59 degrees    

Before we departed from home this morning, I was outside in the pre-dawn darkness, savoring the crisp 59-degree air, made all the more delicious with the knowledge that our day’s destination will drop us into some June-hot temps with humidity higher than any we’ve experienced for quite a while.

Yes, we are on the road once again with specific plans, but I think I will let each day or so speak for itself rather than trying to do an overall explanation.

In the meantime, as we traverse the asphalt ribbon winding over the high plains of northern Arizona, our thoughts continue to be consumed with Darren, our boy who was killed by shocking neglect in a mis-named facility supposedly serving helpless vulnerable individuals in a nursing capacity, but that is in actuality only warehousing people in beds lined up in rooms along hallways.

I invite you to join me on this journey that is literally taking us across the landscape while simultaneously being an emotional roller coaster as we grieve.  Darren’s joie de vivre was irrepressible despite many obstacles along his way; I sincerely hope that I can honor him by reviving my own joy of life.

Reluctant Texas . . .

2020 - I approached that year with great anticipation.  After all, the number designation was auspicious: surely such a clear-seeing moniker boded great and awesome things.  With that in mind, I set about planning a long-deferred Texas excursion.  We would deliver an artifact to the Texas Ranger Museum (more later) and wander on down to the Gulf coast for exploration and birding,  Arrangements set, appointment made in March and bam!, covid 19 tossed a monkey wrench into the works.

So now - 2021 - one small aspect of that bolloxed sojourn is set in motion; we have embarked on an 11-hour driving day to arrive in Littlefield, Texas, this evening, where we will visit with friends Janice & Cotton.  Here I will hearken back to how we became acquainted with those fine folks,

Our family history research revealed that my great grandmother Julia (Winans) Kelley and her mother Mattie (Owen) Winans both lived there, so when we had the opportunity to drive through, we stopped at the cemetery to look for their graves.  Dad was with us that trip and we were on a kamikaze Christmas break sojourn - a 22-hour rush for home.  Running out of daylight, we spread out and jogged up and down rows and rows of graves searching for them.  Mattie was buried back in Barksdale beside her husband, but we found Julia resting alongside her son, Archie, and siblings Doc and Dovie.  Honoring them by leaving flowers, we headed home.

Now unsure just what intentions were in my head when I arrived home, I wrote a letter explaining who I was that was published in the Littlefield newspaper, and was rewarded with responses from Janice and her sister, who possessed and sent to me Julia’s Bible.  They and their father before them had held it waiting for a Kelley descendant to show up.  And I heard from a woman who also knew Mattie and told me what she remembered of my Littlefield family.  I've been forever grateful.

How remarkable and fortunate to have found these dear people who morphed into friends of the finest ilk.  That shortened version of events is what has led us to be looking forward with happy anticipation to this visit.

Smoke, too short . . .

It was notable as when we were still in Arizona that there was heavy smoke in the Joseph City area.  Sara looked up for us that a fire was active in the salt cedars down in the Little Colorado River canyon.  As we moved into New Mexico and as far as Albuquerque, there was still generalized but continuing heavy smoke, said to be moving eastward from the awful Telegraph and Mescal conflagrations ripping through central Arizona.  

Just over eleven hours after leaving home, we pulled into Janice & Cotton’s driveway in Littlefield and were greeted warmly by those dear friends.  Lots of catching up and visiting over supper and during our overnight hiatus.

Cotton drove us to the “old” cemetery where we placed flowers for my great grandmother, Julius (Winans) Kelley, her brother, Doc Winans, her sister, Dovie Harper, and her son, Archie Kelley.  Their graves are alongside each other in a plot fronted by a concrete bumper with a “K” in the center.

It was a sad leave-taking in the morning, but with gratitude for those dear people who joined us so serendipitously on our journey through life.  

Not really intending to do it, but I couldn't leave without once again returning to my great grandmother's now-forlorn house where she lived in 1926.  Our belief, based on unfinished research, is that she and her husband, Frank Kelley, purchased the place with the intention of relocating there from their ranch in the Hill Country.  He died before the move and Julia went there on her own.

Learning, flowers . . .

We left behind the proverbial pancake-like topography as we traveled and began to see canyons carved by the Brazos River and its tributaries, which added some interest to the landscape.  It’s amazing how much a person can learn by paying attention to roadside signs and asking Mr. Google to supply details.  A place designation of Ransom Canyon caught our attention and led to learning about Yellowhouse Canyon, which was a historic route used for millennia as access to and from the Llano Estacado - Staked Plains - a vast steep-sided flat-topped landform.


There were other places of interest along the way; however, we were intending to meet up with kin at day's end, so we either gave them short shrift or I am not up to writing about them.  It's just that simple.

We did embark on one side-road explore seeking a spring in a canyon bottom.  As is all too common in Texas, our way was blocked by a locked gate.  One thing was denied us, but another was given in the form of a symphony of wildflowers.  I had been disappointed to miss the bluebells bloom; this was the consolation prize, and no, I did not troop out into that brushy thorny countryside despite the great urge to do so: previous run-ins with chiggers taught me an itchy lesson.

 Hey Pancho, hey Cisco . . .

Perhaps I am the only living person who remembers a television program called The Cisco Kid, or perhaps it existed only in my memory, but it certainly sprang to mind when we came upon the impressive Williamson Dam that impounds Cisco Lake.  That warranted a stop and a look around, bringing us to the derelict and defunct Cisco Country Club and a large body of water overfull from recent rains (yes, Virginia, it does rain in some places, just not Prescott, Arizona).

 

A duo of ducks hastened to us, evidently in anticipation of a handout.

Although we were mostly on the road for two days, we did manage to identify some avian life.  When we were stopped to admire the dam, I got out the binoculars (from Jay's Bird Barn, of course) to peer overhead at the vultures circling.  It was fun to see that not only were there turkey vultures, but also black vultures and Mississippi kites in the mix.

Others we've spotted along the way includ Canada goose, house finch, summer tanager, northern mockingbird, mourning dove, collared dove, rock dove, great-tailed grackle, raven, house sparrow, and our first-of-the-trip scissor-tailed flycatchers - one of my favorites.

Kin . . .

I am greatly disappointed that I forgot to get photos of our meet-up with cousins Margie & John.  They were the reason we chose Hico for our overnight before Waco.  We very much enjoyed visiting with them over supper and later, but in my current state of not-quite-hereness, I did not remember to get a photo until it was too late.  Hopefully we can get together again soon.

Darren

I am writing about the most horrific event of my life.  It is so huge that part of me doesn’t want to write it at all; however, our lives have changed today and it can’t go untold.

Our oldest boy, my first-born, Darren passed today from his earthly life to continue his adventures in another realm.  

To begin at the beginning of his leaving: he was injured in a fall last June while working on a roof and sustained a severe spinal cord injury.  Numerous surgeries and hospitalizations later, he was left in a quadriplegic condition, necessitating nursing home care.

The nursing home failed in his care; unbeknownst to us and to him because he had no feeling below his chest, his body was riddled with untreated very deep pressure wounds that became infected.  The infection went systemic and Darren was hospitalized with septic shock.  He underwent two surgeries in three days, but his condition continued to worsen.  We asked to have life support removed to end his suffering.  We were able to talk to him via telephone throughout the process, which was short, and assured him of our love that survives always.

That’s the really awful part, but I want to close with something about who Darren was and how very much he was cherished.  For the past months, Chris & I have talked to him on the phone every evening - conversations that were by and large enjoyable, sometimes not so much when he needed to talk about his pain and challenges that were many.

Mostly, though, he wanted to hear about what we were doing, and often expressed the wish that he could be here to help us.  His droll sense of humor sometimes caught me unawares; he loved to make me laugh, which he did often.

Our talks ranged over many subjects.  He liked to discuss literature and talk about his favorite authors, or to recommend movies and television programs to us, and we reciprocated.  He and Chris discussed in great detail various building and handyman projects.  Darren was a master carpenter; he took great pride in insuring that every job he did was done with pride and precision.  He had never considered any career besides building; it was his passion.

When he was not working, he loved to be outdoors exploring.  The three of us spent many a great time trooping through southern back woods just to see what we could see.  He was fascinated with just about everything - from knee trees to history to engineering to UFOs.

He read voraciously and always had an opinion on everything.  If you didn’t agree with his opinion, clearly you were wrong.

Darren was a sensitive soul and as generous as the day is long.  He always noticed where he could lend a hand and never failed to jump right in to help, no matter what the need.  He abhorred injustice and always wanted to right a wrong.  

Although he had many challenges and struggles in his life, he never lost his kind and giving heart.  His sensitivity caused him to be hurt many times, but he was forgiving.  His playful manner gave us many opportunities to be carried along on his waves of enthusiasm, a joy that was never dampened - not by torrential rain, heat & humidity high enough to fell an elephant, hordes of mosquitoes so thick you could cut it with a knife, or jungle spiders the size of dinner plates.  It was all an adventure of great proportions.  We never knew if we would see a manatee, a muskrat, an alligator, a turtle, a small flower or a hidden gravestone.  Maybe none of those and nothing of particular note: the joy was in the journey.

Even as a youngster, Darren was fascinated with the world around him.  He loved museums, ghost towns, his family, animals - domestic and otherwise, word games (but he didn’t like losing), older people, hated onions more than anything in the world, loved to grow things and always had a garden, and he doted on his dog, Sammy, and his cat Clementine that he paid 50¢ to rescue from neglect as a kitten when he was a youngster.  He saved a nest of baby birds that a snake was after, and used his ball cap to resettle them.  He knew he could solve the problems of the world and did his best to do just that.

Clearly, I could go on and on, but have already far exceeded what I meant to say.  I am proud of the human he was, his honesty, his kindness, his work ethic, his humor, his passion, his joy in life.  He never stopped trying.  We will miss him immensely and wish him godspeed on his journey.

A "few" memories . . .