The town of Sherman is located in Grayson County. It was named for General Sidney Sherman (1805-1873) who during the battle of San Jacinto on April 21, 1836 is the person credited for shouting the battle cry “Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!” In 1846, the Texas legislature had created Grayson County out of Fannin County and designated Sherman as the new county seat. Sherman gained its first post office in 1847. It was fairly well established by 1850 and later became a stop on the Butterfield Overland Mail route.
Tag: texas
Hardeman County, Texas
Hardeman County, Texas is located on the Oklahoma border west of Wilbarger County and east of Childress and Cottle counties and bordered on the south by Foard County. Its county seat is Quanah, named for the famous Comanche Chief Quanah Parker., the last Chief of the Comanche Nation.
Continue reading Hardeman County, Texas“Cowboy’s Thanksgiving”
This poem is attributed to Frank L. Jones. He was from Wyoming rather than Texas, but most likely would have fit in just fine in the Lone Star State. It was presented by columnist Dick Perue in the Wyoming Livestock Roundup.
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Wild turkey in the oven and the boys all gathered round
And they got to kinda talkin’ ‘bout the different things they’d found
That they could feel thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day,
And some, they told it serious-like, and some, they told it gay.
“I’m thankful most for cattle,” says Slim, who thinks a heap.
“Without them critters in the land we might be herdin’ sheep!”
Ol’ Bashful claimed that women was the blessing in his life
– he must have meant his mother, for he’ll never get a wife!
Tom thanked the Lord that hosses had four legs instead of two,
so cowboys don’t have to walk like some poor people do.
The Foreman he was thankful that the grass was good and long,
and Curly said he thanked the stars that he was young and strong.
And Bud, he blessed his appetite and the way that turkey smelt,
and said he felt thanksgiving for the long holes in his belt!
Ol’ Dunk, just kinda sucked his pipe and gazed off toward the hills.
Well boys, he says, I’m 69 years old and full of liver pills.
My rheumatism aches me and my pipe is gettin’ stale.
My hossy days are over, and I’m feelin’ purty pale.
My bunions are so bulblous that I’ve had to split my boot.
My ears – I’d have to climb the tree to hear a hoot owl hoot.
Cain’t drown my woes in likker, for my ticker’s on the blink.
I cain’t even read the cattylogs, the way my blinkers wink.
I’ve got some nose for smellin’ left – that turkey’s pert near done,
but all the chawin’ teeth I’ve got is about a half of one.
Ol’ Gus shore savvies fixin’ Turk! I’d like to eat a pound,
But hell, I couldn’t chaw it if he took and had it ground!
You talk about Thanksgivin’, boys, and here you see me set,
A plumb wore-out ol’ cowhand – but I’m mighty thankful yet,
For every hoss I’ve ever rode and every sight I ever saw,
But I’m thankful most of all for gravy – which a man don’t have to chaw! –
–attrib. to Frank L. Jones
Gobble gobble, y’all! Hope that everyone has a nice Thanksgiving.
“A Cowboy’s Thanksgiving”
The poem below appeared in the El Paso Herald on December 4, 1911. It is unattributed.
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Beautiful the sunshine pours over western plains,
And into little homes along the rugged mountain chains;
Thanks for this refulgent light in humble cottage cast,
That alleviates the burdens of a melancholy past.
My having to sorrow without one word,
And working in the stampede of the herd,
Makes me thankful for the peace and the rest
That come on Thanksgiving day in the west.
Thankful for the cattle’s large, appealing eyes,
And for my little home on the mountain’s gorgeous rise;
Thankful for the union of pleasure and sorrow,
And for the sunshine that will come on the morrow.
Thankful for the smile of little baby Ann,
Whose happy mother died with the year begin;
Thankful for the echoes of her voice in the breeze,
Where baby Ann listens and plays among the trees.
Thankful for the incentive to learn and advance,
And for those who have journeyed in this western expanse,
And for the privilege to be free and simple-
For my baby’s coiling curls and her glowing dimple.
— by A West Texas Cowpuncher
Amon Giles Carter (1879-1955)
Amon G. Carter is likely a familiar name to many people who are from North Texas. He was born in a log cabin to William Henry and Josephine Ream Carter in Crafton, Texas on December 11, 1879. Amon’s mother died when he was still an infant. His father was a blacksmith and a farmer. Due to the family’s financial situation, Amon left school and began working by doing odd jobs, whatever work he could find in Bowie, Texas. In his teenage years, he continued to move around a bit until he finally settled in North Texas.
Texas History Notebook 