Willie Dedmon calls himself a walking billboard for Peters Brothers Hats, the historic Fort Worth haberdashery. His collection numbers around 60, with headwear stored in various closets around the house and under his bed. Every day, the 65-year-old retiree dons a hat that fits his mood and attire before making his rounds about town.
Deep in the heart of a ranch sprawling across the foothills of the Chinati Mountains, a stand of dark-green creosote bushes contrasts with the rocky landscape. The August weather is hot and dry, but these plants have some secret source of water. Candace Covington discovered them several years ago while helping with one of several archaeological digs on the ranch.
Texas’ Historic County Courthouses shine with grandiosity and ambition. Often politically controversial because of their expense, courthouse projects in the 19th and early 20th centuries lasted years as counties selected architects and builders, quarried and imported materials, then painstakingly assembled the larger-than-life landmarks in the middle of town. It’s not hard to imagine a farmer stopping by a courthouse construction site to take in the scene, scratching his head at the columns, parapets, and towers rising from the prairie.
Randy Brodnax gingerly lifts a pot from the glowing kiln interior and places it on a small turntable, rotating it slowly while misting it with water from a spray bottle.
As a Tennessee native who married a Texan, I’ve long been fascinated with the difference between the two states’ geography and culture—especially when it comes to the romantic ideal of the cowboy in the Texas Panhandle.
Dionicio Rodriguez’s cement sculptures look so much like tree trunks and branches, they even fool wily woodpeckers.
Michael Grab wades into the waist-high water of the Llano River in Central Texas, reaches down to the bottom, and fishes out a platter-size rock.
I’m huddled with a half-dozen strangers in Houston, shouting into the darkness. The echo, which turns our calls into an eerie, multi-tonal melody of high-pitched peaks and low moans, stretches for 17 seconds.
Painter Douglas Chandor was as charming as he was creative. I’m standing in the foyer of the prestigious artist’s historic Weatherford home, a 5,600-square-foot dwelling adorned with his sketches, prints, and original works.
The neighborhood kids called Felix Harris “the Voodoo Man” because his front yard was full of eerie poles he brought to life using broken and discarded objects.
It’s safe to say that an elegant, 19th-Century mansion was not what I was expecting to see as I drove down a breezy bay-front road in Rockport.
In the 1960s at his Soho building in New York City, “minimalism” icon Donald Judd would take his phone off the hook and park his elevator on the second floor to avoid the agents, the media, and the young artists who saw him as a mentor.
A long the Texas Gulf Coast, a series of decommissioned ships navigate the nation’s maritime history.
For Clint Orms, belt buckles are more than just accessories. The silversmith sees them as a vestige of Western tradition—tools to be used and enjoyed, and then passed along as family heirlooms.
Published monthly by the Texas Department of Transportation, Texas Highways, the official travel magazine of Texas, encourages travel to and within the Lone Star State and tells the Texas story to readers around the world.
