It's like Jackson Pollock on a rampage: Technicolor bursts made by the sun setting in the Texas sky. Hard to imagine colors prettier than this. Splashes of fuchsia and magenta dart against a cerulean curtain. And if you're racing back to Austin from Llano, like I was just the other weekend, the setting is all the more serene when bracketed by purple mounds and miniature mountain ranges. As my little Honda chugged along, I noticed -- as I had a number of times on this assignment -- that my breathing had slowed to an almost meditative state and that the furrow that usually creases my brow was released into a wide-eyed tranquility and goofy grin.
Cooking along Highway 29 and tuned into KFAN, I spied a most curious sight. This cow, chewing cud and minding her business, was straddled across the railroad track but a few yards from the road. I thought, "Now there's a Kodak moment." So I whipped my beater into a U-ey to take a picture. I found the small herd and sidled over to the easement to see that the cow had made her way off the track. Just at that moment, a popular old song, cued by some cosmic cowboy, blasted out of my radio. The cows all looked up in unison as if to say, "Listen! They're playing our song!" as "Luckenbach, Texas" rang out. Stunned, I raised my camera. I was speechless. The cows stared. Instinctively, I triggered the shutter, exploding the flash. Those cows kept staring, Waylon kept crooning, and my speechlessness gave way to guffaws. I pulled the camera down to bid the cows adieu, and much to my surprise, they were gone. And the pictures? Nothing turned out, save for the devil cow eyes caught by the flash. Ghost cattle in the sky ...
Moments like this -- some good, some bad -- colored my Hill Country assignment experience. Most were good. Moments like: careening off the road to follow some "Bake Sale" sign and discovering the Smithwick Community Center, where a group of friendly, elderly fifth-generation Texans regaled us with stories; getting into philosophical discussions with a nice lady at a thrift store about Jesus, alcohol, and sexual orientation; and finding Tootie Pie in Medina, the best apple pie on the planet. Some moments were not so good; some even evoked a mental chorus of "Dueling Banjos," like: happening upon so much "mammy" and minstrel racist iconography as to make even a card-carrying Daughter of the Confederacy blush; feeling invisible around certain snooty store clerks; being nearly impaled by a raging bull (that turned out, in fact, to be a very old, very blind cow) on a stoned, midnight creep across the cow patties to Bandera Creek.
The core group that took to the hills turned out to be me, assistant Listings Editor "Vee" Gray, intern/writer Liz Gold, "After a Fashion" columnist Stephen "C'mon, honey, that emu is not going to hurt you" Moser, and local writer Abe Louise Young. And what we found was a Hill Country in transition, adjusting from an agricultural economy to a tourist one and the growing pains that accompany such culture shock. In light of this (and burgeoning suburbia creeping in from far-off cities like Austin, San Antonio, and New Braunfels), folks in the Texas Hill Country are reconciling how to accommodate these changes, yet stay real. This is one place where the word "roots" really means something. There's a reason why you find so many fourth and fifth generations out in these towns, and it's not because they haven't been anywhere else.
What we found on our many journeys -- amid the pecan trees, the historical markers, the country kitsch -- was a people fierce to preserve the culture and land they have, and still somehow welcome the outsiders who will inadvertently help them sustain their way of life -- but indelibly change it.
What we found was darned similar to what I feel here in Austin whenever we lament the good ol' days and look for some scapegoat from California to blame. What we found was somebody's home. Keep this in mind when you venture out into their hospitality.
We hope you enjoy this little snapshot of the Texas Hill Country 2003. Our goal is to create the most comprehensive Hill County Guide ever and to house it online at austinchronicle.com. This project is not finished, and what you hold in your hands is merely a highlight. So much more exists online. (Please, go check it out!) Plus, we will be poring through more back issues of the Chronicle and taking more trips out west to make these listings as complete as possible. We invite business owners, chambers of commerce, visitor centers, and the like, to get in touch with us about any changes and additions to the online guide. We aim to maintain this sucker into perpetuity.
So what are you waiting for? Pull this issue out, put it in your jalopy, tune in to KFAN, and head for the hills. Check online for even more listings. Get out there and experience Texas. Support these many local economies. Just look out for the ghost cattle in the sky.
-- Kate X Messer, Hill Country Guide editor
