skeletnwmn's Open Salon Blog

The Last Indian Massacre in Frio Canyon

Fri, 20 Aug 2010 00:08:09 -0400

In July, I was visiting Leakey, Texas -- with the daughter, grandkids, and their assorted relatives. Not being willing to hike in Lost Maples Park in 100 degree weather, I opted to drive out one of the winding roads through the hills. And, being at my own pace, stopped to read a historical marker. It was marking the spot where the Last Indian Massacre occurred in Frio Canyon.

I remembered this story from a book I own called Early Texas Settlers and Indian Fighters by A.J.Sowell. I happened to bring that book with me, so I went back to the cabin and looked it up. The account in my book said at the time of that writing (1900), the McLauren house was still standing. So, I hopped back in the car and went back toward the marker to take photos of the area -- hoping to somehow imagine the scene.

On my way back I noticed a couple of men outside of a big modern house just before the marker -- and right in front of that big modern house was an ancient wooden structure. Could it be?

I pulled into the drive and asked the workers if they knew anything about that old house. "Well," the guy said, "I think there's a marker up there on the road . . . all's I know is I been here since the 70's and it's always been there."

My heart's beating wildly at this point -- my BIBLE of Texas stories has suddenly come to life. The actual house that young Allen Lease ran toward, thinking there were wild hogs ransacking inside -- is still standing.

Okay, okay -- here's what happened back in 1881. Or 1882, depending on whose telling the story. John & Kate McLauren, their kids Maud, 6, Alonzo, 3 and Frank, a baby, along with Allen Lease (a 15 year old kid who lived with them for reasons nobody knows any more) had been living seven miles "above" (north-northwest) Leakey for two years -- with no Indian trouble. One April morning John McLauren heads out to Cherry Creek -- another settlement "below" Leakey. Mrs. McLauren, Allen and the kids head out to work in the garden which is down the hill a ways from the house. At some point they all sit down on a blanket -- probably had a little meal and Kate probably nursed the baby.

Kate hears a commotion up at the house and asks Allen to go shoo the wild hogs out. Allen comes running back chased by an Indian with a Winchester. The Indian shoots Allen. The ball (bullet) hits Allen in the back of the head and comes out his nose. (I reckon that if you'd seen it you'd have remembered a gory detail like that, too.) So Kate has jumped up by this time and the Indian shoots her too -- hitting her in the breast. She falls to the ground, then jumps up -- still holding the baby -- and screams to the other kids to run. The Indian keeps shooting and manages to hit her three more times -- twice in the leg, once in the hip. Finally, she falls and doesn't get up. The Indian then returned to the house and continued to pillage, along with several other Indians.

Little Maud, desperate to do something to help her mother, runs to the house and returns -- unscathed -- with a pillow for her mother's head. Say what? Yeah, pretty amazing that this little girl walked through a band of Indians who had just shot two people, picked up a pillow and walked back out. The possible reasons for this miracle I'll talk about next time.

The current owners of the property built their new house just a few yards away -- and they take great care that the old place continues to stand. I seriously doubt it would have had a corrugated tin roof originally, but it looks really authentic anyway. The hinges on the door and windows are the only shiny bits. All the nails are square and rusty.

It probably measures about 20' x 15'. Family of 6. No screens on the windows. Chinks in the walls. In Texas. Damn, these were the good old days, huh?

Someday I'm going to interview the owners of the property.

Maybe they'll let me go inside.

Current Banner Photos - Revised

Wed, 18 Aug 2010 13:08:32 -0400

starting from the left: the sky from my backyard just before a storm

my brother's old pick-up truck. He recently sold it -- long story short, he survived a brush with death and now -- thanks to the American Plan, is penniless, can't work and doesn't qualify for anything but the V.A. hospital (not to say they're not taking excellent care of him, but they can't pay his rent).

landscape along the way from Texas to Arizona (pretty sure this was in Arizona cause I-10 through New Mexico ain't pretty)

my daughter Emma and my two grandsons

what it looks like just before another abra (boat) hits yours on Deira Creek -- this is Dubai, where the two blondies above live 9 months out of the year.

a statue in the San Geronimo Cemetery in Seguin - I visited here last October, looking for the graves of William & Elizabeth Turner, my gr-gr-gr-gr-grandparents (I think that's enough greats).

a baby owl in the tree in my backyard. I enjoyed 3 baby owl's for about 6 weeks -- they would hang out on my back porch, or on my fence, or up in the tree. This one I called Fuzzy.

i'm so lucky

Tue, 17 Aug 2010 00:08:55 -0400

I've spent a good bit of my summer with my grandsons. Most of it was with their cousins and other grandparents and other aunts and uncles. Except for 4 glorious days when I was alone with them.

I'm a hermit and I don't tolerate stupidity very well. I realize that stupidity is subjective, but my daughter's in-laws who at first seemed so solid, so responsible and so down to earth -- well, they've lost their charm. Which leaves me in a situation. Unless I want to drive an extra 1/2 hour after work to visit them (my daughter & grandsons, not the in-laws - they're just part of the package) then drive another 45 minutes home, while I "conversate" with the whole crew, I don't get to spend much time with my little princes.

I understand why it's so important to my daughter to hang with them. She and her sisters never had uncles around, or cousins to play with. And there weren't many times when their grandparents and me got along very well.

And I realize now that for a while there I was trying to recreate the same childhood I had with my grandmother -- a safe, comfy home to go to and be treated like the smartest most beautiful girl in the world. Except I don't have a comfy home to come to -- it's a falling apart at the seams house far off the beaten track from where they are based during summers. And I'm at work all day -- other grandma doesn't work. I don't cook much anymore and dropping by at my house would not produce delicious leftover roast or cheesecake.

My grandsons have no shortage of loving and healthy nurturing. Their mom and dad are each and together most excellent parents. They have everything money can buy -- and they appreciate all the things they have that money can't buy. We're all doing a great job of raising them, I suppose.

I guess I'm coming to terms with the fact that life is different nowadays. Grandmothers who are single don't have the luxury of making cookies with grandchildren who are flying from activity to activity 24/7. I could go on and on about "when I was a kid", but I won't. Even those who were born in the 80's can say that.

So I'll concentrate on not coming directly home after work EVERY night of the week . . . gotta maintain my "cool grandmama" status you know. Maybe take my camera with me tomorrow and just wander around downtown before heading back.

Nice to see ya'll again.

Later.

What if God WAS One of Us?

Wed, 31 Mar 2010 18:03:04 -0400

Talking with a friend of mine at work about the sad state of network news. And through stream of consciousness -- it reminded me of this song from Tim Rice & Andrew Webber's musical from the 70's -- Jesus Christ, Superstar.

What if Jesus (or his heir) had a blog on Open Salon -- and was Tweetering and Facebooking his way around the world?

I'm just sayin'.

When you read this, did you expect me to tell you to be nice, watch your language and treat even the poorest writer as if . . . ?

This is as close as I get to an Easter post.

My Top 10 Most Influential Books

Fri, 26 Mar 2010 17:03:37 -0400

The Reckoning, by David Halberstam (1986). One of the first "grown-up" non-fiction books I read. He lays out the sequence of events behind the American and Japanese automotive industries (ironically Mr. Halberstam died in a car crash in 2007). My favorite part about this book is when he explains that after WWII, the Americans wanted to help the pitiful, downtrodden Japanese start over (guilty consciences?) so they welcomed them into their manufacturing plants and gave them all the information they asked for. The Japanese nodded and smiled, taking notes and photos. Then came up with the Datsun truck (at which the American car makers sneered). And the rest, they say, is history.
Lord of the Rings (& the Hobbit and Silmarillon), by J.R.R. Tolkien. What can I say? Read this the first time when I was about 12.
Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert A. Heinlein. Not sure why -- it's rare for me to remember a title especially of something I read so long ago, I must have been about 13 -- there are scenes in this book that still come up in my mind (especially when I'm sitting in traffic and wish I could zoom in and under and over the other cars).
The Alchemist, by Paolo Coelho. This book opened my eyes -- partly because of the archetypal story and partly because I had essentially written this story for a friend of mine years before I discovered this book. I still read anything Coelho publishes, but this book was amazing in its simplicity.
The Last Temptation of Christ, by Nikos Kazantzakis. Obviously, this is a powerful book for anyone who's been raised on a steady diet of Jesus was/is Perfect. Plus, it blew my mind that my mother-in-law at the time (a Southern Louisiana Catholic) is the one who passed it along to me.
Women Who Run With the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Duh.
The Scarlet Letter, by Nathaniel Hawthorn. My first foray into serious group discussion of symbols, characters, themes, political statements in fiction. Thank to my English teacher at the time, Mrs. Weise.
Several biographies from when I was about 6-8 years old. I believe they were all published by the same company -- but I can't figure out who. I especially remember one about Abe Lincoln and another about Clara Barton. My grandmother was a church librarian and would lend me stacks of books at a time. I would swallow these up and come back for more. I think the non-fiction always intrigued me because it was hard to imagine that Abe and Clara were once kids, too -- and despite all the reasons why they shouldn't have reached their levels of accomplishment, they did. I still find it amazing to read about another person's achievements.
Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry. This novel was an eye-opener to me -- a switch from the hallowed halls of Texas heroes I grew up with. Having a Texas Ranger in the family, it gave me a whole new outlook on what my ancestors might have been like, really.
The Power of Myth, by Joseph Campbell. In all honesty, it was the series of interviews with Bill Moyers that got me first -- THEN the book(s). Still, the incredible span of Joseph Campbell's knowledge of all things mythological left me thirsting for more, more, more.