Teche Sketches: Sanctuary: part two

Published 9:00 am Sunday, July 12, 2020

In last month’s offering, I wrote about a quiet garden, a physical enclave in Jeanerette where I often go to purge myself of worries. In this current article I’d like to mention another special haven.

This one, though, is somewhat different: it exists in my mind.

It’s a psychological safe house that I summon whenever I need to find serenity. This mental refuge consists mostly of the mystique surrounding both the Old West and its modern descendant. That part of our country with its history of courage and optimism has always attracted me. More importantly, it’s shown me that individuals can indeed achieve an enviable self-reliance. That, to me, is very comforting.

Wallace Stegner, a writer, emphasized, “One cannot be pessimistic about the West. This is the native home of hope.”

Whenever I feel distressed, I think about this part of America and a state of calm always results. Western films, novels, souvenirs, and recollections of my own travels there bring this consolation to me for as long as I need it.

Some time ago, I gave away to a relative several mementoes from my Western collection. Fortunately, I kept a few items, which I’m now dusting off and restoring. These include some vintage spurs and two pairs of stirrups.

The first set of stirrups is made of wood and the second pair is brass. I acquired all of them at a flea market in San Marcos, Texas, years ago. My idea is to use varnish on the wooden ones and Brasso on the metal pair. After some research, I feel that those made of brass might have been used by the U.S. Cavalry.

The spurs, purchased in San Antonio, have a slender shank etched with delicate lines and possess large rowels (star-like spokes). They’re likely Mexican in origin. I’m hoping that some baking soda will remove the rust.

As I began cleaning the spurs, I recalled my last trip to southwest Texas four years ago to visit an old friend. A ranch owner, L.B. was eager to show me his property … on horseback. We also agreed to spend the night outdoors. He then sent his foreman, “Chano,” ahead to set up camp and prepare supper. The site chosen was called “Soledad,” Spanish for “solitude.”

The narrow trail, once wider, still whispered of both toil and triumph. After riding for most of the afternoon, we arrived at the place, which was a clearing flanked by a grove and a creek. Simmering on the fire were iron skillets containing rabbit stew and pinto beans with fatback. Chano’s homemade tamales were an extra treat.

We conversed quietly reluctant — perhaps subconsciously — of disturbing the magic of Soledad.

And when day began turning to dusk, the waning light bestowed a final blessing of contentment and camaraderie on us. That night, snug in my sleeping bag, I gazed up at a zillion smiling stars and thanked God for having created that immense glorious tapestry.

These memories, then, together with my Western souvenirs often transport me to my inner retreat. After all, author Louis L’Amour wasn’t joking when he stated, “There’s a little cowboy in all of us…”

O.J. GONZALEZ is a native and resident of Jeanerette. He graduated from USL in printmaking and photography and his photographs have appeared in publications in Louisiana, Alaska, Canada, New Zealand and England.