The Way we Were

The Hats have it

The Way we Were

Remember the Alamo

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            Another year is about to pass into memory.

            Sitting here thinking about writing something uplifting has proven to be a mission incompléte. Truly, our society is in chaos. Lines are drawn and impasse is the operative word.

            One thing seems abundantly clear, though. If there is a silver lining, chances are ever slimmer it will come from outside our grasp. Maybe that is the way it has always been but accepting that leaves an empty feeling.

            Is this life simply a series of events where our actions will be judged and scored? If it is, we’d be wise to play this coming fourth quarter with worthy abandon.

            Remember the Alamo

            A San Antonio wedding was the genesis of the recent trip to Texas.

            It’s a long way from Valdes Road to La Cantera on the western edge of the second largest city in the Lone Star State. The miles only added to the mystique and the immensity of respect of those settlers who crossed that expanse on their way west to find permanence and a lasting home.

            Their feat is simply mindboggling.

            Fear, courage, despair, hope, grace, faith, and endurance must have been daily companions of those brave people. The same thing and more can be said for those self-proclaimed Texians that opted to take that stand at the Alamo that resulted in lives lost. Certainly, there is abundant background to offer respect to their memories, but nothing in preparation equaled the sensation of walking into that Sanctuary to tread on floors where they had walked as they faced certain death.

            The Silverbelly Tarrant was laid across this heart in the only gesture of respect under the circumstances. I didn’t expect such a basal, emotional response.

            The hat remained off.

            The same thing happened again when their names were read. All 138 of them were there. Bravery doesn’t describe accurately the extent of their ultimate sacrifice to our society to this day.

            The hat remained off until the drizzle outside forced the issue back to the present (and Nana would have whispered it was okay to put it back on).

            The world-famous urban waterway, River Walk, beckoned and, it was sensational, but its holiday enchantment somehow didn’t equate to the impact of the Alamo visit. Perhaps it was fitting to have sat in Pat O’Brien’s in the continued rainstorm to debate the points of juxtaposition forced upon us by the comparison.

            Old versus new, foundational versus economic, raw versus artificial, but, alas, whiskey is whiskey and therein is one bridge of continuity. As a result, one thing that did come to light and it was perhaps clairvoyant.

I had no compulsion to take my hat off.

            The Way We Were

            January 1 will come with a normal sunrise.

            The plan is to make a planned pilgrimage home to Mogollon Creek. Of course, I have never lived there, but great-great grandparents did, and hence it is hallowed ground in more ways than one. We will eat and fellowship with the continuing namesake that still brands 916 (left rib, cattle). Cattle, whose progenitors crossed those long miles starting from Bell County and then Edwards County, Texas going on 136 years ago.

            For a few brief hours, the outside chaos will be held at bay.

            The news from Washington and the world will be avoided to the extent possible. There will be no football or TV for that matter. Just three ranch couples who will engage in conversation that makes sense to them. You can bet people from the past will be brought up to make a point, to emphasize respect, or to recount humor. Both men and women will be remembered and included without quota and with or without prejudice.

            No doubt change will seep into the discussion because we live with it.

            Our business (as was our history) is best served by stability, but its absence is most difficult to handle. Washington and Santa Fe will then reappear and dominate an otherwise joyous occasion. We will remember that every one of our state’s national representatives displays overt tendencies of orchestrating our demise and destruction.

            Not a single one has sought our input on anything. They avoid us like the plague. With growing redundancy, they use the term sustainability without a hint of suggestion that 140 years of real history is not only valid it is worthy of praise.

            Ours is the stuff of history.

            The Hats have it

            The wedding reception took place in the La Cantera which turned out to be a pretty big place.

            In what should be a lingering hat town, there was only one hat in the whole ball hall. Actually, the percentage of citizenry of the ever-expanding non-hat crowd to our hat wearing rural community is probably very similar to the demographics of that gyrating bailar grande crowd.

One half of one percent is probably accurate.

And gyrating it was. Neanderthal or even debauchery it could have been the comparison when the lights were flashing, the volume was ear shattering, and the lyrics sounded too much like words my Nana would have washed our mouths out for saying.

But, when there was a rare slower song in a particular dance contest, the lone hat in the house was raised in salute to success! And, then it was back to dirty dancing as if a single waltz was simply extinct.

            With the end in sight, the DJ was finally approached with the simple request to play the one song that should have been front and center after a 600-mile journey from Mesilla to San Antonio.

            San Antonio what by Bob who, was the unanticipated response.

            The computer revealed San Antonio Rose was indeed in the archives, the grand old song was played (sadly sans Bob), and, in the end … the lone hat was raised in ultimate respect to our history.

            Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “YeHaw!”