Tag Archives: High Plains of Texas

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You want big sky? Try this

AMARILLO, Texas — We came back to the Texas Panhandle — and got a look at this!

Let me be clear: I have talked already on this blog about how God gave the Panhandle the kind of sky that makes jaws drop. It is the Almighty’s payback for declining to give the region towering mountains and tall trees.

But I don’t care that you’ve heard it already. It bears repeating.

The sunrises and the sunsets are two of the reasons we enjoyed living here. They reminded us frequently that natural splendor isn’t contained in snowcapped peaks or endless miles of virgin forest.

Indeed, we moved to Texas in 1984 from a part of the country — the Pacific Northwest — that contains plenty of both tall mountains and tall timber.

We settled initially in the Golden Triangle along the Gulf Coast, where we were treated by thunderstorms that roared incessantly.

We ventured to the Top of Texas nearly 11 years later. Sure, we had our share of thunder and lightning. We learned early about Palo Duro and Caprock canyons. We discovered how you can lose sight of your location on that flat terrain called the Caprock when you ventured into the floors of those chasms.

That sky, though . . .

It ignited again tonight with the sunset that took my breath away. As a matter of fact, at the very moment I snapped this picture the voice on the radio made specific mention of that “gorgeous Texas Panhandle sunset.”

So, there it is. I’ve said it again. Who knows? There might be more to say the next time the day ends in such spectacular fashion.

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Who needs mountains to enjoy nature’s splendor?

A former mayor of Port Arthur, Texas, once told me upon returning from vacation in Wyoming that the “mountains were nice, but they kept getting in the way of the sunsets.”

Well, tonight some family members and I got a glimpse of what the mayor once mentioned.

We peered east down our street and saw some “mountainous” thunderheads forming not terribly far away. OK, the sun was setting in the other direction, but its bright light shone on the clouds, lighting them up in this fashion.

It reminded me of something I observed about the Texas Panhandle almost immediately upon our arrival here in early 1995. It was that God Almighty didn’t bless this region with lofty peaks, but it did grant us the pleasure of looking at the biggest damn sky I’ve ever seen.

I saw it as God’s payback. It’s as if he’s saying, “So, I gave your neighbors to the west all those mountains and tall timber. They can enjoy that. I’ll give you folks out here on the Caprock a chance to relish that big ol’ sky that lights up at dawn and again at dusk. And I just know you’ll enjoy that as much as the mountain folks enjoy the snow-capped peaks.”

I believe God was correct.

Then again, is God ever wrong?

The sunrises and sunsets in this part of the world are nothing to sell short. What’s more, even the sky at the opposite horizon from where the sun is setting — such as tonight — can take one’s breath away.

There’s just so much of it out there.

Yep, that long-ago Gulf Coast mayor was right. The mountains can get in the way.

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March winds are blowing

On this 15th day of March, I’m happy to report that my wife and I made it home from a nearly harrowing 45-minute drive from Hereford, Texas to our humble home in Amarillo.

Doesn’t this day signify the Ides of March, or some such thing? And didn’t Brutus stick a shiv into Julius Caesar on this day in 44 B.C.?

Whatever, the harrowing drive was interesting only in that we drove into the teeth of yet another vicious wind storm. Our cell phones were buzzing and beeping storm warning alerts to us; sustained winds of 35 mph, with gusts to 60 mph. So were the phones of our dear friends, with whom we had just spent a lovely evening of dinner and laughs in Hereford. One of our friends called us en route to make sure we were all right. “Yes, we’re OK,” I told her as I gripped the steering wheel tightly to avoid being blown off the highway. “Call me when you get home,” she instructed. “OK, I will.” And I did.

We’ve lived through many of these March-wind experiences during our 19-plus years of living on the High Plains of Texas.

I don’t recall precisely the last time, however, we’ve had two monstrous wind events so close together. We had another one just about six days ago. Now this one. Climate change … perhaps?

Beats me.

It’s all part of living in this region of the world, not unlike getting used to the incessant drizzle in my native Oregon or the stifling humidity and bugs in Beaumont, where we lived for nearly 11 years before moving to Amarillo.

Remind me, though, not to drive in this wind again. Ever.