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A Trip to West Texas and Yesterday
And the wind they call Moriah
When I drive through West Texas, it blows through me like a howling wind. I am not talking about the way the open plains, shallow valleys, and low plateaus are often fraught with windy conditions (they are), I am saying the place itself is like the wind – elusive, pervasive, and persuasive. It blows through my soul and my hair.
I think about the song, “The Wind They Call Mariah.”
I prefer the Hebrew spelling, “M-o-r-i-a-h,” which means “the land of Yahweh (God).
I am writing from the outskirts of Lubbock. I drove here today from Fort Worth, a 300-mile trek through space and time. One of my friends and a subscriber to this newsletter, a bonafide cowboy from Archer City with grit, soul, and intelligence would chide me and tell me I am not in West Texas.
“You are on the high plains,” he might say. “You haven’t crossed the Pecos, have you? You are right there on the cusp of Llano Estacado.”
Alright, but I hail from that Texas mindset that says Fort Worth is where the West begins. Everything west of Fort Worth is part of what I call West Texas.
Now, that the argument in my head is out of the way, where was I?
Oh, the wind. The folks who labeled Chicago “the windy city” never visited Lubbock, Texas.
Funny thing is the wind always seems to be coming out of the west, as though even the elements are forever trying to get away, to leave yesterday behind.
Yesterday, Oh I believe in Yesterday
Yesterday is just what West Texas feels like to me. My roots run deep out here in places like Abilene, where I was born; Merkel where my mother was born and raised on a cotton farm and in a Baptist church; and Cisco, where my paternal grandfather and his people are buried.
I like to stop off in small West Texas towns. They often feel like places time forgot”¦or maybe never knew in the first place.
Don’t skip past Post
Today, my journey took me through Post, Texas. It is an interesting place. Clean (unusual out here) and roomy (not unusual). It has a historical vibe and for good reason.
The Post Chamber of Commerce shares this about the town on their website:
The traveler who passes through Post today may not notice that it differs from any other small town of the high plains of West Texas. However, it does! With its rich history , historical landmarks, and attractions, Post is today a well known place to visit.
Post, Texas, founded in 1907 by cereal magnate Charles William Post, was truly a “dream city”. His vision drew him to one of the most beautiful locations in West Texas ““ the area where the headwaters of both arms of the Brazos River join to outline the scenic caprock escarpment of the Llano Estacado. Here C.W. Post carved a county of our nature’s provisions which provided a home for cattlemen, plentiful oil, and bountiful cotton. Post today is the county seat of Garza County. Post, Texas is nestled three miles below the Cap Rock, 40 miles Southeast of Lubbock, on Highway 84. Thus, Post became known as the gateway to the plains of West Texas. Most of the downtown buildings still standing in Post today were constructed between 1907 and 1937. They include the C.W. Post Double U Building, and the old First National Bank Building. Four of the historic buildings have been restored in recent years.
This reminds me of Granddad Strother’s favorite Near West Texas town of Cisco, where, unbelievably, Conrad Hilton bought his first hotel. He would go on to place luxury hotels in the most exotic places in the world.
Slaton is on the menu
I also stopped off in Slaton for my wife, who wanted me to bring back samples from the Slaton Bakery. It was founded 101 years ago, in 1923. Today, it seems to be the most vibrant place in town. They make fine baked goods.
I admired the unusual layout of the downtown area and the still-pristine brick roads.
I am not keen to move to West Texas. The High Lonesome may be too lonesome for my metropolitan blood. I am, however, always moved by West Texas. I am moved to a place of nostalgia, wonder, and peace. The land goes on forever but never escapes the canopy of an open sky. There is a catharsis in escaping here from the 6.5 million inhabitants, the miles and miles of concrete and steel, and the hustle of Dallas/Fort Worth. On the open plains, the wind plays havoc with my sinuses but my soul can breathe.
Tomorrow, with the wind at my back and the oil derricks, cotton fields, and wind turbines in my rearview mirror, I will head East.
I will go home and take West Texas with me.
I may not belong in this place but this place belongs in me.