Saying Goodbye: Memories of a Ranch Kid

Fred Navarro at the Frio River

Jolene Navarro here, checking in from the Texas Hill Country. My writing view this weekend. 

I went with my husband to Leakey Texas. His siblings (nine boys and two girls) were gathering to remember their parents. April makes the 15^th year of their dad’s passing, and they wanted to honor his memory. After church, we went to their parent’s graveside. After prayer and recalling memories, Joe (the youngest) read a letter he had written on May 10, 2004. This was the first time he shared it with his brothers and sisters.

The letter and memories reminded me why I love this life and write about small-town, cowboys and ranchers. 

There is something solid and good about people that work the land.  I met my husband 33 years ago and had the pleasure of spending time on the ranch. This place shaped the man I married. In honor of the Navarro family and the life that has influenced my stories, I wanted to share Joe’s story. He's the baby of eleven surviving children.

The Siblings standing in birth order. 9 boy and 2 girls

Joe & wife, Letty Navarro

May 19, 2004

My dear Brothers and Sisters:

This past Saturday, Fred came to Leakey, while we were visiting the phone rang. A woman speaking Spanish asked for Jesus Navarro (Their father). I asked her name. She just repeated her question. I wanted her name, but she told me to hold. A man’s voice came through the phone, he also spoke Spanish. When he also requested to speak with Jesus Navarro, I asked the man his name. He hesitated, and we spent some time in this cycle of not answering each other.

He finally identified himself and went on to tell me that Dad used to give him work on the Fair Ranch whenever he passed through. He was in Kerrville and wondered if there was any work for him on the ranch.

It was that awkward moment when I informed him that Dad had died on April 15^th and the Fair Ranch had sold five years ago. The man offered his condolences and we ended the call.

Jesus Navarro Working on the Ranch Early Winter Morning

Fred and I talked about how much influence our father had on immigrants passing through. The Bible tells us to care for travelers and those in need. Our parents didn’t just teach us this lesson, they showed us through their actions. They would fix a plate of food, making sure to wrap up extras in foil. My dad would give them work, pay them and then send them on to their next destination. It didn’t matter if they were a stranger passing through or the ranch owners’ esteemed guest, our parents treated everyone with respect.

Joe, David and Andy Navarro

This phone call set with me for a couple of days. Restless, I drove out to the old Jacoby/Fair Ranch where I grew up.

What an experience, to drive on that familiar winding Ranch Road 336, through the Texas Hill Country. The sound the cattleguards made when I drove over them jarred memories long buried.

Turning on to Ranch Road 3235, the Ivey Ranch sat on the right, a bit further down Buckle Fryar’s Ranch was followed by the Tooter Trees' Ranch.

As I passed Tooter’s Ranch sheep crossed the road, just as they did day in and day out, as we made the long trips between the ranch and town. They forced me to slow down.

Black Buck Antelope ran along the side of the road, disappearing into the brush.

As the caliche road took me closer to the old homestead cattle and axis deer took me deeper into my childhood.

Nostalgia clogged my throat. In the distance, the house Dad and our Tios built rose on the horizon. It was green now, not the bright yellow with blue trim that we knew. A lock on the gate stopped me about 200 yards from my childhood home. Determined to reach the old home, I drove to the house where Chencho used to live.

He was gone, but I knew the current foreman lived here. His name was Francisco Briones. I had met him two years prior. Today as luck would have it, he was outside working on a deer feeder.  I informed him of Dad’s passing and how I wished to go to the house I grew up and walk the land. In the years since the sell of the ranch, it had changed owners four times in three years. At one time the ranch was over three thousand acres, now it was sub divined int 50 to 100 acre “ranchettes”.

The new owners of the land the house sat on bought it last month and only been out on weekends. They had asked Mr. Briones to “keep an eye” on the place.

Texas Hill Counrty

He opened the gate for me on the back side where the corrals were located. Together we walked passed the fences and barns. I paused for a moment to take in the fact that I was here. I hadn’t even realized how long I had been waiting to do this.

As I pointed out places and what we had done I became a tour guide of my childhood memories. I told him how we stacked bales of hay in the barn, the corrals where we’d round up the Charolais cattle. We went to the place where the machines had once been set up to spray the cattle with the medicine for ticks. As we walked further on to the property I showed him where Dad kept all the tools he worked with. We went into the room where we unloaded sacks of feed – corn, milo, pellets for the cattle, horses, sheep, deer, chicken and more. There were a lot of feedings that happened every day.

In the tack room the wooden saddle seats were still there, but empty. The leather and gear were long gone. The old Jacoby house that was once red was now pink. Not far was the chicken coop where I would gather the eggs each morning, before going to school.

As we walked to the house, so many memories flooded my head and heart. I told Mr. Briones, this is where we all played baseball in the open field when we had family gatherings. Dad always pitched.

Crossing the yard to the house, it all looked so abandoned, so unkempt.

 But that didn’t stop the memories from toppling out, one over another.

The tree where Dad had nailed a basketball goal was still there, but the wooden backboard was gone. We had spent hours playing basketball. At the fence part of the ladder, Dad built for us to climb over was still there.

The house was locked, but I managed to sneak a peek through the window into the kitchen and dining room area. In my mind's eyes echoes of the people from my childhood were rushing around, working, eating and laughing. The smells of a busy kitchen surrounded me. How many hours had my mother stood at the stove? So many daily moments I had forgotten rushed back.
.

We walked around the side of the house and I told him which room belonged to who. It was time to leave. As we walked back I noticed the gas tanks were gone. Then there was the water tank and the well where we got our drinking water. There was a large fenced area where Dad would plant corn, tomatoes, squash, carrots, and so many other vegetables. There was the fish pond, where we once had goldfish and tons of tadpoles depending on the time of year.

It is now filled with trash and empty beer cans.  There was the tree where Dad killed a Spanish goats and gut and skin them, so our family had meat on the dinner table.

Overall the old Jacoby/Fair Ranch looks run down, unkempt, abandoned. The corrals are missing boards. The grass was waist high throughout the property. We passed two canovas and I remember the early mornings when it froze, and Dad would break the ice with a big shovel so the livestock could have water to drink.

We spoke about how all good things must come to an end. I shared with him that Dad left a legacy behind, he left us with rich memories. He had an impact on the ranch and on so many people’s lives.

We passed a field overgrown with prickly pears and cedar bushes.

Dad would have been upset and would have put us to work to clear that out. There was always work that needed to be done. I can hear Dad saying, “Que no esten dioquis, hay mucho que hacer.” There was always something to do.

I thanked Mr. Briones for opening the gate and letting me walk through my memories.

As I made my way back down the caliche road I looked in the review mirror of the green house, that was still yellow in my eyes. A sadness I wasn’t expecting tightened my chest. I had said goodbye to a friend that in reality had been gone a long time.

Looking to the sky I began talking to Dad. I told him how much I loved him. That was something I had never done in person while he was alive. I thanked him for everything he did for us. I told him that I missed him greatly.

I was a young child again, that wanted to go back to a life that was in some ways so much easier. As a teen, all I wanted to do was grow up so I wouldn’t have to deal with ranch life anymore. On the ranch, life seemed so dull with nothing but hard work.

Now I wish I could go back just for one last time and experience the ranch as it was.  The air, the animals, my parents, my brothers, and sisters all the extended family and the workers that joined us.

What was awesome about today was that I did go back. Today I walked through the past, remembering things I had forgotten.

All the hard work, people, joy in simple things that shaped me.

As I turned from Ranch Road 3235 on to Ranch Road 3361 I could hear Dad say… “Que se persinen.” I made the sign of the cross to remember that God is always with me.


 Love your “Baby” Brother,
Joe

Mom with her 11 children, their spouses, children and grandchildren


My new release will be in story May 21. It is up for pre-oder now. 

You will get to meet the De La Rosa family. They have a family ranch on the coast of Texas. I will be giving an early copy away Wednesday April 24 to someone that leaves a comment.

 Did you grow up in a city, small town or way out in the country?

Falling for the Hometown Hero

Jolene here. Checking in from the Texas Hill Country. We were asked about our own love story.

God gave me a clue how my future would unfold the first night I saw the man that would be my husband. It was August as I drove my sister and a couple of friends over the hill country from Leakey Texas to Junction to watch a high school football game. (there would end up being countless of Friday night lights in the years to come).  One of my friends was dating the  Leakey quarterback.

After the game, we all met at Dairy Queen. (How small town is that?) I thought the older brother was cute.  We asked if David, my friend's boyfriend, could ride back with us. Fred said no. You see, he’s a rule follower, and he had signed that his brother would be riding home with him.

So we followed. We would pass him then fall back. I guess it was some sort of flirting. BUT Fred just thought I was a bit crazy…I liked driving fast back then.

So a few months later at another football game, Homecoming.   I love fall. The bonfires, cool air, and football are in full swing.

In the small towns of Texas, homecoming is a big deal. (when I say small town we are talking population of around 400). My parents came back (my father had been the quarterback 20 years before),  my grandparents were there, and the population doubles.

 After the game, it’s time to cruise main. Somehow I got separated from my friends and ended up around the truck bed with a bunch of guys. One was trying to flirt, I think. Not very good at it and I started feeling uncomfortable. That’s when Fred showed up. Like a Knight on a white steed.

He was great, and we talked about so many things. I found out that  not only did he have the three younger brothers, but he had seven older siblings. He was a senior at Anglo State and was studying kinesiology and English.  We talked about our horses – he grew up on a ranch. I think I fell in love right then. 

About two years later in a pure act of love,  Fred, this small town ranch boy got a job in Houston just so we could be together as I finished art school.

It's amazing to look back and see how one night paved the path I wasn’t even looking for.  A little over thirty years later, four kids and many miles across Texas, we still love talking about life.

When I develop my heroes, I think they all have a small piece of Fred. You can see if this is true in the new anthology that was just released. Sweet Summer Nights.  You might recognize some of the other authors - it's six sweet stories for .99  cents   Sweet Summer Nights

  

Small Towns, Big Families with Jolene Navarro

Jolene Navarro here. Did you know we only have twelve Fridays until Christmas! But we are not here to talk about that. Even though I do have a Christmas story that is out and about in book form, with the eBook being released Thursday.  Another story set in the fictional small Texas Hill Country of Clear Water. But I'm here to talk about small towns.

Frio Canyon - Home of my fictional town, Clear Water, Texas

 

 I love life in a small town.  People know people. They know your grandmother, your cousins and your children. You belong. You have a history. You’re part of a story.  You know why the locals call the intersection at HWY 46 and Herff Rd. Sheep Dip Crossing.

  

On a sad note the newbies in town give you a blank stare if your direction include Sheep Dip Crossing or “where Poorboys use to be.” I’m guessing in the next couple of generations the terms will be gone for our local vocabulary.

The thing that can drive you cray in a small town? People know people. They know your grandmother, your cousins… well, you get the picture.  People remember you as a teenager, and all the stupid senseless stuff you want to forget. They really know your family members. There is no glossing over or hiding the crazy. 

 Remember the time when…..can cause you to break out in a cold sweat and glancing around to see if your kids are near. Half the stories aren't  even true. And sometimes they say that and you really can’t recall what they are talking about, so do you fake it and laugh or start an argument when you respond with ‘NO that never happened’?  Memories are long and live on every corner.

My father was born in the"old" house. It was moved to the back of the property when a new house was built - with a pool and game room! Loved our summers here!

There are different levels of small towns. Places like Leakey, Texas with less than 400 people. It is also the kind of town I love writing about, generations of ranchers, business owners and dreamers.  One street light.  Kindergartners to twelfth graders are on the same school campus. Community is strong.  A church on every corner. Not a great deal has changed there over the years, expect the path of the river with each flood and they can now sell beer. (Which some of the churches are not happy about.)

This is one of my hometowns. My great-great grandparents settled there and my parents met and married there. It’s also the place I met my love and married him. We moved back and lived there during the birth of one of our four children. I love this little valley in the Texas Hill Country. My husband’s family has been there for three generations now. It will always be home.  Go Eagles!

My four kids on the football field were my dad played and their dad played and coached.

Four generations of Navarros in Leakey. The tiny little lady in the middle is the mother, grandmother and great grand of the picture

Then you have small towns like Boerne, Texas. My other hometown. When I started school here in 1979, there was one high school, one middle school and an elementary or two. No chain restaurant or fast food. The grocery store and pharmacy were owned by local families.  The owner of the restaurant greeted you by name.

We rode our horses to the General Store where you could still hear people speaking German.  Today Boerne is going through growing pains. Being north of San Antonio,  people are moving in to find the love of having the Main Street USA feel of small town with the convenience of one of the biggest cities in the United States of America.

Boerne Main Street Plaza

The Dienger Trading Co. It was the Library for a while.

Now-a-days you don’t see as many family owned businesses when you drive down Main Street.  For the sake of convenience the big box stores have staked a claim along the highway, forcing the mom and pop shops to close or redefine themselves.

I write small town stories because it is what I know and love.  A Texas Christmas Wish is the third book that takes place in a small fictional town of Clear Water, Texas on the Frio River.  

Frio River at Seven Bluff Crossing

 In my story the hero takes the heroine to the local lumber yard. A place where generations have counted on the Bergmann family to provide high quality building materials as they construct their own homes and business.

Bergmann Lumber Store Front in Boerne Texas

In real life Bergmann Lumber is a two story limestone building on Main Street in Boerne. It is a historical site and owned by the same family for three generations. Randy Bergmann and his daughters have managed to reinvent their store front and focus on customer service with a mix of daily lumber and hardware needs along with gifts and one of a kind home decor.

Visiting at the Book signing at Bergmann Lumber - Love Small town life.

Children left unattended in Bergmann Lumber will find lots of ways to entertain themselves.

In honor of my  favorite Texas small towns and the families that live there (real and fictional) I have had each off my book signing at Bergmann Lumber. Yes, I have book signings at a hardware store. They also carry my books year round. (How cool is that?) They are one of the few family owned businesses that have found a way to survive the shift in Boerne’s population and demographics. 

So if you want to buy a story about small town, family and faith go by Bergmann Lumber on Main Street in Boerne, Texas. (they are also in Walmart and Amazon..shhhh I didn't tell you that) You can also support small businesses by doing some early Christmas shopping and visit you locally owned businesses. 

Do you have a small town you love. If so what do you love about it? Do you make a point to shop at locally owned stores or do you find the big guys easier and less expensive?