A Texas Tornado is closing in!!!



If this doesn't get your feet to tapping, reach down and check your pulse! God Bless Texas Music and God Bless the Texas Tornados!

 



 

The Impulsive Texan

"Reasons that Texas is Texas"

 

There are many schools of thought on just what makes Texas, Texas. While some indications are unique in nature and some aren’t, there are many things that Texas has and does and believes, that make it like no other place on earth. There’s a valid point to the advertising slogan “Texas, it’s like a whole other country”. Amen.

After pondering on this very subject for the better part of my life, I’ve come up with a list of things that I feel make the Great State of Texas, the one and only Lone Star that shines like no other. 

1.     Friday Night High School Football – Of all the movies on high school football, Friday Night Lights, defined the essence of the sport of football in the State of Texas, like no other State in America. In Texas, newspapers allow entire sections just for the scores, hightlight’s and stories on the most favorite game in Texas. 

2.     Texas Dry Rub BBQ – Often imitated, but never duplicated, the art of dry rub BBQ is uniquely Texan. The Texas Hill Country is truly, BBQ Mecca. Franklins, Mueller, Coopers, Blacks, City Market and the Salt Lick are shrines to the art of Texas Hill Country BBQ. Copious amounts of salt, pepper, Oak, Mesquite or Pecan smoke, low and slow heat and the magic of time, create a BBQ experience like no other place. No utensils, served on brown butcher paper and sauce on the side, please. 

3.     Small Town Salutation – If you ever get the privilege of driving on the back roads around Small Town, Texas, you’ll see something that might cause you to wonder. I’m guilty of it, my friends are guilty of it, but it’s a guilt that is a pleasure. I’m talking about the courtesy of waving at the vehicles passing you going in the opposite direction. Makes no difference if you know them or not, wave. It’ll do one of two things; make them smile or make them wonder, “Do I know that person?” Doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t, that’s Texas. 

4.     Texas Pride – There is no one school of thought, that I’ve heard, that will explain the extreme level of state pride that Texas has. My own personal opinion is that is goes back to the days of the fight for independence from Mexico. The original founding states of the nation all had each other to back the fight for independence from England. Texas had the settlers that moved there when it was a Mexican state and a 185 rag tag fighters from Tennessee, Virginia and a few other states as their fighting force. The story is told that a request for help in the fight to the United States was sent out and that the request was turned down. So, with a small, unorganized and untrained army, the quickly formed militia waged war against the mighty Mexican General Santa Anna and defeated him, sealing the victory from the country of Mexico… by itself, with no help from any other state in the United States, except for those few, brave volunteers that came to Texas to fight for the idea of Texas. Now that’s just my own opinion, as wrong or right as it may be. But it’s the only explanation that I personally can come up with for our deep, abiding faith, in the Great State of Texas. 

5.     Texas Music – The medium of music in Texas is as far and wide as the distance from Amarillo to Brownsville. From classical music in the metropolitan areas, to the sounds of country in the honky-tonks and dance halls that dot the back roads, Texas music has something for everyone. Pop, Metal, Classical, Country, Folk, Bluegrass, Tejano, Conjunto, Reggae, Jazz, Gospel, Contemporary Christian… well, the list goes on and on. 

6.     Tex-Mex Food – It’s not too often that a state wrangles a style of food and morphs it into their own. But Texas did just that with Tex-Mex. Most of the food in the United States is of the Tex-Mex variety. Nachos, chimichanga’s and fajita’s are all the creation of someone north of the border in Texas. Traditional Mexican faire’ is more of a comfort food, rather than the deep-fried, or sizzling style Texas has created. 

7.     Big, everything – The old saying “Everything’s big in Texas” may be a bit of a stretch, but Texas is known for Big Oil, Big Money, Big Sports and in some cases, Big Mouth’s. Make no mistake, if a Texan dreams it up, the chances are, he’s going to make the effort “Big Time”.

8.     Size means everything – In the continental United States, Texas is the largest with 268,581 square miles of desert, mountains, prairies, plains, hills and pine trees. To put that in prospective, you could put 28 states of Vermont and New Hampshire, almost two New York States and four and one-half Illinois’. Oh, one last comparison. You can locate 163 states of Rhode Island with the borders of Texas. Yep, that puts it into perspective.

9.     Farm and Ranch land – Every state in the United States has farm and ranch land and Texas leads the way with 130.2 million acres. It also leads the nation in production of cotton, beef, goats and mohair production. 

So, there you have it mi amigos, some of my top reasons why Texas is Texas. Again, each one of these might be something that each state has or does, but this is a handful of things that makes the Great State of Texas as great as it truly is. 

Blessings on a wonderful day, God bless y’all and God Bless Texas!

 

The Impulsive Texan

"The Fig Tree"

You know, there are so many things can bring joy to your life, whether it be sporting events, spending time with family, camping, cooking, being active in your church or some humanitarian activity. Those are some pretty grand things to bring a smile to your face.

 

But you know, little things can do the same thing. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a smile from a loved one or sleeping in on a lazy Saturday morning could be just the thing to make your entire day. For me, it's the little things that count the most. 

 

But my serious weakness, one thing that will always put a big smile on my face and remove the rumble from my gut, is food. Any food, I don't care... fast food, not so fast food, food I cook, food my wife cooks, food someone else cooks, which is the best food of all, spicy food, mild food, not so mild food and pizza. I've had sushi and shrimp and oysters, raw and in a po-boy, shark and rabbit, squid and calamari, I've eaten bear meat, (once... no more for me thank you) I've had alligator and rattlesnake, boiled crawfish and crabs, elk meat and buffalo, pheasant and quail, dove and venison, wild boar and head-on catfish in a Mexican border town, but I did not drink the water. But I have my limitations too. Do not set a dish in front of me that is made from an animal organ. Nope, just.can't.do.it...Gizzards? wretch... Liver? hurl... Gut soup? I need an air bag, please and hurry, thank you... 

 

My wife is NOT as adventurous with her palate as I am, but overall we are serious amateur foodies and for the most part, we have the same desires in food. We watch every cooking show on television, we try to mimic the recipes they share and we have gone so far as to visit a few of the places that the spike-haired, bleach blonde California celebrity chef on the Cooking Channel has made wildly popular on his weekly show.

 

But all that aside, from time to time, I crave, seriously crave a nice, ripe, purple fig. Yep, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not a graduate of Cardamum Blue and if I were in the food industry professionally, I'd prefer not to be called a chef. But yes, figs. Why figs you ask? Well, most of us form our likes and dislikes, habits, beliefs and personality early on in life, and generally between the ages of 9 and 14.

 

At the age of 12, I developed a love for those nice, ripe, giant, Texas figs. It began innocently enough on my walk after school to my families small engine repair shop. My brother and I would help out there after work and the walk home took us down a sleepy, narrow street. On that street was a massive old fig tree, with a big limb that hanged over the fence and into the street. It seemed as if it reached the sky. That may have been due to my relative close proximity to the ground and the tree's amazing height above the ground. Oh, and age. Have you noticed how things you remember as a child seem so much smaller in adulthood? Each day, my brother and I would stroll leisurely down that shady street, our gait slow because of the knowledge of what awaited us at the dirty, greasy and noisy shop... and figs.

 

We had been partaking in the sweet, juicy bounty of the figs for the better part of the season with never a problem. We'd only enjoy one or two on the way home after a long and arduous day at school, choosing to leave more of the fruit for the next days visit. The first time I heard her voice, I thought they were shooting a scene of "Attack of the Killer Banshees". "Get away from my figs you young hooligans!" were the first words I ever heard out of her mouth. She scowled those words with a level of anger that I'd never heard from an elderly woman, or man for that matter. The initial introduction scared me beyond belief. I dropped my handful of figs and sprinted down the sidewalk, not stopping until I had reached the safety of the family workshop. But those juicy, sweet orbs, that were just waiting to be devoured always drew me back to the scene of the feast.

 

After that day, my brother and I had to develop a strategy to get at the figs. She was always using a walking cane and neither of us wanted to be the first to see if she could actually fulfill her threat of "splitting our skull with this walker". Yeah, she had me convinced she could. We tried reasoning with her, saying that we were only taking the fruit that was on the limb that was hanging in the street. But no way was she going to reason. "Those are my figs, no matter where the limbs grow!" She would scream that same warning and message every day while she tried to keep from stepping in the level pile of rotting fruit that lay in her yard, under that tree. She didn't want them but she didn't want anyone else having them either.

 

So the strategy that my brother and I developed was this; while one of us tried, from a distance of course, to keep her occupied on one end of the block, the other would run down the sidewalk like we were leaving. While she made her way to the one that stayed behind on the other end of the block, absorbing her verbal abuse, the other would sneak back up the sidewalk and grab a double handful of the figs. The strategy worked like a charm. For weeks and weeks of each season, we'd enjoy the bounty that the tree had to offer. It seems like a hundred years away. But childhood, like time, passes way too quickly.

 

I had totally forgotten about those moments way back in my childhood. But a few weeks ago, neither my wife and I were up for cooking. So I jumped in the truck and headed to the local chicken place. I'm not sure why, but on the way back, I came a totally different way than I normally would have. As I headed West on Grand Street, I passed Cole Street, the street the old fig tree was on. Suddenly, like a flood, memories of the cranky old lady, the heavy-fruited fig tree hanging low over Cole Street, came rushing back to me. I remembered those times vividly... the heat in the air, the smell of the warm, sunny day and the rushing "swoosh" of vehicles and the whine of their tires on the highway, just two blocks away.

 

I slowed my truck down and moved over to the side of the street, ensuring the street was clear behind me. I made a U-turn, drove back down and took a left on Cole street. The road was more lit up than I remembered in my memory. Most of the low-hanging trees had gotten taller or were gone completely. The road was much narrower than I remembered too. Up ahead on the right, I saw the old, decorative wire fence that separated the cranky old lady from my brother and I as we walked, or ran, down the sidewalk.

 

But as I pulled up to the fence, I noticed that something was amiss, something wasn't right, something just wasn't normal. Suddenly it hit me. The fig tree, the old, cranky lady and her home, were all gone. An uneasy, melancholy sort of mood settled in over me, sort of like I'd been socked in the gut, or I had just seen the wind drop to calm and leave all traces from a ships sail. An important, yet to a degree unsettling part of my youth, was gone. All traces of it, nothing left but the fence and the sidewalk and the memory of a cranky old lady and a tree that brought so much satisfaction to the hunger of a young boy.

 

I drove slowly home, running those memories through my mind, over and over and over again. Why was that memory so important to me? Was a dirty old street with a not so special tree and a lady that ruled with iron fist over it, that important? Yes, in a way it was. Then I realized, it wasn't the memory of the tree and the joy it brought, or the old, cranky lady that I made life miserable for, a few minutes a day, during the fig season. The reason it hit me so hard was that I realized, things are here today and gone tomorrow. Just like life. One day someone you love is here and the next they're gone. One day a fig tree is here, the next it's gone.

 

Looking back, had I made an effort to befriend the old lady, I may have made a friend for life. But now, she and her tree are gone, forever, except for being tucked away neatly in my mind. At the time I thought they were bad memories, the reality is, that was part of making me who I am today.

 

So take it from me, never, ever look at something like it has no meaning or effect on your life at all. For me, a simple fig tree and the memories it holds, has had a profound effect on me and an indescribable joy that I didn't even realize until that day. As long as I'm blessed to live here on this earth, I will never quite look at a big, old purple Texas fig quite the same, ever again.

'Workin' cows"...

Forty years ago, this summer, was the last time I "worked cows". I did it for extra money back in high school, when I thought I was ten foot tall and bulletproof. For those friends and acquaintances of mine that don't quite understand what working cows is, I'll explain.

As you can imagine, sort of like kids, a healthy cattle herd requires daily maintenance of feeding, watering, giving shots, applying medicines and so forth. You get the picture.

So a friend recently asked for my help today in applying tags to a dozen or so new bull and heifer calves. This is where you attach a numbered identification tag to the animals ear... with an industrial strength rivet gun, basically. Keep that in the back of your mind.

I show up, eager to help out a friend in need and needless to say, it went straight down hill from there. First of all there is no horse available to rope the beasts. So we have three grown men, in fairly un-good shape and a strapping young man of about 20, chasing calves around the pen for a half hour. Que the Keystone Cops music.

Someone gets the bright idea to "let Steve have a chance" at roping one of these terrified SCUD missiles on-the-hoof. I reluctantly take the rope and start stalking a calf around the pen... one throw... miss... two throws... not even remotely close... one last try and I actually came close... to roping a fence post.

Ok, next man... he finally gets one...and gives ME the end of the rope. I'm like, "what do I do with this"???. He lets go and just like at Six Flags, the amusement ride begins... immediately. Picture this...a 56 year old man, at full sprint, in boots, behind a furious and terrified 250 pound bull calf, headed toward a steel gate at passing lane speed, with a nylon rope in my hands, and this is where I suddenly remember... I have no gloves.

I am headed straight for a steel pole sticking up out of the ground! Not sure how, but I have the presence of mind to try and wrap the flaming rope around the pole between visions of gruesome injuries, thoughts of funeral plans my wife is about to begin and maintaining some level of dignity while trying not to look like some whimpering sissy with her skirt on fire. It worked! The calf stopped dead in its tracks! The other three wrestled the calf to the ground and applied the tag. One down...

Now I'm not one to whine about helping a friend out, but as we stared at the remaining, much bigger calves that were staring back at us, someone said, "there has to be a better way to do this, and without batting an eye, I said "outsource the job to cowboys"! After an hour and a half and four calves tagged, we were through "working cows" for the day. We fired up the grill and put about ten pounds of one of those calves cousins on the grill in the manner of burgers, sausage and hot dogs. We relaxed under a tree for the rest of the afternoon, sipping water and sweet tea, while reminiscing about all the "work" we'd just done...

So friends, as easy as cowboys make this sort of stuff look on TV, do not be fooled, there's more to being a real ranch hand than riding horses and slowly punchin' dogies and singing trail ride songs as you ride off into the West Texas sunset. "Hey honey, where's the Bengay"???

God bless all y'all and keep it Texas!

The Impulsive Texan

From Europe to Texas, halfway there...

 Frank Vandenbogaerdi and The Impulsive Texan    

Being here in the center of the nation, we get to see a lot of interesting things and to meet some very interesting folks. We're on a busy state/national highway, here in Central Texas and we get a lot of travelers from all over passing through. So yesterday, a friend called me and asked if we had camping spaces available anywhere in Comanche. I told him we had camping spots available in the City Park, but it was going to start filling up on Thursday, so one day would be relatively quiet should he choose to stay. He relayed the message to the man and at about 4:45 he showed up at City Hall. And then an amazing story began to unfold.

Frank Vandenbogaerdi is a teacher from Belgium and he is taking a bike trip across America. He began his journey in Miami, Florida in early March and was passing through Comanche on his way to San Francisco, California, on his bicycle!

After he arrived at City Hall and we set him up with a spot at the Park, he began to tell the story of his adventures and his trip across the USA. He spoke for 30 minutes on some of the things he had done and how enjoyable his trip had been so far.  I asked him "why are you doing this Frank. Is there a charity, or event that your riding for"? He told me that since he was a young teenager, he had dreamed of riding a bicycle across the United States. So he was basically fulfilling an item on his "bucket list".

What is making this trip so special, is that at the end of his journey, his wife will join him in San Francisco to help celebrate his three month journey and to spend some time together on a tour of California and the west coast, before heading back home to Belgium.

I asked one final question before he took off to spend the night at the park. "Frank, what is the one thing that you will take back to Belgium as being one of the most memorable aspects of the trip"?. Without hesitation he said "the incredible generosity of every person he came in contact with is what has been most memorable. He went on to say, "Americans are a kind, gentle and very giving people. So without a doubt it was the way the people treated me so generously and kind, that I will always remember". The heart of the old Implusive Texan swelled up with American pride.

I left work with a very high respect for people like Frank. I also have a bucket list that has twenty-five or so items on it, but only a few have been "ticked" off. Frank is about to fulfill yet another of his bucket list items in June when he completes the cross country tour of America. What a driven man he is and one that I am proud to have met.

I've heard it said before, "People come into your life for one of three reasons...a reason, a season or a lifetime". I like to think he came into my life to try and motivate a tired, old Texan into reaching out and fulfilling more of those "bucket list" items, that are sitting, incomplete on a pad of paper, on my desk. I actually feel a bit of a spark burning inside right now.

Safe travels and God-speed Frank and welcome to Texas, USA!

"Texas, my Texas"...

Well folks, it's been a while since I've posted here on the Impulsive Texan. But my life took a 180 degree turn on September 4th. I'm settled in now and I'm glad to be back writing.

 

 

 

It was 37 years ago, this past July, I left the small Texas town I grew up in. As with most younger folks from Small Town, USA, I couldn't wait to get out. Well, I did just that and spent 23 years serving my country with the U.S. Navy. After that I ended up working for three cities in Texas...Fort Worth, Arlington and Midlothian.

 

Well, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a position came open back in my hometown back in August and at first I wasn't interested. But over the past three decades that I had been gone, my mind started remembering my home, my childhood and my life in my little hometown. So, I put in for the job and by the grace of God, I was chosen over eight others.

 

I've been down here now for about 90 days and it's been quite easy to ease back into the "small town life". Things move a lot slower here and that is the one thing that has taken the longest to get used to.

 

And something else has blossomed to a greater extent since I've came back home... my Texanism. I have rediscovered how cool Texas is, since I've moved away from the metro-mess of North Texas. People wave at you driving down the street, they leave their front doors unlocked when they leave their house and they will stop and say "howdy" whenever they greet you in town.

 

Some years ago, I was missing me some Texas quite fiercely. I was stationed in Southern California, a magnificently beautiful place, but it wasn't my Texas. So after having to listen to me go on about the wonders of my Texas, one old boy from Illinois asked me, "So Tex, why is Texas so special to you"? I thought about it for a second and couldn't tell him one singular thing that made Texas so special. So I told him, give me a few days and I'll get back with you. As a writer, my mind went into overdrive about the wonderful things of Texas. But instead of putting them down in a list, I ended up writing a poem, called "Texas Is Heaven". When I gave it to him, he looked at me with a wondering gaze and said, "well, I still don't get the overly zealous attitude you and all other Texans carry for your state, but this poem has made me realize the place is very special".

 

And since I've gotten back home in Central Texas, on the northern edge of the Hill Country, the "Texas" in me has been bubbling out all over the place. So I thought I'd share the poem with you that I wrote way back in the '90's as a tribute to my Texas. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

Texas Is Heaven

 

 

West of Louisiana and south of O.K. City, is the place that I call home,

"Bob" wire fences and longhorn cattle is the life I've always known.

Growin' up in Texas and bein' part of this land, there's no way for me to hide,

how I feel about where I was born and the place that I'll surely die.

 

Folks from other parts just don't understand when I talk 'bout the land I love.

It's more than just her wide open spaces or the clear blue skies above.

A locust buzzin' in the top of a mesquite or a scissor tail hangin' on the wind,

a horny toad scoots 'cross a caliche road, it's a Texas thang y'all wouldn't understand.

 

October  swelters 'cause of the Indian Summer, but soon there'll be a wint'ry breeze.

So takin' a swim in your best friends tank is the way to cool the Lone Star heat.

It's true the weather here can be a mystery and most times you just can't tell.

This mornin' the weather man said "no chance of rain", this afternoon, four inches fell.

 

A coyote yelps at the midnight hour, oh what a lonely sound.

A young 'un is under a China Berry Tree diggin' doodle bugs outta the ground.

A pickup bounces down a dusty road, carryin' a cowboy home.

He spent the day mendin' fences, in case the cows got the urge to roam.

 

Faded ole' Wranglers and worn out boots is what you'll see us wear.

And Saturday night dances in old honky-tonks is where we let down our hair.

Families here still git on their knees and still go to church together.

And cool Friday nights are all about football and it'll be that way forever.

 

It ain't cause we're that much different than folks from other parts.

We're just a little bit prouder than your average folks, 'cause Texas lives in our hearts.

We give thanks each and every day for this land the Good Lord has given,

and we lay down at night with a smile on our face, 'cause here on earth,

Texas is our Heaven...

 

 

God bless all y'all and God bless Texas...

 

The Impulsive Texan





“You Can’t Go Home Again”...

In the novel “You Can’t Go Home Again”, Thomas Wolfe wrote of how difficult it is to return to a life you knew when you were younger in the place where your childhood took place, especially if you have contributed to the atmosphere of change in that place. Adult eyes see things that a child’s eyes never can. Buildings are bigger, streets are narrower and the people you once knew so well, have changed also. On a recent visit to my home town, I pulled into the yard of my brother and his first words to me were “Welcome home”.

Beginning next week, I am returning home. I have accepted a new position as the City Administrator for my hometown of Comanche, Texas. As I drive through the city now, the hometown I grew up in seems to have shrunk to a much smaller version of what I remember. My grandmother and grandfathers house that once seemed like a mansion on a hill, is in reality a tiny, two bedroom structure sitting on top of rise on the northeast side of town. I used to roll bois d’ arc apples down the hill right beside it as a past time. That road once seemed a mile or more long and again, in reality, its span is only a half a block. I also chased horned toads in their backyard.

But this new venture is actually taking me full circle. I began my working life in that town. I spent time unloading trucks, putting out fresh produce and stocking the shelves of a long-gone grocery store and in its place is a new, modern convenience store with eight or ten gas pumps. And there isn’t a sign of the old grocery around. I also ran the projectors for the Majestic Theater that was razed by a fire years and years ago. It was an old, Austin Limestone structure, that barely held 50 – 60 people, but in the eye of my youth, it was a grand theater with hundreds and hundreds of seats.

Even though I realize I am not returning to the town I knew then, I am returning to the place of my roots. I went all through school and graduated there. I learned to drive an old 1967 Chevrolet pickup with a “three on the tree” that was missing first gear. I learned the finer points of courtesy from my mother and my grandmother, the family matriarch that introduced me to church and to the deliciousness of a frosty Dr Pepper float. She would be waiting for me every afternoon with that float in her hand as I walked up that same little rise from the elementary school just across the street. I recall her blue and white calico dress, neatly adorned with her frilly apron and her clunky shoes with big heels and her hair neatly pinned up in a bun on top of her head. It's amazing at the things we remember from 45 years ago and how easily it is to forget what you had for supper the night before.

With every new position that I was fortunate to have received throughout my life, the responsibility and importance rose too. And with this new position of running a city, the responsibility is of vast importance. Thousands of people are counting on me to keep their little hamlet running smoothly. The Council and the Mayor have placed great trust in their selection of me as they welcome back a wayward son that left so long ago.

Even though the town is small, the lifestyle is laid back and the people are friendly and outgoing, I am beginning to feel the raw emotion of nerves because of the level of responsibility that has been bestowed upon me. If I fail, I not only let my family and friends down, but I will also let down the little town that had such a big impact on me in my youth.

Yes, it’s true, I won’t be able to go back to the home I knew long go. It’s a small, distant memory somewhere in the back of my mind. But I can arrive and walk hand in hand with those memories and hope those still living there, will walk with me. It’s still a fantastic town and with a bit of luck and hard work, I may complete my working circle embraced in its continuous charm. It’s good to be home, even if it’s not the one I left.

 

 

The Impulsive Texan

Wild Texas skies...whatn'uh heck was that?

Alright all of you amateur, semi pro and full time weather guessers out there, located somewhere on this big ole rock we call Earth, help me out if you can. I was driving to work earlier this week and noticed a wall cloud approaching me from the Northeast, halfway between Alvarado and Venus, by golly, Texas. I saw in this cloud, a strange formation I'd never seen before.

 

If you look closely at the "hump", in the middle of the cloud, there are three circular formations to its right. And to the left is one that is just breaking up.

 

Has anyone ever seen anything like this formation of clouds before? And if so, whatn'uh heck is it?

 

 

 

God bless y'all and God bless Texas!

 

 

 

The Impulsive Texan

"I may not get much done, but I sure am slow"...

 

 



New Post from the "Handbook for new Texans"... This weeks post...Courtesy

Hey y'all, welcome to The Impulsive Texan Blog and another post!

Folks raised in Texas, for the most part, were taught to mind their manners and be courteous to others. So when you git here, you may see things you've never seen or hear things you've never heard. Like "thank you sir" or "your welcome ma'am". That's especially true for Texans from my generation of the '50's, '60's and '70's.

So if someone is genuinely being nice to you, take it for what it is, courtesy. Because most Texans don't take courtesy lightly.

This weeks post is another excerpt straight out of my "Handbook for New Texans" and is about courtesy and what you might receive from someone in Texas.

 

 

Courtesy

Folks in Texas tend to be friendly and outgoing, especially in the rural areas. So, if you’re taking a leisurely drive on a back road on Sunday afternoon, don’t drive off in the ditch and through someone’s fence if a person throws up their hand and waves at you as they pass you going in the opposite direction. It is normal and recommended. A Texas backroad-code, if you will.

Men here open doors for ladies. If you notice someone open the door for the lady or ladies you happen to be with, don’t be afraid, he’s just being nice. His intentions are true and in some cases, his mother may be watching to ensure he’s being a gentleman.

 

If a cow or horse gits out of a pasture, it's not uncommon to see a half-dozen trucks stopped on the side of the road helping out the poor cowboy or rancher, whose steed or bovine took to flight. That's the cowboy code and what we Texans do for one another.

 

 

God Blessed Texas!

 

The Impulsive Texan