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The jerrod

series

Jerrod Texas - a way of life slowly dies

Jerrod, Texas like many other small towns in the Lone Star State is aging without dignity or hope. Founded at the turn of the twentieth century in the first cotton boom before World War I, its semi-desert climate made it an ideal place to exploit sandy soil and cheap labor. 

The founding families also farmed wheat and melon crops to rest the cotton-depleted soil. Their sons who served in World War II came back to claim their legacies and put the town's laborers to work adding to their wealth.

The children of that generation heeded the baby boomer mandate of self-betterment through education or high-paying factory jobs. They left behind the sons and daughters of workers with no prospects.

The community draws its last breaths as automation and corporate farms require fewer and fewer dawn-til-dusk laborers. Occasionally there is an oil boom to help the economy to one knee. 

People like the central characters in this book can be found in any dynastic farming community. They are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who made the town work to their benefit and passed along mortgage-free farms and ranches which guaranteed sustenance for those who resisted the urge to leave.

The dynasty children face the same challenges all such generations face--make a go of it or lose it all. The stories in the Jerrod Series visit the lives of those from both persuasions.

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Jerrod, Texas vicinity

The jerrod
series

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People like the more fortuate gentry in these books inhabit any dynastic farming community. They are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who made the town work to their benefit and passed along mortgage-free farms and ranches which guaranteed sustenance for those who resisted the urge to leave.

The dynasty children face the same challenges all such generations face--make a go of it or lose it all. The stories in the Jerrod Series visit the lives of those from both persuasions.

Jerrod, Texas like other small towns in the High Plains farm belt is aging without dignity or hope. Founded at the turn of the twentieth century in the cotton boom before World War I, its semi-desert climate made it an ideal place to exploit sandy soil and cheap labor. 

The community is drawing  its last breaths as automation and corporate farms require fewer and fewer dawn-til-dusk laborers. Occasionally there is an oil boom to help the economy to one knee. 

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Kilborn is a classic tale of the most enduring conflicts: father v. son, age v. youth, sanity v. madness.

   The protagonist is Drake Kilborn, a virtuoso spray plane pilot, golden boy of his hometown Jerrod, TX and victim of his own encroaching madness. He's in the sights of Texas Ranger Freddy Espinoza who works for him undercover.   

“Drake, whatcha doin’?”

   Drake picked up a crescent wrench and scratched the side of his jaw with it. “Fixin’ it.”

 “What’s wrong with it?”

   Drake giggled and looked to one side, cocked his head down as if sharing a secret. “Don’t know. I’m gonna find out. Look at all this stuff. It looks like worms in here,” he said, pointing to the engine well.

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 Freddy’s first shot puffed a plume of sand in front of the beast’s snout, causing it to flinch, look up,

   The beast squealed as the third shot hit him. He turned and stumbled halfway up the opposite bank, paused, tumbled to the bottom on his back, kicked the air and fell still.

 

 

Espinoza begins with Texas Ranger Freddy Espinoza called to the wreck scene where spray plane pilot Drake Kilborn is being attacked by a feral hog.

    "As they moved closer to the creek, the stinging acrid smell grew stronger as a primal cacophony of squeals and grunts rose from the creek bottom.

  "Baker moved beside Freddy. You want me to hold your light?”

   

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see miles in any direction.     

   He took his baseball cap off and wiped the sweat from his bald head with the back of his hand. Three hours after sunrise, the heat was setting a mirage over the small Texas cotton-farming town of Jerrod, five miles away. He shrugged, took the ratchet wrench out of his back pocket, and lined it up with the nut on a pulley. He pushed hard. The wrench came off and banged out of sight toward the bottom of the machine.

   

   

Scotty McTague has decided it will be his last year running the family's commercial wheat-harvesting business. 

    “This is it. It ends this year,” Scotty McTague whispered. He massaged his left hand, rubbing the tingle away. Yeah. You said that a year ago."

   He wiped his hands with the ever-present red rag. From the top of the John Deere Harvester, he could 

   

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