Every year, come December there is magic in the air as we prepare for Christmas and the chance to celebrate Jesus’ birth. After Mary and Joseph had traveled the BACKROADS
our savior was born in a manger. There is not better place to celebrate the birth of Christ then on the Backroads of THE LONE STAR STATE
(since most of us consider this the promise land).
Wishing all a very Merry and Blessed Christmas from the BACKROADS OF TEXAS:
The Night Before Christmas……..TEXAS STYLE
‘Twas Christmas Eve in Texas, when all ‘cross th’ ranch,
Not one critter was stirrin’, not even a branch;
Th’ boot-socks were hung from barbed wire with care,
In hopes that th’ tops this year would not tear;
Th’ kids were all tucked up like cows in a shed,
While dreamin’ of baked goods like cookies and bread;
Mom hung up her Stetson by my worn Resistol,
Took off boots, jeans and belts then in bed we did fall,
When out by th’ barn there was all sorts of clangin’
We jumped up right quick to see what was a bangin’.
Grabbed up our rifles and dressed quick like hustlers,
Grabbed ammo ‘n’ shotguns case it was rustlers.
Moon glow on tin roof shined by sand blowin’ hard
Gave enough light for seein’ and showed th’ farmyard,
We ‘uns concluded we was a seein’ thangs
Like, an old worn-out stagecoach pulled by eight green-broke mustangs,
With a great big ol’ driver, who held a tight rein,
we sure knew right quickly it must be John Wayne.
Much faster than bullets his horses sure came,
Still he whistled, and shouted, and yelled out each name:
“Now Pitchfork! now Pickup! now, Chisum and Dallas!
On, Haybale! on, Hairball! on, Lonestar and Texas!
Right over th’ leech field! and on past th’ well pump
Now gee-up and yee-haw, git ready to jump!”
Like tumbleweeds scurry when tornadoes whirl by,
When they just go and head skyward, up they sure fly.
Yep, up to th’ rooftop them horses strivin’,
with that stage full of toys, and th’ Duke a drivin’
In just a short moment we heard on th’ roof
Th’ stomping and stamping of each unshod hoof.
As we threw on our hats, and were heading downstairs,
John Wayne kicked in the front door which fell on two chairs.
Was dressed like a sheriff, from his hat to his boots,
And his clothes were all showin’ deep-down western roots;
Saddle bag of toys he had flung ‘cross his back,
and small things stuffed in pockets too much for his pack.
His eyes how they squinted! his pistol how gleamin’!
His badge was all shiny, his neck scarf tied streamin’!
His shirt unbuttoned, with th’ flap hanging down
And th’ jut of his chin was as fierce as his frown;
His rifle he held onto tight in his hand,
‘Til he got a good feel for the lay of the land;
He had broad shoulders which carried quite a load in
And shook when he laughed as his face creased with a grin.
He was handsome and tall, a legend come to life,
And we sure liked what we saw both me ‘n’ th’ wife.
Him winkin’ at Mom and a noddin’ his head
Made us glad we did not get Santa instead.
He drawled a few words, but he mostly just worked,
Filled boot-socks with oranges and meat, spicy-jerked,
And waving his hand in gesture well known,
Crashed through a window just as if he was thrown;
He sprang to his coach, toward his team the whip cracked,
Away they all galloped as if some injuns attacked.
But we all heard him shout, as he started to go,
“Howdy, Pardner, all y’all, saddle up, wagons ho!”
poem by Suzann Darnall
“Christmas, my child, is love in action.” Dale Evans