Taming Frontiers

"This is oil country," said Andy, as we drove southeast toward Texas. Flat as a board, the ranch land around us stretched to the horizon in every direction. Here and there holding tanks dotted the land, and a few pumps churned steadily up and down, sucking the precious liquid from the bowels of the earth.
When we crossed the Texas state line, time changed to Central Standard. "We're only an hour from home now," I joked.
"Yeah, a long hour," Andy responded. "The difference is that it won't get dark here until after 6:00 p.m.
More oil wells popped up. Route #285 cut across the Permian Basin, one of the largest oil regions in the country.
"All the easy oil has been drilled out though," said Andy, "and no one lives here because the water is loaded with gypsum that clogs up all the pipes."
"Why do some pumps run and others don't?" I asked.
"The pump has an automatic shutoff until the nearby tank is full, unless it is attached to a pipeline," Andy explained. "An oil truck empties each small tank."
That was something I just never thought about before.
Here, the "throw away society" is evident. When something is obsolete, it is just left in ruin. For example, abandoned buildings line the main street and the surrounding area on the way into Pecos. The dilapidated shells of houses, restaurants and motels rot by the roadside. Useless eyesores. We saw mile after mile of abandoned buildings from the oil industry outside of town, and from all appearances no one made any effort to clean up the mess. "Every state has its problems, but I just can't believe that we can't do any better than this," said Andy. "It would take nothing to knock some of this down and clean up." We drove one exit on U.S. #10 to Texas #17 South. The posted speed limit was 80. "I guess that's why the couple we met hiking in Guadalupe Mountains could drive 150 miles one way for a day and back home," said Andy. "I don't think we've ever seen 80 posted." We didn't ask it of Little Red either.
The land changed as Route #17 passed between ranges of the Davis Mountains and the Barrillos Mountains at Wild Rose Pass, 4,589 feet. Outcroppings of black lava outlined cliff edges on the hilltops. The brown grassland intermingled with green mesquite clumps provided scenic ranch land. Longhorns grazed contentedly near watering holes until I approached the fence with my camera. Then they watched skeptically. One or two moved away in nervous agitation.
"There's definitely water, here," said Andy. "This part of Texas was touted as a retirement area. It's too hilly for prime cattle country, the climate is mild, water flows and it's pretty."
"I guess it hasn't caught on though," I said, "because I don't see much retirement."
"Not here anyway," he agreed.
We pulled in the parking lot at Fort Davis National Historic Site about 12:30 p.m. with time to browse in the museum and see the historical film. A key in the defense system of western Texas, Fort Davis troops stationed at the post in 1854 protected emigrants, freighters, mail coaches and travelers on the San Antonio-El Paso Road. The military post was established on the eastern side of the Davis Mountains, in a box canyon near Limpia Creek, where wood, water and grass were plentiful. Until 1861 troops of the Eighth Infantry pursued Comanches, Kiowas and especially Apaches who attacked travelers and mail stations. When the federal government evacuated Fort Davis in 1861, Confederate troops moved in; later Union soldiers took possession and then they too abandoned the far flung outpost. Reoccupied and expanded from 1867 to 1891, Fort Davis safeguarded the frontier of western Texas against Comanche and Apache raids.
As we explored the enlisted men's barracks, we heard Fatigue Call blare 1:00 p.m., the trumpet blasts for soldiers assigned to afternoon work detail. Foundations marked the guardhouse, chapel, regimental band barracks and signal house, but the renovated bakery and commissary contained historical displays. Trumpet soundings at 1:30 p.m. called school children back to the Post Chapel after dinner, the noon meal.
"Nature Trail," said Andy, reading the sign. "We'll go up the small section to that little viewpoint, so you can get a picture of the town."

"Is that to break in my new sneakers?" I teased. Yesterday at Walmart, he bought me a new pair of sneakers and tossed out both old pairs. A trail over cinders and lava was probably not the best way to break in new shoes.
At 1:50 p.m., the trumpet for Boots and Saddles sounded so cavalrymen at the fort put on their riding boots and saddled their horses.

"I think we took the wrong turn," said Andy. We had already circled the end of the lava flow and climbed, huffing and puffing, half way to the top. Drill Call sounded at 1:55 p.m. Then Assembly, at 2:00 p.m.
Out of sight of the drill field, we could hear the commands Company, right! Mount arms! A male voice barked orders over a loudspeaker.
"Do you think they act it out in the summer?" I asked Andy.

"Probably," he said, "with a full contingent of employees and lots of tourists."

Ready, Fire! came the command over the hill.
By the time we reached the top on the far side, the Parade Ground was empty and silent, and we commanded the promontory.
Officers' Row, partly reconstructed, displayed life at the fort for the elite in the 1880's. The Post Hospital nearby included a list of all those who had died while serving at Fort Davis, mostly young men in their 20's and 30's who caught dysentery or consumption. But the Post Hospital improved life by developing an ice machine, installing a telephone and inventing an ether inhaler to ease pain and a carbolic acid dispenser for disinfecting. The fort that was ordered closed in June of 1891 because it had "outlived its usefulness" in a military sense had actually contributed to society in surprising ways.