What do you think?
Rate this book
A Beautiful, Cruel Country
Arizona's Arivaca Valley lies only a short distance from the Mexican border and is a rugged land in which to put down stakes. When Arizona Territory was America's last frontier, this area was homesteaded by Anglo and Mexican settlers alike, who often displaced the Indian population that had lived there for centuries. This frontier way of life, which prevailed as recently as the beginning of the twentieth century, is now recollected in vivid detail by an octogenarian who spent her girlhood in this beautiful, cruel country.
Eva Antonia Wilbur inherited a unique affinity for the land. Granddaughter of a Harvard-educated physician who came to the Territory in the 1860s, she was the firstborn child of a Mexican mother and Anglo father who instilled in her an appreciation for both cultures. Little Toña learned firsthand the responsibilities of ranching—an education usually reserved for boys—and also experienced the racial hostility that occurred during those final years before the Tohono O'odham were confined to a reservation.
Begun as a reminiscence to tell younger family members about their "rawhide tough and lonely" life at the turn of the century, Mrs. Wilbur-Cruce's book is rich with imagery and dialogue that brings the Arivaca area to life. Her story is built around the annual cycle of ranch life—its spring and fall round-ups, planting and harvesting—and features a cavalcade of border characters, anecdotes about folk medicine, and recollections of events that were most meaningful in a young girl's life. Her account constitutes a valuable primary source from a region about which nothing similar has been previously published, while the richness of her story creates a work of literature that will appeal to readers of all ages.
Eva Antonia Wilbur inherited a unique affinity for the land. Granddaughter of a Harvard-educated physician who came to the Territory in the 1860s, she was the firstborn child of a Mexican mother and Anglo father who instilled in her an appreciation for both cultures. Little Toña learned firsthand the responsibilities of ranching—an education usually reserved for boys—and also experienced the racial hostility that occurred during those final years before the Tohono O'odham were confined to a reservation.
Begun as a reminiscence to tell younger family members about their "rawhide tough and lonely" life at the turn of the century, Mrs. Wilbur-Cruce's book is rich with imagery and dialogue that brings the Arivaca area to life. Her story is built around the annual cycle of ranch life—its spring and fall round-ups, planting and harvesting—and features a cavalcade of border characters, anecdotes about folk medicine, and recollections of events that were most meaningful in a young girl's life. Her account constitutes a valuable primary source from a region about which nothing similar has been previously published, while the richness of her story creates a work of literature that will appeal to readers of all ages.
336 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1987
10 people are currently reading
75 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
January 5, 2011
Amazing story which makes me think I need to give my children way more responsibility! The only downfall of this autobiography is an excess of names and people that I cannot keep straight. I eventually gave up on keeping them straight and in the end it didn't matter as the story could still be told beautifully even with the slight confusion.
October 2, 2013
An account of life on an isolated southern Arizona ranch at the turn of the century, this memoir includes a lot of really interesting stories from the author's childhood. While I enjoyed the stories, there didn't seem to be a "dramatic arc" or anything that kept me coming back to this book, curious about what would happen next. So I would set it aside for weeks or months while I was spellbound by novels, then by the time I picked it up again, I had forgotten who the various people were. If you're interested in Arizona history, you should read this. And if you want some unforgettable stories to tell your kids about how much used to be expected of children, you should definitely read this.
Want to read
July 19, 2011I loved reading about the author's daily life on her family's ranch in ARIVACA, AZ. The details in which she describes her surroundings, the hills, the smells after a rainshower, the hardships make it easy to imagine how life in Arizona was in the beginning of the century.
March 23, 2015
Wonderful book about the author's growing up on an Arizona ranch just a few miles north of the Mexican border. At 10 yrs old she was an accomplished horseman and ranch hand. Responsibilities included managing grown men. Just a wonderful read about life in the real west.
May 21, 2021
This was a fascinating read about life in rural Arizona in the early 1900s. I appreciated the loving descriptions of the countryside, plants, animals, good and people. From the author's telling, there were many interesting characters... her included!
March 7, 2020
A touching picture of early 20th century life on the range near Tucson, AZ. Hispanicos, Anglos, and Indios living, working and eating side by side around a particular family as a focal point. This book archives the chores, harvests and seasonal tasks that now belong to a bygone era. Some vivid moments - a lost saddle floating down a flash flood, a simple kitchen conversation, a trip to the peak of a nearby mountain - are clearly the product of a thoughtful soul. But the heart of this book is really made up by a complicated father-daughter relationship that grounds the story in its only absolute.
November 11, 2020
Not great literature, perhaps. But it is a very thorough, intimate first-hand account of ranch life in the wild back country of northern Arizona during a time when Anglos, Latinos, and Papagos shared the land. Great details, and wonderful real-life characters, as seen through the eyes of a young girl.
June 23, 2019
Reading stories like this give me a deeper appreciation for the area where I live. I’ve read several memoirs set in this time and space, and Eva’s is the most readable and engaging.
May 28, 2023
So this is one of my favorite books of all time, and it’s not the first time I’ve read it. I believe that it is one that most people who follow this blog would thoroughly enjoy, especially if they are into horses, ranching, or vaquero traditions. It is a memoir that takes place on the author’s family homestead in Arizona and details her “rawhide tough and lonely life” from when she was 3-5 years old. The book ends when she was five because that was when the removal of the Tohono O'odham Indians to a reservation occurred, and Eva describes the event as the end of the traditional frontier way of life as she knew it. The culture described in the book is very unique, as Eva’s mother was Mexican and her father was an American descended from conquistadors. Indians frequented and lived on the ranch, and some were family. Eva’s parents were not religious unlike many other people in the area. As a child that young, she not only helped around the ranch but helped run it, participating in brandings, castrations, horse breaking, doctoring, and roundups while holding her own. She was mature for her age, but often placed in perilous situations by her father, although he did believe in her and she took control of the ranch over her brothers and sisters when he died in a horse-riding accident.
As a quick note, the horses in this book are the Wilbur-Cruce Mission Horses, the purest strain of Spanish Barbs. They owe their existence today to Eva as she donated part of the ranch (now called Rancho Del Sueño) and the remaining herd to the nature conservancy, which was then sold to the government, and the Livestock Conservancy now manages the horses.
The prose and imagery in the book are vivid and beautiful, and I think the book’s essence will be better captured if I just include a few random passages, so here are some:
“Grandmother’s departure was one more reminder that we were being left in a great space in a harsh land, now emptier than ever before of the Indian humanity that had peopled it for so long. There was a lonely, long winter ahead of us, and our whole ranchito began to seem more and more like an empty house. All that winter, we would find ourselves standing, looking up at the slopes of the neighboring hills, seeing Indians where there were none. As they had used to stand, staring westward towards the Boboquivari, home of their god I’itoi, now we stood, looking in the same direction for them.
The flow of news we were so accustomed to suddenly stopped, as if it’s very source had dried, instead of its conduits, now lost to us….We were alone with the animals. By late night after the exodus, the wind had died, and a heavy snow had begun to fall, so that the following morning the strangeness intensified, as we woke up to a weird, lonely, white world.”
…
“Dormadita was one of our good milk cows, and Father had been looking for her since the beginning of spring. I soon heard the calf bawling and knew that father had roped him. I built the fire, setting the branding irons around it, then I stood on a rock and reached into the saddle bag for a bottle of black-walnut liquid. Whenever we ran out of creosote, we substituted the black extract of the walnut shells. It was slower than creosote in killing worms, but it finally brought them out where they would slowly die.
Father flanked the calf and tied it, and from there on, he and I worked as a team. He sharpened the knife while I cleaned the maggots out of the calf’s wound. Gobs of them came out, and when the wound finally appeared to be clean, I poked it full of horse manure to suffocate whatever worms may have been left.
‘A good job, Eva, I couldn’t have done it better myself.’
I got a rag out of the saddlebag so I could hold the irons, then I picked up the running iron and branded the calf on one side. Father turned him over, and I quickly branded him on the other side. Then father castrated and earmarked him… By now castrating the baby goats was fairly easy for me, but cutting through the tough hide of a calf was quite another thing. Father didn’t think there was much difference; nevertheless he continued castrating the calves himself this time, always reminding me, ‘Next year you will have to do it yourself.”
My only complaint about this book is that it covered such a short period of the author’s colorful life. She wrote the book when she was in her eighties, and had other writings, but sadly they didn’t get published before she died. Looking her up, I discovered that when she inherited the ranch she also inherited a war over the land that lasted 10 years. Her horses and cattle were slaughtered en-masse during the conflict, and she herself shot at trespassers, earning the nickname ‘La Pistolera.’”
As a quick note, the horses in this book are the Wilbur-Cruce Mission Horses, the purest strain of Spanish Barbs. They owe their existence today to Eva as she donated part of the ranch (now called Rancho Del Sueño) and the remaining herd to the nature conservancy, which was then sold to the government, and the Livestock Conservancy now manages the horses.
The prose and imagery in the book are vivid and beautiful, and I think the book’s essence will be better captured if I just include a few random passages, so here are some:
“Grandmother’s departure was one more reminder that we were being left in a great space in a harsh land, now emptier than ever before of the Indian humanity that had peopled it for so long. There was a lonely, long winter ahead of us, and our whole ranchito began to seem more and more like an empty house. All that winter, we would find ourselves standing, looking up at the slopes of the neighboring hills, seeing Indians where there were none. As they had used to stand, staring westward towards the Boboquivari, home of their god I’itoi, now we stood, looking in the same direction for them.
The flow of news we were so accustomed to suddenly stopped, as if it’s very source had dried, instead of its conduits, now lost to us….We were alone with the animals. By late night after the exodus, the wind had died, and a heavy snow had begun to fall, so that the following morning the strangeness intensified, as we woke up to a weird, lonely, white world.”
…
“Dormadita was one of our good milk cows, and Father had been looking for her since the beginning of spring. I soon heard the calf bawling and knew that father had roped him. I built the fire, setting the branding irons around it, then I stood on a rock and reached into the saddle bag for a bottle of black-walnut liquid. Whenever we ran out of creosote, we substituted the black extract of the walnut shells. It was slower than creosote in killing worms, but it finally brought them out where they would slowly die.
Father flanked the calf and tied it, and from there on, he and I worked as a team. He sharpened the knife while I cleaned the maggots out of the calf’s wound. Gobs of them came out, and when the wound finally appeared to be clean, I poked it full of horse manure to suffocate whatever worms may have been left.
‘A good job, Eva, I couldn’t have done it better myself.’
I got a rag out of the saddlebag so I could hold the irons, then I picked up the running iron and branded the calf on one side. Father turned him over, and I quickly branded him on the other side. Then father castrated and earmarked him… By now castrating the baby goats was fairly easy for me, but cutting through the tough hide of a calf was quite another thing. Father didn’t think there was much difference; nevertheless he continued castrating the calves himself this time, always reminding me, ‘Next year you will have to do it yourself.”
My only complaint about this book is that it covered such a short period of the author’s colorful life. She wrote the book when she was in her eighties, and had other writings, but sadly they didn’t get published before she died. Looking her up, I discovered that when she inherited the ranch she also inherited a war over the land that lasted 10 years. Her horses and cattle were slaughtered en-masse during the conflict, and she herself shot at trespassers, earning the nickname ‘La Pistolera.’”
May 2, 2023
A rich and vivid memoir describing life on a ranch in southern Arizona at the turn of the century.
December 12, 2024
Book of the year no doubt.
November 7, 2012
growing up in SW AZ in the early 1900s
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews