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Round Top Register, the newspaper from the biggest little town in Texas.  TABLE OF CONTENTS TOWN EVENT CALENDAR SUBSCRIBE!
RESTAURANTS AREA ATTRACTIONS  DESIGN & BUILD A COUNTRY HOME AREA ANTIQUES & CRAFTS SHOW GUIDE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE NEWS & FEATURES ARTS EDITORIAL HUMOR LITERARY & POETRY HOROSCOPE AREA MAPS AREA ATTRACTIONS |
TAKING THE LONG VIEW  On a clear day, you can see forever
The snow was late this season, but I knew it could come at any time. I was eager to have one last hike in the forest before winter draped the mountains in white. Zach scouted ahead, ranging first to the right and then to the left, stopping to stick his long snout into every interesting mound of scat. Dogs live in a different olfactory universe than you and I, rich and detailed beyond anything humans might imagine. When in our arrogance we imagine ourselves superior, we forget that many animals have perceptual awareness far beyond our keening, and live in complex sensory worlds that we truly cannot imagine. I left the gravel road, hopped a bedraggled barbwire fence into the national forest, and began to climb through the spruce and fir towards the mountaintop. Our mountain home - and a few other plots - were cut from an old ranch that is four miles of gravel road through national forest land from the closest paved highway. A short walk in any direction, and miles of wilderness stretch to all four points of the compass. The buck weed and grass were brown - recently tinted gold by a hard freeze - but beneath the burnished leaves I knew tender roots still lived. Nature was battening down its hatches for the impending frost. The landscape would appear lifeless and sterile when the snow finally covered those cliffs and valleys, but the tiny living forest beneath would still be teeming with the daily drama of insect and rodent lives. Coyotes and hawks instinctively know this, and as a result, scores of tiny worlds would come to an end before spring. Before long, my dog and I had crested the peak. I stood there gazing towards the Southeast - back towards my home in Round Top - as my heartbeat slowly returned to its normal pace. The fog nestled low in the valleys, each canyon filled with a diaphanous froth. I looked out further, past the mountains, onto the face of the New Mexico badlands west of Carlsbad and over Capitan Peak into West Texas. You can see a long way from the top of a mountain, which is after all, a very high place. I had been thinking about my home in Round Top and missing my children and grandchildren…my friends and familiar country. The Queen and I had planned for years to take a sabbatical in the mountains near Cloudcroft so I could finish the book I am scribing. I’m happy with the choice, but even so, I was wistful about familiar haunts. It was a clear day and I could almost see forever. My gaze rushed across the Texas desert north of Pecos, over the cedar and mesquite forests northwest of San Antonio, and finally drifted across the hill country lakes and into Austin. "What beautiful country," I thought to myself. I had never really seen the hill country from so high up. From on top of the mountain, the capital city of Texas looked gentle and optimistic, the capital building and the UT tower still dominate in the landscape, not cowering behind a cold and arrogant skyline as in many cities. People were everywhere, running, walking, laughing, listening to music, hurrying on their way to work, or on errands. They looked like tiny little ants - friendly, happy ants with a sense of purpose - but ants none the less. Peering down from on top of that mountain, Austin looked much more inviting than I remembered it. I was too far away to see the homeless people on the corners, the worn facades and aimless hangouts of East Austin. I couldn't hear the conversations between legislators and lobbyists as they divvied up our taxes. I couldn't see billboards hawking the men's clubs or the lost druggies staggering down Sixth Street. The rampant development and the ostentatious houses of tech barons looked like little doll houses, not vain suburban sprawl despoiling the fragile hill country ecosystem and aquifers. All I could see was a jewel of innovation, energy and fun set in a band of blue water. It was a delightful city. I looked down on my daughter's neighborhood and saw her in their South Austin backyard with my grandchildren. Oh, my heart! My eyes filled with tears of longing as I watched them play - spinning around, running to their mother - laughing with their faces to the sky. I called out to them but of course they could not hear me. After all, I was on top of a mountain hundreds of miles away. My son-in-law threw a ball for their athletic blue heeler, and as she flew over a hedge, my gaze shifted towards Smithville with its hundreds of picturesque period homes. My eyes followed the Colorado River towards La Grange, with its old iron bridge and soon to be restored historic court house, circled the Square, gazed across the river again and up the bluff. I noted the County Judge as he rushed across the street and waved, but he didn't see me. I glanced at the spire on Monument Hill and Kriesche's eccentric stone house. I shop in La Grange all the time. I have many friends and customers in that community but I realized I was seeing it in an entirely new way. The town looked tidy from high above, with little out of place. From the mountain top it seemed clean and fresh, industrious but relaxed…as though the citizens had been cautious about how much of the homogenized modern world they had allowed to intrude. Massive live oaks grew out of the pavement in places, a sign that the residents revered nature and quality of life it brings over convenience and short term economic gain. Familiarity sometimes makes us take special things for granted. I was struck by a sudden sense that I was seeing the town for the first time. "What a great place to live," I mused. "So many people would give anything to live in a town like that." I looked due south across the countryside towards Schulenburg, beautiful painted churches cropping up here and again in the surrounding countryside, and I could almost smell the kolaches. My eyes were drawn down the wide band of Interstate 10 towards Columbus, with its Opera House and anti-bellum mansions. I marveled at the long expanses of live oak forest between the two communities. In Columbus, Schobel's parking lot was full as usual. I saw an older couple come out the front door with a copy of the Round Top Register in hand, and that made me feel good. My eyes roamed northward. There were baby ducks in a cage on the front porch of Heinsohn's store in Frelsburg. I was surprised once again by the huge stand of pines that suddenly emerge from the countryside near there. New Ulm, with its quaint architecture, looked like a perfect little cardboard village built by a model train enthusiast. I could see the train tracks trailing off towards Cat Springs in the distance. My eyes follow Hwy 109 towards Industry and the terrain began to roll, giving the countryside the rollicking appearance that must have reminded the German immigrants who settled there during the early days of the Republic of Texas of their ancestral home. Circling further north I beheld Washington County, anchored by fast-growing Brenham with its lively community theatre, its many lovely homes - and most significantly for those of us with educated appetites - the world headquarters of Blue Bell Ice Cream. A tour was gathering outside the plant and my mouth began to water just thinking about the free Homemade Vanilla those folks would be awarded at the completion of their tour. In Burton, I noticed the Register's rack in front of the Burton Café was almost empty. I never have understood how that tiny town can get rid of so many papers. Sometimes I think Steve at the café is using them to wrap his pies…which would be quite an honor. I almost missed the Warda Store, home of the "Wardaburger," and soon came to the beginning of the famous "Lost Pine" forest that stretches all the way to Bastrop. I saw tiny Winchester off in the distance but was becoming impatient to see my home, and turned my eyes towards Round Top. I skipped over the cedar breaks to Nechanitz, glanced towards Rutersville and Oldenburg, and then fixed my gaze towards home. In the foreground, I could see there were still a few tents left in Warrenton from the last antiques show. I thought about Emma Lee Turney and what she had wrought, spawning that massive event with her first tiny show. I looked eastward and saw Shelby, historic Harmonie Hall and its wonderful views, then followed the winding thread of CR 1457 towards Round Top. I could see the gables and spires of the concert hall at Festival Hill in the distance. In my mind’s eye, I could almost hear Jimmy practicing in the Clayton House and the ducks splashing in the big pond beside the herb gardens. I could see the Stagecoach Inn and the performance barn at Winedale. A tiny figure was walking beside the lake. I wondered who it was…and assumed it was someone I knew. I was struck by how wonderful it was to have such a deep sense of familiarity and intimacy when overlooking my home stomping grounds. My heart warmed as I looked down on the bridge over Cummins Creek. I thought about my sons, who loved to fish in the deep hole just down the creek from our home when they were young. I remembered old Joe Knutzen who used to hunt coons and possums in the sycamores and water oaks along its bank. The sign at the bridge said "Round Top, Pop. 77," down from the "81" it had proclaimed when I have first moved to town. My eyes scanned the hay meadow past the bridge and saw the Bethlehem Lutheran Church on top of the hill, nestled in the live oaks next to the Round Top Inn, the restoration that first brought me to the tiny town that had changed my life. There were a few people on the deck under the live oak at the Landhaus Bar and Grill, and longhorns in the pasture beside the Bauer/Shuddemagen house. I passed Delia and Dennis Sack's house and could still remember Flunky's voice calling out "Do you know who I am?" Flunky told the story of his life over and over until everyone in town had it memorized. I looked down on Klump's restaurant and thought about my early days in town. I was working on the restoration of the Round Top Inn and wanted to meet some of the locals. Every morning there was a "coffee klatch" at Klump's and I began my work day with Liz and Granny Klump's java. There was a women's table and a men's table, and since newcomers were not especially welcome at the men's table, I sat with the women. I remembered a day six months after I had begun that morning ritual when Curtis Quade - who unofficially presided over the men's table - nodded at me as I came in. I took that nod as tacit permission to join the men. I was honored by his recognition of my testosterone, but after spending a few days talking about making hay and the weather, I sheepishly drifted back to the women's table. Annie Schatte was the toastmaster at that table, and frankly, you could never predict what she was going to say. The conversation was much more interesting. I looked down on the Town Square and our tiny town hall. Memories of raucous town council meetings, festive and well-lubricated Christmas parties, and that unique icon of Americana that is the Round Top Fourth of July parade danced through my head. When you live close to something you love - whether it be your children, your mate or your community - it is easy to see the flaws. When you experience them every day, the wrinkles and blemishes of life seem more predominant than they really are. When the Queen and I first moved to Round Top, the town seemed pristine, authentic and magical. Over the years, as we became more involved in the community, we came to understand that Round Top, like every other town in America had it good and bad points. Just like in any other collection of people, a family, a workplace, a nation…there are many different points of view and many different approaches to life. Some folks are almost always positive and constructive, and some people are almost always negative, but most of us operate somewhere in between. As time went by, we suffered through a few political battles and social rejections, and we began to withdraw. Everyone wants to be liked. Every human being wants to be appreciated, acknowledged, forgiven for their mistakes and celebrated for their accomplishments. Everyone has expectations about how they should be treated. Whether those expectations are realistic or not makes no difference to the person who carries them. A hurt is still a hurt, whether it is intended or accidental, whether it is real or imagined. The Queen and I dealt with those failed expectations by withdrawing from situations in which we felt threatened or unsupported, and binding closer to our family and small circle of friends. In a town with seventy-seven citizens, you can't avoid seeing the people who do not like you, or who you do not like. If you live in a big city and someone offends you, it is easy to put them out of your life…unless they are members of your own family. In a job, if you don't like how your boss treats you, you can quit and work somewhere else. In Round Top, it's not so easy to escape. You might see people several times a week at the post office or the mercantile store with whom you have had troublesome interactions. The problem with that approach is that in personal and community relationships, defense is not always the best offense. You cannot make more friends by defending yourself and avoiding conflict. A healthy community needs the positive input of its citizens. You cannot build a better town if you are afraid to work with others, even those with whom you might not see eye to eye. It takes a lot of patience to make a small town work…and a willingness to accept and forgive others. Sometimes you have to step away from something to appreciate it. It's a sad truth, but one that occurs over and over in life. When we get what we want, our goal often loses value. No matter how wonderful and fulfilling the circumstances of our lives, when we face them day to day, we often take them for granted. Sometimes you have to step away from the trees to see the grandeur and majesty of the forest. Looking down on my Texas home from the top of that mountain, these thoughts ran through my mind and I began to remember how blessed I am. I couldn't remember the tumultuous politics of the past, or hear the petty gossip. Mean spirited comments and personal attacks all dimmed in my mind's eye. All I could remember of my years in Round Top was the wonder that had so often washed over me like a summer rain, a sense of belonging and community and camaraderie. My mind filled with memories of past acts of kindness, unselfish partnership, and community spirit. High up in the clouds, I remembered the color and laughter and authenticity of that very special town I call home…and my spirit was healed.
His building company, Round Top Restoration, specializes in historic restoration and replica new construction. He is associated with Round Top Architecture, LLC, an architecture firm which designs both residential and commercial structures. He is also the Editor of the Round Top Register.  Round Top Register - Texas Fun Travel Guide |
A shimmering grey fog filled the canyon as Zachariah and I set out to climb the mountain. The air was cold - hardly above freezing - and I was dressed in flannel, mad bomber hat and mukluks. Had anyone been there to see, they would have assumed I was a crazed backwoods Canadian - most likely beset by terminal cabin fever - who had somehow wandered aimlessly South into the Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico.