Week 11 US Tour: TX NM

2006-12-10

Thursday, Nov 16/06 San Antonio TX:
"Gentlemen, please remove your hats," said the sign as we entered the fortified church of the Alamo. This was not just a site of history; this was called a "hallowed spot". The Alamo is a walled courtyard, church and stone barracks right in the middle of San Antonio. It took us a while to drive through town with its towering off-ramps, multi-storeyed office buildings and tall, western style shops in narrow main streets, to find a place where we could park our camper and trailer. When we did so, it was the first time that we actually unhooked our trailer, to fit it into the adjoining parking space and bicycle lock it to the undercarriage of Susannah Wesley (van). The Alamo was at the end of our street - not exactly shouting out its identity as the site of the battle that would lead to Texas' independence from Mexico.

You know, I planned this tour to coincide - obviously - with safe weather and warmth, so it has worked exceedingly well to travel in this clockwise circle around the country. What I didn't plan on, and what has also worked so well, is the order of history that we have journeyed through time. Mostly - but not entirely - chronological, the layers of the American story have been painted for us in a way that has made sense. We began to learn about the American War of Independence in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, the Civil War began to have some context in Virginia and the Carolinas, the Acadian story, though older, found a place after that. Now, we begin to hear about the west and its roots and revolts. We have made a point to include the First Nations story wherever we could, even when absent from the descriptions of local history. We have spoken about - but probably not got enough of - the African-American story.

"This is kind of extraordinary," I said to the kids. "The Alamo is a monument to a failure. We don't do that very often." But the day that Mexico's dictator General Santa Ana defeated and executed the rebels who no longer wished to live under an oppressive Mexican rule was the day that ignited the Texan fire for independence. Nicole later recorded in her sketchbook a drawing of the letter that the Alamo's Commander William Travis sent to outlying troops, asking for help. He signed it, "Victory or Death". We saw the ring he gave away before his death, and Davey Crockett's gun and a locket of hair.

A "Riverwalk" - which I had imagined, as you might, as a serene walkway along an open river with the wind blowing through our hair - turned out to be an upscale almost-underground pathway, winding under and around restaurants and patios. Bridges rose overhead while boats passed on the water beside us, carrying passengers and occasionally dining guests. For our part, we walked the length of the Riverwalk, picking the stroller up to mount and descend frequent small sets of stairs, eventually rising to the real world to eat at a diner called "The Matinee" - in a former downtown theatre building. Our walk back to the van took us past Mexican shops; PJ and Nicole bought a mexican jumping bean.

Friday, Nov 17/06 Austin TX
There had to be time for one more swim in the heated little pool at our campground before we packed up and shoved off. Isaac had woken not entirely well yesterday - and yet it must be way too close to the time he was near the child with chicken pox in Seguin (the day before). Patrick also could not join us in the pool, as his insides were in full Texan revolt. Still, everyone was able to cope and so we carried on.

Austin begins with tall, ballet-like highway ramps crisscrossing above our entry. Its state capitol building looks like all the state capitol buildings in the country except for two things: Its skyline reveals a new skyscraper behind it whose transparent rooftop sits in layers as if it were the folded wings of a glittering insect. And it has a statue on its roof of the Goddess of Liberty which Austinians maintain makes the entire building slightly taller than the nation's own Capitol. Isn't that just like Texas.

We got to see the old incarnation of the Goddess of Liberty in the huge "Story of Texas" museum. Here, a series of rooms took us through times in the life of the area. The Native story begins it with an installation called: "First Nations Discovers the Spaniards" - such a fine reversal of the usual bunk about Europeans "discovering" inhabited lands. The description says that when the first Spanish explorers met up with the land's inhabitants, they were a pathetic, sick and starving lot, far from home. The first thing the natives did, upon discovering them, was to weep with them. The Alamo was described again, and a video made the story even more personal han the actual site had done. Patrick asked me later why a soldier might say that he was fully Mexican, but his heart was Texan. Now, that's a question! We joined the 1800s, we saw the oil boom - and then we saw her up close: The Goddess of Liberty.

Now, my friends, our time in Austin was truly excellent, and I feel a new sense of kinship with the Texan people I never felt before. I even have felt my heart moved and tugged at the struggles of the people through history, and feel I understand the intensity of the Texan personality just a bit more. In short, I am a new fan. But, folks, that statue is the ugliest goddess I have ever seen. They explain that she's meant to be seen from a long, far distance away; I'm thinking Louisiana's looking good.

Well, it's not like us, but we happened upon this museum on the very day the new Omnimax movie "Happy Feet" was launched, so we treated the kids to the show in the late afternoon. We had learned our lesson about Mexican restaurants, too - big portions! - and so later on our way out of the downtown, we ordered and shared just a couple of large plates of burritos, enchiladas and quesadillas. It's a sin to let a plate of guacamole go by uneaten simply because you are full to hurtin'. At our little restaurant, I stepped out to call our new hosts, Bobbi Kaye Jones and David Gilliam - to see if they and their home were ready for the Cirque du Jonsson-Good. Bobbi Kaye writes me notes headed "Hey Girl", so I figured without having met her that she had the energy to meet our family head-on. And she did.

When the children were settled on the tallest blow-up mattress ever in the livingroom, we took glasses of wine out to the back yard, where the chiminea was still warm. The small teardrop shaped wood stove of clay kept us nicely warmed into the evening of conversation and catching up on the lost time of not having been friends for so long.

Saturday Nov 18/06 Austin TX:
Dang. I am putting on weight. I knew it would happen on this tour of so much sitting. I don't have Secretary's Spread; I have Touring Christian Singer-Songwriter's Caboose.

Bobbi Kaye was up early and apparently was a mind-reader because she invited me to come with her to a NIA dance-exercise group that she leads at the church. I was not familiar with the NIA approach to no-impact simple dance moves, but what I loved about it right away was the range of ages that came to the group. We moved in dances reminiscent of jazz and African, but in such a simple way that even I could keep up. I was completely refreshed at the end.

The afternoon was grocery shopping and playgrounds, but by evening everyone had plans. The children were already in love with Bobbi Kaye's and David's 3 dogs - a pug named Madison and 2 boston terriers, Mugsy and Lucy. They were wearing them out with play, surprise and dog-treats, so they were happy to have an evening at the house. Pizza was ordered for them and the grownups headed out to Artz Ribs restaurant, to have an authentic Austinian evening with barbeque and live bluegrass music. It could not have been more perfect. The Grass-matics (what an unnecessary name) were reputed to be the best bluegrass band in town, and as far as I was concerned, they were. I sang along with gusto, when David and I were done sharing our bbq'd: 1)chicken 2)ribs 3)brisket. Later, when I went up to ask if there were CDs for sale (of course not), the stand-in stand-up bass player said: "You knew all the songs!" Actually, I hadn't known one of them, but it is my secret life-long wish to sing in a Bluegrass band. Not play; just sing. Maybe tambourine. I was practicing.

The Grass-matics left us, inviting all of us to drop some money in the Tip Tub, saying, "We're saving up for music lessons." That struck me pretty funny.

Sunday Nov 19/06 Austin TX toward Dallas:
Bobbi Kaye had invited me to base our morning worship theme on the song: Living in the Light, because the congregation of St John's United Methodist Church has been singing it for 6 years. Goodness, what a gift to come to a place long after your song has gone before you! I sang 3 songs in sermon, and got to sing and play with children in between the two services. Folks greeted us after services with a genuineness and forthrightness that I now associate with Texas. Kind of Alberta on coffee.

It had to be a Mexican lunch and David G. knew just the place - an unhurried burrito-taco place that they go to after worship pretty much every Sunday, they say. I loved the multi-coloured booth tables and seats in the dark diner interior, but while the sun was still autumn warm, we needed to sit on the patio.

We troubled our hosts for a little more time at their home, as we baked granola for the road and packed up our flotsam and jetsam. David loaded us down with Shiner bock beer and they gave us CDs of Texas musicians. When Bobbi Kaye handed us a coffee table book about the "Amazing Faith of Texans", she said, "It's way too big and heavy, but that's OK." This is fair; I had done the same to their congregation with my sermon. Isaac reluctantly bade farewell to the 3 dogs, and we to new friends. Then, we drove off into the wild blue north, in the general direction of Dallas, as the sun sank low.

At first we mistook Stewart's RV Park for a sales lot, as virtually all the recreational vehicles were silent and dark. It was the one little dog yapping n the camper at the end that gave it away as an actual living space. At 9:30pm, it seemed that everyone was asleep in the place. I guessed that these must be working people, not fun-seekers. After we decided to commit ourselves and drop the $20 through the slot in the office door, we enjoyed another sign that told us we weren't in the big city anymore: "If you spit on the floor, be prepared to leave because you are not welcome at this campground. Marvin". David had noticed for sale at the last gas stations "No-Spit Hard Snuff". I refuse to ask what you do instead of spitting.

Monday Nov 20/06 Ft Worth & DeSoto TX:
Marvin turned out to not be quite the curmudgeon his signs made him out to be. He dropped by early in the morning, a cup of coffee in hand, to greet us with the traditional words: "That's some rig ya got there!" I asked him who this neighbourhood was made of, as it seemed pretty subdued for vacationers. He replied that about a third of the residents lived there year-round. The remainder were short-term workers who were stationed here since gas was discovered. But, being a retired hardware salesman, Marvin couldn't let the conversation go at that. He described the drilling process for me: the drilling goes down to a certain depth and then horizontally for a length until a substance is sent out at high pressure, blasting the gas free from its shale home. So, we were living in a little RV suburb, really. Marvin left a Ladies Birthday Almanac with David and we all read our horoscopes (surrounded by Bible readings) for 2007. Looks like I'll be travelling next year. Hah!

Now, it seems pretty unfair, but the Lonely Planet book we've been getting our bearings from completely writes off Dallas in favour of its neighbour Fort Worth. As it puts it, Dallas is all about money and big hair. Fort Worth, on the other hand, is an unpretentious cowboy town, unashamed of its cattle persona. So, we just made a turn when the highway split and headed up and into the old centre of Cow Town. This historic stockyard is on a turn off a wide main street, away from the new downtown. Here we saw one of the thousands of stakes that mark the Old Chisholm Trail, on which cattle made their way through Texas, we visited the old building where stock were traded, we even visited some real long-horn cattle for the first time. We perused a crowded little town museum in the stock exchange, where town photos from the turn of the century competed for space with pictures of the Swift meat-packing plant, native artifacts, a multifarious variety of barbed wires, saddles, camp cook pots. We really are in cattle country.

Patrick and Nicole decided to forego the rodeo mechanical bronco on the town lawn in favour of a wooden maze in the style of the cattle pens of the exchange. It turned out to be quite hard to find all four of the letters they were to look for in 4 different quarters of the pen. We encouragers stood up on a wooden platform above, and after about half an hour started to dole out useless advice. They made it out alive, but more weary than they had expected..! David was ready for soup and sandwiches in the van, so the recovery was swift.

Our Fort Worth day was over by 2, when it was time to make our way to DeSoto, just south of (sadly ignored) Dallas. There, at First United Methodist Church, Katherine Glaze Lyle was waiting for us to arrive. Katherine is a brave soul who decided at a very late moment to go ahead and host a concert, although we agreed that the night that we were available was unparalleled in terrible-ness: the Monday before Thanksgiving. I love it when I meet that kind of faithful bravado in the church! Katherine had talked to me because John Thornburg had talked to her. And John Thornburg had talked to me because David Robertson had talked to him. David R is our dear friend in High River, Alberta (the Texas of Canada). It was at his behest that we met Bobbi Kaye and David back in Austin and now these northerners!

John's vocation is to a Ministry of Congregational Song - my own job with an actual name (and web site! www.congregationalsinging.com) He is wonderfully supportive and told me, in his first e-mail that the first time he heard our "Leader Don't Allow" song, he turned it quickly into an a cappella circle song for an unsuspecting group of Christians, with great success. WE WANT THAT SONG. His more recent work has been in helping the new United Methodist Church in the country of Cameroon create its own hymnody and hymnbook. As he put it, first they began the process of asking "Who are we as a church?" When they had articulated some of that, then they asked, "Well, what kind of music do we need to sing, to be that?" He gave David Jonsson a brightly decorated Cameroonian shirt, sewn by a woman who sings many of the songs he is recording on his trips there, bringing them back for transcription.

So, all in all, it was a rich evening with a smallish group of brave singers and I daresay we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Tuesday, Nov 21/06 West Texas:
To sit at Marshal and Marye Scantlin's long breakfast table in their verandah-like dining room and gaze out their windows is like watching a motion picture of Texas in the fall. The wind blew in sudden gusts, while leaves fell from the backyard trees in great swooning drapes. The fire was uncharacteristically crackling away in the livingroom, and I was thinking that a cup of tea and my Number One Ladies Detective Agency novel would make a perfect combination for the morning. Dream on.

The second guy to approach us for a chat at the rest stop in west Texas said of the highway west that it was "a whole lotta nothing and it just gits worse." I've decided that that's a country lament that David and I need to write. (However, if you write it first, you send us the words!) It was true, though, that the ground became bare and the highway equally so, the further we headed west along the Number 10. I suppose the more bare the highways, the more inclined the truckers to keep you talking. I had to burst in after a stretch of loquacity about axles and suspension, apologizing that we were in a hurry. Which we weren't.

An e-mail from Katherine greeted us after our departure: "Thank you so much for coming our way and sharing your wonderful gifts with us! I just loved every minute of the evening and am so glad you didn�t say �No� when the God of Mercy called to you to become minstrels of grace." Minstrels of Grace...! I love that.

The map at night-time got us to a little bare RV park on Tubb Loop Rd (say it 5 times fast) in the highway town of Big Springs. Joy and Rob, the elder couple who were the owners, were ready to go to bed when we got there, but stayed up to tell us about the previous Canadians who had come through their windy gates. Even though we always think it is silly that Americans think that all Canadians know each other, the truth is we always DO think that if we talk long enough, we indeed will find out they are friends of our in-laws or next door neighbours of former board members.

The worn US flag at the entrance battered against its pole all night in the snapping prairie wind.

Wednesday, Nov 22/06 to New Mexico:
It is as I suspected. You must be careful about Texan hospitality. When we left our friends in Austin, it seemed that the more we had imposed upon their kindness the more gifts they gave us when we left! This morning, I decided that Joy, with her naughty little adopted poodle, might enjoy a wee bottle of our Summerland Sweet Syrup. Such a small gift, and just a little thank-you for allowing the children to play with Lucky in her office cum kitchen cum shower-rooms while we packed. I came back after loading up the final junk to discover her handing out fragile Precious Moments Figurines to each of the three. "I save these to give them to the children," she brushed off my protests - just exactly like a grandmother. This time I had to draw the line; they wouldn't last a day.

We drove over endless plains in the beating sun, passing empty rows of straw yellow thatch, shrubs of a dull sage colour, the remains of cotton fields identified by their white fluffs caught along dead stubble, mini oil rigs. In towns, we saw palm trees wrapped like water heaters, blanketed for the winter. A sign along the highway read: "Poison gas may be present. Picnic Area."

David is haunted by white pick-up trucks. At first he thought he was being stalked by someone. Every time he turned onto a road, there was the white pick-up, catching up behind him or driving cleverly on ahead. Then he started to notice multiples at a time. License plates show them to be government vehicles. Aha...conspiracy theory over. We passed safely into New Mexico on our own.

The truth is, if we hadn't driven into Mountain Time-Zone, we would not have made it to the Carlsbad Caverns in time. To make it OUT of a visit to this vast labyrinth of caves, you must begin to descend its depths by 2pm. We skidded in at JUST 2pm in time for me to run to the front desk (which is of course at the end of a long, long, long foyer to accommodate the huge numbers of visitors who come in the summer) to breathlessly ask: "Hulloh! puff puff! What TIME is it? puff puff!" It was 1:00 - by luck and not brains. We had time to eat lunch and dress properly for a hike that would take us down 800 feet into the damp and crystalline mysteries of the underground.

The whole series of caverns had been created in the years when much of New Mexico was an ocean bed. The area was a horseshoe shaped reef, made of the remains of sponges, algae and seashells. Buried under salts and gypsum, it made its way back to the surface a few million years ago, creating the Guadalupe Mountains. Rainwater seeped down while (fuel-laden) hydrogen sulphide underground water rose, and the encounter was a sour one. The resulting sulfuric acid ate away at the limestone within, creating its empty interior. This process created vertical passages, but because the mountains were simultaneously being pushed upward, these passages have become almost horizontal walking paths from "room" to "room" through the caves. Then, 500,000 years ago (kind of last Thursday in geologic history), stalactites and stalagmites were created by the dripping of acidic rainwater along limestone.

A simple opening led us down a steep and paved walkway into huge ballrooms of rock formations, lit cleverly to outline stalagmite formations with names like Frozen Waterfalls, Popcorn, The Christmas Tree, Rock of Ages. Wide rivulets of rock "pouring" like velvet from above are aptly named "draperies". Narrow walkways, punctuated by audio tour outposts suddenly open into great cathedrals of lighted stalactites. If we had worried all three children might not make it through the full 2 1/2 hour walk, it was for nothing.

We drove all evening at dark through the Guadalupe Mountains to just north of Alamogordo, when a chill began to sink in.

Next week... the holy sites and sheer beauty of New Mexico and Arizona!

Happy season to all,
Linnea

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