God’s Country

Some folks refer to the area of Texas I was born in as, “God’s Country”. The branches of the huge, centuries old live oak trees dipped to the ground, hung with moss as only God could arrange it. Cows gathered in the shade of these magnificent old trees to escape the heat of the day. We were sharecroppers on my grandfather’s farm. The beautiful gently rolling hills were unmarked by creosoted polls connecting wires sending electricity to our community and beyond.

Electricity hadn’t come to this spot on God’s earth. The year was 1943 and unless you were prosperous enough to own your Delco Plant, the only lights to illuminate the night were heavenly ones or oil lamps and candles.

Into this world I made my birthing cry. And just so you know: I’m a “Ta Da” kind of person.

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