I was pulling together source material, looking for a cheap hotel, and generally doing as little possible while looking like I was working, getting ready for the Gulf Coast run this coming weekend. Musical accompaniment: Trip Like I Do.
Two books came off the bookshelf and even though I’ve used these texts on numerous occasions, I stumbled across a connection I’d never noticed before: Post Oak Savannah. The Texas “Post Oak Savannah” has been my spiritual – physical home for many years. Never knew what it was called. Not really Deep East Texas, not really Hill Country, nor is it Brush Country, to the south, just something stuck in between. Hello Austin? Sound familiar? I’m not sure about upscale “West Austin” but the East Side? We’re definitely Post Oak Savannah. Never knew the taxonomy.
The source book that I love so much is Leon Metz’s Roadside History of Texas. If I’m not mistaken, and I could very well be, the author himself is/was an El Paso resident.
The Post Oak Savannah has both a geographical delineation plus there’s a geological marker, and then, there’s the history. One of the reasons I’d pulled the books down is I was hoping to swing by Goliad on Friday’s drive down to the coast. Hoping for new shots of a Texas Mission there. Never hurts to read a little history.
Tidbits included perusing the Bastrop entry again, and reminding myself that Bastrop is one of the oldest inhabited towns in Texas, just a few scant miles east of Austin.
From there, it was into the landscape: Roadside Geology of Texas.
Time and again, I’m struck with the incredible beauty of the surrounding countryside and the generally pleasant climate. Plus the way the fertile land shaped the history, and the way the two are tied together.
The Post Oak Savannah was the westward terminus of the Anglo-American migration, the place where the Deep South and the Old West came together. A few generations later, it was the place where the Texas Revolution was started (October 2, 1835 – Gonzales Texas, in the state of Coahuila y Tejas).
All of that gives way to South Texas, and the line of demarcation is – to me – a gray area. Brush Country, South Texas, to me, is basically coastal plains, not more than a few feet above sea level, extending inwards for up to a 100 miles of more. That Southern Tip of Texas. The countryside looks sweet, but it’s covered with thorny Mesquite. Looks can be deceiving. And I’m not going to liken that to any women I know – I live like a monk.
1. I really do live like a monk.
2. The new Crystal Method does get better with subsequent listening. Seems a little boorish at first, but improves with time.
