Tag Archives: junction texas

The TimeWarpVille Enigma

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

1919 American Legion Post – Now Kimble County Historical Society Museum

I’ve poked a little fun at Junction, Texas.  Partly because they were there, I was there, and it’s an easy target, standing still gazing into the headlights.  But the stark reality is the people of Junction aren’t significantly different from you, me, and all the people living around us.  They’re trying to scratch out a living in a country that’s caving in around them, trying to hang on to what hasn’t caved in yet.

Trying to find something that works by throwing grappling hooks into things that worked in the past.  And when they see it’s not working, blaming the failures on people who are trying to reconstruct different things from somewhere else in the past.

That $3.50 per gallon gasoline sign is a disaster in rural Texas where the nearest somewhat large town’s a $20-$30 round trip.  Same as everywhere else in the western US.  It means the price of having groceries delivered to stores in town will skyrocket over time, and driving to the larger stores in larger towns will skyrocket alongside what’s happening locally.

Aside from some agriculture, nobody in Junction, Texas, is manufacturing anything anyone wants to buy locally, anyone would want to buy elsewhere in the US, or overseas.  Same as where you are, only in Junction it’s more obvious. 

But their toasters, microwave ovens, automobile parts, refrigerators and computers are manufactured in Asia, same as yours.  There’s nobody in town can repair most of them when they fail without obtaining parts manufactured in Asia.

So they fantasize about seceding.  Pretending they could go back to the independence of the past.  Pretending that would bring back ways to make an honest living.  Celebrating their tough, Comanche fighting, Confederate ancestors, pretending they have something in common with them.

While on the other hand, they try to imagine they have something in common with people a decade ago who died when an airplane crashed into a building a quarter-mile high.  Grasping for some abstraction of solidarity with the people there, some anchor that pretending they remember those people might provide to help them deal with a world collapsing around them.

In a real sense, they do have something in common with those 9/11 dead, beyond them all being human beings.  The people who jumped out of those towers weren’t manufacturing anything anyone would want, either.  If they were living today they’d be paying big bucks for gasoline, groceries, toasters, manufactured somewhere else, too.

But there’s nothing else meaningful those unfortunate people in New York could have to say to people in Junction, Texas.  If asked, I suppose they might suggest, “Build higher buildings.”

The road from Main Street to the graveyard is easier to follow in Junction, but nothing else is less complicated than anywhere else.

Old Jules

The TimeWarpVille Saga – Other Local Attractions – Food – Corn – Rain and Wireless Phoneless

As good as Barbeque’s likely to get

The locals I talked to all seemed to agree Lum’s is either the best barbeque in town, or tasty enough to balance the high cost of Cooper’s, down the road.  I’ve eaten there three times now, found them to be clean, friendly, and surrounded by an ambiance unusual enough to be almost distracting.  Good food, Lum’s. 

As I finished my meal an older guy with a cane walked past my table.  He sported a hip-holster with a Glock, ready for action.  If I’d finished earlier, and if I’d arrived in town heeled, I’d have waited for him outside and shouted, “Fill your hand you SOB!”

Then he could have shot me down, gazed sadly at my bullet-riddled corpse and muttered, “Just another young tough trying to build a reputation.”

It would have provided a great denouement.

This could be a lot more important than you imagine

There’s corn here to be had.

A worthy cause that gives no offense except to those [such as myself] who don’t even like to be told what kind of day to have.

Too small for Clark Kent

A futuristic wireless, cordless, phoneless booth.

We middle-of-the-roaders try to be there for one another

And a bull trotting along the centerline blocking the highway for a mile or more.  I took him to be another, spiritual kinfolk to myself, called to serve on the Big Jury, and headed home unrequited.

Old Jules

The TimeWarpVille Saga – Junction, Texas Cemetery

A robe that’s so wooly it scratches

Hi readers.  I don’t recall when I first discovered the joys of hanging out in cemeteries.  I don’t remember ever not doing it.  Somewhere back there I discovered that old cemeteries, tombstones and the ways individuals choose to remember their dead tells a lot about the communities, the local histories and priorities.

Vandalism’s a problem in a lot of the older graveyards, has been for a considerable while.   But up-keep of some of the older graves where the families have died or moved away also reveals itself.

A visitor’s left to mull over how those folks standing beside the hull of someone they cared for enough to construct this managed to forget so completely.  A few generations, a few wars, depressions, and something went away.  Every cemetery in the US, probably in the world, has a lot of graves of 1918 flu victims.  Frequently they’re all grouped together, but this one’s not arranged in that way.

The Junction cemetary has 50-100 graves of Confederate Civil War veterans, mostly marked by government-provided stones, each with a Confederate Battle Flag, Confederate flag, or Texas Confederate flag.

A dozen-or-so Texas Rangers are also buried here.  Most were also Confederate veterans.

I’m wondering whether this one mightn’t have been a relative of Sherrod Hunter, commander of the troops that occupied Tucson.  The world was a smaller place back then.

Not necessarily in that order

Sometimes the survivors had the stones marked with the life experiences of the dead they considered most important, sometimes the nicest things they could think of so say about them. 

Sometimes just the way the dead wished to be remembered.

But Junction people have another, more visible way of remembering their dead.  This one’s nearer the center of town.  Almost certainly a lot of those antlers were contributed by people now residing in the cemetery.  Thrilling moments of their lives, or mundane moments in hard times, bringing home meat for the table.

Old Jules

The TimeWarpVille Saga – Remembering Isaac Koontz

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by.

TimeWarpVille: “We Will Never Forget!”

Every year in TimeWarpVille on Christmas day a posse of local horsemen armed with modern weaponry meets at this spot, where they display their determination to never forget Isaac Koontz.   

After passing around all the new firearms they got for Christmas they somberly climb these stairs to the now-somewhat-neglected shrine.

We’ve maybe forgotten something?

Surrounding the shrine, they kneel and remove their hats, whispering among themselves what a fine lad Isaac must have been, though none have a distinct recollection of him.

After five carefully timed minutes they descend the staircase, mount up and the elected leader shouts, “Forwarrrrrd, HO!”  Waving a Texas flag, he motions forward.  “Let’s KILL us some INDIANS boys!” 

They ride to the top of the hill behind the monument searching for Comanche spying on the highway and the monument.

Finding no hostiles there they gaze respectfully down at the monument, pass around their hip flasks, swallow solemnly, and descend the hill.  Usually no shots are fired.

As they load their horses into their stock trailers they ask how Aunt Tillie’s doing, order one another to have a merry Christmas and happy new year, gun their engines and return to their families, better men for having remembered something they didn’t experience and someone they never knew.

Their lives more secure in the knowledge the Comanche haven’t killed anyone around TimeWarpVille in recent centuries thanks to their vigilance.

Old Jules

The TimeWarpsVille Saga – Civilization Arrives

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

Visitors Not Having Fun Will Be Prosecuted

Civilization is seeping into TimeWarpsVille, and it’s rearing its ugly head in the Junction City Park.

Rules Carefully Disambiguated

Enjoyment is facilitated by clarifications and footnotes to entrance rules.

Dive Risks Deferred to Others

But who the hell wants to swim at his own risk?

ALL chains must be securely fastened to craft.

Several safe flying saucer tiedowns are provided.

I didn’t feel much like skinny-dipping at my own risk and suspected I was having more fun than the law allows.  Decided it was time to head for the graveyard or one of the museums.  Maybe look over some historical marker sites.

Old Jules

The TimeWarpsVille Saga – A Town Beginning to Forget

Hi readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read.

Trucking down mainstreet toward the courthouse I immediately noticed the flags are gone, and of the dozen-or-more of these signs there a month ago, only three are left.

Bad sign, thinks I while ignoring inconvenient puns.  Might mean there are some intelligent, ethical people in Junction, Texas, with some class.  People who aren’t allowing themselves to be brow-beaten by kneejerks to backhandedly exploit the dead for some obscure political message.

People who’ve thoughtfully arrived at the realization that some things are better forgotten.

Lousy people to have on juries.  Might reduce my chances for getting exempted.

However, then I arrived at the courthouse.  The place was strangely quiet.

Clock said it was what?  4:30 am?  I’m there in plenty of time.  But my watch says it’s 9:00 am.

But the sign on the door explains all.

But parenthetically adds we ain’t allowed to burn down the County Courthouse.

So, I’m free.  Got time to kill, a whole town to stick my nose into.  Gas gauge is showing empty, so first I swing in for a tank of cheap petrol.

$50 later I drift over for five minutes of free prayer and a Kow Kick.  Hadn’t done any gratitude affirmations yet about jury duty being cancelled, and a non-Christian doesn’t get many offers for free prayer.  Much less with a Kow Kick thrown in.

Sooooo. Off to the city park for a while, spent an hour or so in the graveyard, which is cool, had some Lum’s barbeque, examined various historical markers.  All of which I’ll report to you in loving detail during otherwise dull moments of the future.

Meanwhile, feel free to forget.  It’s surprisingly uplifting, cleansing, and clears the conscience of all that guilt for trying to exploit the dead.  Helps make a classy individual of you.  Might make people believe you’re intelligent, well-rounded and capable of thinking for yourself.

Old Jules

Spang Blew It!

Good morning readers.  Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.

Having a running vehicle I can just brush the cats off of, scare the chickens out from underneath and drive somewhere is surprisingly uplifting.  Not having to borrow Little Red wouldn’t seem to the disinterested observer to be that big a deal, but it is.

Got me feeling uppidy in ways I’m going to need to treat with circumspection and discipline so’s I don’t run myself dry buying gasoline for trips I wouldn’t have made in a borrowed machine.  But damn it feels good anyway.

Those trips to TimeWarpVille [Junction, Texas] trying to get something they’d accept at the courthouse as valid to transfer the title, trips to Kerrville trying to chase down the guy who sold it to me would have been frustrating teeth-grinding to me most of my life.  But they were pure joy, driving along looking at the country, looking at whatever, ignoring the 100+ F. wind blowing through the windows in favor of the freedom it represented.

So yesterday I thought of a reason to drive into Harper.  The day before I’d noticed a piece of the right front tire peeled back on the side, probably something on the driveway flipped up and cut it.  So I was being careful, occupying 30-35 MPH when it blew.  Got her stopped without ruining the rim.

Sweated blood and bullets getting the car up on the jack.  Crumpled a piece of the underbody before I found the secret, unlikely place the top of the jack has to go to lift it.  Discovered the spare is a wheelbarrow tire, which was under-inflated, but left part of an inch of inflated tire between the rim and the ground.  Inched that money-maker home at 2.5 miles per hour.

Gave me time to shoot gratitude affirmations for it all out to the Universe and Old Sol.  Because that blowout’s a major blessing.

When I pulled the tire off the brake disk rotor was exposed to me, badly eaten because there was nothing much like a pad.  Bare metal just grinding pleasant rings into the rotor.  A lot of people would probably replace that rotor, but I think I’ll try just buying pads.  No reason to get extreme, over-react, do anything dramatic. 

But if that tire hadn’t blown I’d never have noticed I had problem needed immediate attention, not to put off until the next Social Security pension check arrives to provide me a something for nothing entitlement [as these Texans are fond of calling it].

So today I’m going into Kerrville and buy me a spanking new tire, buy a set of brake pads, and even let the guys who sell me the tire put the new one on the ground.

Christmas.  It just don’t get much better than this.

Old Jules