landscape is so flat you can see for miles and miles, that is, if the dirt isn't blowing. There
is not much growing to cover the ground and when the wind blows, which happens just
about every day, you get a better understanding of what it must have been like during the
days of the dust bowl.
The climate is dry and home to numerous tumbleweeds until they roll along somewhere
else. Did you ever wonder where all of those tumbleweeds end up? It has dark rich soil,
good for growing cotton, soybeans and maize. Shamefully, I never did learn to distinguish
one plant from another, though I did spend some time in the fields snipe hunting. Farming
was what put food on the table for most everyone I knew, though I never gave it much
thought.
What I did notice was all of the climbable trees growing in “7th Street Park,” a stark
contrast to my own backyard that had been a cotton field prior to development. Years
later, I learned that I was wrong about the park having so many trees. I realized just how
few when I moved to the capital of Texas and saw tree covered rolling hills, bluebonnets
growing wild along the roadside, and lakes, lots of them. I thought for sure that I had died
and gone to heaven. I had never seen such beauty. However, my hometown has a
different kind of beauty. The kind you see from the inside.
My family built and owned only one home in Plainview. It was completed in late summer
of 1960 just before I started school. One of my earliest memories is of a hot summer day
sitting barefoot on the curb with the Conner girls sitting on the curb across the street in
front of their house. They hollered, “Who are you going to vote for, Nixon or Kennedy?”
Just shy of age six, I was already having to consider who I was going vote for president,
and I had never heard of either one of them! I spent fourteen of the most memorable years
of my life in that house on Dallas Street. More than thirty years later my parents retired and
decided to move away from “home.” I grieved the loss of being uprooted when the “for
sale” sign was placed in the yard.
Some people believe that just before you die your entire life flashes before your eyes. I
have often wished that I could watch a movie of my childhood and enjoy it all over again.
Writing about it has been the next best thing. I am thankful to God and my parents for a
happy childhood. I hope you enjoy the stories and that you will be reminded of a few of
your own special memories. I refer to my collection as “Growing up in Plain View”
because that’s the way it seemed it was…back then.
GROWING UP IN PLAIN VIEW
These delightful stories tell of Belinda's
adventures as a child growing up in
Plainview, Texas.
My Home Town
Did reading My Home Town or a story from Growing up in Plain View
remind you of a story you would like to share?   Complete this sentence:
That reminds me of the time...
 Some would consider Plainview, Texas one of the
ugliest places they had ever seen. To the farmers, it’
s a piece of the Promise Land. To me, it is “home,”
the place where roots run deep into the rich soil of
my life and there I grew into the person that I am
today. Though I lived little of my adult life in
Plainview, it will always be home to me.
A rural community centered in the heart of the
Texas Panhandle with approximately 25,000 give
or take a few, depending on the number of migrant
workers, college students, and the economy. The