Merry Adventures

As I write this, my sister, my mom, and my nephew are gazing up at the Statue of Liberty. No, seriously. Right this second. THE Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. It's ironic somehow that they are there and I am here writing about this...

We had a great Memorial Day! One particular creek about 20 miles from our house still has a respectable amount of water in it, and there is our favorite place to put our kayaks in the water.

Here are my boys ready to drive their boats a few miles. Aren't they cute? Like little warriors ready to do battle. They do have to be reminded that their oars are not light sabers. They are decidedly adept at maneuvering and took to kayaking like, well, like ducks to water.

Down the county road from this low-water crossing where we put the 'yaks in is a small, country cemetery -- a cemetery I never had occassion to visit until Monday when, after rowing for a few hours, I asked Metro Jethro if we could see where the road went.

It went here...

Metro and I have always liked cemeteries. We've checked out lots of them in our 15 years together, some with family members in them and some without. Somehow cemeteries are reminders of what could have been -- and motivation to seize that same possibility and cherish it.

The boys, Metro, and I stomped through the whole place -- a quiet place situated on a peaceful hill. It was also a heartbreaking place; the number of children buried here is roughly equal to the number of adults.

This stone was the oldest marker we found. It belongs to Ellar Stonehouse who lived 8 days in 1882. At the bottom, it read, "Budded on Earth, to Bloom in Heaven." Poetic. Crushing. Hope and optimism in the midst of amazing pain. The headstone of the parents who chose these words were to the right of Ellar's, as was the stone of her brother who died at age 12.

We also took time to take special notice of the veterans buried at Sherwood.

Note the close-up. Grass in May in our drough-stricken land isn't pretty.

Then, Metro found the markers for the grandparents and uncle of a friend I have known my entire life. West Texas is indeed a very small place sometimes. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

After paying our respects, we followed the road past the Cemetery to the very small burg of Sherwood, pop. 72.

Several towns in our area are named after a few of the classics... Tennyson, Bronte, and even Eden. So, when the town of Sherwood was ever mentioned, I always assumed that Robin Hood, Maid Marian, and a band of merry men were involved. In truth, it was just named after some guy named Sherwood.

My boys pose on the porch of the old Sherwood Courthouse, built in 1901 when the locals were sure Sherwood would become the central locale for all things Irion County. The railroad, however, thought differently, and the county seat was moved in 1939. Since then, this building has been used for community events.

Check out the rocks the building is made of. They are local to the area. If there is one thing in West Texas you can depend on having, it's good rocks.

The clock at the top of the building is false. It perpetually reads 8:17. Legend has it that Lincoln died at exactly that time.

In truth, he died at 7:22 a.m. Maybe someone converted Eastern to Central time incorrectly, or maybe they just had the wrong time. Regardless, I like the legend. I hope it's true.

I like it the same way I like the story that Lincoln, at the first formal affair after Robert E. Lee surrendered, asked the band to play the song, "Dixie." I like that. True or not, I like it.

So our tour of Sherwood was quick and complete. We headed home hot and dusty -- and with a tiny but fascinating piece of local history stuffed in our family pocket.