Hey, Sweet Things!

My man and I are on our way home from cactus land and I thought I’d spend part of it writing to you. And you know what that means: rambling. Any time I just open up my Mac and start writing to you woefully free of all forethought, you can count on a whole lot of words about next to nothing. So, unless you’re bored to oblivion with what you’re doing, you might want to run for your life now and save the headspace.

As I write to you, I’ll keep you posted on where we are. You don’t think you care but, once you hear some of these names, you might feel differently. They’re nearly life changing. For instance, right now we are going through Hext, Texas (I do not know if the area has an ancient history of witchcraft or what. Nor do I know if, once you’ve been hext, you can be un-hext. But I feel like you can.) One good firm turn to the right will take you to London. In just a few hours, you could be in Paris. These are just a few of the reasons why many people here believe that the world ends at the Texas border.

We have now come to Koocksville. This is the street Keith and I may have been born to live on.

It was just across from this very sign that Keith showed me this proud display of dried catfish heads.

On through Mason.

Over Comanche Creek.

It’s Sunday just before noon and we’ve been in Mesquite country since Thursday. The heat index could turn an ox-blooded man to Jesus. It’s too early for this furnace but who am I to say? God is in control of the thermostat and I’ve become convinced He considers the heat an effective evangelism tool. Keith and I have had so much fun. Simple fun. Like long walks in the morning but not without snake boots…

…and long rides in the evening in the old golf cart. The steamy mid part of the day takes us into town to eat at one of two restaurants in the small community. The second day we eat at the one we missed the first day. They are both so incredibly good that we think about them when we’re back home in the food capital of the universe. We’ve made our second home in this land long enough now for some of the locals to talk to us when they see us. Deeply satisfying to two dyed-in-the-wool city souls who long for the country. These folks around here are the salt of the earth sort. They work hard and forego fancy. Impressively, one of the two restaurants has free wifi so, call them small but don’t call them disconnected.

I love being on a road trip with Mr. Ivan Keith Moore, son of Marcell John Moore, the plumbing legend of Houston. My man is a history fiend. He knows where every battle in Texas history was fought and where the cattle were run and who the cowboys were that ran them. I love to hear the story of how the buffalo were taken from the JA Ranch in Palo Duro Canyon (near Amarillo) all the way due north to Wyoming and, every time we’re in that great State and see buffalo, he likes to tell me that those hefty beasts bleed Texas blood. By no means does he disrespect Wyoming. Nay! It is, hands down, his favorite state second only to – put your hand on your heart – the land of his great, great grandfather’s birth.He just somehow thinks that what he loves most about Wyoming is that it reminds him of Texas…but with mountains. Big ones.

While we drive these long roads, Keith tells me stories about men like Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving, cattle ranchers that Keith believes were prototypes of the characters on Lonesome Dove. Loving made Goodnight swear he’d bury him in Texas but wounds from an old fight wouldn’t heal and ended up killing him slowly with gangrene until he gave up the ghost in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. More practical than sentimental, the folks surrounding him when he breathed his last hastened to put his rigid body into the ground before the animals ate him. A man of his word, Charles Goodnight returned from a trip to Colorado, had his friend’s body exhumed and hauled it back to Texas in a pine box packed with charcoal. I don’t suppose you’d want me to also share tales about a man named Shanghai Pierce who went from a stowaway on a ship in New York harbor to owning some million acres in the Lonestar State.

We take these roads to cactus country to get our heads on straight. We go to hear ourselves think. We go to hear what God might say if you shut up and let Him do the talking. We go to see the black night skies light up with ten thousand stars. We go to hear the birds sing and, this time of year, watch dozens of hummingbirds migrate right through our property. I wish I’d been able to capture six of them at once with my i-Phone but they move like lightening.

We go to sleep late…and to sleep good. I planned to work while I was there for four days but I never did. My bones said, “Just sit and smile and rest.” So I did.

Driving now through Llano. Beautiful Llano. We were going to stop at Cooper’s BBQ but the line was literally out the door and down the sidewalk. Sure smelled good.

“We’re a third of the way home, ‘Lizbeth.”

Keith always keeps me up on the progress. To my man, a road is not something you take. It’s something you conquer.

Lunch here in Burnet, Texas.

Got to meet a darling young couple that serve at a church in Liberty Hill and their six and a half year-old Savannah who was missing one tooth. I do love me a six year-old girl child about more than anything on this earth. Except a certain five year-old boy and two year-old girl that I am particularly partial to. Can’t wait to get home to them.

Keith can’t get a good country western station to come in right now so he just turned up “Staying Alive” by the BeeGees. Out of the corner of my eye, I’m seeing that college boy I danced with under the disco ball 33 years ago. Just when I think I’ve got the man figured out, he goes 70’s on me. We’ve gotten to the part of the song where Keith doubts the singer’s manhood. “Ahhhhhh-oooooohhhh, I’m going nowhere. Somebody help me…”

Well, my man and I are not going nowhere. We’re going home. No place like home. The best part of going on a road trip. And, lucky for you, I’m almost out of battery. All this rambling means nothing if you don’t have Jesus. He’s life to me whether I’m in the city or the country, in plenty or in want, in pain or so tickled I can’t sit up straight. He’s kept Keith and I ring-fingered for 32 years. He keeps life adventurous for two souls that get bored easy. He keeps our boots on tight and our tires rolling. I love Him so much.

Just a few last shots for anyone who’s hung in here by a thread:

Don’t worry, Keith saved it from becoming Dog Dinner. Me on a long walk. A rancher saw me from afar and hopped in his truck to go tell Keith that my car must be broken down and he’d better go fetch me. He couldn’t fathom that a woman with any sense would just be strolling around out there.

A peek at the gorgeous, grass-green San Saba River really close to our place. Keith and I float on inner tubes in this spot in the summer.

Cucumber Cactus. So shockingly gorgeous amid all the gray and green.

A spider sack attached to our porch screen. More spider babies than you can count will start crawling out of that thing in a few days. Most of them will probably crawl into the house but I’ll deal with that next time we come.

Gentle evenings and maybe the number one reason why we come.

You guys are such great sports. I’m crazy about you. Thanks for chatting me home. I wish every single one of you were in this blue Ford truck with my man, our two hounds, and me. We’d try to show you a good Texas time.

No time to proofread! My laptop is sho-nuff shutting down! Talk to you soon.

 

 

 

 

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