Parks Less Traveled

Mother Neff State Park

Nestled in 259 acres of rolling prairie and limestone canyons near Temple, Mother Neff is small but plays an outsize role in the story of our park system. The eponymous Isabella Neff purchased the land with her husband in 1852 when they arrived from Virginia; here they built a community, hosting picnics with neighbors along the Leon River. Before she died in 1921, she willed the riverside property to the state, indicating that the land was to be used as an outdoor, public gathering place. Her son, Gov. Pat Neff, would see to it that his mother’s vision was made a reality: In 1923 he persuaded the Texas Legislature to establish the State Parks Board, and the state park system was born. Gov. Neff donated the 250 acres of family land to the state, and Mother Neff State Park officially opened in 1937. A Civilian Conservation Corps crew constructed roads, trails, picnic areas, and campgrounds on the site from 1934 to 1938.

Hiking the park’s two-mile loop through ashe juniper and moss-softened limestone on a sunny March morning, I give a little bow to Mother Neff and her son. They were among the first private donors to give up their land to share with all of Texas; since then, our state parks system has depended on the donations of private landowners to grow. Thanks to their generous vision, this morning I can hear six layers of bird songs including the staccato call of the golden-cheeked warbler, an endangered bird who uses strips of bark from these juniper trees to make its nests. Happily, this sweet bid symphony is pretty much all I can hear on this shady green path so removed from the hustle of the highway.

I had hoped to spend the night at one of Mother Neff’s primitive campsites close to the Leon River, but that section of park has been closed since 2015 due to repeated flooding. The park’s infrastructure has since been shifted to higher ground—Mother Neff is now home to a handsome new limestone headquarters overlooking a butterfly garden and fields of bluebonnets. Also new (and uphill) is a stretch of 20 full hook-up RV sites and pristine bathrooms, which have received stellar online reviews from the RV community. “Another reason people come here a lot is that we have the Buc-ee’s of the camping restroom world,” says Angelina Fontenot, the park’s office manager. “Everyone loves how nice they are inside.”

Not wanting to pitch a tent next to an RV, I am happy settling for a day pass. My short hike leads me to the climbable stone water tower built by the CCC in the ’30s, to a rock shelter thought to have been inhabited by Tonkawa, and to a small pool called a Wash Pond. Although it is not open for swimming, I like to imagine Mother Neff here enjoying a dip. Surprised by just how happy I am alone in the woods, I think of the words of Gov. Neff; in a speech, he once called our natural spaces “breathing spots for humanity.” Even after just a short walk here, I feel how easy it is to breathe in these oxygen-soaked woods.

Fulfilling Mother Neff’s wish, her land is still a gathering spot for locals today. Many of them grew up attending weddings and religious events in the park’s Rock Tabernacle, which was also built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. This section of the park has been closed since 2015 due to flooding; its rebirth awaits. Despite the closure of the park’s bottomlands, an average of 75 people come daily just to get some fresh air.  “Even their dogs are regulars,“ says Fontenot. “They know where the treat box is when they pull in with their owners.”  Fontenot says one man shows up early every morning and takes photos, which he then shares with the park. “He’s always here. He might miss three days a year,” she says.

While this park may lack Enchanted Rock’s dramatic landscape, it more than makes up for it with unrivaled quietude and other small-park charms. With no lines of cars or crowds to worry about, I’ve remembered a truism that is easy to forget when I spend too much time in front of a computer screen: Even a little dose of nature can lift my spirits.

“Our goal is to try to introduce the outdoors to the community,” Fontenot says. “The more we can get kids out enjoying nature and not inside playing video games, the better. It’s good for the whole community.” Because whether the kids know it or not, they need their breathing spaces too.

Fort Boggy State Park

From Mother Neff, I head to Fort Boggy, about a two-hour drive to the edge of the Piney Woods of East Texas. Located just south of Centerville, Fort Boggy is like Mother Neff in that it’s a small park with low visitation but exudes charm nonetheless. Fort Boggy only has five primitive camping spots and five cabins, all burrowed into a forest of phosphorescent green sweet gums, elms, and even river birch trees—the only species of birch native to Texas.

Also like Mother Neff, Fort Boggy is rich in Texas history. Early settlers built Fort Boggy in the 1840s and enlisted members of the recently formed Texas Rangers to protect them from the Kickapoo and Keechi Indians who first lived in the area. The Anglos’ wooden fort in the woods has long since disintegrated—a historic plaque is the only visible reminder that this now-peaceful park was once the setting of a fight for survival.

When I check into the modest portable building that serves as the park headquarters, office manager Eduardo Virjan hands me the key to the cabin I’ve booked for the night and says, “If you want to be alone, you’ve come to the right park.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. As I haul my sheets, blankets and pillows from my car to Cabin Four (most cabin rentals in state parks require that you bring your own bedding), I don’t hear another human anywhere in the park. I arrive at my spacious slope-roofed cabin to find the gravel in its outdoor picnic area meticulously raked, welcoming me like a Zen garden. Although the cabin’s screened porch is big enough to host a cocktail party, all I want to do is to sit and read and listen to the impressively loud cicadas and frogs who call this vivid green park their home.

But first there are introductions to be made. I visit J.D. Miller, the park superintendent who lives on the property with his wife. With a reddish goatee and sparkly blue eyes, he invites me for a park tour in his pick-up with the pride of a dedicated steward. After he took charge here just over five years ago, he worked with his regional director to get funding for a full-time interpreter, the park employee who oversees education and events for visitors. Now, Miller and his team offer night hikes, kid fishing events, and glow-in-the-dark Easter egg hunts, all of which have surpassed turn-out expectations. Nearly 40 people showed up for their first night hike. “One of our goals with interpretation is to get the parents involved,” he says. “For our first Easter egg hunt, we had every parent out there with their child and helping. It’s what we love to see.”

Other than woods—so glowingly green you can almost smell the chlorophyll—the natural star of this park is the 15-acre Sullivan Lake, a swimming hole encircled by woods that feels more like Walden Pond than a Texas lake. Fed by three natural springs, the water maintains 72 degrees at its deepest point. Miller is proud that Sullivan Lake is still home to trout when other Texas lakes get too warm for the fish, which favor cooler water. “We are still catching trout here in June and July,” he says. The pond is named for the Sullivan Family who donated this land to the state parks system in 1985– yet another example of generous landowners sharing their bounty with the rest of us.