Texas — Big Bend National Park

You may never have heard of Big Bend National Park, off in southwestern Texas, far from any city, nestled in a bend of the Rio Grande river. It has pretty mountains, and Texans flock here, even in mid-winter.

The Rio Grande, which means "big river" in Spanish, is surprisingly small here because water is removed upstream in New Mexico and El Paso. Being narrow and shallow, it would be easy to wade or swim across, but of course crossing the river into Mexico is highly illegal and would result in your being caught, prosecuted, fined, and thrown in jail, so no one does it. It's even illegal to do business with a Mexican who swims over to the U.S. side bearing tourist trinkets for sale (your trinkets would be confiscated). As we all have heard, patrolling our borders is a top priority these days.

I stayed in an RV campground and drove around the park sightseeing each day. I enjoyed a couple of good meals in the park lodge's nice dining room, where I first tasted and came to like Shiner's Bock, a beer brewed in a little brewery in a little Texas town.

It was in the lodge's lobby that I overheard a woman talking — she was so loud, I couldn't tune her out. "When my daughter grew taller than me, she mouthed off and said she didn't have to listen to me any more. I grabbed her and threw her against the wall and she looked at me, terrified. After that, my word was law." I paused and reflected on this description of domestic violence. How typically Texan, I thought — the legacy of the state's legendary past, from the battle of the Alamo to child abuse today. But I was wrong. If I had been paying better attention, I would have noticed that the woman's accent was not Texan. Further listening revealed that she lives in Maple Grove, Minnesota! So much for easy stereotypes and hasty conclusions.

Just north of the park are three unexpectedly distinguished little remote towns. Alpine and Marathon each has an independent bookstore on its main street. So excited was I to see one that I parked the RV, went in, found three books I wanted to read, and gladly bought them at full retail price. The third town, Marfa, not only has a swanky independent bookstore but its own public radio station, as well as mysterious lights in the night sky which some people have seen. (I'll have to come back in warmer weather to look for them.)

Driving down a state highway, I came upon a ranch with a small roadside shack selling barbecue. Food lover that I am, I pulled off the road and parked the RV. Simultaneously, the rancher came out of the house and over to the shack. He turned out to be a happy, garrulous Texan who joked as he sold me some barbecued beef. (Having trouble opening a plastic bag, he remarked, "I guess you have to be smarter than the bag.") He introduced me to his new ranch dog, Blackie, a stray who had shown up just the previous week. A medium-sized mongrel with plenty of pep and a happy disposition, he had already made himself at home on the ranch.

We continued down the two-lane highways east and south toward the Rio Grande Valley.