Jana Dahmen

Who Is Jana Dahmen, Really?

My foundation was anchored by my birth in West Texas seventy years ago. I grew up on a working ranch surrounded by whispering prairie grass. My family read the Bible, studied the Word, and followed its teachings, and it influenced me greatly. I have never forgotten the many examples of grit the people around me demonstrated or the details of my own experiences.

Nature revealed things to me in plain and simple ways. A gaze of thieving raccoons hidden by darkness worked in cooperation to steal a season’s worth of cotton seed cake from our storage shed. The trail left led to a cattle tank where they had washed each piece. I was awed by their fastidiousness and worried by the loss my daddy took because it had to be replaced. They had carried off the feed meant to put weight on the stock before taking them to market.

A horse was dependable only if matched with the right rider. Some horses preferred a woman over a man. A mama dog nursing pups under the cedar bush was patient and kind to each one equally. A cow guarding a newborn calf helped me understand some things are worth protecting at all costs.

The harsh dry land was a challenge. I have seen the thick, red sandstorms filling the horizon and advancing from the distance at the speed of a freight train. I have run around battening down the hatches preparing for it to hit. My body has shivered when caught outside by a frigid north wind. I learned quickly not to ignore a dark, blue purple sky threatening a norther. The sudden chill was always exhilarating and miserable at the same time. Mother struck a wooden kitchen match and lit the butane space heater. The heat from the flames caused the baked clay grates to glow and radiate with warmth.

There is no earthy smell as wonderful as the first plopping raindrops of a quick prairie shower settling the silty dust. The gossipy clucking of free-range hens chasing after grasshoppers sounded meddlesome. I remember hunting for their nests of eggs hidden in the grass. I made wide paths around the black, shiny roosters with their bad temperaments. My ninety-pound grandmother could wring the fowl’s neck with the twist of a wrist and in short order have it dressed and in the stew pot.

If I concentrate, I can clearly hear the day’s wash snapping and flapping in the wind on the clothesline and feel the panic of grabbing sheets and clothes in my arms to beat an approaching downpour preceded by streaks and branches of lightening. After such storms, the combination of blinding sunrays and dampness created prisms for perfect rainbows. Turquoise sky over flat terrain made the colorful arches appear to stretch out for miles. The weather and its affects were mysteries I never bothered to sort out. I just accepted them, but I feared lightening, hailstones, cyclones, and grass fires pushed by wind.

Back then, food on the ranch was honest to goodness real food produced by my family working together and cooked by my mama’s and grandma’s hands. Biscuits with white, peppered gravy, potatoes slathered in butter, beef, pork, game, and home-grown vegetables planted in long field rows were standard fare. Freshly grown foodstuffs were harvested and canned by the whole family sitting on the back porch overlooking the Sweetwater hills. The stories of old were retold again and again and still they echo. What life must have been like for those who came before me!

On Sunday afternoons under the umbrella of a big elm tree, peach ice cream, cranked in a slatted, wooden pail was dished out. This special treat could only be compared to huge the watermelons chilled in ice water, and fried peach hand pies served with sweet tea and lemon. These were enjoyable activities counter-balancing the long hours of work. The fellowship lasted until dusk and sometimes longer.

Cowboys in my circle were larger than life. They were the real deal. Wearing boots, spurs, Stetsons and smoking cigars, they rode, shot, herded cattle, and broke their backs toiling. They supplied food for their tables and shared with those in need. The ranchers and hands formed communities to help each other.

Women were cut from sturdy cloth bearing the scars of many repairs. They cared for families, kept house, sewed, cooked, and pitched in to help whenever and wherever needed. Sometimes, it took everyone available, including children, to get a job done.

Grief and tears should never be forgotten, but neither should the happy times sprinkled with laughter like salt and pepper. Life on a cattle ranch was a journey. It was farming for sustenance, taking care of animals, stepping over rattlesnakes, and drinking water from an old cistern with one bucket and one dipper. I didn’t realize these were all blessings until I grew up and moved away. They taught me gratitude, the value of money, the importance of shelter, work ethic, and how to get along with others. I was fortunate to have been raised in West Texas. Making it through each-day was sufficient enough.

Studying at Hardin Simmons University in Abilene, Texas broadened my horizons considerably and changed the course of my life. I earned a degree in education with a minor in art and became aware of my passion for English, Literature, and writing. I met Marv, my future husband who was a soldier in 1970. We met in the art department, and it was love at first sight. After my graduation we married and moved to Kansas.

Our three children grew up in Carl Junction, Missouri where we both taught school. This was an eye opener! Times were evolving rapidly, and many old values were falling to the wayside. Some things essential were missing. Society was caught up in a whirlwind of changes.

Twenty-one years ago, I decided to write stories showing the Texas spirit and life I knew. The more I wrote the more I wanted to be an author. I made up stories from my heritage, and they took legs and pulled readers into the pictures woven by my words. With a full toolbox including maturity, education, personal experiences, critical analysis, confidence, and, of course, the revolutionary computer under my belt I have been successful.

To date, my published books are West Texas historical romances set in the 1800s. They’re filled with the universal nature of people, both good and evil. The stories are sprinkled with tidbits of time-synced historical references, western dialect, and full action adventures. Cowboys, cowgirls, and indigenous peoples are the characters.

My writing style is tight, rhythmed for easy reading, and expressive. I write for my own enjoyment and the entertainment of others who get caught up in the plots. What is a written story without readers? My latest book, Byrd Ranch Legacy was, released in March 2024. It completes the popular Byrd Ranch three book series.

I am now writing a two-book series titled The Cameo Trail. The setting is in Sweetwater, Texas, and it follows the Case family. Will is a cowboy who has learned his skills as a trail herder. His dream is to establish his own spread. His brother Tavy is murdered, and Will promises to take care of his sweetheart.

A lady of the evening from his past has a longstanding vendetta against him and is out for vengeance through the blood of his own son, Billy Heart, as the weapon of choice. Neither father nor son know the other exists until all hell breaks loose!

Jana Dahmen

Wichita, Kansas