I’ve heard some weird stories lately about how people are choosing to live as a result of some the current economic conditions. Someone told me this week that in Los Angeles, there are now “tent communities” – groups of people living in tents because they are out of a job. Recently I heard about the friend of a friend who packed up and moved to the mountains to create a “sustainable” lifestyle in preparation for the coming Armageddon.
Although I’ve never been a fan of camping, I do love the outdoors. As a horse owner, or maybe it’s the other way around, spending time away from the city, appreciating nature, has tremendous appeal. I’ve decided my love for decorating extends just in general to my overall environment, be it indoors or out. Several years ago, I attended some counseling sessions, and during a conversation about my horse and about riding, Dr. Burriss asked me why I didn’t live in the country, because he said my whole demeanor radiated happiness when I talked about it.
Well, mainly it’s because I couldn’t possibly live that far away from Neiman Marcus. Maybe I’m a little more Nellie Oleson than Laura Ingalls.
But when I’m riding, I often think that much of the problems we face in the city could be resolved if more people got the opportunity to spend time in the country.
The ranch where Alamo lives belongs to some friends of mine, and there is a cemetery on the property of the family of a one-time owner, a former Texas Ranger named Buck Barry. I’m often drawn there when I’m riding, wandering through – carefully avoiding rocks that might be hiding sleepy rattlesnakes – looking at the names and dates, trying to put together who was related to who and how. There are married couples, babies, teenagers, singles. I wonder if their lives were hard, living in the times they did, and what drew them to an undeveloped land.
After doing a little reading, I’m even more enchanted by not just their family, but the country as well.
James Buckner “Buck” Barry was born in North Carolina in 1821. Unlike many from his era and his area, Barry received a good education. In 1845, he came to Texas, and joined a group of young adventurers, all of whom had caught “Gone To Texas” fever. He served with Jack Coffee Hays’ company of Texas Rangers, charged with tasks such as driving the Mexican army out of Texas or searching for marauding Indians or making the frontier a safe place from outlaws for Texas families. My favorite thing I read about him is that apparently long after most Texas had quit wearing buckskin clothing of any sort, it was said that for Barry it was a staple.
Barry died on his 85th birthday in 1906. He is buried in a sepulcher in the family cemetery that he himself had dug in solid rock overlooking his home.
No wonder pioneers and adventurers still hold such fascination for us. It makes me want to take Neiman’s and plant my flag out there right now!
My latest fascination is with another sort of pioneer a little closer to home.
In the last several years, the area north of Dallas in neighboring Collin County has experienced a population explosion, as they like to say. That has prompted the extension of the North Dallas Tollway, which is our own little version of the autobahn here in North Texas. Doing the speed limit is liable to get you killed, or at the very least on the receiving end of a lot of one finger salutes.
What used to be pasture land is now thick with retail and residential developments of all kinds. But there is, what seems to me, a stubborn hold-out. I’m not good at guessing acreage, but this guy has a decent amount of it. In one direction his land is bisected by the Tollway, and running across in the other direction are some heavy duty power lines and the monster towers that hold them. (Wonder how this guy feels about eminent domain?) It’s a real agricultural operation – he’s got tractors and tillers and grain silos, along with horses and some cattle.
To the south of him is a multi-cinema theater complex as well as one of the newer high end shopping malls. On the north side he is flanked by a new W Hotels concept, Aloft, as well as one of the swankier outdoor shopping centers built in the area recently and a new Ikea just beyond that. Here he is, right in the middle, farming the land.
I’m guessing he’s been offered some pretty substantial sums for his property over the years. But he’s still there, farming. The land must be pretty important to him.
So whenever I have to be out north, as I cross his farm I silently give him the thumbs up. Every time I see it I feel reassured somehow. It’s a reminder that it takes all kinds to make the world go around, and sometimes not allowing ourselves to be absorbed into the culture around us is what it takes to be authentically who we were designed to be. Good luck to you, man.
