Spirits in the Valley between Kerrville and Medina
Caleb Pirtle III wrote:
"He walked out of the valley, as lean as a mesquite post and just about as gnarled, his eyes harsh and stubborn like the land around him. He paused to kick at a clump of prickly pear cactus that held on selfishly to a patch of dirt that had washed down among the rocks. He looked out as the bluebonnets, the Indian Paintbrush, the clover, the purple, orange and red haze that ran up and down the gentle hillsides without going anywhere at all, the beauty amid the bristles.
In the rugged valley from whence he came, he saw the face of Texas the way the mythical Texas is supposed to be:big and empty, delicate yet defiant, tough as boot leather and just about as polished.
"This land ain't worth a plugged nickel," he explained, a definite German accent rolling off his tongue. "I've seen cows walk for ten miles just tryin' to find an acre of grass to chew on. 'Bout all you can raise on it is rocks and a little Cain now and then." He paused and sighed. "It's poor, useless, good for nothin', and too dadgummed hard to even leave a footprint. But ain't it pretty?"
And so it was. The old man grinned again, bent low into the wind, and slowly shuffled away. I looked close. There were no footprints behind him to even prove he had ever come to or from the valley that separated Kerrville from Medina."
----- Caleb Pirtle III, "The Genuine Old-Fashioned, Down-Home, Home Grown Official Texas Cookbook," 1990
Beauty is only skin deep but Texas is to the bone.