West Texas Textures

… with apologies to Robert Earl Keen

According to the 2020 Census, Texas’s population is now 29,145,50, of whom about 21 million live in the so-called “Texas Triangle,” the area bounded by Interstates 10, 35 and 45. So, 3/4 of Texans live in that region, and we haven’t even talked about South Texas (Corpus, Winter Garden, the King Ranch, the Lower RGV, the Upper RGV), Deep East Texas (where it’s still moderately dicey to be out after dark if you’re black), and the D/FW exurbs in South Oklahoma (Gainesville, Sherman, etc.). Throw them in the chili pot and you’ve got, what, 85% of Texans abutting or east of I-35? Except for the Midland-Odessa region, God help it. Texas west of I-35 is either barely hanging in there or losing, population-wise.

Which is fine by me.

The most magical part of West Texas is the Transpecos — the area south and west of the Pecos River, which arises in north-central New Mexico, crosses into Texas below Carlsbad, and then meanders south and east to where it flows into the Amistad Reservoir at Del Rio.

(I realize that the above statement is, by its nature, highly subjective. However, I consider its truth so self-evident that I refuse to brook debate on the matter, although I will concede an Honorable Mention to the majestic duo of Palo Duro Canyon and Caprock Canyon.)

For me and many of my friends, there are two parts of Texas: East of the Pecos, and West of the Pecos. The best way to access the Transpecos is on I-10, through Kerrville to Junction to Sonora and Ozona to Fort Stockton, where you turn south into the Big Bend region. Driving I-20 to get there is God’s punishment for living in North Texas or, worse, Abilene.

Yesterday, I came east of the Pecos to return to Austin for a bit. Between Sonora and Junction, I watched the moon rise, appearing to be a small cloud that took shape and contrast as it rose. By the time I'd stopped at Lum’s for some barbecue, it was bright against the mid afternoon sky. It led me all the way into Austin.