The morning after a hailstorm in Lubbock follows a script. Yards full of shredded leaves, a dent or two in the truck, and a neighborhood’s worth of homeowners squinting up at their roofs, trying to decide whether anything up there is wrong. A fair number of them are already eyeing the extension ladder. Don’t. Most…
If you’ve lived through a spring in Lubbock, you know the drill. The sky to the west goes the color of weak coffee, the radio mentions a wall of dust near Brownfield moving east at fifty, and inside the hour you can’t see the house across the street. By the next morning there’s a fresh…
Drive any farm-to-market road out of Lubbock and you’ll pass a hundred metal roofs before you reach the county line. Pole barns, shops, gins, houses, the occasional church. From the highway they mostly look alike. They are not alike, and the gap between them tends to show up about fifteen years in, usually right after…
Every spring the same pattern sets up over the South Plains. A line fires along the dryline somewhere west of Levelland, the sky turns that bruised gray-green, and an hour later a few neighborhoods are out picking ice out of the flower beds. Then the door-knockers arrive. Stay in a West Texas home long enough…
