‘This is what Yuletide is all about, bringing history to life and creating ‘light bulb’ moments of understanding.’
Surprise is at the heart of Yuletide at Bayou Bend, an annual Houston tradition that draws thousands of visitors to the home of one of the state’s most beloved philanthropists, the late collector and patron of the arts Ima Hogg.
It’s 11 a.m. on a Saturday, and I’m sitting with Arkey Blue at Arkey’s Silver Dollar, a storied dance hall in the basement of Bandera’s General Store.
The coming of fall lights certain swaths of the Texas landscape with bursts of flame-colored leaves painted red, gold, and yellow, creating the image of a blazing sunset before the long night of winter.
It’s easy to believe the rolling countryside around Schulenburg doesn’t look a whole lot different than it did in horse-and-buggy days.
The green road sign near Caddo Lake in East Texas seems cryptic, almost comical. “Uncertain,” it says.
Birders flock to Starr County in the Rio Grande Valley each fall in hopes of seeing avian species seemingly dressed for the season: red-billed pigeons with striking russet plumage, brown jays sporting rich earth tones, and clay-colored robins with white-striped throats in olive-brown topcoats.
The face of Fort Worth’s Cultural District changes almost daily, it seems. If you haven’t seen the cluster of museums and surrounding environs for even a few months, you’d hardly recognize them now.
It was with some trepidation that I made my first visit to the Central Texas town of Shiner.
A few blocks north of the Fort Worth Convention Center and its supporting cast of restaurants, wine bars, and plush hotels, the railroad still rolls into town much as it did in 1876, when the city became a major shipping point for livestock headed to northern markets.
When cartoonist friend Roger T. Moore, a West Texan with a sense of humor as big as one of the dozens of wind turbines looking down on his ranch, told me that the largest oak forest in North America covers some 40,000 acres near Monahans, it sounded like a setup.
Deep within the piney forests of East Texas, I watch fireflies dance like tiny warriors with flaming spears.
Ah, the idyllic getaway: tasting the latest vintage at a boutique winery, lingering in antiques shops and art galleries, settling into a cozy B&B, and experiencing that German sense of comfort and congeniality—Gemiitlichkeit— at every turn.
My God, boys! It’s the Lone Wolf! Let’s scram!” In the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s, those words echoed from Borger to Brownsville whenever wrong-doers caught sight of fabled Texas Ranger Manuel Trazazas “Lone Wolf” Gonzaullas.
September—when the autumnal equinox brings an official end to summer and temperatures start to cool, ever so slightly at first—is my favorite time to visit Abilene.
Travel down any Texas highway, regardless of direction, season, or time of day, and you will pass a windmill.