EXPLORE - February 2018

FEBRUARY 2018

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CONTENTS

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Marjorie Hagy History Marjorie is a bibliophile, a history nut and an insomniac, among several other conditions, both diagnosed and otherwise. When she's not working tirelessly to avoid getting a real job, she nurses an obsession with her grandson and is involved in passing legislation restricting the wearing of socks with sandals. She is an aspiring pet hoarder who enjoys vicious games of Scrabble, reading Agatha Christie, and sitting around doing nothing while claiming to be thinking deeply. Marjorie has five grown children, a poodle to whom she is inordinately devoted in spite of his breath, and holds an Explore record for never having submitted an article on time. She's been writing for us for five years now.

Old Timer Just Old Timer The Old Timer tells us he's been a resident of Boerne since about 1965.

He enjoys telling people what he doesn't like. When not bust'n punks he can be found feeding the ducks just off Main St. or wandering aimlessly in the newly expanded HEB. Despite his rough and sometimes brash persona, Old Timer is really a wise and thoughtful individual. If you can sort through the BS.

Kendall D. Aaron Spiritual

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From The Publisher

30 History

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Calendar

36 Spiritual

18 Art of The Cross

40 Blossom Where You Are

22 This Month in Texas History 26 Boerne Performing Arts

I’m just a normal guy. I’m not a theology student, I don’t preach in church, and I’ve never written a book. I’m just a normal guy that thinks, and feels, and is on a never-ending journey attempting to be the best person I can be. I fail frequently at this quest, yet each day, the quest continues. I’ve lived in Boerne since the late ‘80s, I’ve got a most beautiful wife, three wonderful children, and just really, really love God. Thanks for going on my spiritual journey with me.

Planted

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EXPLORE magazine is published by Schooley Media Ventures in Boerne, TX. EXPLORE Magazine and Schooley Media Ventures are not responsible for any inaccuracies, erroneous information, or typographical errors contained in this

Old Timer

publication submitted by advertisers. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the opinions of EXPLORE and/or Schooley Media Ventures. Copyright 2016 Schooley Media Ventures, 930 E. Blanco, Ste. 200, Boerne, TX 78006

Publisher Benjamin D. Schooley ben@hillcountryexplore.com

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Operations Manager Peggy Schooley peggy@smvtexas.vom

Creative Director Benjamin N. Weber ben.weber@smvtexas.com

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BOERNE, T X

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NE XT TO LIT TLE GRETEL

DEAREST EXPLORE READER, There’s just something about an old boat.

It can’t be a new boat, nor even a restored boat. It must be an OLD boat. It needs weathered upholstery, and faded controls. The interior carpet should be ripped and jagged, and there simply must be random tools in random locations, and there better be an old squished beer can somewhere on board.

The rope lying around must be old and frayed, it can have no stereo, and there should be old oil-stained shop towels stuffed under a seat somewhere. It should have some water stains along the hull, and a motor that frustrates you to no end with its intermittent performance. If you have a CB on this boat, that’s a bonus. At least 2 of the gauges on the dash should be inoperative. And if you’re super lucky, there should be a really slow leak somewhere on the boat that you just can’t seem to find, but that the bilge pump keeps up with just fine.

If you have all these things, then you, my friend, have a proper OLD BOAT. Old boats fascinate me. Old cars hold no glimmer in my eye, but there is something about an old boat that just transfixes me and I can stare at them for hours. Yes, I’m strange.

During my last trip to the coast (pre-hurricane), I was in Rockport by that enormous boat storage facility that was destroyed in the storm. Beside it is a large junkyard (we’ll call it) of old boats. Tired, ragged old shrimping boats and fishing skiffs and even a few sailboats. Larger houseboats, deep-sea fishing boats, and even the cruiser boats for the bays. Some were sitting properly on platforms awaiting work, and some were tossed into the corners like yesterday’s garbage. They sit out there as I’m sure someone promised their wife that they were going to get it “cleaned up” but all of them appear to have sat out there for decades under a blistering coastal sun and done what old boats do – get older.

They’re relics and I absolutely bathe in the history that they want to tell you about. Old cars fall apart and stop working and get rust and their tires go flat, but boats will tell you their stories forever. They tend to hold onto their history and give you glimpses into the lives that they have lived and the men and women that have captained them.

I stare at them and can see notches in the wood along the edges and wonder what great beast they were fighting from the stern that would have caused that.

The random bails of rope strewn this way and that was surely involved in countless adventures. The beer by the Captain’s chair. I wonder what he was like? The name of the boat – what inspired it? When was it applied to the boat? How many great people looked out from behind these windshields as they turned these vessels into the wind and stared out across the water, breathed deeply, and allowed even the slightest smirk of a smile to creep across their faces?

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Man, these old boats are like time machines, and the stories they tell are magnificent and adventurous and broad.

If you listen close enough.

I have absolutely no clue where my appreciation for old boats comes from. I did not grow up in a marine city (save for my earliest years around Corpus), I have never worked on the ocean, and my maritime experience is limited to the casual weekend fishing trip around Rockport.

But sure enough, when I’m out on the water and see some old hunk of a boat steaming by, I am transfixed by it, and conjure up some amazing tales in my head for the captain aboard that boat and imagine that some great mysterious adventure awaits.

Because I’m strange, I’ve actually spent more time than I should admit thinking about this obsession with old boats. I was recently watching a movie that had an old boat in it, and I caught myself noticing EVERYTHING about it, down to the initials on the oar that was stowed. I hit pause and exclaimed in my head, “Hold on a second! Whose initials are RFJ??? Those aren’t the actor’s initials in this movie! Woah!” and then I chuckled to myself because, well, I’m strange.

The closest that I’ve gotten to an answer is also part of why I love architecture, homes, ancient ruins, and the like.

I find it overwhelming fascinating to touch the limestone on an old house around here (an old house means pre-1900) and think to myself “Whose hands carved this rock? Who was he? How long did it take him?” and then I repeat this though when looking at the front door knob.

The walls. The rooflines. The ancient windows. Somebody, somewhere way back in time, worked themselves ragged to build this house, and now I’m touching the very rock that they slaved away to carve. Then I get chillbumps. I love it.

And the more that I unpack this sentiment, I have come to think that somewhere in me is a growing appreciation for a different kind of relic: PEOPLE. I’m no “off the showroom floor” boat anymore. I have weathered vinyl and jagged carpeting. My gauges don’t work all of the time, and my motor sure as hell is intermittent. I have scars and bumps and bruises, but if you give me just enough gas, and turn the key at the right time, I can still chug along and function as advertised.

The scars on me tell a story that only I know, and it’s my secret to share with only those important enough to know.

And I suppose that’s kind of like an old boat – those old scars and chinks in the wood have some amazing stories behind them, and maybe some day you’ll learn about them. Or maybe not.

My grandfather just turned 93 and is as spry as a youthful 80-something-year-old. I caught him the other day interjecting a conversation with some story from the ‘40s and it seemed very out of sorts for the conversation that

we were all having. As if the conversation stopped and story-time began. I thought about it later and realized that he was deeming us important enough to explain his story, and to tell of an adventure that we had not previously known. When his story was over the conversation resumed, but again, it reminded me of an old boat that was simply dispensing bits of its story on those lucky enough to be with him. We all chuckle about old people that do this – interject stories at random times – and while it is kind of funny, it’s also quite purposeful because if you don’t hear this story now, will you have time to hear it later? Maybe. Maybe not.

Our personal journeys from birth to death are our own, and along the way we gather so much experience. In the case of the old boat, it’s frayed rope and squished beer cans and oily old shop towels. They are trinkets that tell of days gone by and adventures that were had. Some were good, some were bad, and some were awful. But those old boats had a purpose and they performed and they saw way more than you and I have seen…and even though they might end up in an old junkyard, they still stand majestically and make you wonder.

People are very similar. We experience things, and we collect trinkets of our adventures, both the good and the bad.

The scars are there for reasons, and for some, you might never learn why they are scarred. But no matter because it’s simply part of the story. They still arise each day and do simply the best that they can, intermittent motor and all. So long as they still arise, then the adventure awaits.

No matter your age.

I’m a lover of people, and I hope that I always will be. I am endlessly fascinated by what makes us tick and the baggage that we all carry. The next time you are out and about, look around. Know that every single person that you see has a story, and scars, and frayed rope. They arose today, and are navigating the ship channels of life along with you, and while some might be a little more beaten up than others, we’re all just old boats, accumulating our trinkets, waiting on the next adventure, and avoiding our impending stay in the junkyard.

Welcome to February. No matter your condition, we are all boats upon this sea. Strike out, EXPLORE, stare through that windshield and stare down your fate. This is your one trip around the world…may we all make it count.

Smiling, Benjamin D. Schooley

ben@hillcountryexplore.com

Authentic

WE AR E

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AREA EVENTS

Get out and enjoy the great Texas Hill Country!

The most comprehensive events calendar. Send submissions to info@hillcountryexplore.com

February 10-11 Texas Hill Country Home and Design Show The fifth annual event features Dr. Lori from the Discovery Channel.

Bring your antiques for a free appraisal. Hangar Hotel Event Center, 155 Airport Road. hillcountryhomeshow.net February 16-March 4 “The Addams Family” Charles Addams’ weird and wonderful family comes to devilishly delightful life in a new musical comedy, presented by Fredericksburg Theater Company. Steve W. Shepherd Theater, 1668 S. US 87. fredericksburgtheater.org BANDERA February 1-3 11th Street Mardi Gras Celebration Enjoy live Cajun and country music, Cajun food, a gumbo cookoff, a costume contest, and a canine costume contest. 11th Street Cowboy Bar, 307 11th St. February 3, 10, 17, 24 Bandera Cattle Company Gunfighters Experience the excitement of the Wild West with the award-winning Bandera Cattle Company Gunfighters, recreating shootouts and daily life of the Old West. Shows are at high noon and 2 p.m. Bandera Visitor Center, 126 SH 16. banderacattlecompany.com February 3 Mardi Gras Parade Downtown will be filled with floats, horses, cowboys, feathers, masks, and plenty of beads.

Main Street.

February 3 The Old Timers Trading Post Meet local artists and artisans. The Old Timer, 14178 SH 16.

February 6 Cowboy Capital Opry Grand Old Opry-style entertainment hosted by Gerry and Harriet Payne. Enjoy refreshments and door prizes. Silver Sage Community Center, 803 Buck Creek. silversagecorral.org February 11 Frontier Times Museum Cowboy Camp Enjoy traditional cowboy music. You are welcome to bring your guitar and join in the song circle. Bring your own refreshment and chair. Frontier Times Museum, 510 13th St. frontiertimesmuseum.org February 15 Cowboy Camp Come out and enjoy the pickers circle, and join in if you wish. Bandera Beverage Barn Pavillion, 1407 SH 16.

BLANCO February 17 The Miro Quartet in Concert Blanco Performing Arts presents one of America’s most celebrated and dedicated string quartets. Uptown Blanco Ballroom, 317 Main St. blancoperformingarts.com BOERNE February 1-10 “Incorruptible” Welcome to Priseaux, France, c.

1250 A.D.: The river flooded again last week. The chandler’s shop just burned to the ground. Nobody’s heard of the wheelbarrow yet. And Saint Foy, the patron of the local monastery, hasn’t worked a miracle in 13 years. In other words, the Dark Ages still look rather dark. All eyes turn to the pope, whose promised visit will surely encourage other pilgrims to make the trek and restore the abbey to its former glory. That is, until a rival church claims to possess the relics of Saint Foy and “their” bones are working miracles.

All seems lost until the destitute monks take a lesson from a larcenous one-eyed minstrel, who teaches them an outrageous new way to pay old debts. Boerne Community Theatre, 907 E. Blanco. visitboerne.org February 10 Boerne Chocolate Walk Join the Boerne community for this sweet event. The walk will take you through Boerne’s downtown district where you will see unique stores, galleries, and restaurants. Tickets are available online only. Limited availability. Downtown Boerne, 100 N. Main. visitboerne.org February 10-11 Boerne Market Days Since 1850, Main Plaza has been a center point of trade for the people of Boerne.

In the present day, on the second weekend of every month, Main Plaza is home to a magical outdoor market that blends the traditions of the Texas Hill Country with the creations of today’s culture. Hundreds of festive booths display everything from collectibles and remembrances of the past to modern innovations that will bring a smile of wonder

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to those who stroll past. Scrumptious food and captivating music top the experience and delight the senses. Main Plaza, 100 N. Main. visitboerne.org February 15 Accordion Virtuosi of Russia Presented by Boerne Performing Arts, the accordion takes center stage when this world-renowned ensemble makes its Boerne debut.

They have performed at the Olympic Games in Munich, Montreal, and Moscow, with a diverse repertoire ranging from folk songs to pop music to full orchestration of the classics. Founded by Professor Pavel Smirnov in 1943, during the Leningrad siege, today’s exceptional ensemble is led by the third generation of the Smirnov family. Champion High School Auditorium, 201 Charger Blvd. visitboerne.org February 20 The Ten Tenors in Concert Fresh off the success of their 20th Anniversary World Tour, The Ten Tenors return to Boerne with their new show, “Wish You Were Here”—a celebration of musical legends lost before their time, presented by Boerne Performing Arts. Honoring artists from David Bowie to Amy Winehouse to John Lennon, The Ten Tenors will take you on a feel-good excursion through some of the world’s greatest hits: classic rock, current chart toppers, and traditional favorites. Champion High School Auditorium, 201 Charger Blvd. visitboerne.org February 24-25 Boerne Hill Country Spring Antiques Show The 38th annual event encompasses three large buildings filled to the brim with antiques. Featuring country furniture, baskets, stoneware, jewelry, textiles, early paper, toys, silver, quilts, pewter, American oak, Southwestern art, and so much more for the antiques collector. Plenty of free parking. Kendall County Fairgrounds, 1307 River Road. visitboerne.org MARK YOUR CALENDAR EVENT: April 28 2nd Annual Cave Fest Cascade Caverns presents their 2nd Annual Cave Fest 10:00 a.m. - 8:00 p.m.. Come enjoy children’s activities, food trucks, cave tours, live music, and more. Vendor booths available. Proceeds benefit the “Save The Cave” legal fund. visit www.cascadecaverns.com for more information.

CANYON LAKE February 8 Winter Texan Reception This event offers visitors to the area a warm Texas greeting including restaurant samples, vendor booths, games, and prizes. CRRC, 125 Mabel Jones Dr. canyonlakechamber.com COMFORT February 10 Mardi Gras Library Fundraiser It’s Mardi Gras, so dress for the occasion, bring friends, dance, and enjoy this fundraiser for the Comfort Public Library. Comfort Park, 423 Main St. comfortchamber.com FREDERICKSBURG February 2 First Friday Art Walk Fredericksburg Tour fine art galleries offering special exhibits, demonstrations, refreshments, and extended viewing hours the first Friday of every month. Various locations. ffawf.com 830-992-2044 February 9-10 Luckenbach Hug-In and Valentine Ball Get back to the basics of love during this annual camping event with plenty of boot scootin’ in the historic Luckenbach Texas Dance Hall. Luckenbach Texas, 412 Luckenbach Town Loop. luckenbachtexas.com February 9-25 Texas Hill Country Wineries’ Wine Lovers Trail Get tickets online to receive full complimentary tastings and discounts on this self-guided tour. Participating Texas Hill Country Wineries. texaswinetrail.com

February 16-18 Fredericksburg Trade Days Shop with more than 400 vendors in seven barns, featuring acres of antiques, a biergarten, live music, and more. Seven miles east on US 290 across from Wildseed Farms. fbgtradedays.com February 18 Kenari Saxophone Quartet Fredericksburg Music Club presents this concert, featuring an award-winning quartet which formed in 2012 at the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music. Fredericksburg United Methodist Church, 1800 N. Llano. fredericksburgmusicclub.com INGRAM February 1, 8, 15, 22 Ingram Farmers and Artisans Market A community of farmers, ranchers, artists, business owners, friends, and families come together to sell the best of what the area has to offer. SH 39 and Old Ingram Loop.

KERRVILLE February 2 First Friday Wine Share A fun way to meet new or different wines, people, and places of business or art. Please bring no more than one bottle of wine per every two people.

Singles may feel free to bring a bottle every other month.

Try to find the themed bottle of the month (if you can’t, just default to your favorite). Finger foods are always welcome.

Bring your own wine glass—this could be a conversation starter in itself. firstfridaywineshare.com NEW BRAUNFELS February 3, 10, 17, 24 Friday Afternoon Club A Gruene Hall tradition where hipsters, oldsters, suits, locals, and drifters mix it up to get their weekend started with cold beer, prize giveaways, and the best in Texas tunes broadcast live by KNBT 92.1 FM Radio New Braunfels. Historic Gruene Hall, 1281 Gruene Road. gruenehall.com February 11 Gospel Brunch with a Texas Twist This New Orleansstyle gospel brunch, led by Gruene Hall favorite Bret Graham, allows you to sit back and enjoy good food while listening to country-style gospel tunes. Historic Gruene Hall, 1281 Gruene Road. gruenehall.com February 16-17 Gruene Market Days This monthly event (except January) has been held for more than 30 years and features more than 100 artisans offering handmade items made by the vendors themselves. Free parking, admission, and live entertainment. Historic Gruene, 1601 Hunter Road. gruenemarketdays.com February 23 Dailey and Vincent in Concert Enjoy these bluegrass superstars. Brauntex Performing Arts Theatre, 290 W. San Antonio. brauntex.org WIMBERLEY February 2-25 “Pride and Prejudice” This crisp and elegant adaptation will celebrate the legacy of Jane Austen in the bicentennial year of her death. EmilyAnn Theatre and Gardens, 1101 FM 2325. emilyann.org February 9-March 4 “Death by Design” Experience what happens when you mix the urbane wit of Noel Coward with the intricate plot twists of Agatha Christie. Wimberley Playhouse, 450 Old Kyle Road. wimberleyplayers.org February 10 Second Saturday Gallery Trail Fourteen galleries in and around the Wimberley Square stay open late and offer great art, wine, and appetizers. 101 Wimberley Square. facebook.com/secondsaturdaygallerytrail February 15 Susanna’s Kitchen Coffeehouse Concert Series The concert series brings the best musical talent to Wimberley every third Thursday. Enjoy great music in an intimate setting. Susanna’s Kitchen at Wimberley United Methodist Church, 1200 CR 1492. wimberletumc.org

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WWW.HILLCOUNTRYEXPLORE.COM | FEBRUARY 2018

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ART OF THE CROSS

BY BEN SCHOOLEY

If you’ve ever met Jason Brown, Lead Pastor of 1910 Church in Boerne, you would say that he has ENERGY. From his animated demeanor to his impassioned sermons at the

I

fast-growing church, you will rarely catch him not with a smile on his face and with his arms waving this way and that. This energy has allowed him to found and grow one of the area’s larger churches, and lead a congregation with a passion that is infectious and captivating. His story of finding a leadership position in the church is one that takes him to various locations across the country, and required courage, conviction, and this passion that drives his daily pursuits.

Early on, Brown has been involved in the church, and according to him, he’d have it no other way. “My Dad was a pastor and my brother is a pastor. Church is all I’ve known. My church experiences have been great.

It was a fun place as a kid and I grew up with a very healthy view of the church and I know that not everybody holds to that, because I think the church can hurt people, and I know that it doesn’t always do what it’s supposed to do. But I was at the church 5 nights a week and there’s been so many things since those days that fights for our time and the church isn’t the prominent gathering place that it was once.”

While Brown spent much of his time in the church, he has also had the typical athletic pursuits of many young men, and excelled in both baseball and football. This success enabled him to have a serious look at possibly playing professionally after college, so as the time came for his choice of university, Brown had much to consider.

“I was an athlete in a major way. I had an opportunity to go to a lot of different schools to play football or baseball.

I chose baseball because I figured my career could last a lot longer. At the same time, I had felt a call to some sort of Christian service. If I had my way, I figured I would be a pro athlete, and I figured I’d be kind of like Tim Tebow and help out with guest speaking here and there.”

Ultimately enrolling at Dallas Baptist University, a school with a very successful baseball program, Brown majored in Christian Ministry and quickly began to feel pulled in different directions away from his athletic endeavors. “I had a great freshmen year, and I had a crummy sophomore year. I was approached to be on a Youth Led Revival team so there were 5 of us guys and we spent the summer of ‘90 in Amarillo, Texas for 10 weeks. Each week we were in a different church working with the students. I was a part of that and it probably didn’t sit well with my coach because I should have been training, but I just felt that it was what God wanted me to do. While I was doing this revival team, the Lord showed me how He wanted to use me in a local church.”

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As Brown had the opportunity to actually get drafted into professional sports, “one of the churches asked me to come on staff as the Youth and Music Director. After much prayer, I went back to school and relinquished my scholarship. I married Angie the next fall. This little church was all of 150 strong and I started there on September 10, 1990.”

Brown put school on hold for a while working at his new position, and after moving back to the Dallas area, completed his classes in 1998 while working at other churches in the area. From there, he was given another opportunity, this time in Colorado. “I was working at a church in Downtown Denver which was a real change for me. I’m from little towns and it was a lot of culture shock to be where we were. I was a minority spiritually. I’m competing with the mountains and a Mother Earth type of mentality. You think Austin is weird? Try Colorado on for size sometime. I had to grow in my faith during that time, and luckily I did.”

Via one of his college friends, Brown and wife Angie were invited to come to Boerne in 2003 as the Youth Pastor at First Baptist Church, an offer that they quickly accepted.

“I started and pastored their Contemporary Service, which was a new thing for them. When Bubba (previous Sr Pastor) left, our Contemporary service was picking up, but when he left they put the brakes on me pastoring that service. For a year I think that God created and showed me how to grow and plant something and start from scratch. I was learning the community and what people wanted and I just felt like God was calling me to pastor a church. I prayed with the pastors at FBC and I’m getting my resume together to go pastor a church somewhere. But I was getting connected to this community and it’s my size and I’m just loving the area, and I found that I was really connecting here. So they asked if I’d like to found a new church, and I enthusiastically agreed, but I said I didn’t want them to tell me how to do it. And God bless them, they said “Go do it.” So I did.”

From then, 1910 Church was born. Originally having services at Boerne Middle School North, the church outgrew the facilities and moved to Champion High School in 2009. In 2013, the church moved to their permanent location on Sisterdale Highway just north of town. With 3 full services each Sunday morning, the growth has been overwhelming at times, but welcomed. Brown continues, “Comfort and Kerrville are asking for something like we’ve done. I have inquiries from people in Canada.

Minnesota. Asking to see if it can be transplanted there.

It’s been so much fun. Our church is just that I hope you just feel loved and accepted - my junk is as bad as yours, I promise. We’re all struggling with something. Mine might be an addiction. Integrity. Honesty. We all have sins, and we just try to welcome them where they are at and love them through their current situation.”

From his aspirations of Major League Baseball success, to pastoring a church in Boerne, Texas, Jason Brown is left to pursue his life in the way he often says God intended: “Let’s live bright eyed and bushy tailed!” That love of both life and people is evident in his sermons as well as his daily life. “There’s a lot of heartache and pain with what I do...but I just love PEOPLE. I want to see people and I want to see them live the life that they are created to live. Our world tells you what your life should look like, and it’s just not real. Our Word shows you what that life should look like, and I want to show people what that life can look like. I could have made a lot more money playing MLB, or maybe I would have torn my elbows up and it would have been over. But I can tell you that it wouldn’t have been as much fun as what I get to do everyday. And I mean that.”

ninteen:ten church 130 Sisterdale Rd, Boerne, TX 78006 (830) 249-1217

WWW.HILLCOUNTRYEXPLORE.COM | FEBRUARY 2018

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WE ALL KNOW THE OLD SAYING “CLOSE ONLY COUNTS IN HORSESHOES AND HAND GRENADES.”

DON’T LET IT APPLY TO YOUR MARKETING. Logos, websites, branding, and every issue of EXPLORE Magazine 210.507.5250 • 930 E. Blanco • Boerne, TX 78006

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H

History is a popular topic with our readers. Marjorie Hagy’s HISTORY piece is probably the most popular article in our illustrious publication month after month. With that fact, we thought we’d share some broader Texas history each month. Nothing earth shattering, but we hope you might find something to make you pause and say, “Huh. Well I’ll be.”

February 1st, 1882 Building commissioners Nimrod Norton and Joseph Lee turned the first shovelful of dirt for the present Texas Capitol. Construction was financed by the sale of three million acres of public land in the Panhandle, under the auspices of the XIT Ranch. The main building material is red granite from Marble Mountain, west of Austin. The Renaissance Revival structure, for which the Capitol in Washington was the model, was dedicated in 1888. The total cost was $3.75 million.

The cost of restoration in the 1990s was $200 million.

February 3rd, 1959 Charles Hardin Holley, better known as Buddy Holly, died in a plane crash near Mason City, Iowa. After a show on the night of February 2 in Clear Lake, Holly, fellow Texan J. P. Richardson (the “Big Bopper”), and Richie Valens took off in a chartered plane for Fargo, North Dakota. The aircraft went down shortly after take-off, and all aboard were killed. The innovative Holly and his group, the Crickets, had achieved a high level of fame that persists more than forty years later.

In Lubbock, Holly’s hometown, a large statue of the musician stands near the Lubbock Memorial Center.

February 4th, 1968 Marine sergeant Alfredo Gonzalez died near Thua Thein, Vietnam, after action that earned him the Medal of Honor. On January 31 the native of Edinburg was commanding a platoon in a truck convoy formed to relieve pressure on the beleaguered city of Hue. After being wounded, he moved through a fire-swept area and rescued a wounded comrade. On February 3 he was again wounded, but refused medical treatment.

The next day, as the enemy inflicted heavy casualties on his company, Gonzalez knocked out a rocket position and suppressed much enemy fire before falling. The missile destroyer USS Alfredo Gonzalez, named for him, is the first United States military ship named for a Hispanic.

February 8th, 1887 “Longhair Jim” Courtright, former town marshall of Fort Worth, was killed in a gunfight with Luke Short.

This was one of the most famous gunfights in western history--and, contrary to the movie legends, one of the

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few face-to-face shootouts. The duel was the first of two events that drew increased hostile attention to the hive of brothels and bars known as Hell’s Half Acre.

The second was the discovery of a murdered prostitute named Sally, two weeks later. Before these violent occurrences, even legitimate businesses had resisted reform of the Acre because of the money it brought in.

But the deaths of Courtright and Sally brought renewed and ultimately successful cleanup efforts.

February 10th, 1899 Andrea Castañón Villanueva (Madam Candelaria), who claimed to be a survivor of the battle of the Alamo, died at age 113 in San Antonio. She said she had been born in Laredo in 1785, though other sources say she was born at Presidio del Río Grande. She came to San Antonio when she was about twenty-five and married Candelario Villanueva, who she said was her second husband; thereafter she became known as Madam or Señora Candelaria. She was the mother of four children and raised twenty-two orphans. She nursed the sick and aided the poor. She claimed to have been in the Alamo during the 1836 battle and to have nursed the ailing Jim Bowie. Since evidence of survivors is sparse, her claims may never be confirmed, but in 1891 the Texas legislature granted her a pension of twelve dollars a month for being an Alamo survivor and for her work with smallpox victims in San Antonio. Madam Candelaria is buried in San Fernando Cemetery.

February 15th, 1876 On this day in 1876, citizens of Texas adopted the Constitution of 1876. They ratified it by a vote of 136,606 to 56,652. The document is the sixth constitution by which Texas has been governed since declaring independence from Mexico. Among the longest of U.S. state constitutions, the Constitution of 1876 reflects the earlier influences of Spanish and Mexican rule, the state’s predominantly agrarian nature in the late nineteenth century, and a resurgent Democratic party determined to undo many of the measures implemented by Republican administrations during Reconstruction. Despite having been amended more than 230 times, it remains the basic law of Texas today.

February 18th, 1910 Frenchman, Louis Paulhan, made the first recorded airplane flight in Texas. The first people in the state to fly, in the 1860s, were air-show balloonists and their passengers, although several inventors were also busy with plans for winged flying machines. The alleged flight of Jacob F. Brodbeck in 1865 has become a Texas legend. After the Wright brothers’ controlled airplane flights in 1903, aeronautical progress generally was slow until 1909-10, when European aviation made rapid strides and the United States government acquired its first aircraft. Aerial demonstrations proliferated at sites across America, including Houston, where Paulhan made his flight. Military aviation developed at the same time. Lt. Benjamin Foulois, a colorful pioneer pilot, arrived at Fort Sam Houston in February 1910, assembled the army’s recently purchased Wright biplane, and took to the air on March 2, 1910. More than a hundred years later, Texas continues to be a leader in civil and military aviation.

February 23rd, 1945 On this day in 1945, Cpl. Harlon Block of Weslaco appeared in one of the most indelible images to come out of World War II. For three days the men of Company E, Second Battalion, Twenty-eighth Marines, had fought their way to the top of Mount Suribachi, a 550-foot-high extinct volcano at the southern end of the island of Iwo Jima. They first raised a small flag to signal their victory to their fellows below, and a larger flag later. In Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal’s picture of the six men raising this second flag, which won the Pulitzer Prize, the twenty-yearold Block was the stooping figure guiding the base of the flagpole into the volcanic ash. He never saw the famous picture, however, as he was killed in action on March 1 as his unit advanced in the direction of Mishi Ridge. Block was buried in the Fifth Marine Division cemetery at the foot of Mount Suribachi, though his body was taken home to Weslaco in 1949.

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FABULOUS FEBRUARY

A

As the frigid weather comes and goes, and mountain cedar fever season mercifully comes to an end, February will be filled with fabulous opportunities for the Fine Arts in Boerne! While flowers and chocolates are a fantastic treat for Valentine’s Day, fancy an evening with your special one attending a fantastic production presented by professional performing artists from either side of the globe.

Put on the squeeze…with the famous Accordion Virtuosi of Russia. Close your eyes and you will hear a full symphonic orchestra, when in fact the orchestra consists of 30-plus accordions (both keyboard and button versions). Their musical program will include such classics as Sabre Dance by Khachaturian, Hoe-down from Rodeo (Copland), and Czardas by Bittorio Monti, featuring violin soloist Alexander Yakushev. They will also perform Excerpts from West Side Story and a Joplin Ragtime Dance.

This outstanding ensemble was invited to be part of the cultural program for the Olympics Games in Munich, Montreal and Moscow. They were named the “best accordion orchestra of Europe in 2013” by the orchestral society European Union Musika, and will appear at Champion Auditorium on Thursday, February 15.

Celebrate the sights and sounds of the finest accordion orchestra in the world!

Five nights later, on February 20, Australia’s most debonair musical export – The Ten Tenors – will deliver a dynamic mix of vocal power with their stylized flair that leaves audiences worldwide breathless. This encore performance in Boerne will kick off The Ten Tenors’ 2018 North American Tour, and their 20th anniversary as a musical force that has impressed millions of fans in 29 countries.

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The Aussie group will premiere their latest show, Wish You Were Here, a tribute to iconic artists who have left us too soon including Prince, David Bowie, John Lennon, Amy Winehouse, Roy Orbison and more. Fun, impressive and with enough energy to power half the city, The Ten Tenors are straight off their stellar national tour across Australia in 2017. The musical arrangements are slick, fresh and expertly performed…the stadiumfeel of the show makes it easy for the audience to get carried along by the infectious energy of the group.

Your Fabulous February in Boerne will be remembered as…Tenor Forever!

February is a short month, but you can pack it all in! Order your tickets now at: www.

BoernePerformingArts.com; by phone at 830.331.9079; or in person at the Greater Boerne Chamber of Commerce (121 South Main Street in beautiful downtown Boerne).

Single tickets are priced at $60-$40-$30, with a special offer of student tickets for $20.

Showtime is at 7:30pm at Boerne Champion Theater…an easy drive, free parking, and surrounded by unique and delicious dining opportunities spread throughout the quaint city of Boerne.

WWW.HILLCOUNTRYEXPLORE.COM | FEBRUARY 2018

| 27

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BEYOND WORDS

By Marjorie Hagy

T

This is how an article sometimes happens- a writer becomes discombobulated in that bleak, gray-hued time-out-of-time that settles over everything like a shroud after the holidays have stopped making winter fun (have you ever seen that movie The Others with Nicole Kidman?

That’s what I’m talking about.)

She’s housebound due to a minor ice storm (for which Texans have prepared as if for a winter in an outbuilding in Siberia) and crippled by a nasty bronchial infection which she feels certain is probably pneumonia or Ebola, but raises her weary head from her sick bed with a sudden dim remembrance of a dreaded obligation about which she has completely forgotten. In duty bound to a cruel editor and with the last scrap of feeble strength she can muster she limps to the computer and, with palsied fingers and Ny-Quil’d breath, taps a few keys and comes up with an old number of the Boerne Star- sometimes one can scrape up some last-minute inspiration from the back issues of the paper, get an idea on what in the world to write about from something that happened back in the way-back.

So the writer- who, I can reveal now, is I, happens to dig up the Boerne Star from February 15, 1940 and notes the double-feature playing at the Cascade Theater, a couple of oaters it sounds like, Pride of the Bluegrass with Edith Fellowes and James McCallion along with The Kansas Terrors starring an outfit known as the Three Mesquiteers,

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whom one can only hope were the inspiration for the Three Amigos.

The Kendall County Stock Show has just taken place on the 9th, 10th and 11th of February, 1940, the winners are listed, and most of the names are familiar, some of them hauntingly so. Gordon Leesch was twelve years-old in 1940 and took first prize in milk-fed beef cattle, Harold Phillip won second for something called ‘light dry lot’, Robert Cravey pulled a white ribbon for his goat and Edgar Schwarz Jr took the blue ribbon for the ewe he raised. Seidenstickers, Vogts, Roses, Ranzaus and Lemms were represented at the Fairgrounds that weekend nearly eighty years ago now. Looking at old newspapers from your hometown can be an eerie experience, a sad kind of time travel where you, the reader, are in the strange position of knowing something about the people you’re reading about, you know what they could never knowhow it will all turn out. In this February 1940, almost two years before the US entered World War II, a fourteen year-old Calvin Behr from Sisterdale took third place for his fine wool lamb. Almost exactly to the day, five years

later on February 7th, Calvin was killed in Normandy, on his nineteenth birthday. Gordon Leesch, the twelve year-old boy who took the blue ribbon in the milk-fed cattle group, would be killed while leading a patrol into enemy territory near Songnaedong, North Korea, on September 30, 1952. He was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart; he was twenty-four years old. Six weeks later the stadium at the high school on Johns Road was named for him, and dedicated to his memory and “to all students of Boerne High School who died in the service of their country.” When I went to middle school there, the dedication plaque was kind of crammed between the band hall and the art building, and I sometimes stopped to read it, again, and to think about it. His parents went to my church. I had been to their home; I’d seen his picture above their mantel. I don’t know where that plaque is today, but I wish I knew. He shouldn’t be forgotten, nor should the fact that there used to be brutal, merciless wars like the one in which he died.

I have no good segue.

So anyway, on page four of this issue of the Boerne Star (issued every Thursday in the land of sunshine, milk and honey), there’s an ad for a 9 food sale going on at HO Adler’s store (“The store of a million articles!” sometimes billed as the store of a thousand articles, possibly when someone realized no one was actually gonna count and call them out on it, but maybe they just changed the slogan when they got some new articles. Phone number 51.) Rayon brassieres are on sale at Frank’s Variety store for five cents down from fifteen, and dish pans down to fifteen cents from a quarter. Now, I know, who better? that times have changed, but still, I’m skeptical about the quality of these bras, for several reasons, not the least of which is that you could pick up three of them for the price of one dish tub. The thing is, in 1940, a certain silhouette had become fashionable, and not to put too fine a point on it (pun sort of intended but not discovered until I wrote it by accident and cracked myself up), one’s bust was supposed to resemble a couple of ice cream cones, pointy side out. Of course, your typical hausfrau or farm wife wouldn’t have dreamed of sallying forth to milk old Blessie at four in the a.m. decked out in a bullet bra lest she gore the poor animal right through the flank, nor would it have been at all safe for her to prepare the requisite ten-course farm dinner with those tatas suspended over the wood stove. And the idea of outfitting every female in the family for two bits must have been fairly attractive in those days of the Great Depression, even if the actual brassieres weren’t, so there you go. Still, in HO Adler’s ad on the same page we find that a box of Oxydol flakes was going for fifty-nine cents, or about the same price as an even dozen bras...I mean, you see what I’m saying, right? When was the last time you purchased twelve whole bras for the price of one thing of Tide pods?

Be that as it may, yes, you could march into Frank’s Variety Store- which I imagine would’ve been a lot like a ‘40s version of our old Bill’s Dollar Store- lay down a handful of pennies and leave with a whole brace of brassieres. Also, San Antonio Public Service Company, who, in those days, still provided all the electric service to Boerne before B-town bought its own plant, ran an ad on the same page touting the brand-new electric Hotpoint Range with measured heat, for a mere $4.95 down and $4.90 a month for Lord-knows-how-many months, but not a lot of people in town or out in the country could afford that kind of luxury. This was the Depression, remember, and the nation and especially the South, wouldn’t pull out of the misery of it’s grip until well into the war years; parts of the South would face economic hardship all the way up into the 1970s. Most households in Boerne proper and virtually every farmhouse in all the nooks and crannies of the county still cooked and heated the homeplace by way of a wood-burning stove, and an electric range would be something to gaze at in the newspaper and dream about, by the light of a kerosene lamp.

The newspaper in those days was a lot of things to the people- in a tiny rural village and especially among those isolated farms and ranches miles from any neighbors, it could be a kind of lifeline, a thin cord connecting a lonely farm family to the rest of the world. In places where there was no electricity- and that was virtually everywhere in the countryside of Kendall County- there could be no news on the radio, and in that communications vacuum the Boerne Star carried news from the rest of the world, from the Nazis in Germany and the war being waged between the mysterious and far, faraway Republic of China and the Empire of Japan to the President’s latest plans to put the country back to work and the food rationing program in war-torn Britain. The Boerne Star also published novels in serial form, a couple of chapters every week, to people whose life could be a monotonous routine of backbreaking work and very little glamour. In

February 1940 the Star was running Chapter 10 of The Honorable Uncle Lancy, by Ethel Hueston: “I don’t agree with you.” He lighted a cigarette, looking worldly and sophisticated. “Beauty, you know, is entirely a matter of taste.” One could step out of the real world for a precious few minutes and into the urbane and witty world of the fashionable who sipped Singapore Slings on the roof garden of a highrise in midtown while engaging in a bit of witty repartee.

The newspaper provided homemaking tips, crocheting and sewing patterns- This pinafore apron is so pretty that it really deserves to be called a fashion- a crisp, flattering home fashion! There were columns from the Farm Bureau, advice about deworming your cattle and the latest seeds, and bounties were announced: Kendall County Game and Protective Association will pay to members only, a bounty on Blue Darters, Foxes, Bob Cats, [sic] Wolves and Coyotes. Bring scalps to Jim Campbell for payment in Boerne. For the children, in a world before Saturday morning cartoons or even Little Orphan Annie on the radio, there was the comics page, Lala Palooza and Big Top and S’Matter Pop (“Tut, tut! Don’t Steal Ambrose’s stuff!”). Wedding announcements, obituaries, people selling windmill parts or fruit or used wagon wheels; Mr & Mrs Fritz Herms are the proud parents of a baby boy, born Monday, February 12th. And woven in between all of these items, edged in between the ads for patent cures and the Boerne Bakery (B.R. Craig, Prop.

“For Boerne people”), are the everyday events in the lives of the people. Of their neighbors, whether the people next door or the folks on the farm six miles down the road; of the people in their families, their kin, who might live on the other side of the county, but here, delivered every Thursday in the land of sunshine, milk and honey, here you could hear news of them, Oh! Emilie had her baby, a little girl! or Louis look, old Mrs Hall died.

A.C. Ebensberger visited his parents Mr. and Mrs. Pat Ebensberger, over the weekend. Mrs. Adele Wendler was hostess to the Royal Neighbors at their regular meeting Monday. Mr. and Mrs. Cleofas Cooke and daughter, of Ozona, spent the week end [sic] with Mr. and Mrs. Sam Norris (I included this one solely for the sake of recording the name Cleofas.) “The much discussed and long waited for picture ‘Gone With the Wind’ is now showing in San Antonio and has attracted a number of the Boerne people.” Imagine that, a barefoot farm girl in a feedsack dress wading through the drippy gray misery of a February farmyard, dreaming of that lavish movie, of Scarlett dancing in the ballroom, Scarlett at the barbeque in her green and white sprigged muslin dress, surrounded by her beaux.

And on this particular day, when I’m coughing like one of Dr Herff ’s lungers and blue at the lowering sky and the sleet against the windows, my attention lights upon a tiny little announcement that surely nobody has thought about in nearly fourscore years, something inconsequential and quite possibly even an ad disguised as gossip. It’s headlined “W.D. COMES TO TOWN”, and it’s just another of those little local tidbits, those scraps meant to fill in space between the paid advertisements and the birth announcements. “W.D. (Doc) Wood was in Boerne this week mixing around with his many friends,” it reads. “He operates one of the best service stations on the highway to San Antonio. He also sells cold drinks, beer, groceries and household necessities and invites his friends through the columns of this paper to visit him when they get lonesome and want to leave Boerne.” It just kinda hits the right spot, if you know what I mean. It grabs me for some reason. It makes you wonder- well, it made me wonder, if there was any more to this fella than just a passing mention in the newspaper. See, this Doc Wood, he could’ve just been a guy who owned a service station out in Leon Springs for about six months or so in

1940, who happened to get this plug into the newspaper in an advertising kind of way and who then disappeared forever. He might’ve disappeared into the war. It was the Depression, too- maybe he’d drifted down to these parts looking for something, for some slim chance, and he’d bet it all on this service station, and maybe the thing had folded up and taken his last hope with it. Maybe his tenure running the best service station on the San Antonio highway had been so fleeting that nobody even remembered it except for one oldtimer who’d squint up his eyes and think real hard and then maybe come up with the ghost of a memory.

But maybe not.

It’s kind of exhilarating, plunging into the rabbit hole after a whim, chasing a guy who might be a ghost, who might have lost himself somewhere along the way, on the road from seventy-eight years ago til now. I’ve chased people like that; I have a great-grandmother, whom I never met, but who just suddenly appeared in the world when she was sixteen years old, in 1912. There are some hints and clues, a scrap of paper where she herself seemed to be trying to work out the intricate math of the movements of her own, elusive mother, a prayer card in an old, old family Bible, an obituary cut from a newspaper that mentions all the sorrows and losses the dead woman suffered- but I can’t put my hand on the person I know is there, who existed, but who has been lost to history.

But Doc Wood- turns out, he was never lost at all.

Everyone knew him in old Leon Springs, the Leon Springs before I10 cut a swath right through the heart of the little town, the Leon Springs of Rudy Aue’s corner store and the old rock three-room schoolhouse with the “kissing closet” and a wood-burning potbelly stove in each of the rooms. Doc Wood was no drifter, no hard-luck man who blew into town and wafted down the road just as easily, but a father and an uncle and a man who left his mark on that town, and in the cherished memories of the kids who grew up there, kids who are now octogenarians and nonagenarians, children who’ve long grown up and passed away in their own good time.

Leon Springs of 1940 was a little village that had grown up in the middle of nowhere around a stagecoach stop.

I promise I will tell the whole, wonderful story of Leon Springs one day soon, because there is so much to tell and I stumbled onto a delightful trove of oral history from the people who grew up there, but for now, just briefly: In 1852, the same year that Boerne was founded up the Fredericksburg road to the northwest, one Max Aue was awarded 640 acres of prime Hill Country land about twenty-five miles from downtown San Antonio for his service as a Texas Ranger. Texas was land-rich but cash poor, and German immigrant Aue, who shared the dream of owning his own place like many of his fellow emigres, took the land. He promptly built the first stagecoach stopwhich also became the family home, after Aue’s marriage to Emma Toepperwein in 1857- on what was called the “Jackass” Stage Route stretching from San Antonio to San Diego. It turned out to be a savvy business decision, because Aue’s place was fortuitously located halfway between San Antonio and the soon-to-be-wildly-popular Boerne, which was gaining fame as a health resort and spa, celebrated for its healthful mountain ozone and sparkling pure waters which were promised to cure tuberculins in no time flat- and sometimes they actually did. Anyway, with the popularity of Aue’s horse changing station-slash-rest stop, so conveniently located one day’s travel between the two towns, he went on to build the Settlement Inn in 1879, and ten years later, in 1889, Max’s son Rudolph opened what is described on a certain barbecue joint’s website as “a gas station, garage & grocery store,” although I’m very skeptical about the gas station

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and garage parts, since they didn’t have cars in 1889. I did warn you that this is the Reader’s Digest version. At any rate, the grocery store part, at least, opened for business in 1889 and locals called the place Rudy’s Corner, which is what my boyfriend and I called it in the late 1970s and early 80s, back in our salad days. Back then it was still a gas station in sort of the middle of nowhere to which we would sometimes ride our bikes in order to get a coke, and to get away from his parents’ house so we could make out, and that memory still makes me smile even though it’s been more than thirty-five years since I’ve laid eyes on him. Maybe because it’s been thirty-five years.

Two years before Rudy Aue opened his place, though, in 1887, the railroad finally came to Leon Springs, soon to go all the way through Boerne and points west, and that event signalled the end of the stagecoach era. The railroad re-named the community Aue Station and killed off Aue’s stagestop business, but the Aue family was nothing if not resourceful, and somebody in the fam had a knack for the game. Over the years, various members of the Aue family would build five saloons around Leon Springs to serve the alcohol-and-fellow-companionship needs of the soldiers at Camp Bullis during the first World War and, as automobiles became more popular, they built a gas station that eventually expanded to include a bar and restaurant.

Though the village of Leon Springs was small and everyone knew everyone else and knew their business, too, paradoxically it was also huge, covering a wide expanse of rolling hill and river bottom, oak trees and cedar and valleys and undergrowth, a kingdom spreading west down Boerne Stage Road and east to Camp Bullis and beyond, to the south encompassing all of what is now the Dominion and to the north as far as Fair Oaks.

All those families lived on their various places scattered among those hills, the kids meeting at school and the mothers and fathers in the stores, in the church, in the places in between. They made family excursions to the country dances they held at places like the Three Way Inn and the B29 Inn and in all the little neighboring communities, and the band would play Ten Pretty Girls, they’d play polkas, Put Your Little Foot, The Cotton Eyed Joe, the schottische. During the war the servicemen home on leave would dance in their uniforms with their best girls and everybody looked at them and swelled with love and pride.

And Doc Wood? He and his wife Lillie, like all their kind who’d come to Leon Springs before them in the midst of the Great Depression, they opened their store and gas station right in the heart of that little community, in the midst of their cousins and aunts and uncles, surrounded

by Aues and Ashers and Durlers, the Flores and the Neutzes and Moreaus and Fellers, Blanchards and Pattons.

They had three kids who grew up going to school in the old rock three-room schoolhouse, WD, LeMoine and Delores, who went to the Presbyterian church, who rode their donkeys and horses to school, who played hookie

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in the creek, played baseball against the schools in Locke Hill, Helotes and Leon Valley, who ran wild and free. All the cousins and kin bought their gas and groceries from Doc Wood and Lillie, and the kids would straighten up the candy display case in exchange for a penny sweet or two. Doc loaded up his truck up two or three times a week, every time the movies changed, with his own kids, the hired boy from the store and whatever local urchins wanted to see the pictures, and the whole passel of them would drive into Boerne to the Cascade Theater and watch Gene Autry or Roy Rogers or whatever else was featured that week. They would eventually watch Gone With the Wind. They would watch the newsreels right up through the war; they would see the bombs decimating Pearl Harbor, watch the Battle of Guadalcanal. They would watch the world change between the feature and the cartoon short.

I found people even I know, amongst the memories of Doc Wood’s Leon Springs, a lady I used to go to church with when I was young, a(nother) old boyfriend’s mother and father. Gail McDonough of the old rock quarry where all that stuff is now, Fiesta Texas and The Rim- who could have ever looked ahead and dreamt of that, in 1940? The enormous building on the hill that used to be crowned by the old Mountain Top Inn? John O Meusebach used to live where Camp Bullis is now. The Toepperweins, who used to practice their sharp-shooting out behind the three-room schoolhouse, whose Indian silhouettes plinked into tin once adorned the walls of the old Rudy’s Corner, once lived where they eventually built the Dominion. Think of that.

These different colored threads, visible only occasionally when you chance to look when the light is just right, connect us all together, everybody in the world, and especially those of us in a small town. When I was drifting in a coma once, in the warm, dark waters of timelessness in a state between this life and something else, I had this dream that we were all of us traveling down a wide river, each in our little individual boats full of the things we’d packed, and we all kept bumping up against each other, impeding each other, irritating each other, with all our precious, meaningless things tumbling overboard, and I began to perceive a voice that had been calling, all along, trying to urge us all to help one another, to reach out and link hands, because we’re all together, all going the same place. Sometimes I remember that, and I long to become a person who listens.

Doc Wood was found, and it turns out he never was lost, that he was always there, all along. Sometimes down the rabbit hole we stumble across these amazing things- the stories told by a community of children, saved from oblivion because someone thought to write them down and thereby preserve the memory of a man who lived once, and left a mark to say he’d been there. Doc invites his friends to come visit him when they get lonesomeand I bet they did, too.

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PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

By Kendall D. Aaron

S

Sometimes our vantage point provides us with a most unique angle to view human nature.

Part of my job is running a local website. It’s an e-commerce platform, meaning that it is a gateway that allows people to purchase items from local businesses.

Our customers are typically local folks looking to save a few bucks here and there. It’s a lot of fun, as I like to think we’re helping local business find local customers, and for the most part, I think that we succeed in that.

Having a job like that means that the majority of my interaction with our customers is via email. People write in with problems or questions, and I do my best to answer those questions. 99% of those people that write in are simply confused by a step in the purchase process, and I’m able to quickly provide them an answer so that they can be on their way.

And then there is the 1%.

I suppose it’s the anonymity that the internet provides, or the fact that they must assume I’m sitting behind a desk in India, or Pakistan, or Walla Walla, Washington, but that 1% of customers can really wear me out. If they’re having trouble verifying their purchase went through ok, it’s not “Hey there, I’m having trouble locating my receipt”. Instead, it’s “OH MY GOSH – you’re a bunch of thieves!!! You charged my account and I can’t find the receipt on your stupid, poorly designed thieving website!!! GRRRR!” You wanna know the part that’s really hard to stomach? Odds are, I personally know the person emailing me like that. Even worse, sometimes I know them from church. And I think it’s a really good teaching moment.

I’ve been guilty of this before. We’ve all called into our cell phone provider and had an epic meltdown over a billing error. We’ve gotten frustrated and screamed for a manager and acted like an 8 year old having a tantrum. We’re all guilty of this. I think the thing to remember is that the person on the other end of the phone is just that – a person. A fellow human being. That person didn’t wake up today with the idea that they were going to personally go find Jane Doe from Boerne’s cell phone account, mis-bill her, and then

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laugh at her when she calls in. Instead, that poor guy on the other end of the line has two kids he’s trying to feed, and his wife is out of work. He’s behind on his car payment and is just doing the best he can. Oh, and he’s on meds from having to deal with people like you that call in for 8 hours a day and scream at him.

But back to my point: we are Christians, and Christians don’t act like that. After screaming at the poor guy over your cell phone bill, you take a deep breath, and then you email your friend about how AWESOME last week’s service was at church? You know, the one about forgiveness and patience? Subconsciously, that person on the other end of the phone (or the website) isn’t really a person. They’re just a nameless, faceless drone that is there to take your beatings and answer your questions.

At least until you meet someone like me.

I live in your same town, and might have actually shaken your hand. I’m a real person with 3 kids and a mortgage. I’m here to help you, and yes, I suppose I’m here to let you scream at me. Proverbs 15:18 tells us, “A hot-tempered man stirs up dissension, but a patient man calms a quarrel.” Guess which one we’re supposed to be?

People are always watching one another and making judgments. We see one another as we interact, and decide what kind of person you are based on those interactions.

I used to yell at the poor customer service rep on the other end of the phone. I don’t anymore, because I’ve walked in that poor guy’s shoes. Instead, I work to be patient with him, and hopefully even brighten his day. I have even ended calls by thanking him and saying “May God bless you.” I hope that after all the calls he takes throughout the day from people being frustrated and yelling at him, that my phone call is the only one he remembers.

Slow down out there, folks. Be good to one another. Take every opportunity you can to brighten someone’s day, and to be a representative of Christ. Even though it’s a mundane moment of calling for help to some guy with a headset on, why not take that mundane moment and bless that person.

Because you just never know – you might shake his hand someday.

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WWW.HILLCOUNTRYEXPLORE.COM | FEBRUARY 2018

| 37

BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED

By Krysta Johns

T

Those were my mother’s words of advice back in 1999, when the moving van was loaded and taking me from my hometown of Houston to a faraway place called Boerne.

I’d visited Boerne since 1996 and thought it was a sweet little town with its population of about 5,000, but it was never my intention to move there. Nope. I was comfortable where we were. Yet, I suddenly found myself unpacking and trying to get settled in a town where I pretty much knew no one.

I enrolled my three-year-old in classes at Boerne Gymnastics. We made friends instantly. When she was old enough, it was time for Boerne Soccer. Fourteen seasons of Boerne Soccer.

Working at the Boerne Star newspaper for several years, volunteering with the Chamber of Commerce, and having a child at Fabra Elementary, it seemed I knew just about everybody in town by first name. Most people knew me too, because I wrote a weekly column for the newspaper, Home Cookin’, for nearly a decade.

Life took some twists and turns over the next few years and I found myself looking at a mortgage with only my name on it, and a thriving flowerbed in the front yard that my mother helped me plant. Personally, and professionally, I was blooming where I was planted – and my child was blossoming as well.

During this season of growth, I found true love and gained a couple bonus kids, as well as a name change. Life was better than I’d ever known.

Then one day, tragedy yanked me from the ground and stomped me to bits.

My precious mother was brutally murdered by her abusive husband of 37 years. Stolen in the time it took for him to pull the trigger six times. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

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Life during that time is a blur. I cried for three months straight… and one day, I physically couldn’t cry any more.

A friend once told me that tears were like nourishing rain for the soul, but I don’t think that applied in this situation.

I cried until there were no tears, left with a ragged soul.

My beloved husband came up with a plan for our healing – he decided that I needed to sleep on the ground. With a perfectly good RV sitting in storage, we loaded up our tent and camping gear and slept on the ground in the most beautiful places we could get to in a long weekend.

We camped at the Gila Hot Springs in New Mexico. I caught whiffs of my mom all over the place. I took photos that look like they have angels in them. The day we left to head home, it was 20 degrees inside the tent. It was a special trip.

It began raining shortly after we turned in for the night, and the thunder and lightning kept me awake for hours.

When we awoke the next morning to water droplets falling on us through the tent, it was the most beautiful blue sky I’d ever seen. Clear and crisp with birds chirping all around us. It was Easter Sunday. It felt like the world was blooming with new life around us … after a night of storms. And we survived those storms.

We camped at Big Bend National Park several times and drove for hours and hours around the park, just breathing in the beauty and nature and mountains and peace.

Stillwell Ranch, outside of the park and where we camped all alone out in the high desert with ravens and kangaroo rats at our campsite, will always be a special place of healing in my heart.

We’d been discussing moving to New Mexico or Colorado when our girls were out of school, because we loved the elevation, the climate and the mountains. Fort Davis had all of these things, and it was still in Texas. I’m a seventhgeneration Texan. He’s a Son of the Republic of Texas.

Our roots run deep in Texas.

Our Davis Mountains State Park camping trip was over Easter weekend 2014, just four months after our tragedy. After we’d eaten our camp-fired dinner, the blue, cloudless afternoon sky turned green - and the moderate temperature turned frigidly cold – then suddenly, we were pelted with hail. All of the other campers left. We stayed.

On our way home, we drove around the sleepy little town of Fort Davis and noticed a run-down commercial property for sale on the main street. This place was in pretty sad shape, but we both could see the potential. It even had an RV cover with hook-ups. We grabbed a flier and hit the road back to Boerne.

After we purchased the run-down main street property just a couple months after we saw it, we moved the RV out and began driving five hours each way, every other weekend, from Boerne. Signs of my mother were all over the place in Fort Davis, but that’s a story for another time.

With an empty nest, we stuck the For Sale sign in the

front yard of the Boerne house, less than two years after we’d bought our piece of far West Texas. We had two offers in the first 26 hours. We were about to uproot everything. Ready or not, Fort Davis… here we come.

Jan. 31, 2018 marks our two-year anniversary of living full-time in Fort Davis, population about 1,000. The movie, Dancer, TX: Population 81, was filmed here.

We struggle on a daily basis with creeping industrialization trying to take over the last great frontier, threatening the pristine landscapes we initially fell in love with. After we bought here, we found out about plans for that 42” pipeline to Mexico, and a potential nuclear waste site built just north of us. That was quite a shock. I won’t get started on how I feel about that.

I’ve served as a board member for the Friends of the Jeff Davis County Library, and am the current president of the Fort Davis Lions Club. My husband is also a Lion. I’ve been writing a weekly food column called Savoring West Texas for the Alpine Avalanche for almost two years now.

Since moving here, we’ve discovered that my husband’s long-deceased great uncle was a State Senator and saloon owner in the nearby town of Shafter, the once economic center of the Trans Pecos region, as it had a thriving silver mine back in the 1800s. He’s buried in the Marfa Cemetery – just 20 miles from where we now live. We had roots here and didn’t even know it until we got here.

But make no mistake – living in far West Texas isn’t for everybody.

BUT, we have a spectacular mountain at the end of our street, loaded with aoudad sheep that hop from rock to rock with magical grace.

We have no “big boxes” for shopping, and rely on our wonderful small, locally-owned businesses on a daily basis… and online shopping when that doesn’t suffice.

There is no such thing as Two-Day Shipping out here, in case you wondered.

The Milky Way is generally above us, and sometimes it’s so bright you could almost read a book in its light.

We worry about javelinas and mule deer eating our landscape.

We don’t disturb red ant beds because horned toads eat the ants and horned toads are just adorable.

We are cautiously aware of rattlesnakes tucked in places we wouldn’t expect them.

We have more hummingbirds descend on us each spring than anywhere I’ve ever known, and so we celebrate with a Hummingbird Festival each August.

You give up the city-life mindset of I-want-it-now when you make the move out here. It takes some time, but you get used to it. I’m almost there. Almost.

My story is long-winded, I know. If you’ve gotten this far, please remember this: Do whatever it takes to bloom where you’re planted, no matter where that soil is.

Get involved in your community. Volunteer with the women’s shelter, senior center, food bank, animal shelter, nature center, or the chamber of commerce. Get involved in your kid’s school, athletics, church or the beautiful library there in Boerne.

Find somewhere you can share your talents and grow.

You might be uprooted from a life you thought you were comfortable with, but chances are, if you were so easily uprooted, you probably weren’t in full bloom yet.

Boerne was good to us. We raised our kids there and made lifelong friendships that we’ll treasure forever. My now-adult daughter still lives and works there. But, it was time for us to move on down the highway.

Far West Texas isn’t for delicate flowers, and I like to think that I’m blooming like some of my favorite local plants prickly pear and ocotillo cactus - here in the high desert of far West Texas.

And, I believe my Mom would be proud.

Visit my blog at www.becausefoodiswhatido.com for a taste of life west of the Pecos and east of the Rio Grande.

We don’t even have a traffic light in town.

Want to go to Wal-Mart? That’ll be 160-miles, round trip. Need to go to CostCo? The closest one is in El Paso, three hours away. HEB is just under three hours away, the opposite direction, in Odessa.

We have crazy storms, the most beautiful sunsets and sunrises, and the widest-open spaces I’ve ever seen.

And this is our home.

Our neighboring towns are our extended community – Alpine, Marfa, Marathon, Balmorhea - all the way down through Shafter to Presidio, and back up through Terlingua because we all live in the Big Bend of Texas.

We drive down to Terlingua for dinner when the mood strikes.

WWW.HILLCOUNTRYEXPLORE.COM | FEBRUARY 2018

| 41

O

OLD TIMER

I wrote this piece a few years ago. I don’t remember the year it originally ran, nor the month. Unimportant, I suppose.

I was feeling particularly nostalgic and wanted to do something a little different with my column and hammered this out on a beautiful morning when I really wished that I was having coffee with my dear Claire.

Since then, I get a lot of laughs and high-fives for some of the ridiculous things I write, but this particular article has brought me more solemn, genuine comments than any of my other pieces.

It’s February, and Valentine’s Day is looming, and well, I figured that it might be time to drag this one out. I hope you enjoy.

I still miss my Claire.

I saw her from across the street. She was in front of the Auto Parts store (that is now the Cypress Grille), and I was heading the opposite direction toward Dr. Adler’s place.

I stared at her with my jaw agape like a fool while she casually strolled. Her hair – I’ll never forget her hair – fluttered around her like a mist in the breeze. I was able to eventually get her to have a cup of coffee with me, and I remember the way that her bright red nails looked while it held the small white porcelain cup.

The way that she laughed so loudly while playing with our children in a large pile of leaves I had raked in the front yard in the fall of 1949. I had returned from the War just a few years previously, and still carried much of the baggage. I leaned on my rake while wearing my dad’s old leather work gloves, and I listened to their shrieks of joy while they laughed and laughed and I could have died a very happy man in that very second. I closed my eyes, raised my face to the sun, and burned that memory into my mind for all eternity.

She wept softly while I had my arm around her shoulder as we waved goodbye to our youngest son as he left for basic training in the spring of ’64. She held her small white handkerchief to her chest and quickly wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes. The nails of her hands were still the same beautiful, beautiful bright red.

Our daughter placed the newborn in my wife’s lap, and she smiled a smile that would make the heavens sing out. She made faces at our first grandchild, and kissed his forehead, and they disappeared in their own little world for quite a while. She held him cheek to cheek and patted his back, and though we had both aged so much, I

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remember thinking that I wish I was an artist because I would paint that image one million times until I could do it justice.

Even though nobody ever could.

I sat in the small wicker chair on the terrace in Italy. She stood at the railing; eyes closed, sun kissing her face, and let the wind blow through her hair. She breathed deeply, her hands on the rail, and I inhaled the image. A vacation for a couple of older retirees, she had always dreamed of seeing Italy. She had told me her dream once when we were dating – she had said “I just want to stand on a balcony and see the vineyards in the distance and…..just drink it all in.” It took me longer than I wanted to bring her here, but if she was my dream, I wanted to fulfill hers.

I kissed her forehead and said, “I’ll see you soon baby girl.” That was 11 years ago today. I listened to her last breath, and then looked out the window at a perfectly blue sky on a perfectly wonderful spring day. A bird was on the window sill, and he chirped at me once before quickly flying off. I think he was saying goodbye, too.

I sat there for a long time that day. When you spend that many years with one person, it’s more than a little frightening to know that my life would never look the

same starting the very next day. In fact, it makes you wish that you didn’t have to see the very next day. I just sat there and held her hand, and watched those clouds drift across that beautiful sky. It’s hard to think that it’s really been 11 years now. Not one day has passed that I don’t ache for her and it’s just as painful as it was that very next day.

And to this day, I would give anything to be able to sit with her again. I’d hold her hand and smile at those perfect, perfect bright red nails.

There’s more to all of us than we let on. Yeah, I’m Old Timer, but for 56 years I was also Claire Elizabeth’s Husband.

And she was My Dream.

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