In “The Half-Skinned Steer,” the elderly Mero Corn returns home to his family’s ranch to attend his brother Rollo’s funeral. While driving from Massachusetts to Wyoming, Mero recalls past events that compelled him to leave home as a young man. As the story progresses, however, it becomes clear that Mero didn’t escape completely; his choices and memories have kept him tethered to home, a place that has exerted its influence over his entire life. Mero never reaches home in the story—the story suggests that Mero dies while trudging through a snowstorm. The story thus concludes, somewhat ironically, on a note of unfinished homecoming. In the end, Mero cannot return to the place he has for six decades defined his life against. In Proulx’s story, the idea of “homecoming” thus proves elusive, even as home itself is presented as having an inexorable influence over an individual’s identity.
Proulx begins the story by describing Mero’s reasons for leaving home in his twenties. Mero rode “the train out” of Wyoming and never returned because he believed that the ranch would not provide any meaningful opportunities, and this pushed him to look for a new life elsewhere. Mero also “pulled away” when his father’s girlfriend arrived and his brother Rollo fell for her charms. Mero was repulsed by his brother and father’s mutual infatuation with the woman, and realized that staying on the ranch would mean his life would “go on” monotonouslyto Mero, then, the ranch was a place of claustrophobic tedium. Based on these rationales, Mero left the ranch to “find” new “territory.” He went to war, married multiple times, and worked odd jobs. He retired briefly before getting into “local politics,” another role he eventually left. Mero’s initial escape has seemingly turned into a lifelong cycle of avoidance. One could read Mero’s need for escapism, exemplified by the constant changes to his career and marital status, as the inevitable consequence of a pattern started by his initial departure from the ranch.
Mero is proud to have escaped from his past, yet his identity seems to have been formed in direct rebellion to his upbringing—indicating that he never really escaped his home’s influence. For example, Mero recalls how the sight of a bloody steak in a restaurant repulsed him and prompted him to become a vegetarian. Recognizing that this choice is particularly unusual as he grew up on a ranch, Mero describes himself as a “cattleman” who has “gone wrong.” Mero emphasizes proudly that his vegetarianism contradicts his upbringing, ironically illustrating that he still thinks and cares deeply about his roots. In fact, Mero believes his choices make him superior to his family. When Mero hears that an emu has killed his brother, he emphasizes how he “could have” escaped the emu’s attack, and credits his likely escape to the time spent on his “Exercycle” and to a diet of “green leafy vegetables.” Mero claims his healthy lifestylea clear reaction to, and departure from, the life he would have led as a meat-eating or alcoholic cattlemanmakes him a more capable man than his brother.
As Mero approaches the ranch, memories of home overwhelm him, indicating their hold on his identity even after decades away. He describes how “the shape of the ranch” awakens “in his mind,” and how he “could recall” the various objects he built for the ranch with his own hands. Mero clearly still feels a sense of ownership, despite his insistence that he has escaped the ranch for a new life. He highlights the “eerie dream quality” of the situation, acknowledging how the ranch has remained a strangely potent place for him. In fact, the ranch seems “clear and sharp in his mind.”
At the same time, however, Mero knows the ranch cannot possibly be the same as when he left it: the ranch has changed ownership and shifted business models in his absence, and the home he remembers no longer exists. When he considers the idea of stopping at “Banner’s place,” for example, he realizes that Bob Banner “would have to be 120 years old” to greet him now; the neighbor he knew in childhood has passed away, changing his home’s context. As such, Mero cannot truly return home, as the place he remembers has transformed in his absence. With his brother also dead, the potential for closure has passed. Mero’s feelings of familiarity reveal his belief that some basic essence of home remains, but the fact that he fails to find the ranch at all suggests he is mistaken.
Mero continues to drive homeward, but the engine of his car cuts out, and Mero understands that he is likely going to die. He claims that it is “almost a relief” to have “reached this point,” and seems happy that he never truly returned to the ranch, joking to himself that he may instead “find the mythical Grand Hotel.” Mero acknowledges that he will never complete his homecoming: he is content to remain trapped both physically and figuratively in a sort of limbo between two worlds, as he never truly left home yet is unable to return. Home is ultimately a complicated and rather paradoxical concept in the story. It is both an indelible part of an individual’s character and a concept that largely exists only in one’s mind.
Homecoming ThemeTracker
Homecoming Quotes in The Half-Skinned Steer
Mero had kicked down thoughts of the place where he began, a so-called ranch on strange ground at the south hinge of the Big Horns. He’d got himself out of there in 1936, had gone to a war and come back, married and married again (and again), made money in boilers and air-duct cleaning and smart investments, retired, got into local politics and out again without scandal, never circled back to see the old man and Rollo bankrupt and ruined because he knew they were.
He heard the amazement in her voice, knew she was plotting his age, figuring he had to be eighty-three, a year or so older than Rollo, figuring he must be dotting around on a cane too, drooling the tiny days away, she was probably touching her own faded hair. He flexed his muscular arms, bent his knees, thought he could dodge an emu. He would see his brother dropped in a red Wyoming hole. That event could jerk him back …
Mero had thrashed all that ancient night, dreamed of horse breeding or hoarse breathing, whether the act of sex or bloody, cut-throat gasps he didn’t know. The next morning he woke up drenched in stinking sweat, looked at the ceiling and said aloud, it could go on like this for some time. He meant cows and weather as much as anything, and what might be his chances two or three states over in any direction. In Woolfoot, riding the Exercycle, he thought the truth was somewhat different: he’d wanted a woman of his own without scrounging the old man’s leftovers.
He missed the westbound ramp and got into torn-up muddy streets, swung right and right again, using the motel’s SLEEP sign as a landmark, but he was on the wrong side of the interstate and the sign belonged to a different motel … Halfway around the hoop he spied the interstate entrance ramp, veered for it, collided with a panel truck … was rammed from behind by a stretch limo, the limo in its turn rear-ended by a yawning hydroblast operator in a company pickup … His first thought was to blame Iowa and those who lived in it.
He crossed the state line, hit Cheyenne for the second time in sixty years … That other time he had been painfully hungry, had gone into the restaurant in the Union Pacific station although he was not used to restaurants and ordered a steak, but when the woman brought it and he cut into the meat the blood spread across the white plate and he couldn’t help it, he saw the beast, mouth agape in mute bawling, saw the comic aspects of his revulsion as well, a cattleman gone wrong.
Yet everything was as it had been, the shape of the road achingly familiar, sentinel rocks looming as they had in his youth. There was an eerie dream quality in seeing the deserted Farrier place leaning east as it had leaned sixty years ago, the Banner ranch gate, where the companionable tracks he had been following turned off, the gate ghostly in the snow but still flying its wrought iron flag, unmarked by the injuries of weather, and the taut five-strand fences and dim shifting forms of cattle.
Now he remembered that the main entrance gate was on a side road that branched off well before the Banner place … the map of the ranch in his memory was not as bright now, but scuffed and obliterated as though trodden. The remembered gates collapsed, fences wavered, while the badland features swelled into massive prominence. The cliffs bulged into the sky, lions snarled, the river corkscrewed through a stone hole at a tremendous rate and boulders cascaded from the heights. Beyond the barbwire something moved.
He walked against the wind, his shoes filled with snow, feeling as easy to tear as a man cut from paper. As he walked he noticed one from the herd inside the fence was keeping pace with him. He walked more slowly and the animal lagged. He stopped and turned. It stopped as well, huffing vapor, regarding him, a strip of snow on its back like a linen runner. It tossed its head and in the howling, wintry light he saw he’d been wrong again, that the half-skinned steer’s red eye had been watching for him all this time.