Jenny Goes to Crawford

We have now driven both forth and back through the meat goat capital of the US - somewhere East of Lawn and West of Gatesville. They also have show goats there, but so does everyplace else.

The Crawford scene was something. Well, and we were there over the weekend. Turns out that people from Dallas and Ft. Worth and Austin have been driving down to Crawford on the weekends and bringing food and water and fresh energy to the people who are camped there.
Of course, some people just drive down for the thrill, the scene. Esp. this last weekend because Joan Baez performed on Sunday night. I must admit, I was a little disappointed when I heard they were going to start having concerts. I mean, this is serious, right? Not an excuse for drinking and mating rituals.

And then I spent Sunday day at Camp Casey 1. No, I spent two hours there. One very nice marshall or policeman or whatever is there to make sure no one breaks Texas state laws by blocking the roads or trespassing on private property. And then there are the protesters. College students and nursing mothers and grandpas and lesbians and men who never hang up their cel phones. They sleep in tents, in their cars, in gazebos made of netting bought at Wall-mart. There's a "kitchen" with water and melons and poptarts and peanutbutter sandwiches. Things that won't spoil in the lizard-stunning heat. There's a "pharmacy", too, with sunscreen and babywipes and bug repellant and antacids.

And they just talk. They talk to each other all day and into the night. Not just about politics. They tell stories and several people have guitars and there are always the logistics of parking and day visitors and heat exhaustion to work out.
So I sat there on a chair in the shade and held Blanche's leash whilst Susan got some more footage. I sat with Celina and her sister Egla. I bummed menthol cigarettes. We fed Blanche watermelon. We played where-are-you-from and told some jokes. All at a pretty serene pace because of the heat.
Then we started telling stories about Iraq and injustice and human nature, sharing what we'd learned along our paths to those chairs in the shade. And then we got quiet.
Me, I was quiet because I was hot, and because I remembered that arguments aren't always logic-based and because the world is so full.

And then I understood that the show goats might just come for the thrill, but the meat goats need to have Joan Baez sing to them so that they can sit in those chairs the next day and maybe the day after that.