Notes to Self for the New Year 2023

I'm letting the fabulous women of La Mujer Obrera do the talking this new year ...

‘They want to determine what I do in my day, and how we use our creativity, they want to keep us in survival mode, right? But in this other vision, hey, we set the timeline. And we make our plans about how our day is gonna look like as well, right, at least part of our time, as much time as we can take. So that's why it's important to [think] how do we have a little bit of freedom, even if we're living in this chaos, right? And if that's a meeting, if that's an event, if that's us hanging out with the neighbours, if that's playing with the kids, us playing too in the dirt in the community farm … we taste a little bit of freedom.' (Lorena Andrade, La Mujer Obrera)

(The Trouble with Freedom, https://thetroublewithfreedom.wordpress.com/)

Texas Roadtrip, February 2022

Texas, as the stereotype goes, is big, vaguely libertarian, troubled by its border, and as we were constantly reminded, once its own country. But surprisingly perhaps, given the lack of subtlety in its politics, there is nuance to that image. 

The landscape is beautiful, from the dust storms of the western panhandle's fracking hellscape to the sublime lunar surface of Big Bend National Park. 

The border is a living example of any Geography 101 lecture on spatial imagination. Between the Wall (that you can walk around in places) and the conditions in maquiladoras, between rocks and hard places, those living in its shadow understand it is never solid, that it has moved with history and will move again, and the best we can do is manage the daily flow, back and forth, with dignity. 

Texan hospitality is a real thing, with it's 'ma'am's and 'y'alls' and 'how's your day going' from strangers in the street. But 'that's because you are white!' as my Iranian taxi driver reminded me. Point taken as the segregation in places is obvious, and the hospitality can be a tad too much for my English soul that likes a clearly defined personal space: I learn that those on the bar stools have permission to start chatting to the person next to them, requiring gentle excuses to get out of a conversation without creating offence.

In the long stretches between destinations we stumbled over history that no-one talks about much (e.g. Bracketville's Buffalo soldiers and Black Seminole communities), and noted the history that people talk about too much (even in rural Australia we learnt the story of the Alamo from TV and movies, and I can still sing the theme song to 'Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier'). There is an ongoing independence movement that still wants to secede from the Union ... I'm embarrassed to say it's now called 'Texit'.

There is a settled German-American community in the middle, with some elders still speaking their dialect and their bakeries still churning out amazing cinnamon buns (with hellish American coffee). The Krause cafe and biergarten in New Braunfels now holds Gospel Sunday Brunch along with armadillo races, and the town is the 5th largest consumer of Hofbrau beer in the USA (in a population of 90000, plus tourists). Above Austin, a blueberry in a cherry pie as they say in Texas, with its hipster vibe and barbecue legends, is the wine growing region around Johnson City (pop circa 2000). On closer tasting probably best let that mature a few vintagesbefore getting too excited about it. Margarita slushies on the other hand should be exported to the rest of the world, and I happily lapse my vegetarianism for the barbecue (forgive me animals). 

Between the big cities is a litany of fading and deserted towns, but seeking even more solitude are the 'off-grid', the trailer or RV in the middle of nowhere, connected to nothing, surrounded by nought but big skies and scrub. One town, Marfa, on the way to Big Bend National Park in the south of the state, has reversed its decline by becoming a desert art, and now very expensive ($600 hand made shoes) designer centre, occasionally providing falafels for Beyonce along with UFO sightings. Terlingua, a shanty town between the State and National Park, manages to keep going with sales of crystals and fossils, a lively bar, cemetery, and motel with dubious carpet. The light is extraordinary but it is the dome of stars at night that also draws a crowd to the Park running alongside the Rio Grande (note to self, pronounce the 'e' at the end ... you're not in France anymore). From somewhere deep inside my 1970s unconscious comes the idea that ABBA's Fernando contains a reference to the Rio Grande requiring a sing-a-long to prove it. 

Distance is shortened by car conversations that reflect on the randomness of life (I expound on the billiard ball theory, bouncing off each other, settling for a few moments then getting whacked out of place again, which seems kinder than the Matrix version); baking recipes; expansive understandings of what relationships and family can actually entail; uncensored, some might say ill informed, reviews of films/podcasts/TV shows; and deciding which diner to stop at for coffee/lunch. We count how many towns have a 'pecan' street or 'farm to market' road in them, and become childish when Siri says 'frontage' (sounds like 'frottage' every time), leading to how often we can insert 'moist' into a sentence, not helped by passing through the town of 'Dripping Springs', turning down 'Wild Cat Knob' road (seriously), trying to find long- and pronghorns; and debating if the Texas Cornhole Professional league is really equivalent to darts (it's throwing hackie sacks into a hole several metres away, so kind of the same).