Many years ago my family had a place out in Mason, Texas where we would hunt.
It was hotter than the devil's underwear in the summer
and it's where I learned all about my seasonal allergies.
Everyone there knew exactly where to find you when you said you
were going to sit by the big oak tree that fell in the gully.
I think it was the place where my Dad and I became friends and the only place
I have ever been where the stars were so thick and bright you didn't need a flashlight.
Hero Husband and I dated out there and built our own little love shack
hunting cabin on a ridge overlooking the creek.
I shot my first deer there and loved the land of pink granite and red dirt.
I miss Mason. More than the place I think I miss what it meant to me growing up.
I think of all the memories I have of that place.
For me, the girl who has so few memories of youth, I have thousands of Mason
I want "Mason" for my kids. It feels unattainable,
because Mason was Mason, and it isn't reachable anymore.
It has, however, become a bit of a biological imperative and I am at its mercy.
Which is why last weekend we spent 7 hours driving to and from South Texas to check
out Three Rivers. Hero Husband wants to call it San Diego which I understand because
there are not three rivers anywhere that I could find, but still splainin' not San Diego
California, San Diego Texas seems like....well whatever I'm going with Three Rivers.
It wasn't Mason.
What it was, was a kernel of hope that it has the the potential to be like Mason.
It was not tall towering oaks and pecans with a river running through it.
It was short South Texas scrub brush and prickly thorns.
But it was also pink buttercups and a blessing that
Miss Thing could pick as many as she liked.
It was not red dirt and granite.
It was caliche and rattlesnakes.
But it was also riding in the back of a truck under wide sky where
I could feel the promise of rain on my skin.
And if I'm right I think the stars here might just be as bright.
And to give them Mason
I will deal with rattlesnakes.