Hidden Beauty of Texas Painted Churches

Traveling the back roads of Texas is always a serene experience.  Miles of curving pastures, endless sky and cows standing hillside placid like decoys.  With College Girl 300 miles away, I have lots of new roads to explore.  The roads between Houston and San Antonio are loaded with painted churches; quaint country churches so unassuming their exteriors speak to the simplicities of frontier life. Upon opening the doors, one is transported to the rich texture and vibrant beauty of the Czech immigrants who infused the ordinary with their homeland traditions.

 

Saints Cyril and Methodius Church marks one's arrival in Dubina, Texas.  Eight miles north of I-10, on FM 1383, Dubina is a ghost town whose charm has never worn off. Stopping by this past Saturday, the clouds loomed with a threat of rain but inside the church was prepared for a wedding so treading past the last pew was not allowed.  I can only imagine how spectacular the starry ceiling looks in the evening glow!

Aside from the church, reception hall and a few meticulously kept houses, the evidence of former prosperity lies behind barbed wire.  The cotton gin and blacksmith shop are kept at safe distance, protected from ghost seekers.

Continuing along Farm Road 1383, Ammannsville sits three miles NW of Dubina and is home to Saint John the Baptist Catholic Church. 

The drive between Dubina and Ammannsville will turn any city dweller in to country-drooling Texan in less than  one sharp curve.  The hillsides give way to panoramic views and well preserved farm houses look like pages from Country Living. But anyone who has lived the country life knows it's not all front porch sitting.  It's hard work with little reward.

And when Mother Nature denies the farm lands rain, crops are in danger.  In this cotton-rich country this year's drought has devastated the yield. 

Ammannsville's painted church is pink heaven inside.  Floral motifs frame every ceiling panel and stained glass windows block out all negativity.  The pastel palette lightens the mood and offers hope, rebirth and good spirits to all who enter.

I was alone in the church for a good while, taking a moment to pray, and longer moments to listen.  The absolute silence was musical and I was reluctant to leave.  I imagined this small church filled with song from the choir loft, voices in praise softly collecting within the walls. 

Generations, decades, lives welcomed, unions consecrated, and souls passing.  All mingling in the songs, the silence, the hopes and prayers of those who congregate in these smallest works of Texas art still standing in honor and glory to their founders.

LOVE  &  EXPLORE YOUR WORLD

Two Photographers, One Car

I've been down this road before. Bright blue skies, wide open Texas in seasonal change, one map, 4 cameras, one brand new convertible, and one husband (also a photographer)....... in the driver's seat.  Oh he's left me on the road before! Taking that slow roll away as I am knee deep in wild flowers waiting for the breeze to stop blowing my perfect shot out of focus. Expecting peace on today's drive was unrealistic at best but we hit the road with good intentions.

Texas reveals her autumn with subtlety.  Sturdy yellow flowers rise in rolling pastures, green crops are harvested leaving brown stubs behind, and tractors recline with ease along barn sides.  Even barbed wire fences take on a rusted orange hue. 

As we twist through empty county roads, the perfect shot is around every corner.  The trouble is knowing where to stop.  I know the spot instinctively.  I notice small details, the tree line opening, the lone remaining corn stalk spared, or the longhorn whose cinnamon coat catches the afternoon sun. 

 

  My husband is a big picture guy.  He jokes he's "the one who knows the perfect shot". So when I say "here"!  He keeps rolling.  Inching along at 5 mph as my shot gets smaller in my rear view.  We playfully bicker away another 300 feet of asphalt.  And when he finally says "here's the shot"- I am hoofing it back to my muse while he checks his phone.  (Smoke billowing from my ears.)

I get my revenge when I am in the driver's seat.  There's no stop I won't make, no U-turn too sharp for the right composition in nature.   Loose pit bulls threatening that shot of the bayou curving off?  No problem!  And those antique stores my husband slows near and asks, unimpressed, "Really?  You want to stop here?" as he rolls on by.....  Oh yeah!  I'm stopping when I am behind the wheel.

 No wonder our photo explores wear us out!  But after 20 years, we've got this photo sharing thing figured out.

LOVE  &  BACK ROADS!

The Great Wide Open

The Great Wide Open

 

  I wonder if all women long to be free?

 To hop the fence and charge the horizon!

Where the great wide tears open

                     And clouds float like lazy rivers;                                             

Where greens grow brighter

From grass to reed to leaf

To reach summer's sky.

 

Where hawks fly circles

Steady like clock hands;

Far overhead, never seeing

 Still spiders silent at my feet

Just outside my steps

As I walk through doorways

Worn out by winds and winter rains

 Of decades passing, decades decaying.

 Nature reclaiming spaces she had lent.

I look through jagged broken panes

seeking souls who once settled here.

Women who raised families here.

Who loved and lost here.

Who sought the great wide open,

Longing to be free.

 

        

Texas Justice

The great wide open roads of Texas offer countless historical gems off the beaten path. With my daughter now 4 hours away in college, I have a new roads, much less taken, to explore while making the drive between Houston and San Antonio.

Ever since my trip to the Spanish Missions in Goliad, Texas, I have been in love with the Gonzales Flag.  It's simple lines and strong daring message stand as a tribute to Texas Independence.  So naturally, Gonzales would be my first side trip.  A simple architecture photo journey turned into a deeper, richer history lesson in Texas justice.

The Gonzales flag proudly waves in the wind on every corner of this tiny community.  I just had to have one of my own so I pulled up in front of the unassuming Chamber of Commerce.  What waited just steps away totally made my entire day!

Greeted by an enthusiastic volunteer, I learned the building was actually the town jail- currently under restoration.  I was shown the warden's office, the tiny downstairs cells complete with original furniture, cots, and confiscated prison shanks.  Seeing my excitement and interest, the docent boasted, "Oh you have to see UPSTAIRS!"

I followed behind her like a kid seeking candy!

Upstairs was the hardcore jail in use from the mid 1800's until 1974.  The first sight  was the hanging platform- looming large like a warning to all the newly incarcerated of their potential fate.  Hangings did occur in this space, as death row was just off the gallows, though the earliest hangings took place in the courthouse square.

  This day was hot!  100 degrees outside and not much cooler inside.  Fresh hot air blew through the open windows behind the rusted bars.  I sweat as I stood snapping photos.  I can only imagine how hot, smelly and frustrated prisoners here felt doing their time.

 Layers of prisoner graffiti spanning the decades covered the walls, floor to ceiling, like a tramp art time capsule. Many bearing the strike marks of days served, some noting early gang affiliations, and most just simple carved names of lives lived on the wrong side of the law.

Behind this door was death row.  Thick iron bars and doors protected the warden from the condemned.  I walked the narrow hallways that wrapped the ward and definitely felt I was not alone. The docent had left me to my own explorations but the air was thick with unseen company. At times the hair on my neck stood on end and I could almost hear chatter dripping from the ceiling.

One particular cell chilled me.  I froze, considered running like scared cat.  So I did the logical thing: took a picture.  Perhaps it's dust dancing in the mottled sunlight, perhaps my eyes wanting to see an old-timey man's face there.  But just maybe it's something supernatural.  A wandering soul, an old inmate, a proud warden.  I'll let you decide for yourself.

Should you find yourself in Gonzales, visit the Chamber of Commerce and take the jail tour.  I was doubly surprised to wrap up my visit with a woman who grew up in the jail.  Her father was the last warden.  (The Chamber is located in the adjoining living quarters.) She has happy memories of a small town country life and is directly involved in the continued restoration of her iconic Texas Justice home.

LOVE  &  THE ROADS LESS TRAVELED

Ghosts of Goliad

When I need to get away I hop in my car and drive.  Texas country roads are full of breathtaking scenery, mysterious landscapes, and sudden surprises.  Miles and miles and miles of twisty turns and straight shots from one ghost town to another.  There is so much pasture land and forgotten space in Texas that when one gets out of the car under the massive Texas sky the sound of the wind is sweet melody ripe for losing oneself.

 On a 30 mile stretch of road between Tivoli and Goliad I passed only two cars, and no one was ever in front of or behind me. I can't help but imagine I am lost in one of those "end of the world" scenarios where the population has died off  in an urban science experiment and I am left like a peaceful Mad Max roaming the countryside seeking other survivors. The falcons high in the sky swirling close to the sun add credibility as I push the petal to 80 mph.  After all, I need to get to Goliad before the Mission Espirtu Santo Zuniga and the Presidio La Bahia lock their doors for the day.

Goliad immediately joins the ranks of my top 10 Texas towns!  A key player in the War for Texas Independence, this tiny town packs volumes of history in a very short distance.  With tragic battles, a game changing massacre, and a famous hanging tree in the town square, Goliad was prime pickins for a ghostly explore. 

First stop was the Mission Espiritu Santo; a beautiful restoration of the original structure on the grounds of Goliad State Park.  A docent in Monk attire explains how the Mission was moved several times due to Indian raids before settling on the San Antonio River. 

A comprehensive museum shows the recovered artifacts and illustrates how artists replicated the works that had been destroyed by nature or locals who sourced the stones in construction of their homes.  Thanks to the WPA and progressive efforts of community leaders in the 1930's, the Mission was granted protection and preservation funds. 

 

Less than a 1/4 mile up the road is the Presidio La Bahia, an 18th century fort and Mission that became the end point for as many as 400 Texan soldiers massacred by Santa Ana's troops in the Texas War for Independence.

 Though I didn't encounter the wailing woman ghost or hear any mournfully departed cries, here I fell in love with the early Texan flags and found inspiration for a future needlework project.  Both the Mission and the Presidio were history buff bargains with the entrance price for both setting me back $7.  A small price to pay for the privilege. 

Goliad's town square is lined with picturesque shops, many named to playfully reflect the dark ghost on the courthouse lawn: the hanging tree.  After Texas won independence from Mexico, the towns were in shambles from the battles.  Looting and lawlessness abound.  The crime spree came to a sudden end with the decree that these criminals be captured and hung.  And so they were. 

I am pretty sure the "orb" is just a sun spot, but perhaps the figure in the lower left right window isn't so natural.  (Insert eerie music here.)

Like a specter itself, Goliad rises from the dead at dawn and closes back into herself at 5 p.m. Rumor has it Goliad's ghosts prefer the night. But that explore will have to wait for another day.

As evening hours settle in not a soul is seen on the streets and again I am back in my "end of the world" scenario.  Having learned what I could from Goliad, it was time for me to leave town, pack up my Mad Max Honda Element and speed on under the wide open Texas sky, to chase the sunset and find the next glimpse of civilization. 

 

LOVE  &  TOUCH HISTORY DAILY

Homecoming

 

Hubby returns from Bangladesh today and the house is full of excitement.  My favorite part of his homecomings is watching our Baby Girl, now 18, light up when I announce, "Homecoming Day!!" She has always been Daddy's little girl, and she wears this badge with pride!

Over the years they have been connected by their motorcycle fanaticism and a deep seeded need for adventure. It started early with dirt bikes... watching her Dad race hare scrambles in the palmetto ridden woods of Florida.  Soon she was riding alongside him. When we moved to Texas, the dirt bikes gave way to bigger machines. 

Then came the impossible question: would a teenage girl want to take a cross country trip to see the back roads of America? With her father?  On a motorcycle?

Without blinking an eye, the answer was YES!  This set in motion three summers of endurance riding across America with the goal of seeing every US state and the majority of Canada before Baby Girl graduated high school.  The trip through the Yukon Territory and into Alaska was by far the most perilous with snowy steep mountain roads, free roaming bison, constant rain and the need to wear every item of clothing they packed just to stay somewhere above freezing. 

 In the summer of 2010, the travel goal had to be delayed while Baby Girl had open heart surgery.  By 2011, she was back on Dad's Harley and racing into Michigan, Maine, and Connecticut on an Eastern US tour.  The bond these two share just melts my heart.  They are one in the same and driven to go farther, see more, and be a part of the greater picture.

This also scares me.  The same traits that made me fall so in love with Hubby are the very traits I see burning wildly in our soon-to graduate Baby Girl.  There is fire in her eyes of working in Africa, on world relief missions, and getting the hell out of Houston (which is a dream we all share!).  There is the realization that she is 18 and free to go where she chooses and I sense the wheels already turning on short term summer trips.  She is like her Dad in every way. Stubborn and ready to take on the world.  I can only imagine that in time I will be running in to announce to Hubby, "Baby Girl is coming home today!!" and he will light up just as brightly as she does for him.

 

LOVE  &  HOMECOMINGS!