Then it got dark. 9pm and I've rested, feeling good.... and the moon is up. Sitting on the back porch, moon over the trees, smelling the moisture in the air. The hell with it. South is calling. Well, I've heard there's a monument to some guys who died while fighting for Texan independance down near La Grange..... and there's Bastrop and Buecher down there too. The Lost Pines. Toss some clothes in a bag, a book to read in case I might get bored, and on the road. 11pm.
Miles and miles of moonlit vistas. Fog creeping into the creeks and rivers... rising from the lowlands. Deer grazing along the road. Cool night air smelling so sweet... of the end of summer. Of the changing of the season. Moonlight and stars reflecting off the water from the ponds and lakes that are silently passed by. Flying through the night.
The plan was to stop in Giddings for sleep.... but that just wasn't meant to be. Silver pools and streams appearing through the banks of fog.... reflecting the starlight, sending up the tendrils that fill the meadows. Deer appearing in the darkness, gently stepping through the tall grass to disappear into the night a moment later.
Around 4:30, pulling into La Grange, spotting a very small family run motel and being overcome with exaustion. Clean room, soft bed, ... Tomorrow is calling.
*ping*
For no good reason that I can fathom, my eyes open and I'm awake. Lying there in a far too soft to be a cheap hotel bed, surrounded by my favourite lumpy pillows, and realizing the sun is coming up. Fresh air and the lightening sky showing through the teeny bathroom window. Stepping outside for an early morning smoke, noticing that the "office" of this cheap motel is a huge old victorian mansion of a home, with fully mixed gardens with her pepper plants and tomatoes growing in with her roses and easter lilies and phlox and 4-o-clocks.
On my way into town I'd spotted a taqueria and made a mental note of its location, but while driving the same path, I totally missed it. Thinking I might have seen it in Giddings - it WAS 4am when I was driving through here - We headed in that direction. When we got to Giddings, I did spot one on the route I took the night before, but it was officially forever closed, but I did spot a back up plan. A whole bunch of trucks and a sign reading "Fine food" just off 77. Always a good sign. Getting closer, its "Mel's Diner" and the place is PACKED. Locals sitting and drinking their morning coffee, chattering about who isn't there yet, whose cows did what, and all other sorts of the small town gossip that this transplanted country girl misses dearly.
Totally stuffed on sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, homemade yeast biscuits, gravy, and coffee, its time to go check out that monument.... but driving through small towns on a saturday morning there's another thing that must not be missed... Garage sales! 1$ for a pair of pink depression glass candleholders, 5$ for a leather bomber jacket... 100 year old jail that looked like a castle.. and then that drive. Up steep twisties overlooking the Colorado River. I see a gentleman on a motorcycle with a huge grin on his face and wave. Someday.
Monument Hill.
I've been wanting to visit this place for a while... but it was usually passed in the middle of the night, or on the way to somewhere else. warm gentle breezes through the old live oaks carrying the scent of barbecue. Sounds of birds and children playing. The view of the Colorado far below the bluffs, winding around a bend. You can easily imagine what this country looked like 100 years ago... and more. Sitting there, listening to the echoes of the past. The story has been told, made larger than life, their decendants coming later paid homage, but did they know? Men who sacrificed everything so that those who came after could live free. Who saw the right thing, even if it wasn't the easy thing, and did it... because it needed done. Men who loved their land, loved their wives, loved their children... and did what needed done. The story is found again and again in this great land we live in, but each time it takes my breath away... brings tears to my eyes.. that there are some who will stand when everyone else falls. The monument that was built to these men is a nice sentiment, but it really does not do them justice. I can think of nothing that really could.The Kreische house was a monument all by itself to what a creative active mind can do with time. A beautiful limestone home built on a high bluff overlooking the river and town below. To know that one man, one family, created this... through hard work, sweat, and passion for their home. Whenever I see homes this old, I listen.... what were the folks like. Who built it. What stories could these walls tell. Listen for the laughter... the music... the children playing.. listen to the years pass... of thanksgivings and christmases... of birthday celebrations a hundred years ago. Echoes of the past... of our past... that make this life so precious. We are continuations of those hardy souls who fought and scratched out an existance. Who came to this country with almost nothing, and made it something. Who gave us a world filled to the brim with splendor they only dreamed of.
Too soon it was time to go. There were other things on the agenda, and we only had one day to play. I could spend a lifetime listening to those stories.. listening to the echoes of days gone by. I will be back. Soon.
On our way out of La Grange, headed north on 77 to 71, something is noticed that makes the car erupt in laughter. That taqueria place I'd spotted on the way in last night. Apparently we had missed it. TWICE! Laughingly, it is commented that we meant to do that! Really! We're just saving it for the next time!
I had been to Bastrop briefly twice. Once just driving through, and another in the middle of the night.. so I had never gotten to enjoy the lost pines. If you have ever read my stories before, you know I have a deep love of pine forests... and on my times through this place, I had fallen in love with it. The smell is right. The look and feel are almost right. And I wanted to go play in this forest. To dip my toes, if only briefly, in the deep pine thickets. Pulling into Buescher State Park to take the 12 mile drive into Bastrop State Park... and rolling down the windows. The scent of the forest filling the car. Some very narrow, steep, TIGHT twisties.... and some damn suicidal squirrels that dart out in front of you. It doesn't induce exactly the same feeling of deep East Texas, but its close. Very close. I do believe I need more time to investigate.
There was also some fishing planned out here, and a quick stop off at the walmart for bait and munchies.... and there's some purple embroidered silk that's calling to be made into ..... something. ..Still working on that design. Pulling out of Bastrop on the way back to Buescher so we can fish while there's some daylight left and there's a sign on the side of the road. I can only remember one word. Chocolates. Stop, turn around, circle back.... beautiful wood home set up on a hill set into the pines. I HAD set the limit "Only two each!" .... Yeah. Right. Uh.... well, at least I kept sorta to that! ... I think I only got 5 or 6 truffles... oh and the Rose filled thing... yes, rose flavored chocolates. I think that poor lady behind the counter learned a little more about me than she ever wanted to know with that first bite. Oh well, at least I made her laugh!
Caught up in the rapture of chocolate heaven, we were absorbed by this boutique shop that belonged in some exclusive mall in North Dallas...we finally managed to tear ourselves away, open the door, and stepped out into the glory of a Texas autumn afternoon. Sunlight filtering through the trees, soft breezes, and Oh Yeah! We were on our way to fishing! Heading back to Buescher - I'd spotted a lovely little spot, we pulled in, grabbed our stuff out of the back.... and discovered that the sun was Directly in our eyes in our exclusive little spot! Well I think I see one on the other side of the little pond, so we head back up to the car and I look down.... and there is a broken rock.... glassy yellowish brownish center, chalky white outer coating. I haven't seen flint in YEARS. Point it out to Jacob and he's instantly curious and takes out his steel knife. And doesn't realize how many irregular sparks he's throwing in a very dry area. We're taking that home to mess with LATER. Drive around to the other side of the lake, and setting up... there's a family out there teaching their kids to fish. They're having a whole lot of fun, and being kids.... and chasing frogs. Can't blame 'em. They were fun to send a little ribbiting squealing wave in front of you as you walked along the lake! Jacob went off chasing frogs with the excuse of "I'm taking pictures!" Mmm hmm. Sure you are. And Angela and I just sit and relax. Enjoy the scenery. Listening to the music of the countryside, and being the fish grabber, hook baiter, and general ookystuff dealer-with..er. And a teenage boy appears walking around the lake. Strikes up a conversation, and sits down to chatter.
Between the stories of the day's events, a certian story of a squirrel, and various other writings, I believe his world view got just a little broader. New friends are always good to find.
Eventually it gets too dark to fish, bellies are demanding food, and we pack up. As usual, I still want more time to explore this park. There's game trails leading off into the forest that are calling to me. Scents and sounds that are just so enticing, but its getting dark and the last thing we had was breakfast! Jacob remembers a beautiful catfish joint in Bastrop overlooking the Colorado River and we spend at least an hour... possibly two, driving up and down main street in "downtown" looking for it. Finally pulling over and asking a cop (hey, the cops always know where the best food is, right?) and they're permanently closed.
Denny's in Austin, listening to stories of the folks around us. Getting back in the car and turning back north. My loves passing out around me as I bring us home again. Flying through the night... the echoes of the day calling me. Old songs my mother used to sing coming to my mind, and being sung softly under my breath. Folks will say I'm crazy for doing something like this. For tearing out in the middle of the night to just wander through a couple small towns.. but this is the stuff of life. To listen to the song of the stars... to listen to the music of our past.... and to dream. Expand our souls to become something greater. Hope is there in spades... not just hope that came before us, but our own hope. Dreams for the future, dreams of our past. Memories and wishes in crumbling barns and old oaks.
Come... see.
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