Episode 9: Dallas
Welcome to MOONDAY CAFE a podcast that’s posted every month on the day of the full moon.
MOONDAY CAFE is devoted to the mind-expanding, mind-bending magical power of story.
Dovey cannot resist the call of the ranch but cannot bear to let anyone know that she will be there. It made no sense to visit like a salmon swimming upstream, but she could not help herself. She needed some completion.
Our guide is author, inspired performer, and barefoot cowgirl, Dovey Conlee.
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Episode 9: Dallas
Once Dovey moved through eastern New Mexico and into the Panhandle of Texas, she knew her territory well and the landscape was familiar, more fragrant and certainly more windy. No time for a convertible top to be down for the journey, but now Z.Z. TOP was calling her back to her homeland as they sang about La Grange, the legendary whorehouse in a German community south of Brenham.
The tapping of the drum rim in the opening of the tune gave her the energy to almost red-line the little car before the guitar duo pushed the force of that musical power into the stratosphere and after that, overdrive.
She fed off the lyrics and the innuendo and the truth that Texas had it’s secrets, like all states, but THIS was legendary and worth honoring, not to mention that at this time in her life, likely there was not another song that could put that push of intent to get back, and the chord changes gave her the energetic overdrive to pass semi-trucks and trailers, weaving in and out of interstate traffic with the notes blaring through open windows.
Trucks honked joyously as she flew past, giving her a feeling of power like never before. ONLY Texas and Texans can understand the magic of that song and that band.
Maybe it all started with the Yellow Rose of Texas and that one German blonde’s heroic seduction of Santa Anna when he and his Mexican troops were idle after the battle of the Alamo; she was convinced by Sam Houston, the father of Texas, to seduce Santa Anna and she did.
History says that an interpreter gave Santa Ana a flowery speech about her feminine ‘talents’ and after a brief, but embarrassing, ’introduction,’ Texas troops swept in and forced his surrender. What history doesn’t dwell on is that Santa Anna was literally caught with his pants down.
Dovey chortled at the thought of that kind of power then, as now. Just, HOW women can help win any battle.
And, although Dovey was not THAT yellow rose and certainly not THOSE girls in LaGrange? Just knowing that the goddesses in women CAN make vital changes in this world, only made her feel more powerful behind that tiny wheel.
Then? As she powered on with confident intention, that is when, the blowout happened. Her right rear tire popped like a corn kernel and at that speed, she lost a bit of control, but downshifted and eased onto the right shoulder and into some tall grass and cactus as the smoke from the burning rubber made a stink and sent some clouds of smoke up through the wheel well. Z.Z. Top was still singing about ‘all the nice girls out there’ as she turned down the dial and pulled up the parking break, turning off the ignition. She took a deep breath. At least she was not in the desert.
One thing she did know how to do was change a tire, especially on a toy car like an MG, so she let the dust settle and pulled out her car manual to review the use of the small jack that came with the spare, then thanking her lucky stars AND her foresight to buy a new spare before the journey. She got out of the car.
First things first in Texas, check for snakes, fire ants and other hazards before making yourself at home. She found a large stick, moved through the grass, flattened parts of the tall weeds and then pulled out the jack. No sooner than she had raised the rear trunk of her car than a pick up truck pulled up behind her and a tall, cool drink of water stepped out and insisted on helping her.
Sure, this is how serial killers often find their prey, but sometimes a predator can also find their match, Dovey thought. She stayed vigilant, but receptive. She knew she had her machete.
The handsome man drove a new white truck. He wore expensive ostrich boots, he had a clean felt hat and he also wore a wedding ring.
Just as a cowboy would approach a wild mustang, he held his hand out as he took off his hat and said: MAM, YOU NEED SOME HELP AND I MEAN YOU NO HARM. I HAVE TWO DAUGHTERS OF MY OWN AND I MUST INSIST THAT YOU LET ME CHANGE THAT TIRE FOR YOU.
Dovey stood and looked straight at him, then shifted her focus to soften the lenses of her eyes and suddenly, she could see behind the kind man helping her stood INDIAN on his horse. INDIAN raised his hand as if to say IT’S OK. His horse shifted his feet, indicating that the two would stay there through the entire ordeal.
Dovey lifted her chin and thanked the kind man, then let him proceed to help as the random rural traffic passed by them.
In minutes the little tire was changed and the jack, the ruined spare and other tools were replaced in the trunk of her car.
When she asked how much she owed him, he said:
I WOULD ONLY HOPE THAT ANOTHER MAN WOULD DO THIS FOR MY DAUGHTERS, TOO. THE GOOD LORD WANTS US TO LOOK AFTER EACH OTHER IN THAT WAY, SO HOPEFULLY THIS GOOD DEED JUST GETS PASSED ON IN SOME WAY. MAYBE FROM YOU IT IS JUST A KIND WORD, BECAUSE THAT IN ITSELF IS A BLESSING.
And, with that, he tipped his hat, dusted off his boots and stepped back in his white Ford truck and pulled out onto the road. As he eased up past her, he shouted from the open passenger window: I NEVER ASKED WHERE YOU WERE GOING. DO YOU NEED DIRECTIONS?
Dovey replied: I AM HEADED TO A FAMILY CEMETERY AND I KNOW HOW TO GET THERE. THANK YOU.
The kind man nodded and rolled up the passenger window, then moved on ahead and disappeared into the distance like he had been a mirage.
She started the car and let it idle for a minute or so, reflecting on her response to his question. She had no clue why she said that to this man that she did not know, but what she DID know was that she WAS now headed to a family cemetery. She needed to be at her mother’s grave.
Onward, she told herself, as she stepped out her car and pulled the top down on the convertible.
You can make it there before dark, she told herself. You can find the willow tree at the edge of the ranch where your mother rests with the other family members and all the ancestors from so many decades before.
She lifted the parking brake, waited for an oncoming tractor to turn in front of her to get to a cotton field, then turned up the volume on the radio and put the peddle to the mettle.
She needed her mother. Even if she had never met her and she had been dead for so many years, she needed that connection. And, she needed to do that alone.
It would be the first time in her life that she was able to pay her respects at that grave. In person.
If she just had a yellow rose. That symbol that always reminded Dove that those ancestors that are stronger than we ever knew we could be. It is a Texan’s message of courage and honor.
It troubled her mind and it puzzled her that she could only know INDIAN and not the spirit her mother, but it was imperative that she honor her.
After all, as her mother gave Dovey her life, that act had cost her mother her life.
After hours on the road alone, she moved north of Abilene, just to the west fork of the headwaters of the Brazos River and up to the edge of the embarkment overlooking the ranch where she was raised.
To the east was the family cemetery, within sight of the headquarters, but far enough away to not be seen as she visited.
The sun was setting and she was alone. Hawks flew above. The cattle were moving towards water.
Dovey stopped her heated car to see the vision of the family tombstones.
To her left, a hairless cactus was blooming. The treasured yellow cactus flowers would have to do as an honoring blossom.
She reached behind the seat of her small car and took a grip on her machete, then raised high and whacked at a bloom that fell on the sandy red dirt.
Dovey picked the fragile yellow blossom up from the alluvial red sand and placed it on her mother’s gravestone.
It was the first time that they had officially met.
There, in the vast mesquite and desert willow meadow,
the actual bones of her mother that bore her were inches beneath her feet and she felt connected.
Finally.
Ahead, a Red Tail Hawk circled and sounded, then landed on the edge of a stone wall beside a windmill.
When Dovey paused, INDIAN and his horse moved forward beneath the windmill.
His horse moved forward without him, breathing hard and with a stern focus, INDIAN following behind. In a few moments, as Dovey stood by the grave, the paint horse raised it’s head and pawed at the ground, then stared into her eyes.
INDIAN walked from behind, hand on the horse’s rump, smoothing the left side of the animal and keeping a fierce eye on Dovey’s gaze.
Then, he paused for a long moment in time.
Finally, he said:
SHE LOVED YOU. SHE GRIEVES FOR YOU. AND SHE RIDES WITH ME. SHE GUIDES ME. WE BOTH RIDE WITH YOU. EVERYDAY. YOU ARE PROTECTED.
And, with that, at Dovey’s mother’s graveside, a male red cardinal in all of its crimson brilliance flew forward towards her and perched on the branch of a lower frond of a nearby mesquite tree.
It felt like her mother was actually there.
And, then INDIAN validated that by holding his right hand above his shoulder, turning his head to view a red male Cardinal as it landed on the tip top of his thumb.
Right after that magical moment, he turned his head towards Dovey, then nodded towards the bird, paused to wink, and lifted his hand as the bird flew up into the sky.
Do vey placed both hands over her face.
All of her spirit guides were with her and she could feel it.
And, she learned that not all angels have wings.
Some wear feathers.
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