Sag-Ashus – Am I A Pioneer? – Part Three
Sag-Ashus has been sharing excerpts of the memoirs of his great-aunt Lucy Lucinda Holmsley Rush, who moved from Comanche County, in north-central Texas, to the deserts and mountains of Southern New Mexico and West Texas in the early 20th century. This is the third selection from Rush’s memoir.
Great Aunt Lucy Rush continues her story. Remember that when we left her last week the family had just arrived at Orange, New Mexico, having traveled from Weed.
“Orange was nothing at the time, but a new post office in J.W. Brownfield’s ranch home, with the mail coming once a week from Van Horn. Jim Brownfield, (who is now a policeman here in El Paso), was postmaster. (Ole Sag’s note – Once again, we remind you that this was written in 1939.) After a few years we received the mail twice a week. This was made possible by the mail carriers changing teams at the Ables Ranch and at Figure 2 headquarters.
We camped at Orange until Father built the store with a basement under it, having hauled the lumber 85 miles from Robinson’s sawmill at Weed. Then, we moved in, cooking and eating in the back of the store and having our beds in the basement. After several months we built a house and put out an orchard and shrubbery in the yard, watering it at first with water drawn by hand and later with a Campbell bucket. (Folks, if any of you can fill us in on the description of a Campbell bucket, please let us know.)
Soon after we moved into the new house, I saw my first automobile, a Buick without a top. Someone from the front of the house called that an automobile was coming. In my hurry to see this strange piece of mechanical genius, I caught my dress on the door knob and almost tore it off.
Supplies for the store were brought from El Paso, an eight-day’s haul, and from Van Horn, a seven-day’s haul. Remember, we had no Buicks and no Model Ts either to go to town in, and besides, the roads were too rough for them to be of much use out there on the flats. These trips were made about every two months.
There was open range back in the hills from Orange and my father traded about 300 books of our library for a bunch of horses. He also bought 20 cows with calves. In order to keep them from straying, we kept the calves penned in the daytime and the cows at night, milking a small amount from each cow for family use. My younger brother Tom and I did this chore, he roping off the calves while I milked. We had to tie up some of the cows in order to get near them.
The Fourth of July came along; and both old settlers and new decided make a real celebration of it. People came on horseback and in wagons from within a radius of 8 miles from Orange. One of my sisters, Mrs. Joe Neely Sr., who had been trained in public speaking, made the opening address. During the day, there were tournament races, goat roping, horse racing and other attractions interesting to people who live in a cattle country. At night there was a big dance on a platform built for the purpose. The violin music was furnished by the older Lewis boys, Martin and Sam. We had an organ and two guitars, and they were used as part of the music. The dancing continued almost all night. Then we put everybody to bed that we could find room for. We finished filling the basement and made down beds the length of the aisle down the middle of the store, across the end where we had the kitchen and on the platform out in front. Many brought their bed rolls, and some of those slept outside.
Our Christmas celebration was on a par with that of the Fourth of July, but because the wagons that had been sent to El Paso for supplies were delayed, we had our Christmas tree and dance on January 17 instead of December 25 and enjoyed it as much and perhaps more than if we had had it on time.
We youngsters very seldom went anywhere. I remember one excursion in a covered wagon to Carlsbad to meet Tom as he came in on the train from Amarillo, where he had been with our oldest sister going to school. We had a grand time while in Carlsbad. We fished in the Pecos River, shopped through the stores and went to a little show given by some church organization.
The next winter, when I was 16 years old, I taught a school at Orange in one of Mrs. Brownfield’s rooms. The roof was made of ocotillo covered with dirt in such a way that it would resist every kind of rain, but desert creatures made their homes in the crevices between the ocotillo stalks. One day a vinegaroon fell on my neck, giving me a fright that I did not soon forget. The children for our school were sent in from several miles away, some of them boarding with Mrs. Brownfield. There were about 10 pupils. I charged a dollar and a half per month for each student and made $80 during the school term. I wonder sometimes if I gave value received even at that low figure. Two of my pupils were Dempson and Denman Lewis of fiddling fame. They were younger brothers of Martin and Sam. Might I remark that I did not teach them to play the fiddle.
In any community, no matter how sparsely settled, there must be some deaths, and so there were at Orange. Our way of taking care of them certainly compares with the account in Pioneer Folk Ways, except that we did not have on hand the fancy handles for the coffins. One of my sisters lost a baby, a neighbor lost two children, and still another lost a daughter. The daughter was buried in my youngest sister’s clothes. El Paso was too far away to get the things needed in time. We made boxes for the graves and coffins out of boards, covering them with black or white material. I have helped to make at least four. There was no preacher in the community, so some one of those present at the funeral read a service, others sang a hymn, and we buried our loved ones on a bit of tableland just under the mesa about a mile from Orange.”
We will continue Aunt Lucy’s story next week.
Here’s a thought:“The way to get started is to stop talking and start doing.”
SAG