The Boneyard

"What does it matter who you are in your past or in your future if you are no one now." ,My Grandfathers sharp last words to me echoed in my mind as I stood in his tractor barn...wind blowing the loose tin panels above me up to rattle back down hard again. This place was deteriorating since his death. His impact on this world slowly fading away, we had already sold most of the equipment, Tractors, machinery, and various other farming implements from a lifetime of the honest and grueling work of supporting a family of 10 with peanut and cattle farming.

I was here for what would most likely be the last time, just to see my childhood haunt, everyday afterschool we would be dropped off here until our single mother who worked constantly to raise her 3 children had time to pick us up from her childhood home. An upbringing of honest and humble living had failed her and her sibling, forced them to stay humble and poor for the remainder of their lives since they were afforded no real means of higher education or the self-efficacy to advance in life... maybe also a generational fault.

As I kicked at the fine soil of the barn floor, I hit something hard with the bottom of my foot, scraping the top with the toes of my shoe revealed a very old tin photo box which I was able to pull up from the fine dirt. The box had a very flimsy lock which I pried easily enough with a nearby flathead screwdriver. It contained lots of pictures which had half deteriorated, most of which looked like WWII pictures of my grandfather’s time in the pacific... eyebrow raisingly with another woman in most of them who didn’t appear to be my grandmother, probably best not to dig to much into those. There was also a deteriorated pack of incredibly old lucky strikes (didn’t know he smoked) and a little black book.

The book I quickly flipped though, mostly writings about farm management with dates back to the 1960s, and several sketches on the last few pages of the book, 4 total with scenes from different areas of the farm, most of which I knew from my childhood explorations with my siblings and cousins. The first area sketched was the junkyard with broken down tractors, cars and other equipment which were abandoned as scrap or to be fixed later. Second the tank which was used as a watering hole for cattle in one of the grassed sections of the fields. Then the creek which cut the farm in half. The last sketch was the cow graveyard where dead cattle who had not died from slaughter were dumped and used as a trap for the poor hungry coyotes who might try to feed on the living cattle. Each drawling roughly sketched contained a stone sticking up from the ground as the focal point.

It was odd, a simple farm man keeping these secrets, smoking, a hidden lost love... the book being the odd man out. It wasn’t really a secret, just the thoughts and drawling of a basic farmer. I was about to toss it all back into the hole in the ground I found it in when I noticed the inscription on the back of the book "What does it matter who you are in your past or in your future if you are no one now."... my heart sank when I saw this, the rest of the box with the photos and the cigarettes slipped from my hand and fell back on the dust floor. Why, why was this saying on this little book, why had my grandfather repeated it to me as his last words, why was this book important. I had to look again and began to read the first page rather than just skipping pages. The first line read "I know I should share what I've found and create a life of luxury for my Family, but I would rather keep them honest and good Christians as least till after I’m gone". What he had found? What could he of Found? Oil? lots of farms in the area had struck it rich in the 70s during a short but profitable oil boom in this part of Texas.. it could be a Jed Clampett kinda situation. As for honest Christian good living I think the family missed the bus on that, one uncle Gay but closeted with poor mental health because of his inability to share who he really is, another uncle who had offed himself with his toe on a rifle trigger and Aunt who was a bit of a romance addict... only not with her husband. I feel like whatever this hidden treasure was could have at least bought some therapy to help avoid the disasters in my relative’s person lives, it would be nice to see them happy, even if I don’t really care to interact with them. Not to mention it could help my situation and my mothers.

We still have 3 days before the sale goes though and I’m here for the rest of the day, might as well explore and try see the farm one last time and see why these areas my Grandfather drew were important enough to sketch. I could visit them all before the sun goes down if I hurry.

The first sketch was of the old junk yard, I started to walk that way and grabbed a shovel on the way out the barn, rattlesnake are bad this time of year and its hotter than hell, they will be out sunning. I could see the junk yard from where I was and made a b-line for it, it was mostly rusted metal, some had recently been moved. I checked the sketch for reference, right where the stone was supposed to be was a giant pile of scrap metal as tall as me. I tried to move some of it but as soon as I did a sharp piece of tin ripped across my forearm, and blood ran down the side of it as I breathed in though my teeth in pain. This was not good, probably need a tetanus shot, definitely in trouble. I think I’ll give up on the junk yard. I would probably need a bulldozer to find what’s under this scrap pile, sounds fun but I doubt anyone would let me drive a bulldozer.

The next sketch was the tank which we used to fish in, which was about a 30 minute walk, once I reached it I noticed the whole tank had dried up with just a mud bed left. In the picture the stone was to the west of the tank and I realized why I didn’t remember a stone being there, because it wasn’t. It was directly in the center of the tank/mud bed, almost as if it had placed there. I started to walk out to it across the cracked ground and scattered fish skeletons. As I got closer the ground became softer and softer until my boots began to skin down more and more with each step, it slowly became almost impossible to take another step. Being stubborn I continued to try to take them until my foot slipped from my boot which was very stuck in the mud. I tried to free it but the mud pushed in around the boot and collapsed it in where my foot had been before. I wanted to continue forward to the stone… but I chose to free myself of this mud prison instead, I fell down on my chest trying to head back and covered my hole chest in mud. But with my body weight spread out I was able to crawl and push myself out of the mud with my feet. Finally I reached solid ground again… so much for stone number two. I’m sure I must be a terrible sight also… she will not be happy.

Well time to try for stone three. The sketch showed it next to the creek which wasn’t far, I quickly made it towards the gate which opened to the creek. Unfortunately, I now was without boots and in mud covered socks which made walking very uncomfortable and then I had to stop several times to pull the sharp stickers from my feet. The ground here was randomly littered with them and then went through my mud-covered socks and stabbed like sharp itchy needles into my toes and the soft part my sole. Nevertheless, I eventually reached the gate, the whole creek had dried up as well. I walked the dried creak bed up and down for over an hour, with no sign of stone or the area which my grandfather drew. This whole area had been changed over the years with a cycle of floods and droughts and repeat. As I walked, I wasn’t watching where I stepped until something made me look down as I put down my foot. Under my boot was a coiled up sleeping rattlesnake, my heart raced, and I froze in my tracks. I took a moment to breath slow and deep so terror wouldn’t take me over, then very slowly I stepped back and move away from the snake. With that close encounter over I decided it was time to give up on this stone. I looked for a way out of the creek on the opposite side from where I had entered, everything was covered in brush and briers. The easiest way out I could spot was still not easy. I had to grab at roots and vines to pull myself up the crumbing dirt wall of the gully. I was stabbed by dewberry vines with their small barbs ripped and stuck in my hands as I grabbed them mistakenly. Even though that pain I was able to reach the cliff and pull myself up. Only one sketch left to check now the boneyard.

I was already in the field with the boneyard unfortunately I could barely walk at this point, my feet were sore and bleeding. One arm was gashed, and both had lots of scratches, I could feel my hands swelling and itchy from the dewberry thorns. But I was so close might as well walk over there and see if I could even find the stupid stone. Once I reached the twisted rusted old barb wire fence I saw the whole was thing falling apart, yet somehow I couldn’t find the opening! I did however see right in the middle of scattered cow skeletons was the stone. Finally, at last id be able to actually inspect one of the stones and see why they were so important. Then I knew I could not let this rusty mangled barbwire fence stop me. I started to climb it next to the strongest post I could find, right as I got my first leg over the staple in the post pulled out and slacked the wire. I immediately fell over as the wire tore into my back ripping my flesh and shirt as I hit the ground.

When I came out of the daze of pain I saw the stone 10 feet in front of me. I wanted to crawl because of all the pain I was in but I dusted myself off, slowly stood up and hobbled to the stone. It looked very normal to me, nothing special, just a rock which one solid color. I pushed it overly easily enough, dug under with my hands as deep as I could go until my fingers hit rock.. nothing. Was there nothing here? Was it just a sketch? What was my grandfather referring to? Did I beat myself up just to see a rock? I know I can be obsessive, but I thought this would pay off! The anger I felt for my grandfather came flooding back, I was filled with rage and could feel myself melting down. I grabbed a large cow bone and viciously hit the stone with it again and again and again until the bone broke in half. I stood there panting, catching my breath and slowly regaining my focus as I looked at the rock…. Which now had streaks across it, the bone had scraped away… paint. The whole stone was painted very well to look like a plain grey stone! I grabbed the broken bone and scrapped away more and more of the paint until I found it, in the middle of the rock, one beautiful vein of gold spreading upwards like the branches of a tree. My rage tunned to joy and I howled with excitement.

Then I heard her, my mother had heard my excited howl and she called to me “honey is that you??!” I stood up and turned to her walking up and I could see the worry in her eye as she looked me over. Her eyes swelled with tears as she saw the state I was in, the mud, ripped clothing, and the blood. She began to cry and yelled at me “where were you, I told you not to wonder off from the barn!” My mother has always looked after me, all 34 years of my life, during my problems in school, though my inability to speak and all my behavior issues, finally I could do something to take care of her, I just had to make her see the stone. She continued to yell at me, like all the times I had run off. I pulled the notebook from my pocket and tried to hand it to her, she didn’t even notice as she continued to yell. She grabbed my arm from across the fence. I tried to point at the stone and she didn’t look. But as the sun set as she continued to yell at me, the light hit the stone and she glanced at it briefly then at me again... then she looked back at the stone slowly... and gasped.