Visiting My Ancestry - Tom and Buena Davis, Part 4

1971 - Davis Ranch, Sonora Texas

I was six years old and it was shearing day.   A large part of our annual income depended on the sale of wool and mohair, but I didn’t know or care about that part of it. My only thought was to get down to the pens as soon as mom would turn me loose when I heard that ancient pickup rattle up the road at daybreak carrying its crew of four or five Hispanic men.  Dad would meet the truck at the driver’s side window, briefly conferring with the Work Foreman as the shearers spilled out of the cab and bed.  After looking over the pens of bleating animals they plugged in their clippers and got to work. 

The men were fast; sorting, positioning and shearing the animals in a matter of minutes. They worked in the shearing shed, which consisted of a roof and two side walls over a large concrete slab that provided a clean surface for the sheep or goat to be placed on.  One man held the animal on its side as another operated the clippers, using long, smooth stokes to separate the fleece from the thin skin. I was fascinated by the way the lengths of wool or hair would pile up neatly around the animal in fluffy bunches.

Small cuts were a frequent occurrence, but were treated with a greasy salve of some kind which stopped the bleeding almost immediately.  Rarely was a wound life- threatening, but screwworms were a concern so a watchful eye was kept on the animal for a few days in case an infestation or infection occurred. 

A herd of Spanish goats, which are a hardy breed, able to survive and thrive in the prickly and rocky terrain of West Texas, also roamed the ranch. Their short coats were not shorn; instead, their value lay in the market price of their meat.  Cabrito - the roasted meat of a young goat - was a regular staple for meals at the ranch, along with beans and bread, pickles and potatoes. In fact, the table fare of my childhood at the ranch hadn’t changed much from the meals described by Papa, over sixty years before I came along, in his letters to a young Buena Davis.

The animals were part of the cycle of life. We welcomed the babies with the awe and respect due new life, and yet when the time came, they were sold or slaughtered to sustain the ranchers who had raised them. Some though, managed to evade the system.Papa Davis had raised a few bottle babies  - goat kids not accepted by their mother for one reason or another - and a couple of them became pesky pets, trotting after any human who passed by and bleating pitifully in the hope that a few kernels of corn would be tossed their way. When I was barely walking and talking, I took a shine to a gentle floppy eared nanny that I dubbed the “Spinach Goat”.  Papa would bring her into the screened in porch that connected the old part of the ranch house to the new, and there I would be placed atop her back for a ride, as Papa led her by the horns in large circles around the room. The goat was old and the rides were brief and my memories of it live only in a yellowing Kodak snapshot and the stories my parents told me, but thinking about it always brings a smile to my face.

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Transcript

Hi Y’all and welcome to 2025! I took a brief hiatus from podcasting over the holidays , but I’m back now and we are about to embark on Season 2 , Episode 7 of A Texas Girl Talks!  

I’ve got some amazing interviews in the works and in the meantime, let’s go back in time to 1971, when I, my family and Mama Davis still lived on the ranch in Sonora. 

Then we will travel back even further to the year 1919 and visit Tom Davis and Buena Hoggett as their friendship grows into the anticipation of a marriage proposal. 

1971 - Davis Ranch, Sonora Texas

I was six years old and it was shearing day.   A large part of our annual income depended on the sale of wool and mohair, but I didn’t know or care about that part of it. My only thought was to get down to the pens as soon as mom would turn me loose when I heard that ancient pickup rattle up the road at daybreak carrying its crew of four or five Hispanic men.  Dad would meet the truck at the driver’s side window, briefly conferring with the Work Foreman as the shearers spilled out of the cab and bed.  After looking over the pens of bleating animals they plugged in their clippers and got to work. 

The men were fast; sorting, positioning and shearing the animals in a matter of minutes. They worked in the shearing shed, which consisted of a roof and two side walls over a large concrete slab that provided a clean surface for the sheep or goat to be placed on.  One man held the animal on its side as another operated the clippers, using long, smooth stokes to separate the fleece from the thin skin. I was fascinated by the way the lengths of wool or hair would pile up neatly around the animal in fluffy bunches.

Small cuts were a frequent occurrence, but were treated with a greasy salve of some kind which stopped the bleeding almost immediately.  Rarely was a wound life- threatening, but screwworms were a concern so a watchful eye was kept on the animal for a few days in case an infestation or infection occurred. 

Sheep and goats were shorn at separate times throughout the year. The herd of  Angora Goats required bi-annual shearing, while the sheep were typically shorn only once a year.  In 1970, wool was selling for around 38 cents a pound, while mohair was bringing an average of 58 cents. That value would convert to about $4.75 per pound today. 

Long burlap Wool Bags were hung from the wool sacker frame the day before the shearing began. Each sack held about 250 pounds of wool or about 400 pounds of Mohair. A rancher would stand to make ninety-five dollars per sack of wool and two hundred and thirty two dollars for a sack of mohair. Since the goats were shorn bi-annually, it seems that they would be the better investment. 

A herd of Spanish goats, which are a hardy breed, able to survive and thrive in the prickly and rocky terrain of West Texas, also roamed the ranch. Their short coats were not shorn; instead, their value lay in the market price of their meat.  Cabrito - the roasted meat of a young goat - was a regular staple for meals at the ranch, along with beans and bread, pickles and potatoes. In fact, the table fare of my childhood at the ranch hadn’t changed much from the meals described by Papa, over sixty years before I came along, in his letters to a young Buena Davis.

The animals were part of the cycle of life. We welcomed the babies with the awe and respect due new life, and yet when the time came, they were sold or slaughtered to sustain the ranchers who had raised them. Some though, managed to evade the system.Papa Davis had raised a few bottle babies  - goat kids not accepted by their mother for one reason or another - and a couple of them became pesky pets, trotting after any human who passed by and bleating pitifully in the hope that a few kernels of corn would be tossed their way. When I was barely walking and talking, I took a shine to a gentle floppy eared nanny that I dubbed the “Spinach Goat”, since I couldn't say "Spanish goat".  Papa would bring her into the screened in porch that connected the old part of the ranch house to the new, and there I would be placed atop her back for a ride, as Papa led her by the horns in large circles around the room. The goat was old and the rides were brief and my memories of it live only in yellowing Kodak snapshots and the stories my parents told me, but thinking about it always brings a smile to my face.

The ranch was a place that seemed to sidestep the passage of time. Every season came round with its specific routines and responsibilities and every person had their appointed duties. I never considered that any one in my family might long for a different role in life. Or that most of the world lived very differently than we did. When Mom would tell me to eat my food because there were starving children in China, I imagined those children’s missing meals to look a lot like the meat, beans and greens on my plate. In my mind, our way of life was the good and right way. A life where grandmothers cooked and canned, mothers cleaned and looked after the babies and Daddies taught school and took care of things around the ranch. Grandfather’s spent their final years doting on their granddaughters. In those early years, my world was small and safe and predictable while at the same time the passing days were like pages in a coloring book where my imagination applied pigments and shading to paint a picture filled with adventure and framed by security.

It took many years for me to accept that there were valid reasons behind my parent’s decision to sell the ranch. Sometimes a relationship has to take priority over an obligation. Daddy tried to make a go of the ranch because it was his parent’s dream for him. Mama tried to make a go of living in rural isolation when that was never her dream. In the end, they chose to commit to their marriage above all else, even the pleadings of a six year old girl who as attached to the ranch as if the land itself had birthed her.  Maybe that’s why Papa loved me so much. My heart, like his, beat in time to the rhythm of the squeaky old windmill as it turned to catch the west Texas breezes. 

I remember the chorus of crickets that rose in volume as the sun went down and sang me to sleep through the open window as I lay in the top bunkbed and the rooster crowing as morning dawned and a sleepy anticipation of breakfast. 

There was nothing to distract me from the purity of a new day. No video games or social media. I was far removed from marketing pressure, influencers and world news. I kinda think my grandparents would be horrified at what children are exposed to today. When I compare the simplicity of my life then to the complex world I inhabit now, I think that if we are not very careful, we will become so detached from creation that we will trade our God-ordained connection with the earth for some alternate reality that is not real at all. When all the noise around me becomes too much, I pick up the pile of letters tied with a faded pink ribbon and take a trip to Sonora Texas in 1919.

April 23, 1919

Miss Buena Hoggett

Junction, TX

Sunday Night

Dear Little Girl,

Hope you have have had a lovely day. I have enjoyed it a little but would have much more had I been with you.

Buena, that was a sweet letter I got from you Friday. Write that kind all the time, please.

Bird and I started to go to Ozona this evening but did not get to town in time to leave with the crowd. So just stayed at town. Four of us went to Felton Cave this evening. Five or six carloads of kids are at Ozona. 

Think now that Bird and I will be down next Saturday evening. And we are expecting you and Mary to come back with us to spend as long a time as you all can. Then we will take you all back. “See”?  Now don’t say you can’t but come and spend a couple of weeks and see how you like it. What says you? “Yes”, I hope! Remember the night of the 23rd when you said “yes”? I do, never will forget it!

Am sending you a few photos. Write often to your Tommie.

April 25, 1919

Miss Buena Hoggett

Dear Little Sweetheart,

We arrived home at twelve-thirty all okay. Everything was all right. Bird and I rode this evening, got up fourteen goat kids. Found one dead but just one little kid can’t worry me.

We have just got back from Haynie’s. Took him some milk and eggs up after supper. He asked all about you and I told him you were just as I had expected to find you. He is worrying because he can’t get married. Poor kid.

I am glad we ran by to see you all before leaving. I hadn’t go home before I wanted to start back. Honest Little Girl, I have been thinking of you all evening long! I know now that I was never nearer Heaven in my life than I was last night. I would love to see you for just a while tonight. Why couldn’t you persuade your Dad to buy out one of our neighbors and then him hire me for his foreman and send you along to boss the job? I’ll bet I would get fired in about ten minutes. What says you?

Am sending you a clip of our Angelo parade. Write soon and be good.

Tom

P.s. After you read this piece you can’t say that I wasn’t in a battle, for I was one of the main guys.

May 5, 1919

Buena Hoggett

Junction, Texas

My Dear Little Girl,

Have just finished reading your nice letter. Guess you were disappointed when you did not get a letter from me yesterday.

Well, the draws were all up and we could not get to town. Believe me, we had some water here Tuesday. And some fences down Wednesday.

Papa and Bird were in Angelo. So Hayie came down and helped me put the fences up. That is, part of them. May finish all tomorrow. As Papa and Bird are back now.

We marked up one hundred and twenty five goat kids this evening. They sure are pretty. We had a fine rain all over the county. Sure was a help! Bird and I will probably be in Junction Saturday about seven o’clock. Miss Holland is coming with us. Will have to come home Sunday evening. I am sure I will have a better time this coming Sunday than I did the last. And hope you will!

I'm sorry the girls cannot come back with us but it may be best was we will be over the rushing in three more weeks. We will be very busy for a couple of weeks with the fields and shearing. 

Yes, you ought to help your mother. I think it is sweet of you to want to help her. Most girls would try to get out of it. But you are my pick of the world anyway, Little Girl!

Will close hoping to be with you Saturday night and part of Sunday.

Yours,

Tom

P.s. Don’t know whether Nell will come with us or not.

May 7, 1919

Miss Buena Hoggett

Junction, TX

Dear Buena,

I wrote you a letter last night but from the looks of the weather, you may not get it for some time.

It rained most all night last night, also some hail. The draws got up again. Guess the fences that we put up yesterday will have to be put up again rom the looks of the water now.

I rode this morning until the rain ran me in. It’s coming down some now! The clouds looked this morning as if you all were also getting your share of it. I found one kid and three lambs drowned that go caught in the draw. Thankful that’s all we lost. And by the way, while I was riding this morning I saw a jackrabbit, the one we were hunting for the other day.  If it’s half as muddy there as it is here, you all can’t do much moving today. The mud’s knee deep to a camel here, provided the camel stepped in a boggy place.

Nell spent the night with the Adams girl - Willie’s sister. They killed the car engine the draw this morning and had to leave the car and wade out. Here’s hoping the draw won’t get high enough to wash the car off! Well, maybe they needed their feet washed anyway.

I hope my Little Girl did not have to wade. If she ever does, I hope I’ll be there to carry her out. And if I do, I would make her put both arms around my neck! But you are true-blue. I don’t think anyone could make you do a thing that you did not want to do.

Do you remember the water hole down by the old tree where you missed the shot an inch and a half? I do. 

Wish I could get a letter from you but don’t think the mail can come in for several days. But hope it does!

Winnie and the kids came over to San Angelo and as it was too muddy for us to go after them, they went back to Ballinger to stay until it got dry. Guess she will stay a week or more now. If you all had stayed over until today, you would have had to stay a few more days. And if it wasn’t for you holding an important job, I would have liked for you all to have stayed.

I am sure that we will make a fine crop of wheat in the field this year. Today is a regular winter day. Wish you were here to help me enjoy it, don’t you?

Well, as I have run out of news, I'll stop now and finish tomorrow as we cannot get to town before then to mail it. And maybe not then. So be sweet and don’t get just a wee bit angry if you don’t get a letter for a week. For we can’t help what The Lord does. I am sure I could not do half as well as He does if I was in His place. But I know you will be sweet kid, for you are your mother’s sweet child. Don’t you think? I will finish this later.

Thursday noon,

Well, now I will finish the letter that I started yesterday. Today is very different from yesterday. This time yesterday it was raining pitchforks and hailing streetcars! Today, the sun is shining and everything looks beautiful. Oh yes, I heard a little bird singing this morning. He was saying “she gone, she gone”. Do you remember what the little bird was saying the other morning when you were fixing the bouquet of flowers?

Do you ever hear the little birds singing? These crazy birds of mine are hanging around trying to get me bumfuzzled.

Haynie is telling Mama about the time we were down at the encampment and the time I took you driving and you sat over in one corner of the seat and tried to push the back of the seat out. Do you remember?

Papa went to Eldorado to conference this morning with Brother Dunn. Haynie and I are going to mark up a bunch of lambs this evening. Wish you were here to help me round them up. 

Bird is a little sick today. Mam is doping him on medicine. Hoping to get a long letter from you Friday. I remain yours.

Tom

Tuesday night,

Miss Buena Hoggett

Junction, Texas

My Dear Girlie,

I hope you are resting easy at home now after your long travel through the mud. Mrs. Cope told Mama that you all rang her from Adams at two-thirty. I hope that Miss Gardner did not kill her engine in the river and make you get out and crank for her! Or push the Ford out of the mud!

Did you miss the rabbit hunt this evening? Or the Horehound pulled this morning? I did and I also miss you. It seems like a dark night after a bright day. And old Tig does not seem as cheerful today as he was yesterday.

We all worked on the fences today. Got two of the largest gaps up. I passed by the old tree and I made my horse walk at attention and saluted the old tree. Now it holds sweet memories for me.

Don’t work too hard tomorrow while you are straightening up the house. I would love to see you for just ten minutes (that is if I could not any longer) and be near Heaven once more.

I hear your little puppy barking for you to come to him. I know that’s what he wants for he just keeps on barking. Well, will close hoping to get a long sweet letter from my sweetheart tomorrow saying you arrived home okay.

Tommie

May 6, 1919

Well, how is my little sweetheart tonight? Fine and dandy, I hope.

I got your two letters yesterday evening. Bird brought them out from town and stopped at the field where I was plowing the corn and gave them to me. And if ever I do need a good letter, it is while I am working in the field. That kind of work gets on my nerves! So you know I enjoyed every line of them.

We boys are here alone tonight as Papa and Mama went up to Haynes’s this evening to set out some tomatoes. If you will come up with me some time I am down there, we will call on Haynie and see what kind of a cook he makes. He’s says he always tries everything he cooks out on the dog and if it don’t hurt him, he eats it.

I was going up there tomorrow and plant for him while he went to Eldorado. But the Mertzon boys just phoned over that they were coming to play Sonora ball tomorrow evening. So I won’t go up there until another day. I like to go and holler for our boys even if I can’t play.

Well, I would love to hold my little sweetheart in my arms for a few minutes tonight. It would be a happy few minutes, I can tell you.

Birdwell is going to Angelo tomorrow evening in the truck. If everything sets pretty until Saturday evening I think Bird and I will be there Sunday morning. Don’t think we will leave Sonora before six or seven o’clock so if we don’t we won’t get into Junction until late Saturday night. So don’t look for us until Sunday morn.

I’ll try and be there in time to take you to Sunday School. I like those little girls of yours And I also like or love the little girls’ teacher!

Can’t say as how it will be about being at the picnic. You know I was teasing the kids when I told you all I was coming. But maybe things will be so I can come. Our hombre quit work Saturday to go to town and hasn’t got back yet.

I got spilled today. Tom Tiger, Haynie’s big gray, put one by me today. I was riding in the trap looking at the sheep when I spied a piece of horehound that we evidently overlooked that good Monday. So I got off and pulled it up. So when I went to get up again I let the reins slacken and Tiger just took a couple of jumps before I got in the saddle and the ground flew up and hit me. But it didn’t hurt. I’ll bet you would have laughed at me if you had been there. You know the old saying is that “a good rider often gets throwed”. 

I took a nice swim in the rock tank this evening. It’s over my head.

Oh yes, by the way, Bertha has a beau from Angelo here. He has been here a week; some guy!  I’ll bet old Tig wouldn’t run him. I wish you could see Bertha twist as they go up the street. I hope to see you Sunday.

Your Tommie

May 8, 1919

My Dear Buena, 

I would love to see you now and to know just what you are doing. Hope you had a lovely day and that your eyes didn’t hurt you any.

Sweetheart, I have thought of you often today. And of the sweet things that you said to me while I as with you. One thing especially, while we were out at the dam. After we had eaten a lovely, well-prepared supper, we were sitting near the dam and I was holding you in my arms and told you that I though I would eat you up. And you said, “I always wish you would!” I don’t know, Sweetheart, but just the sweet tone you said it in…and you looked so sweet to me, too. I have thought of it a hundred times today. I think those were the sweetest words I ever heard you say. Buena, I am fond of you!

Winnie and the kids are out yesterday and went back this evening. I had some fun out of the kid. When I came in to dinner he was out in the yard playing with little Tige. So I caught them both and bumped their heads together to see a fight. I growled like a dog and little Tige thought it was the kid so he bit him on the arm. I guess you know the rest. The kid bawled and here came Winnie. My, but she was mad! I believe yet if she had have let them alone the dog would have been whipped. 

Tonight when I came in from the field, my cousin and his wife from Los Fresnos were here. I did not see her until I walked in the door. And when I did see her it was too late. She made a football leap and got me around the neck. And my, talk about squeezing! I know I hear two of my ribs give way. She is just a little tot, too. Don’t weigh but one hundred seventy-five pounds!

Don’t know jut how long they will be here but they are fine people. I got a goat up to kill in the morning. Think Papa is going to feed them on goat so they can fit in.

I think Warren and Driskell like Junction fine. They both want to come back soon. So they say.

This is a pretty. Night but nothing like Saturday night was. Wish I could have that night over again or another one just like it. Don’t you?

We stopped by and talked to Bodie about thirty minutes. I have not seen Willie and his bride yet. Mama saw them at church Sunday night. All the folks except Bird and myself are up at Haynie’s. 

Well Sweetheart, I don’t know any news only that I love you! So will close.

Your Tommie Boy

P.s. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you that yesterday Noah Square (brother to the Square girl in your class - 1917) had a row with a Mexican and the Mexican ran him off the ranch with a long Denick knife. He phoned town and Tom Adams (Willie’s father) went down and arrested the Mexican. Noah helped Adams. They caught him in his wagon and he tried to fight but could not. He had a Denick in his belt and a pistol, a target and a Winchester in his wagon. I would say he was prepared for battle, wouldn’t you? They have him in jail for “attempt to murder”.

Guess you saw where our troops had entered Mexico. I am ready if they need me.

Tom

One of the things I love about reading these letters are the way they capture the events that were my grandparent’s present but our history. I have the records of how these affairs unfolded at my fingertips.  

According to Wikipedia, “US troops entered Mexico in 1919 primarily to pursue and capture Pancho Villa, a Mexican revolutionary leader, who had raided the American town of Columbus, New Mexico in 1916, prompting a “Punitive Expedition” led by General John J. Pershing to track him down within Mexican territory. Although the troops never successfully captured Villa, their presence in Mexico continued for a period after the raid due to ongoing tensions on the border.”

Screwworms are the larvae of several North and South American blow fly species, so called because of the screwlike appearance of the body, which is ringed with small spines. These larvae attack livestock and other animals including humans. They develop in decaying flesh in surface wounds of domestic animals and may attack living tissue as well. Each female deposits about 200 to 400 eggs near an open wound. The larvae burrow into the tissue, drop to the ground when mature, and pupate before emerging as adults. Severe infestations may lead to the death of the affected animal.

The Screwworm was declared eradicated from the United States in 1966. The USDA used the sterile insect technique to eradicate the screwworm. This involved releasing sterile flies to compete with the wild population.

However, using the term “eradicated” was problematic. Re-invasions wold happen all the time. In the 1970’s, screwworms would continue to be an ongoing issue, though not at the scale it was previously. 

As Tom and Buena moved through the romance of their courtship, they could not have known that theirs would become a love tested and tempered in the white-hot pain of loss and disappointment. That screwworms, washed out fences and thwarted travel plans would not be the worst of it. 

 As I read and type out the record of their hopes and plans, I wish there was a way I could travel back in time and change the plot slightly. To make the road they would walk a little straighter, a little gentler. 

Maybe though, these accounts of innocent anticipation, read in light of the knowledge of what came later and my personal remembrance of their devotion to one another in their elderly years, were placed in my hands at just the right time.  A true story to inspire and encourage and show me that investing in a relationship when things get difficult can bring a beautiful and fruitful return. Although I never had the opportunity to tell them so, their legacy has largely shaped the person I am today; their history has immunized me from many of the numbing distractions the modern world offers up on a silver platter.

Thank you, but I’ll take the hard road and skip the shortcuts.  I think it’ll come closer to getting me where I want to go.