Written by Texas Highways
On a typical Saturday night in Meridian, a town of some 1,500 people about 50 miles northwest of Waco, the Cactus Grill’s shoebox-shaped dining room hums with conversation.
I’m standing with my wife and young son in front of Nostalgia Antiques/Soda Fountain in Bowie, a town some 47 miles west of Gainesville, when it hits me: Should we really take our eight-year-old into an antiques shop?
Located in a warehouse district just beyond the northern edge of downtown Houston, a 101-year-old brick building that once served as a storage warehouse now draws hundreds of visitors six days a week.
On a late spring day in a quiet corner in south-central Texas, wispy clouds saunter across a stark blue sky over Lake Somerville.
Making my case for Houston as an outdoors destination comes with its challenges. Though many people think of the city as a concrete metropolis, those intimate with the southeast corner of Texas understand how verdant our nation’s fourth-largest city is, and how effortlessly and generously the nearby forests spill their natural beauty into this urban center.
The 10-minute drive from our house in McAllen to Quinta Mazatlan, one of the most popular sites in the Rio Grande Valley’s World Birding Center network, takes us past historic downtown, the airport, and the shopping mall—not exactly what you’d expect for a trip to a lush nature center.
During Austin’s counterculture heyday, from the opening of the Vulcan Gas Company in 1967 to the closing of the Armadillo World Headquarters in 1980, a concert wasn’t a reality until it was advertised with a mind-blowing poster. The images and information went together like words and music to create a siren song for fans.
It’s not likely that many people stumble on Wink. the tiny Permian Basin town (population 940) is indeed “the middle of nowhere, 500 miles from everywhere,” as Roy Orbison, Wink’s most famous son, once said.
LaJoyce Flanagan is sitting in the Linden schoolhouse where she taught more than 50 years ago, recalling the tiny desks and chairs, the children who stayed late for sewing lessons, and the day the radio delivered news of President Kennedy’s assassination.
In a few weeks, I’ll become a first-time grandmother when my daughter gives birth to a son, who will go by the name of Bowen. In 1833, his sixth-great-grandfather was born in Arkansas; but as they say, he got here as quickly as he could.