|from the river|
|from the house|
Opting for the scenic yet rather circuitous route between San Antonio and Austin a couple weeks back, I spent Friday night at the halfway point... the family ranch of a dear friend just outside of Johnson City. Never you mind that halfway made it twice the distance. The occasion was a cherished and all-too-rare evening in the company of men. We satiated ourselves with braised pork ribs and queso, whiskey, poker and Texas TV (if you don't know what that last one is I'll give you a hint... to turn it on you have to build it first, and it only has one channel, and it'll keep your ass warm when the Hill Country wind kicks up).
I grew up hunting just north of there in Round Mountain. It's blissful, this rugged smattering of hills and oak trees and mesquite, with a river that, when it runs, can give you falls and deep pools of water that provide refuge from the summer heat. Unfortunately the gap in hunting seasons coincides disastrously with the lull in sports seasons, so all we could shoot off was our mouths. Nothing presidential about that but it makes for good stories.
About a half mile outside the gate I regained tower service, catching the front-end of KUT's Folkways; it kicked off with four tunes from the ever-gravelly and oh-so-lovely Lucinda Williams. Then Hank Williams, then Robert Earl Keen, and I was home...