Grandparents would be pleased to see future of High Plains

With Curry County’s Pioneer Days celebration in the books and Roosevelt County set to celebrate its Heritage Days this weekend, I can’t help but think of those folks who settled eastern New Mexico and wonder what they’d make of our annual festivities.

My grandparents rolled into this area by covered wagon in 1915. “Pa” and “Ma” (my elders believed in sparse, utilitarian titles) went broke in Pecos, Texas, before loading up their three young kids, hitching up the horses, and relocating to join other relatives who had already filed claims on the sandhill land of south Roosevelt County.

Ma died before I was born, and I was but an annoying toddler when Pa died, so I never really knew them. But with a dash of imagination, I can hurtle them forward in time and speculate on what they’d think about these local doings.

Life could be pretty lonesome on those early homestead claims. It’s not hard to imagine my grandparents relishing the opportunity to gather together with friends and neighbors for a good old-fashioned party.

Who doesn’t love a parade? Candy was never individually wrapped back in their day, but that would be only one baffling aspect of the spectacle. Fez-wearing Shriners driving tiny cars, rodeo queens with color-coordinated hats and boots, costumed mascots: These are all things my ancestors might have found puzzling. (I’m not gonna lie. I do, too.)

I think Pa would be fascinated with the old car shows. By the time he drove his wagon to New Mexico, many people had already upgraded to horseless carriages, but he wouldn’t have a vehicle that ran on gas power for a good many years.

The classic cars lined up at our summer celebrations would be perceived as rich-people’s doings in his eyes. I can picture Ma dreaming of the pure luxury of riding on an upholstered seat while gazing out through real glass windows.

I’m told that both of my grandparents were pretty fair hands on horseback, but I don’t think either ever had an inkling that professional rodeo would become a thing, or that there would be people intentionally climbing aboard 1,500-pound bulls in the name of competition. Electronic timers and events decided by hundredths of a second … why, that was the stuff of science fiction.

For my rail-thin grandparents, who spent part of their lives hovering alarmingly close to the brink of starvation, it’s possible the most dumbfounding aspect of our modern community events would be the food.

A week’s worth of potatoes deep fried and piled on a platter … candy bars dipped in batter, plunged into hot oil, and impaled on sticks … foot-long corn dogs. All of these would be hard to comprehend.

But even with the mysterious doings of us 21st century citizens, I am certain my grandparents would be pleased to see how many of us still live here on the High Plains. I believe they would appreciate that their grandchildren and great-grandchildren walked on this land generations after they did.

And I think they’d be downright tickled that we still take a few days each year to remember our pioneer roots.

Try a fried pickle, Ma. You might just like it.

Betty Williamson would love to spend a day — any day — with her grandparents. Reach her at:

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