered a hillside in one of the pastures. Less delicate were the daisies, sweet williams and little flowers that nestled in the grass.

My niece, Opal, tells a story of how she, when a little girl, with her younger sisters and brothers, found in the weeds near their home a zinnia plant in full bloom. She says they went there every day to see the flowers. Some beautiful flowers we never picked were those of the prickly pear and pin cushion cactus, we could admire but not touch because of their thorns and stickers.

Mama tried to grow the cultivated plants and vines in the yard and sometimes was successful even though the ground was very hard. I remember coming home with the family from a visit to our grandmother's house and on arriving at the yard gate seeing a beautiful sight - blue morning-glories that had climbed over a length of fence. The vines were thick, the blossoms were large and of the loveliest shade of blue I had ever seen. There had been much rain while we were away. From that day the blue morning-glory has been special to me.

Alongside of pastures were large fields of cotton, wheat, oats, corn and other grains; pretty when green or at harvest time, but everything changed with the seasons and in mid-winter darkened stalks and weeds gave a bleak picture except when snows came and made it all beautiful.

I soon learned while growing up that not all was pretty or pleasant. I learned about stinging nettles, grassburs hidden in the grass, cockleburs sticking to our clothes, beautiful purple thistles with sharp leaves that could hurt and I learned to watch out for thorns. I also learned that these unpleasant things could not always be avoided. The same applied to certain creatures living in the pastures such as skunks, bullsnakes, possums, horned toads, tarantulas and red ants, to name a few. I must, however, point out here that one person's aversion toward an inhabitant of the prairie may be another person's friendly curiosity. My brother, Bond, was curious about all animals and was not, like me, easily disturbed by strange ones.

I learned that the weather affected our lives. I discovered that a sandstorm could be unpleasant even when we stayed indoors. I learned during a drought the sadness one feels on seeing cows standing forlorn at their watering place gone dry; and seeing the depressing sight of wide cracks in the brown, sun-baked earth at the bottom of the tank that resembled a pan of fudge cut in squares.

I learned about disappointment when a crop was destroyed by hail or by too much rain for too long. Fortunately, these happenings were not lasting misfortunes - they came with the territory and we took them in stride.

While back on a visit a few years ago, I went walking in the pasture with my sister-in-law, Bea. We paused to look about. The land, stretching out for miles in all directions, was familiar, the small mountain ranges far away looked, from where I stood, not to have changed. I saw more mesquite trees than I remembered, thickets of them. I noticed better roads and fewer but better houses; and I saw something different - oil wells intruding on country scenes.

As we started to walk again I looked down and saw a horned toad in the grass. I leaned over to look more carefully and there he was - this little flat lizard on very hot ground - where I had left him many years ago. I felt like saying, "Hello, little horned toad, it's nice to see you."

I had come home again.

Helene Tyree

Return to Family Tree or Home Page