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A
Tale from the Texas Outback
It
was a dark and stormy night. Hm. Nah, that's a little too corny. Besides,
that statement's
not true anyway. It was actually a gorgeous spring day when I loaded our
ten-year-old Explorer with camping equipment, my son, a cooler full of
water, and my fat little dog . We then headed West to the desert country
between Big Bend National Park and the Guadalupe Mountains for a breath
of fresh air that one can breathe without coughing. One tire blowout (we
didn't
flip over or anything), one wrong turn (forgot to take the loop or some
street in Del Rio and almost ended up in Mexico; oops), six hundred hot
miles, and eleven dusty hours later we reached our destination. We pitched
the tent and got settled with still enough daylight left to swim in the
spring and enjoy the brilliant sunset, which was made even more spectacular
by the lightning from thunderstorms on the horizon. Then the stars came
out one by one, hundred by hundreds, and million by millions. Perfect.
The
wind blew . The loose sides of the tent flapped along with it. The wind
slowed. The tent flapped without it. Weird. Very weird. Much too weird.
Trying to suppress thoughts of the Blair Witch Project, I grabbed a large
flashlight, turned it on and saw the silhouette of a strange, toothy head.
Flashlight in hand, I noisily left the tent (hoping I didn't have to clobber
any huge, vicious animals to make them run away), and tried to make myself
look and sound ever so much larger than life. Luckily, the javelina was
gone by the time I got there (I think that's
what it was), so I stumbled back to the inside of the tent, griped at the
dog for not barking and protecting us, and crawled back into my sleeping
bag, which was placed on the tent floor instead of the cot because I just
couldn't
figure out how to put the silly thing together. Oh well. Can't
have everything. There have been many people much wimpier than I am who
have slept on the ground in West Texas and lived to tell about it, so,
anyway...The stars were lovely. Perfect. And
so was the sunrise the next day. By some happy accident the tent door faced
east, so I yawned and stretched, put on my sweatshirt and glasses, got
out of bed, and fired up the campstove. It gave me very little grief, so
soon we had coffee and breakfast along with plenty of time to eat it. Wonderful.
This was the life. However,
sometimes one must leave idyllic surroundings to take care of business,
so we cleaned up and headed to the ranger station to see if anyone could
direct us to a tire shop. I had removed my sweatshirt by this time (geez
it was getting hot), so the ranger was able to notice my anti-taas t-shirt
and made a comment.'Oh, you don't
like that taas stuff either?" "No, it's
awful."
"Yeah, my (female relative) is a teacher in Amarillo,
and it's just
about all they do in school nowadays..." And so we gabbed about the testing craziness for a
while. Seems like you just can't
get away from it anywhere, if you have school-age kids. Nope. But
then it was time to drive to Pecos and get a tire, two new tires really.
No sense in taking a chance on having a blowout up in the mountains, not
to mention the six hundred mile drive home a few days down the road. So
away we went. We finished our errand in no time at all, not that time seems
to matter as much out in West Texas. In fact we still had plenty of time
to go to the McDonald Observatory, swim, admire the scenery and enjoy not
having to hurry for any reason. Another glorious sunset after another fine
day. There weren't
even any rocks under my sleeping bag. Ah, comfort. Another
chilly morning accompanied by another glorious sunrise. Another pot of
coffee made with the spring water that goes to several local towns. Very
nice. We swam again after the sun warmed us up enough and went back to
the mountains when it got too hot. It was another great day. It
was dinnertime and the sun was going down. There was yet another spectacular
lightning display on the horizon. But soon I realized that the thunderstorm
was coming closer, and before we knew it a gust of wind came howling through
the campground. Tents rolled away like tumbleweeds, and objects flew off
picnic tables. The sky had an eerie greenish cast. Although my son and
I were both calm, it was clear that we had a problem and needed to move.
The dog wasn't
calm at all.
“Son,
help me put this stuff in the truck.We
need to go to the bathhouse.” “But Mom, I’m not finished with my pork chop!” “Put your plate in the truck and help me. We have to move it, NOW.” So
off we drove to the sturdy bathhouse by the pool and waited. Lightning
was all around, but eventually the wind slowed enough to indicate that
we wouldn’t have to make a run from the Explorer to the relative safety
of the building. We drove back to our campsite, where our tent still stood,
giving me hope that we might be able to sleep in it when the storm was
completely gone. A run through the rain. No such luck. The tent was open
and torn, everything was soaked. I grabbed the suitcase, which luckily
kept a few articles of clothing dry so we could at least stay warm. Back
to the truck. Something hit the roof. What was that? Again, something hit
the roof. Hail? Here
it came. Lots of icy marbles came hurtling through the air, so many we
could hardly see. Back to the bathhouse, where I parked under a tree hoping
to minimize hail damage to the Explorer. The poor terrified dog shivered,
while my son moved as far away from the windows as possible. The noise
was awful, but I couldn’t dive to the floorboard like I wanted to. Had
to watch, just in case that terrible wind came again, just in case we had
to run through the hailstorm to take shelter. My son tried to assess the
gravity of the situation. “Mom.” “Yes, Son?” “Should we pray?” “I have been for the last twenty minutes. You don’t have to make a big pretentious show for god to hear you.” “I know.” The hail started to pile on the ground and showed no sign of letting up. “Mom?” “Yes, Sweetheart?” “What would you rather be doing now, this, or taking a TAAS test?” “I think I would rather be taking a TAAS test!” I
laughed, he grinned, the dog began to settle down, and the hail let up
after falling for about thirty minutes. We walked into the dark bathhouse
(the electricity was knocked out), used the restroom (boy did we ever have
to go), chattered with some other people who had taken shelter there, and
watched the bats flying around (it was kind of creepy, but kind of cool
too). We then drove back to our campsite and slept as comfortably as we
could (or couldn’t) . The lightning continued all night long, but it wasn’t
as ominous any more. The rain stopped. We cleaned up in the morning and
were able to make a comfortable bed in the back of the Explorer that night,
which was nice because we had to drive home the next day, sans tent, a
swimsuit , and a vinyl tablecloth. I found out later that three funnel
clouds were spotted over the nearby towns of Balmorhea and Saragosa. None
of them touched down, so we (that being my son, my dog, the local residents,
and yours truly) were all fortunate, if tentless. It could have been bad.
Really bad. But it wasn=t, so we drove home, bought a new tent, and are
now living happily ever after.
The
end. No.
It isn’t the end. A new school year has begun, and the testing craziness
continues not only in Amarillo but all over Texas. And not only in Texas
but all over the country. And to top it off our children have to cope with
additional pressures because of recent world events. Is this the right
thing to do to them? The winds of school reform continue to blow the wrong
way, but if enough of us resist high-stakes educational monstrosities... Carol
M. Holst Parents United to Reform TAAS Testingkceh@airmail.net |