As you make travel plans for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, consider this - you probably shouldn't travel on Wednesday! It's the worst day for the holiday drive. At least, that's the word, according to a recent Google Maps study that took data from 21 cities across the nation. And, if you're thinking about driving back home on Saturday, you might want to rethink that, too.
This December, when I string my lights and trim my tree and light my menorah, I have four new friends to help me ring in the holiday cheer. Four miniature ceramic figurines, to be exact. Dressed in wintry clothes and perched on patches of white faux snow, my people are all busily headed somewhere. One lady, clutching a bag of wrapped gifts with another under her arm, is “walking” so swiftly her scarf flies behind her.
They headed north from Cardwell Flats on April 1, 1866. Crockett Cardwell, who operated a trading post and stagecoach stop near present-day Cuero, had gathered some 1,800 rangy Texas Longhorns for trail boss Thornton Chisholm and a handful of cowboys to drive to a railhead at St. Joseph, Missouri, a journey that would take them seven months.
On the Northeast Texas town of Marshall—where I’m closer to the borders of Louisiana, Arkansas, and Oklahoma than the state capital of Austin—strangers call me “darlin’” and “honey,” and sometimes even “sugar.” And I like it.
More and more I try to travel during the Christmas season. Even if it’s just a daytrip, I like to blast away from the clatter and take a few deep breaths somewhere the trees don’t have lights on them. I highly recommend any sort of outdoors getaway to urban dwellers overwhelmed by stress. A spare winter landscape regenerates the spirit like nothing else I know.
The smell of corn chips permeated the Garcia household in the formative days of the family corn-chip business. “I would go to school and the kids would tell me, ‘Man, you smell good,” recalls Miguel Garcia, who woke up early to fry corn chips in the family kitchen to help make enough for his father, Julio, to sell at a convenience store and for his mother, Lilia, to deliver for catering jobs.
I’ve explored many remote locales across Texas, so most people assume that I’m a seasoned camper. But here’s the real story: The closest I usually come to camping involves listening to nature sounds from an app on my phone.
As a crossroads city at the southernmost tip of Texas—and the state’s closest point to the interior of Mexico—it’s fitting that Brownsville would have a memorable train station. The city’s Southern Pacific Railroad Depot, built in 1928 in the Spanish Colonial Revival architectural style, is a beauty.
Resting in the shade next to a pool of clear water, I could almost forget that miles and miles of West Texas desert surround me. But in fact I was in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert, one of the most biologically diverse arid regions in the world.
Forty minutes north of the rapidly growing cities of Dallas and Fort Worth, the college town of Denton (population 121,000, more or less) enjoys a relaxed vibe that some admirers liken to “Austin in the old days.”
Government Canyon State Natural Area in Bexar County has more than natural beauty on its side, it has natural history, too. In an area that was once the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico, 110-million-year-old dinosaur tracks, possibly the only known dinosaur footprints on public land, have been discovered.