Opinions

Thu
21
Feb
Edgar's picture

Cowboy Cartoonists

In my life there are people with talents I admire: horse trainers, good ropers, cattle traders, backyard mechanics, welders, guitar players. A.I. technicians, farriers, purebred breeders and rough stock riders, for instance. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that you can’t be good at everything, so, even though I admire these talents I don’t envy them.

However, there is one gifted group that I come close to envying... cartoonists. I am lucky to be friends with many of this wacky persuasion. I’m partial to cowboy cartoonists. I can relate closely with their dead pan looney observations or bug-eyed, cinch bustin’ cow catastrophes that they spread across a slice-of-bread-size scene like bumpy blackberry jam.

Thu
14
Feb
Edgar's picture

Nuggets

Being a farming community we understand the natural law of planting and harvest time. I love to smell the fresh turned soil and have the expectation of the new baby plants, then looking forward to the harvest, thinking of having the reward for all the work. God the creator of all things uses sowing and reaping as an example to teach us spiritual things.

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Thu
14
Feb
Edgar's picture

Letters

Editor:

Smoking or not Some of you may have wondered about my letters. I had taken some time off.

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Fri
08
Feb
Edgar's picture

AUSTIN HAD NO GREATER CHAMPION THAN HIS COUSIN

by Bartee Haile

Mary Austin Holley landed at Galveston on Feb. 6, 1843 on her fifth and final visit to her dead cousin’s former colony.

When Stephen F. Austin was 11 years old, his father Moses sent him back east to stay with relatives the boy barely knew. From 1804 until 1807, the future “Father of Texas” studied at an academy in New Haven, Connecticut and got acquainted with his kinfolks.

 

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Fri
08
Feb
Edgar's picture

Bentley, The Born Again Bull

It was one of those two o’clock mornin’ calls: “Looked like everything was comin’ jes fine, Doc, then he got stuck! Could you come?”

On the way out to the ranch I put the truck on autopilot while my foggy brain sifted through the possibilities. Hip lock, more than likely, I figgered. I walked into the calvin’ barn, shook the snow off my coat and surveyed the scene. Fairly peaceful. Two unshaven cowboys playin’ cards in front of the space heater and a good-sized heifer standing in the chute looking no worse for the wear. “Good,” I thought, “The boys haven’t worn the heifer out before they called.” Or themselves either, for that matter.

 

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Thu
31
Jan
Edgar's picture

THE LOST ART OF SHAVING IS BEING REVIVED

Tumbleweed Part Owner of Texas

Greg Smith of Brady makes shaving soap and after-shave in a variety of flavors.

“Grandpa’s Barber Shop is a traditional, clean, old school kind of barbershop scent,” he says. “We’ve got Cherry Pipe which is a sweet cherry and tobacco scent. Weekend Rodeo is a pretty popular one. It’s a mixture of tobacco and leather fragrances. We have a scent called Mr. Pepper and it flies off the shelf. It, of course, has the Dr. Pepper soft drink flavor.”

He tries to think of flavors that would be commonplace in Texas.

 

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Thu
31
Jan
Edgar's picture

TREASURE HUNTER URGES INDIAN GENOCIDE

This Week In Texas History

For the second time in less than a year, Alexander Dupont set out on Feb. 2, 1789 in search of the storied silver mines of San Saba. The French-speaking adventurer was born in Flanders in the second decade of the eighteenth century, around the time his native country was conquered by Napoleon and disappeared forever from the map of Europe. That would have made Dupont between 50 or 60 years old, when he wandered into Texas in the 1770’s.

What is known of the footloose Flemish comes from his diary. Although the journal begins in the summer of 1787, it is clear the author had been in Texas for ten years or longer and knew his way around the Spanish province better than most Europeans.

Thu
24
Jan
Edgar's picture

BROTHERS QUIT FARMING FOR TRAIN ROBBING

An unnamed gang of unidentified outlaws robbed a train two counties west of Fort Worth in the pre-dawn darkness of Jan. 23, 1887.

“Two masked men got into the cab at Gordon and presented their revolvers at the engineer and commanded him to ‘pull out,’” the Dallas Weekly Herald reported five days later. “They ran the train about a mile from Gordon and…commanded the engineer to stop the train on a bridge with high trestle-work, which prevented any communication from the passenger coaches to the mail and express cars.”

Plainly impressed by the bandits’ expertise, the newspaper noted, “They had chosen an admirable place for their work, and had carried their plan into perfect execution.” The chronicler might have been even more impressed had he known that the hold-up was carried out by two brothers, who until the previous month had led crime-free lives.

Thu
24
Jan
Edgar's picture

Ol’ Roanie

“How ya doin’ Skip?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess,” he said. “Remember my good rope horse?”

I remembered. Skip, like me is left-handed and therefore requires a left-handed heelin’ horse. Whenever I’m in southern New Mexico he lets me borrow ol’ Roanie.

Last time I had been to his place to rope I got there early so I saddled up and was warmin’ up the horse. I didn’t remember him bein’ quite so belligerent and feisty. He made a couple stops where I had to grab the horn!

When Skip arrived he explained why Roanie was actin’ up. It wasn’t Roanie. It was the other horse.

The other horse, which had a big scar on his shoulder, was also a roan. He was the flotsam of a relationship gone bad. Skip had wanted to sell him but the now departed love interest had insisted he keep him so they could go on romantic rides together. Skip roped on him now and then but it was always a risky venture. He kept thinkin’ if he roped on him enough, he might make a good horse.

Thu
17
Jan
Edgar's picture

Prejudice

Prejudice is a funny thing. When a city slicker or a dude comes meanderin’ into the Montana bar in Glasgow he’s liable to get a lot of hard stares. But, I’m here to tell ya, when the shoe’s on the other foot, it can be mighty uncomfortable.

Years ago in Kansas City, I set out one night to find one of them ‘down home guitar blues pickers that I had read about in the Sunday paper. I was drivin’ around Saturday night lookin’ for Walter’s Crescendo Lounge.

I had some ribs at Money’s on Prospect and asked directions. The feller told me not to go over there after dark. Then, after thinkin’ about it, he scribbled his name and phone number on a piece of paper and said, “When you git in trouble, have’m call me.” Nice of him, I thought.

 

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