Here we are again, off on another expedition to who knows where. That's not true, exactly, because I do know where we're going or, perhaps more properly, where we've just been, and, of course, I want to share it with you. The adventure has nothing to do with quilts, fabrics, notions, or anything else that FTDF is about, but by now you've probably come to expect that of us, haven't you? Right, then! Let us proceed, but with the caveat that you're going to be getting a highly compressed version of The Story this time around. There was a lot going on!
This past weekend, ("this past" being the first weekend of May), I took The Fair Jenny to her very first reenactment, or at least the first one she got to go to as a full-fledged participant. We went over to Fort Chadbourne, an Indian Wars post between Abilene and San Angelo in West Texas. The fort, or what remains of it, is on a ranch that has been in existence since the 1870s (the old Odom ranch, I think), and it's a neat place, so let's talk about it for a minute or two before we get to the part where we discuss Jenny's Amazing Feat.
Fort Chadbourne is on private property, but Lana and Garland Richards, upon whose ranch the fort resides, are Texans in the truest sense of the word; people who are proud of their heritage and that of their state. Under their stewardship Fort Chadbourne is coming alive again. They've restored a couple of buildings already, and are presently working on restoration of the old Butterfield Stage Station, which is also on the ranch immediately adjacent to the remains of the fort. The Richards are people who care, and care intensely, about the preservation of the past. More importantly, they care about sharing it with others. They've made the fort site accessible to the public, and have plans for a visitor's center and museum on the property. There is an active archaeological dig in progress on the site. And, throughout the event, Garland and Lana were everywhere, helping out the 100+ reenactors who had come to portray frontier Texas, and personally thanking every attendee for making the trip. It was a truly special thing, given to Texas by two very special people. If you're ever in that part of the world I strongly recommend a detour and a visit.
So, you might ask, where does Jenny fit in with all this? The easy answer is Everywhere, but it might be best to tell the tale from the beginning. (I don't always start there, but today I'm going to. Makes sense, huh?)
I think I might have already mentioned somewhere in these tomes that Jenny and I went to the annual reenactment at Fort McKavett earlier this year. It was Jenny's first in-depth exposure to living history, and she liked it. It was there that she got to meet Gay and Bruce Frazer, owners of Frazer Brothers, one of the larger purveyors of reproduction Civil War and Indian Wars clothing and accoutrements in the country. (That's a plug, pure and simple, if you hadn't noticed.) Gay and Bruce are old and valued friends of mine, and Gay's on the board of directors at Fort Chadbourne, so an invitation was extended, countered by an acceptance. Appropriate clothing was gathered, plans were made, and it was off to The Wilds of West Texas for us!
We got there Friday night to discover that the Frazers had provided us with a brand new tent, not a wimpy modern one, but a proper tent, a period A-Frame some 12 x 14 feet on the ground and tall enough to play volleyball in. It even came with a nick-name: The Bridal Suite. Thanks Frazers; we owe you Big Time!
Friday night was spent getting re-acquainted with old friends, meeting new ones, and participating (somewhat reluctantly, we being of a rather conservative nature) in the general merriment, festivities, and mayhem that accompany any reenactment, and that lasted for a modest portion of the evening. We were able to climb into our bedrolls at an amazingly early hour, midnight or so, and for a while there it looked as though we might even be able to get a little sleep, when, all of a sudden, there sprang up (as if from nowhere) The Wind. Not just any wind, mind you, but a proper West Texas Wind; the kind that picks up full-grown cattle and deposits them in a different county. Our tent shimmied. Our tent shook. Our tent wriggled on its belly like a reptile, but at the end of it all, our tent stood. Bruce Frazer knows how to put up a tent, by jingo!
Did I mention that our tent stood? That's important to note, because some of the others didn't, and I got to spend a modest portion of the evening helping friends and neighbors keep their canvas in its appointed place. It built character, and helped to remind me why I've always enjoyed reenacting so much. It's a family thing, this reenacting, and everybody pretty much helps everybody else when trouble comes, but I digress. (I always digress, don't I? Let's just say it's part of my charm and move on...)
Our tent stayed put, and we managed to keep the others in our immediate vicinity from blowing away as well. We got Bruce safely back to his digs, which was necessary after he came out in bare feet to help with The Great Tent Flap (literally!) of 2008 and found all those burrs and stickers. (You never notice that stuff when you're wearing boots, you know.) The next morning we all walked around the various camps, recovering the assorted playing cards, tin cups, plates, and small children that had been blown away when The Wind came to call. Somewhere in there Jenny asked if the weather was typical for West Texas. I smiled.
Anyway, we survived the night, had breakfast, and got on with our day. Somewhere in there we wandered over to the shooting range that Garland had set up adjacent to the fort. Remember that part where I mentioned that the Richards were special folks? The target, a full-sized silhouette of bull buffalo sat out in the distance some 600 yards away, and period weapons were there, available for the public to try out (under strict supervision, I have to add) for free, courtesy of the Richards. Jenny and I were standing there watching the goings-on when Garland turned to her and asked if she'd like to shoot the Sharps buffalo rifle. She thought about it for, oh, half a second or so, then walked over to the shooting bench.
Garland got her set up, and showed her how to line up her sights and set the triggers. She snugged up the rifle to her shoulder, got her breathing regulated, and squeezed off a shot. It takes a few seconds for a big old honkin' bullet like that (405 grains of lead in front of 70 grains of powder, if you're interested in that sort of thing) to travel 600 yards, but travel it did, rewarding Jenny with a good, solid metallic "whang" as the round impacted the target. To say she was pleased would be an understatement of considerable proportion. Yahoo!
You might say Jenny's right proud of that shot, and she quite rightly should be. I know people who have been shooting for years who can't make a 600-yard shot and she did it first try, and on a windy day to boot. I am proud, and quite impressed. That's my darlin' over there, ya'll!
Anyway, the weekend came to a close entirely too quickly, and it was time to put the stuff back in the truck and come home. We're back in the office now, working away, but I'm still thinking about the weekend, and I suspect Jenny's thinking about it too. We'll be back there next year, and I think Jenny's going to do some quilting next time around, so come visit with us, ok? We'll keep the coffee on for you.
hasta bye bye,
phil
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