It really was wonderful to skip out of the city yesterday, pretending to go back in time just a bit, to the George Ranch, just outside of Houston, Texas. There is a progressive accumulation of homes and buildings, starting with a small log home that was built around the early 1830’s, to an impressive 1930’s, two-story beauty, enclosed with screened porches on both levels, which was the last home occupied by the George family.
This is also where most of the ancient and immense oak trees stand, their extended, heavy branches reaching out gracefully. One great grandmother tree has her very own tree-deck. Below it in the garden is a bronze bench with Mr. & Mrs. George frozen in a fond moment as they sit together. I must say, I felt like I could just go up to them and make simple conversation, maybe chat about the beautiful day and thank them for their hospitality. Mrs. George had a puddle of wet leaves in her lap, and a serene smile on her face. Mr. George looked upon his wife with tenderness. I’d like to think they were good people.
The large park property, which I believe is around 5,000 acres, is part of the still working, much larger 23,000 acre ranch. The homes, barns, storage sheds, greenhouses, smokehouses, etc. are stretched along a path that travels about one mile, which eventually circles back to the entrance. There are tractor-driven wagons that periodically pick up visitors who make their way on this walk. We opted to walk the distance, and by the end of it, we could see that this park would take another visit to complete on another day. There were just so many homes and buildings to tour.
We did see a working blacksmith. He was demonstrating his craft with a hand-cranked machine which replaced the antiquated bellows. It blew a great deal of air with little effort. There were various other building sites that had people in costume speaking about what they were making or doing.
One lady was spinning wool. Sitting in the breezeway of the cabin, she spoke as if she were living in the 1830’s. Some of my favorite chickens were happily pecking the ground around us as she spoke. I felt as if I might have transcended to another time, for just a moment.
We even had a delightful conversation with a man who turned out to be the person who runs the park, although he told us his name was Henry Jones.
He was obviously in character as one of the former owners of the ranch during the 1800’s, but we found that his real name is J.R. Thomas, his official title being ‘Lead Interpreter of the 1830’s’. He and my friend had a good discussion and exchange of information, as my friend is an anthropologist who has studied some of the same Texas history. I believe they will collaborate in the near future.
We eventually moved on to the 1860’s Ryan Prairie Home. Even though it looked fairly sizable from the outside, there were only 4 rooms… two bedrooms up some very steep stairs and two rooms downstairs – a library and a living room. The kitchen and dinning area were separate from the house, just behind it. We marveled over how small the kitchen was as we tried to imagine how the cook managed to serve so many meals on a daily basis - all those ranch workers – 16 hands and then the family. I felt slightly guilty for having ever complained about lack of counter space.
Since we both had managed to not eat breakfast that morning, our bodies were feeling a bit depleted by 3 p.m. It was time to find the parking lot and head back to 2012 and some welcome eatery. Oh, and there was also the faint call of my studio, wondering why I had not paid a good painting visit. This weekend, my precious.
Since we both had managed to not eat breakfast that morning, our bodies were feeling a bit depleted by 3 p.m. It was time to find the parking lot and head back to 2012 and some welcome eatery. Oh, and there was also the faint call of my studio, wondering why I had not paid a good painting visit. This weekend, my precious.
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