Rural Texas - to be continued

I take a small road from I 20 north and west so I can hook up with I 40. it is actually beautiful – mountains, hills, some cactus even but mostly rugged-looking land with rocks, brush, grass and dirt. Single rows of small, spaced apart houses with huge yards some sporting chickens and horses, others rv’s and suvs. Some dirt or paved roads heading off the highway, thru fences and curving into the sparsely wooded hills but still invisible houses.

There is high evidence of white folks through these hills. I do not stop except in a very small town that has this huge building, so big I can see it from miles out of the town where it appears to be a giant island sprouting from the side of a mountain.

When I get there, I see it is in the middle of a 4 street bustling town of white cowboys and ranchers – along with white insurance offices and banks. And it’s share of empty storefronts and deserted buildings.

My huge building, that I fantasized from far away, must be some rich people’s resort, stands proudly elegant as an ancient queen who can no longer sit upright on her throne. For the building is deserted too and every huge window has evidence of pot-shots breaking at least one of the six-panes.

The windows are too big and close together to be a jail; too many stories – probably 17 – to be a factory; and again, the windows seem too big to be sectioned into small hotel rooms; way too much space and too fancy to be a school. I am tempted to ask someone but there are only a scattering of old white men in Texas-wear around scowling at me. I decide I really don’t want to know that badly. Probably ever homeless family in the U.S. could live comfortably in this building, it is so big.

I head out of town and the road gets a little steeper – still one lane in each direction. Still flanked on both sides by a scattering of small houses, a dearth of children’s toys, a collection of animals. And then a small complex of tiny, 2 story duplexes, painted UPS truck brown, that would almost appear to be a converted 40’s military housing cum camp ground except it is labeled HUD Housing – and still no sign of children but sterile manicured dirt, trees, rocks and cactus and an old American Plymouth idling.

During the course of the hour or so short-cut, I am passed by many speeding pick-up trucks but not one gives me the finger. A couple old geezers shake their heads, feeling sorry for me. But I still don’t stop to chat with anyone.

The North Texas Clinic has more cars parked in the lot and on the side streets than Wal-Mart on a sale day. And I’m finally in a town of more than 1000 – 50,000 actually and there are signs of people of color: businesses in Spanish, Chinese food restaurants, black and brown people walking about and driving.