That Which Shapes Us

My wife and I have listened to Tanya Tucker’s songs since we were teenagers, and were interested to learn that she’s released a new album. This morning we listened to a few tracks.

One of the songs, a cover version of a Miranda Lambert tune, immediately made an impression, mostly because it reminded us of an incident several years ago.

We were out in west Texas, visiting some of my wife’s childhood haunts. On impulse, she decided to try and find her uncle Gordon’s old ranch, which was out in the literal middle of nowhere. Uncle Gordon had been a real Texas cowboy, a lean, leathery wizard in the saddle, one of many such men from whose bloodline my wife traces a path to her own place in this world.

After a few false starts, we finally navigated our way to the general location. After some dead ends, we were about to head back in the direction from which we’d started when my wife grabbed my arm and said, “Turn down that old road.” The road was two ruts through a week-choked field. We drove down the road, across a couple of cattle guards, and then reached a clearing. We stopped because there was a chain across the road. We could see an abandoned house, and my wife whispered, “There it is. That’s Uncle Gordon’s house.”

Up just beyond the house was an old pickup truck,and a white-haired man in coveralls was working with some fencing materials. We got out and walked to the man, who turned to stare at us when he heard the car doors slam.

When we reached the man, my wife asked if this was indeed the old ranch of her uncle, and the man nodded. She went on to explain that we’d been searching for it because she had spent many happy times at the ranch. She asked if we might look around just a bit. “We won’t bother anything,” she said.

The man, who turned out to be doing some work for the property’s present owner, was one of those closed types on whose face a scowl sits permanently. He looked to be about to say no, and my wife picked up on this, and she began to cry. She reiterated how important the ranch had been to her when she was a little girl, and told the man again that we merely wanted to look around and that we wouldn’t bother anything. Her tears undid the man’s armor and he waved his hands and opened his eyes wide, clearly determined to put out this fire.

“Sure, go ahead! Look around all you want! Take your time! You’re not bothering anybody! Go wherever you want!”

My wife was filled with relief and thanked the man several times, and we turned to explore Uncle Gordon’s old home-place. As we walked, my wife pointed out the features she’d told me about so many times, and she described again the utter darkness and stillness of the nights at the ranch, and how hard Uncle Gordon had worked the ranch, and how the cowboys would gather at the fire out in the pasture and how someone would break out a guitar and they’d all sing cowboy songs, and how they shot off fireworks one night and scared her, and how Uncle Gordon had found her hiding in a closet and coaxed her back to the gathering with his gentle voice and strong hands and smiling eyes.

We took our time prowling around, watching for the ever-present rattlesnakes. We did end up taking a couple of souvenirs that we found: a rusted horseshoe and a brick from the yard, and the white-haired man looked up from his work and waved at us when we drove away. My wife was very emotional but very quiet the rest of the afternoon while the purple shadows gathered around the mesquite. The experience of an impromptu pilgrimage to a place that had shaped her and cut such deep grooves in her was transformative, and she needed time to process it.

And so when we listened to the Tanya Tucker song this morning, we both sat and thought about the same things, and it was a good moment, and it reminded us of the irresistible snap that occurs when art and memory brush up against each other.

Anyway, here is the song.

~ S.K. Orr