Sarah on Texas Travel

Growing up as a military brat is an exercise in anachronism.  If there’s one image that captures my childhood, it’s probably this: a family picnic by the river with cold homemade fried chicken and iced tea.  Watermelon for desert. Southern as can be; only, the river was the Rhine. 

 I’d lived in eight cities before I was ten. Then we came to North Texas and got stuck.  At least, it felt like that at first.  My suburb was treeless, uniform, and new. The food was terrible,and the summers were hot. I made some angry, blanket conclusions about the whole stinkin’ state. 

After we’d been here a while, my family started taking road trips.  San Antonio. Houston. Pedernales Falls. Somewhere along the line I ended up at Czech Fest, watching drindled Texas women dance to a Mexican polka. I started to suspect there might be a place for me in this crazy cultural layer cake.

Today, I love Texas fiercely; even North Texas *. I love our food, our diversity, our fair-weather-or-foul authenticity. I love that each region is defined by its take on chicken fried steak and/or tamales as well as the way they do the two-step or the cumbia**. I love that I can tell that someone’s from Tyler because they pronounce it Tahler.  I love the summers. 

Kelly and I are old college friends, and we are both adventurers. Texas works as a playground for two girls looking for trouble on a budget.  We’ve seen the hills and deserts unfold and produce jewels, like Marfa or—who knew?—San Angelo. We’ve definitely hit the real bottom of the barrel—remind me to tell you about Balmorhea weekend nights.  We’ve learned a thinger two.

Are you cheap? Do you like to eat? Do you want to see signs and wonders? We’re here for you: me, Kelly, and Texas.

*God bless it, I can now conclusively say it’s the least geographically interesting part of the state.

** East Texas, I disapprove of your two-step. We’ll talk about this later.