Cowboy Capital of the World

Sunday saw an hour and a half drive to Austin. First stop was the capital. Hailed as the 7th biggest building in the world in 1888, it still stands as the biggest state capital in the U.S., although it is smaller than our nation's Capitol in D.C. It's a nice walk, over a bridge, under the boughs of rich foliage and up to the face of this tall, tan structure. Through one of the entrance doors, you walk down the corridor and out into the rotunda. Three balconies rise in succession overhead, and far above that is the dome, with 'Texas' spelled out at its zenith.

There are pictures of the former governors on the walls of the rotunda. I grabbed a shot of the memorable Ann Richards and paid token respect to our current President. A tall painting of Davy Crocket, the frontiersman-politician, stands in one of the wings. I did some video, capturing everything from the building to the Seguay tours running around the grounds. Before I left I made a stop at one of the more notable issues of contraversy in the state, the Ten Commandments on the capital grounds. I had to stop and question their right to be there.

Since you hear so much about the Austin music scene, I had to head down to the Warehouse district. The strip has many bars, restaurants and tattoo dens. No need to worry if you've forgotten your cash, there is an ATM every ten feet or so. (As in many instances, I was busy with my video camera, so do not have pictures.) Grabbing a good collection of shots representative of the area, I had to catch an Irish pub and hopefully some music. Knowing the music mainly comes at night, I was happy to find a piano player in the bar. Grabbing a Guiness or two I listened to this player of mostly blues tickle the keys. I encourage everyone to tip musicians. They depend on it and, furthermore, its a way to be a part of the experience! I popped my tip in the jar and, while doing so, requested some Fats Waller and Jelly Roll Morton. Then came that Chicago sound.

With Guiness helping the thought, I floated back to Chicago in the 20's, watching the little, fat, Waller, run up to the piano between cinema films. He'd be thumpin' that piano and rolling his big eyes and hamming it up, to the howls of laughter of all the Black children. You could here the evolution of the marching band music of WWI, transform itself into the syncopated thump. It was these first Black musicians, playing in whorehouses, providing that 'thump' for the business upstairs. Thus the birth of Jazz.

Well, this player of the keys was good in his own right. Playing southern blues, with a jovial nature, he seemed happy. I found it quite odd that he went from playing this to one of my favorite Sting songs, Fragile. He had the nuances of each of the musicians he played in his fingers. I tipped him on the way out, thanking him for his work, and left that establishment to the tune of 'Popsicle Toes.' While I didn't catch the 'hippest' joints in Austin, I had a thoroughly fulfilling and personal musical experience in this 'Capital of Live Music.'

With a happy soul, I came a across a 'dime museum' of the bizarre and had to take it in. I was more taken by the nostalgia of the place, tucked into the small shopfront. I looked smirkingly at the shrunken heads and mermaids, felt sorry for the three-eyed cow, and puzzled over the 'authentic' mummy.

From there I shot to the shooting location of Austin City Limits, filmed not much, and then cruised to the 'best' BBQ joint in Austin, the Salt Lick. Not actually in Austin, but some 30 minutes away in Hill Country, the Salt Lick is a family-style barbecue joint tucked into the hilly, oak-covered hills of Driftwood. You couldn't ask for anything better. You pull into a giant, gravel lot, being directed with a cowboy-hat-wearing, gun-in-holster, authentic sheriff. You find a spot in the lot, which is large, and by the number of cars, feel that you are at a state fair. Walking through the 100 degree air, across the lot that has been baking in the sun all day, with the throngs of happy Mexicans and gringos, you get in line, make your reservation and are handed a buzzing coaster. You can take a seat at the tables underneath the oaks as you wait.

Once inside you have many options.I went for the family style. Then came the plate of meats, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, beans and bread. The experience was accentuated by the atmosphere. Seated in a heavy wooden picnic table, inside a structure feeling every bit a ranch hall, with stone and mortar foundations, no air conditioning and dim light equivalent to oil lamps. The sweat on your brow was caused by equal helpings of Texas heat and Texas feast. I held myself to one plate, yet the ribs, sausage and pork were trying to seduce me.

Monday's shoot took me into on of the deeper realms of Hill Country. Climbing out of the Tapatio canyon on Deep Hollow, I weaved through the ranch land. Ranch upon ranch upon ranch. I was leaving Boerne, named for one of the first German settlers of the area. Hill Country owes much of its heritage to those first determined souls from Deutschland.

Pulling into the ranch, I felt a happy anticipation which does not normally come in shooting properties. Horses, cowboys and hilly ranch land were all around. I got the gear together and head in. Breakfast was being served. A young, smiling cowgirl was the first to greet me and she was first to break the very sad news. The day before, one of the staff members had died in front of everyone. He was a central figure and the place was in a state of grief, understandably. Her kindness, smiling brightness and apologetic goodness towards me, made it all the more sad. I met the owner and he said that he was really sorry but he didn't think he could ask his fellow employees to act happy in front of the camera at this time. He, also, was very apologetic for the inconvenience. He also explained that the poor man's wife was an employee there as well. I shook his hand, gave him my deepest sympathies and went about my way. The surrounding and great goodness of these people made it so difficult to leave. I rolled down the ranch land with spirits mixing with the storm clouds above.

Passing back into the heart of Bandera, named for the flag that once denoted the land separating the Americans and Spanish, I stopped for a cowboy's breakfast. After all, this was the "Cowboy Capital of the World!" The main stretch read with storefront signs of Cowboy this and Cowboy that. Antique stores and Indian jewelry stores. Eating at the Old Spanish Trail looked like the right choice. Boy was I right! Packed with happy breakfasters which included cowboys with spurs, Indians donning choker necklaces and flowing gray hair, and your average joe in sandals. I opted for the buffet. A tray of a great egg concoction, sausage, potato patties and biscuits and gravy. I ate and gazed up from my biscuits. There was a John Wayne room, bedecked with tons of his movie memorabilia. There were two lever-action repeating rifles hanging on the wall, an instrument my heart still lingers heartily for! There was also a man, dressed up in the most authentic-looking, 19th century cowboy garb you could imagine. His mustache was as bushy as his beard, and sandy with age. I would learn his story, later.

I was smitten with Texas and falling in love. This place filled my senses! I thought of the life the cowboy. It was a life devoted to the land. Sure, you'd have to earn your respect, starting in the back of the drive, where the dusk choked your lungs and stung your eyes. The flies and cattle smell stayed with you and your seasoned pards' would give you hell. But they'd see how you were the last one to the sack and the first one to rise. You held your head strong into the wind loved your horse. In time they'd stop calling you 'Skinny' and refer to you as 'Slim.' It was a place where your character - how hard you worked, how you treated others, your horse and were true to your word, was all that mattered. No politics, no fashion show and nothing but the stars above. It sure helped that you were one helluva shot with your Winchester!

I sipped my perfect cup of coffee. Spare me the Starbucks, the Dunn Bros, the $6 cup of joe! A good diner coffee takes the cake! And this was cowboy coffee! I drank the cup which recalled my dream the night before. I was somehow at my Grandpa's old cafe/diner/bar, the NIRA on E. 7th street, but instead it was deep down on 61. I drank a cup of NIRA coffee, and thinking about how happy I was, drinking his coffee. But I went out the door into the gray day, to wake up to the gray day in Texas. That cup of coffee came with me.

Being that the Antique stores were so popular here, I visited a gigantic one that recalled the old one's in Winona. I spoke to the owner, proud of his German heritage and who felt obliged to say Minnie-Sota more than once.

I was about to head out of town when I saw a small leather shop. I approached it, then changed my mind, then changed my mind again. I was so happy I did. It was owned by a couple in their 40's. He was recently retired Marine of 20 years, she was a New Yorker who had moved there. We spent a great deal of time talking about art and people. I learned a lot about the history of the place and Texas in general. We talked about the fascination that Europeans have the cowboys and how tightly people hold onto their preconceived notion of Texans. She talked about an Israeli film crew that had come to the shop and were really quite rude. The woman kept asking why Texans always wanted to shoot everything, and kept on and on about it. The three of us laughed at the irony of that statement.

They were fabulous leather workers and had only been at it for over a year. Holsters, saddles, leather roses, bracers, and, most popular in Texas, beer cozies! As we talked more about art and how often artists get stuck with orders that are never picked up or paid for and how you end up making things more for yourself than for sale, we all got quite excited and soon they showed me all such things. Soon the intricate bead work she made came out, he brought out a gorgeous knife he had made. They were two of the friendliest and kindred folk I could have met. I hope to keep in touch.

The last shoot was of another golf course. But it was nice to be outside, in places with tremendous views of the canyon below. They were nice enough to buy me lunch, before I head to Canyon Lake.

Canyon Lake is a body of water created by regulating the flow of the Guadalupe river. What results is a lake with 80 miles of coast. Since water is drawn from the bottom of lake, the outlet water temperature is in the 60's. This area is most popular for tubing, where businesses make money on renting tubes and selling water socks.

The area also has a small dinosaur tracks museum, highlighting the footprints of carnivorous tracks (thin and V-shapes) and those of plant-eaters (larger and more rounded), left in the limestone. It takes but a moment to pay your $3 and walk through the park and leave. Besides, you'll be hard pressed to find that much more to do in the area.

The lake does look pretty and boasts cleanliness and coolness. The river does the same. Thinking of those 100 and 90 degree days, you can understand why this area would be popular.