Lost in East Texas

My paternal grandparents lived on a forty-acre east Texas farm. Cass County is the most northeastern county in Texas and its border is only a few miles from where I lived in northwest Louisiana.

My real paternal grandfather abandoned Grandmother Dale before my dad was born. Dad never met his father and I feel that he was extra protective of his mother because of this. Living only about thirty miles from the Cass County farm, we visited almost every weekend. Sitting around the farmhouse and chatting was usually too boring for me so I would often hike in the woods. Grandma Rood always had a big friendly dog that would accompany me on my treks.

The east Texas countryside of Cass County rolls and is heavily wooded. I would crawl through the barbwire fence surrounding the farmhouse, Grandma’s dog not far behind, and take off down the hill, into the woods. One particular trip turned out more eventful than the others did.

It was summer, east Texas weather hot, humid and uncomfortable. I crossed the little creek near the end of Grandma Dale’s forty and decided to explore the terrain over the back fence. Even the big yellow dog was a little reluctant but he followed when he saw me disappear up the hill, into a thick stand of pines.

I learned later that it’s difficult maintaining your sense of direction when you are walking amid closely spaced trees. At the time I didn’t know any better. I was climbing a particularly high hill and anxious to discover what was on top.

Big Dog and I soon reached a clearing near the hilltop, many sandstone boulders protruding from the earth. Seeing a particularly large boulder, I climbed up on it for a better look.

Pine trees in east Texas are thick and they hampered my view beyond fifty feet, or so. I did see something else: an inscription carved in the boulder. The initials E.W. and the year 1872 were still visible beneath the greenish lichen covering much of the boulder.

Big Dog and I spent the next hour exploring the hill and looking for more inscriptions on the other boulders. We didn’t find any and finally took off down the hill, not realizing that we had gone in the wrong direction. When we reached the base of the hill, I began following an indistinct trail that I found. Big Dog wouldn’t follow and I soon learned why.

I found myself locked in the grasp of a large briar patch that jutted from the ground almost to my face. Soon, I didn’t know which way I had come or where I should go, sweat beading down my arms and mingling with blood from briar scratches that were becoming increasingly more numerous.

Movement through the briar patch was slow and painful. When I finally clawed my way to the edge of the patch, I emerged with a wild yelp of accomplishment. My momentary elation ended quickly when I realized that I was alone, Big Dog no where around.

I was late in the afternoon when I reached a dirt road with no idea which direction to take. Deciding it didn’t really matter, I walked to the right. Fifteen minutes later I heard the rumble of a car’s engine in the distance and I still remember how relieved I was when the hood of my parent’s blue and white Chevy finally appeared in front of me. It was my Mother and Brother. My Dad had taken my grandparent’s car and was looking for me in another direction.

My Brother Jack was a Boy Scout and used some obscure scouting rule to figure out where I was. We weren’t far from the house as the crow flies, but more than five miles away by country road. My Grandmother just shook her head when I told her about the carved inscription on the boulder.

“Maybe it was one of your long-lost relatives,” she said.

Big Dog had already made it home but sometime later he disappeared and never returned. Grandma said that probably either a bobcat got him or else he fell in a hole. I don’t think so and I always felt a little guilty about it. Maybe I had instilled the wanderlust in him. Maybe, but in the back of my mind I like to believe there was another place he needed to be and I just gave him the okay to go there.

Louisiana Mystery Writer