This place, where young men were called to arms, to live out lives of adventure taming the West, to bring peace to lands fraught with conflict, is different than my expectations. When I arrived my minds eye was filled with the heroes of spaghetti westerns like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood who were glamorized in their violent approach to conflict resolution. My minds eye saw men, who tackled insurmountable odds to achieve great things on behalf of humanity. But, this place is not made of glamorous heroes and valiant men.
This place is 100 degrees in the shade, drenched in sweat from the hot sun and humid air. Fouled by the perfume of perspiration. My shirt sticks to my back as I hike across trails blazed through mesquite brush, scrub oak and prickly pear cactus. The soil is dry. The red clay beneath my feet liberates pink puffs of dirt with each footstep. It is dry and dusty. Yet there is so much moisture in the air at midday it feels as though you could cut the air with a knife.
This place is filled with wide open spaces bounded only by the sky above and the horizon ahead. Here you can sit and think and dream without limit while the clouds drift by overhead. It is here where Fort Richardson’s soldiers and the Texas Rangers rode across the frontier. I can imagine the hours they spent riding on patrols in the 1870′s across the rise and fall of the Texas plains. Filled with hope and aspirations, boredom and indifference, contemplation and solitude these soldiers experienced a wide range emotions during their service. It is also here where Native Americans hunted buffalo and embraced their own culture until America expanded west These two very different societies came together and clashed.
This place is where hundreds died in savage ambushes and gun battles over land use and resource conservation. The Red River War between western settlers and Native American tribes was fought here and across the Texas panhandle. Indian tribes who called this land their own seceded their livelihood and resources to the ever expanding population of American settlers. Pushed to the brink of their tolerance, the Indians fought back for months leading eventually to their surrender and defeat. This place is where hundreds died in savage hospital conditions, starved for basic medicines and hygiene practices. Food borne illnesses and unsafe drinking water killed as many as bullets or arrows ever did. Manifest destiny was supposed to civilize the West, but Fort Richardson was anything but civilized.
This place is one that I loved from the minute that I arrived – drinking the history like cool water to quench my thirst. No matter that the history of Fort Richardson was harsh or difficult, it is all alive when standing on the parade ground. Exploring miles of rough trails and remote historic battle grounds gave me understanding of so much more than a history book or a brochure. Seeing the fort – stone buildings and wood, feeling the heat of the day, watching the breeze cascade across acres of grasslands and mesquite trees allows you to experience the reality of life at Fort Richardson. Walking in the footsteps of those who struggled, thrived, and perished here gave the history life of its own.
