Texas Travel Guides

It’s a new year, a leap year. A whole new 366 days to explore the adventure to be found on Texas back roads, on Main Street, and in the heart of Texans who make this the greatest state in the Union.

On my calendar for this year are blogging and photo trips to new craft breweries such as the Karbach Brewing Company in Houston, and established wineries from Bernhardt in Plantersville to the Fairhaven Vineyards in Hawkins.

Minor League baseball will be played for the first time in Sugar Land when the Skeeters take to the diamond at Constellation Field this spring. I plan to be there to cover the action. 

I’ll be heading over to Grand Saline to check out the reptilian action at the East Texas Gators & Wildlife Park, paying my respects at painted churches, and continuing the search for the best catfish kitchen in the state. So much to see, so much report . . .

In 2011 Texas highways led me to some mighty fine food, new friends, little known historical spots, and quirky attractions. Quality time spent with retired railroad man Bobby Jack Middleton in Hearne and Frank the hobo in Tomball was unexpected. The thick chocolate malt that I found at The Diner in Corsicana brought back childhood memories, while hearing first person accounts of the ghosts of Galveston, San Antonio and on The Lex in Corpus Christi was chilling.    

Coming face-to-face with “Old Sparky”, the infamous electric chair at Huntsville’s Texas Prison Museum, was thoughtful provoking, and visiting the graves of men who fought for the Texas military during the American Civil War was humbling.

I loved touring the Tee Pee Motel in Wharton with its rows of cone-shaped lodges, a throwback to the day when the family summer vacation was made in a station wagon and Route 66 was more than just a tune on the AM radio.

Sampling Dr Pepper made from the original sugar laced recipe in Dublin was sweet . . . pun intended. The Sterling McCall Cadillac Museum in Warrenton was a nice surprise and exploring the historic Fulton Mansion near Rockport was really cool for a fan of architectural design.

Then there were the churches, big and small. The stained glass at the Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Round Top was “heavenly”, and the tiny Saint Martin’s Catholic Church on Highway 237 was so . . . small.

The mom-and-pop restaurants that I visited in 2011 were no less than awesome. The T-bone steak at San Antonio’s Josephine Street Café easily went head-to-head with the fried shrimp at the Laguna Reef in Flour Bluff. Barbecue at Holders in Dobbin was just as good as the original “pig sandwich” at the Pig Stand on Broadway in the Alamo City. And, the burger at the Chicken Oil Company in Bryan is still at the top of my list . . . well, at least for now.

My Texas getaways were seriously good in 2011. Maybe this year you’ll hit the road to create your own Lone Star adventures and meet a character or two.  I certainly plan to keep on pick-up truckin’ across the state on my own as a Texas trekker. It’s just too much fun not to!

Listen . . . the open road is calling. Can you hear it?  

As a kid growing up in the days of Howdy Doody, the Beach Boys and Hank Aaron, traveling long distances over two lane highways was how we did it. There were no super freeways sided by feeder roads lined with cookie cutter restaurants, chain hotels and shopping centers. We always took the “scenic” route through one small town to the next, and we loved it. After all, we had no choice.

One of the highlights of traveling in those days was always stopping for gas and treats at Stuckey’s with its shelves full of pecan logs, sweet-sweet divinity, jellied fruit slices and sugar and spice pecan halves that actually took the skin off the top of your mouth if you ate too many. Oh my . . . those were good times.

Today there is a Texas equivalent to the old Deep South tradition made famous by Mr. Stuckey right down to the never ending array of quirky roadside billboards counting the miles until your final destination. It’s called Buc-ee’s and it’s become a real Texas attraction for all ages.

Based purely on my childhood memories, Buc-ee’s is Stuckey’s on steroids. Though smaller Buc-ee’s locations are found throughout Texas, the mega stores in Madisonville, Wharton and Lulling are my favorites by far.

From the addictive Beaver Nuggets to traditional chicken salad sandwiches and wraps, Tex-Mex and southern favorites are there to be had in the market style display cases and on shelves, in self serve coolers and hanging on pegged racks as far as the eye can see. Bags of old style candy and jars of pickled tomatoes and candied jalapenos are set near aisles of Buc-ee beavered souvenirs and mementos from the great State of Texas.

Buc-ee’s in Madisonville was wall-to-wall shoppers on the day I stopped by. The mass of travelers were filling bags, baskets and arms with goodies for the upcoming holiday. They were lined up at the registers    and the soda fountain walls. Order numbers for meals were being announced non-stop from the overhead speakers as good old Country music filled the air. It was organized chaos and everyone seemed to relish in it. We were at Buc-ee’s and lovin’ it.

A steady stream of folks came and went in one of Buc-ee’s most widely promoted attributes . . . the cleanest restrooms in Texas. Signs along the road for miles had announced that the biggest reasons for visiting Buc-ee’s were #1 and #2, and that even your Mom would approve of the facilities. No lie . . . she would have.

For me a visit to Buc-ee’s is a flashback to a slower time when dad did the driving, special treasures and treats were found at a stop along the road, and traveling was simpler. It’s a great getaway and as one of the billboards reads, “You can hold it!”.

“How jerky is that?” That’s what some of my friends might say when they open their Christmas gift from me in a couple of days.

I was driving home to Houston from north Texas recently and listening to non-stop holiday music thanks to my wife.  Between Thanksgiving and Christmas she has the incredible ability to sniff out every radio station in Texas that plays songs of the season 24-7. Needless to say I had Christmas on my mind.

As we drove along I-45 I thought about my own Christmases past, what I might be getting from Santa this year, and what I was going to get for my hard-to-shop-for friends. That’s when it came to me like a tide of Yule . . . so to speak. We were just minutes from Woody’s Smokehouse – “The Jerky Capital of the World”, and I was now a Santa on a holiday mission.

Woody’s Smokehouse has been a roadside destination for travelers passing through Centerville for a long time. One side of the shop is a traditional convenience store with grocery items, chilled coolers filled with soft drinks and adult beverages, and off-the-wall things from Christmas tree shaped auto air fresheners to jumbo sized cigarette lighters. But, it’s the other side of the store that beckons today . . . the side filled with jerky and jars of tasty southern memories to share on December 25^th.

Through the glass of the market style display cases I could see all sorts of meaty gift ideas, dried and bagged for purchase. For the unadventurous there was traditional beef jerky and turkey jerky. Good choices under normal circumstances, but lacking as spicy stocking stuffers at Christmas.

Then I saw them and the holiday shopping frenzy began. There was hickory smoked peppered beef jerky next to spiced venison jerky. Hot elk and smoked elk jerky shared space with thick smoked buffalo jerky. There was sweet and spicy beef jerky and Teriyaki beef jerky, along with dried pork jerky. On top of the cases were what looked to be old round cheese hoops filled with more jerky . . . bags of jalapeno beef jerky, smoked turkey tenders, meat “sticks” of all description and more.   This was like a grown up version of a kid in a candy store.

The gift gathering continued as I turned to find Mason-like jars loaded with horseradish jelly and watermelon rind pickles. Shelves were packed with southern style pickled ocra, green tomato pickles, “Peachy Peach” halves, and cherry cobbler. “I didn’t know that my Mema worked in the kitchen Woody’s Smokehouse,” I thought with a grin as a grabbed a jar of sweet pickles.

This was nice. I was going to share some good eats and Texas-style memories with my friends this Christmas compliments of the old smokehouse in Centerville.

Oh, by the way . . . Santa is good to go. There was no reindeer jerky to be found. I asked!

It’s Christmastime in Texas . . .

Traditions range from cowboy boot tree ornaments and long horns with Christmas balls dangling left and right, to snowmen decked out in western wear and Poncho Claus delivering toys to kids from his lowrider in the barrio.

 Whether you’re a fan or not, one Texas holiday tradition has been around since before the turn of the last century - the Christmas fruitcake from the Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana.

Loaded with fists full of pecans, cherries, pineapple, raisins, papaya, sugar and all sorts of other stuff, the DeLuxe Texas Fruitcake is a Lone Star legend. On a recent visit to the 105-year old bakery on West 7^th Avenue in downtown Corsicana, I watched as hundreds of folks sampled and searched for the perfect holiday treat to share with their family and friends.

Just imagine . . . this is the fruitcake given to the Crown Heads of Europe by circus great John Ringling. It was enjoyed by American cowboy and humorist Will Rogers, and world famous Italian tenor Enrico Caruso.  There I was surrounded by fruitcake lovers and those, like myself, willing to give the much maligned holiday dessert a second chance based on reputation.

There were all sorts of tasty-looking options displayed behind the glass. There was an apricot pecan cake, a pineapple pecan cake, and an apple cinnamon pecan cake. Then there was the Texas Blonde pecan cake and mini pecan cakes in tiny tins. Deluxe Petites and chocolate Petites and apricot Petites and pineapple pecan Petites . . . it was overwhelming. But wait… there was more.

I had come to taste the legend and maybe take one home, but no . . . I was now confronted with the Collin Street Bakery’s New York cheese cake, a key lime cheese cake, a praline pecan cheese cake, berry cheese cakes of all sorts and something called a Pumpkin Extravaganza. Then there were the traditional cakes, pies and cookies, not to mention the candies and nuts. Why were they making it so difficult? Why?

I worked and weaved my way to the counter only to find that the covered sample tray had been picked clean by fruit cake scavengers ahead of me. It was a Christmas conspiracy . . . the anticipation, the waiting, and now this.

I broke from the counter, and based on pure faith and a century old reputation, I picked up a tin of fruit-laden Texas tradition and walked slowly to the check-out. 

Today as I wait patiently for the family Christmas dinner in a few short days I wonder, will this fruitcake from Collin Street Bakery become a tradition in my home? Maybe so, but if not I sure have a lot of other choices at the old bakery to work with and I have no problem giving each of them a try.

You’ve got to love Christmastime in small town Texas. From Orange to El Paso and Brownsville to Amarillo, lights are strung throughout downtown with care, in hopes that the tourist soon would be there. 

Not too far north of Dallas is the town of McKinney. For 31-years the community has staged one “Dickens of a Christmas” and this year I was there to join in the celebration. Though not as large or flamboyant as the famed Dickens on the Strand in Galveston, McKinney still throws a great holiday party on the Square every Thanksgiving weekend.

The gray sky, crisp temps and steady breeze added to the Victorian era theme of the decorated downtown.  As we strolled the 12-block historic district we noticed that “A Christmas Carol” was being performed at McKinney Performing Arts Center inside the old courthouse. Nearby, Santa was listening closely to a young boy as the child confirmed that he had been good all year long and that an X-Box would be the perfect gift to find under the tree this Christmas.

At the corner of Tennessee Street and Virginia two women dressed in their Victorian best posed for a photo. “Make it quick”, one said as the cold wind whipped beneath her dress. They were heading inside for hot tea and cookies.

All around us families walked together, talked together, and experienced quality time together as if traveling with the Ghost of Christmas Past to time long ago. There was caroling on one street corner and hand bells on another. The Victorian magic show befuddled a group of kids as their parents stood back with their cups of hot coffee and tea.

Out front of the historic Grand Hotel McKinney was a garland wrapped karaoke stage where youngsters took turns singing loud and out-of-tune renditions of Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer and Jingle Bells. But, no one cared that they weren’t pitch perfect. It was Christmastime in McKinney and everyone was having fun.

The restaurants and shops around the Square were in full holiday mode. There were festive decorations both inside and out. The original Panty Restaurant was filled with festival goers at lunchtime looking for a ho-ho-home-cooked meal. I had the Blue Plate Special . . . a large portion of meat loaf with hot mashed potatoes and a bowl of beans. It was mighty fine on this blustery day in north Texas.

This is what Christmas in small town Texas is - happy faces, greeting everyone with a wave or a friendly nod, spending time with the family and joining in a tune or two celebrating the real reason for the season.  

Don’t even consider being a Scrooge if you’re coming to McKinney at Christmas. Bah humbugs are not allowed.  

Be sure to visit TourTexas.com for a complete list of Christmas festivals and celebrations throughout Texas.








  Michael Baxter is the Texas Travelin' Man


Always visit TourTexas.com for the latest Texas Travel information, travel guides and Texas brochures.

It was a random conversation in College Station that tipped me off to the Franconia Brewing Company. Just a casual word that I was on my way to a wedding in McKinney, and he mentioned a great craft beer tour just minutes from where I would be staying. What were the odds?

Franconia is a regional brew available primarily in the DFW area, and only in kegs. No bottles or cans to be had.

From the outside the warehouse-style building appeared to be nothing special; a simple brick building with no distinguishing sign or logo among several others in an industrial complex on the McKinney Parkway. But inside there was stuff happening from one end to the other that would make most craft brewers envious. An old-style German beer was being brewed with several generations of experience to make it right.

Owner and Brew Master, Dennis Wehrmann comes from a long line of German brewers. His great grandfather was a brewer back in the 1800s where all kegs where made of wood and beer was delivered by horse carriage. Most of his uncles are brewers and even his mom has a degree as a brewery lab technician. I guess you might say that Dennis has beer in his blood . . . literally and figuratively.

I have been on several brewery tours, but this one was the best ever. Dennis was one part Brew Master and one part standup comic. His well rehearsed routine was peppered with comedic one-liners skewering the big guys. One minute he was explaining how four simple ingredients combine to make beer, then the next he was debunking the claims of a major beer company that by “triple hopping” their brew it makes it superior. According to Wehrmann triple hopping has been a standard process for brewers since the beginning of time.

Perched on a commercial step ladder high above more than 125 visitors, Wehrmann told beer lovers, home brewers, and curious looky-loos about the three temperatures necessary to brew his three signature beverages. He then proceeded to offer to wave the usual $5.00 Franconia tour fee for anyone who would go to Houston’s St. Arnold Brewing Company and come back with their closely guarded temperature ranges.

He mocked the Rocky Mountain claim that “frost brewing” makes beer taste better by asking the crowd when was the last time any of us saw “frosty steam” rising from a heated beer kettle. “After a workout, why spend money on expensive protein shakes when there is just as much protein in the foamy head of a great tasting beer?” he asked. No one in the crowd with a pint of lager in-hand could dispute that statement.

Wehrmann went out of his way to explain a complicated process in a manner that everyone could understand. From start to finish he made it sound so easy, though we all knew that this was a skilled master of his craft. Unlike many brewery tours, this was more than a two-hour drinking party. It was a learning experience for anyone who appreciates the process of brewing a tasty tall one. From a traditional German lager, to the Wheat and the dark Durkel, Wehrmann has gotten it right.

As we were leaving his lecture Wehrmann asked us to stop and listen closely to his final words. He said that Americans have three major misconceptions about Germans that he wanted to set straight. “First, Germans don’t wear lederhosen all the time.” There was a laugh. “Second, Germans did NOT invent the Chicken Dance . . . in fact, we don’t even do the Chicken Dance.” This time there was a bigger laugh. “And three . . . Germans don’t drink warm beer.” Cheers filled the room.

These were words to live by. . . words that I won’t soon forget.

My chocolate malt was a tad thicker and creamier than any that I have had in years. Topped with a mound of whipped cream and a single stemmed maraschino cherry, it was more than tasty . . . for me it was a flashback to the days of Billy Hailey, Chuck Berry and the Big Bopper. This was the real deal right in the middle of Corsicana, Texas.

Originally opened in 1905, The Diner on North Beaton Street is the oldest continually operating soda fountain in Texas and with the same ice cream machine purchased in 1922 it still cranks out old-style Dr Pepper floats, sodas, sundaes and banana splits to customers from the Piney Woods to Waco and north to Ennis. 

It’s been years since I had a Purple People Eater – a tall drink of grape soda and vanilla ice cream, or a Brown Cow – an incredible mix of root beer and chocolate syrup with vanilla ice cream. When was the last time you even heard of a Phosphate? For readers under the age of 50, a Phosphate is a well balanced mix of flavored syrup and soda water over ice. The perfect combination should be left to the professionals like Pepper, our waitress and hand scoop extraordinaire.

As we sat at a red vinyl booth it was impossible not to take in the history around us. The scuffed, stained floor was worn white tile with Art Deco patterns in black, red and teal green. The matching green and red counter was original with a row of chrome-railed red and black vinyl swivel stools. Above the mirrored back wall behind the counter hung a large sign from the early days that read “Hashop Drugs – ice cream”.

Well used Coca-Cola and Dr Pepper fountains rested on the counter top as customers sat and enjoyed their meal to either side.

 I ordered my cheese burger done the old fashioned way, the way burgers used to be served up during the heyday of diners and soda shops. It was loaded with great taste and better memories.

As I savored those memories along with the ¼ lb. stack of beef, lettuce, tomatoes, onions and extra mustard, classic country tunes from the ‘60s floated over head. If only for a moment it was small town Texas from decades past and I was hanging on to every second of it for as long as I could.

When the check came I quickly returned to present day reality . . . there was no 5-cent dipped ice cream or 15-cent soda on my tab like there used to be. But, the modern day price was well worth the cost of admission to this malt shop memory maker in Corsicana.

It’s parade season. Multi-million dollar productions in New York City, Anaheim and elsewhere around the country fill the holidays and our television screens with glitz and pageantry.

But, despite their uber budgets – ask a Hill Country German if you need a definition - those nationally televised events can’t compete in spirit and pride with the productions staged in small town Texas.

Earlier this fall I stood elbow-to-elbow with thousands of spectators along the curb at the Gillespie County Parade in Fredericksburg and the annual Holiday Parade in Tomball.  The excitement and anticipation in the air was as thick as the oak and pecan-infused smoke at the Salt Lick around lunch time.

A jacked up, tricked out F-150 with a local beauty queen, sponsored by a neighborhood florist, and wrapped in yellow roses and tinsel streamers is every bit as special to a small community as a two story fairy tale float on 34^th Street in the Big Apple.

The pride of the local high school band, smartly dressed in its performance garb and marching to the beat of a precision drum line is contagious. There are the old military vehicles sporting the red, white and blue and carrying veterans from WWII, Korea and Vietnam as ROTC units march in step nearby.

In Fredericksburg there was a canopied flatbed trailer filled with seniors rocking back and forth while waving to the crowd. In Tomball it was a Camaro convertible with the recently crowned Mrs. Senior Assisted Living surrounded by her great grandkids.

The distinctly different sirens of a 70-year-old unit and a state-of-the-art fire engine wailed in harmony as they rolled down the flagged boulevard. Men and boys removed their well-worn caps and western hats each time Old Glory passed by. Young girls cringed and giggled when the horses “pooped” on the asphalt.

Wide-eyed kids found it hard to focus on any one element of the procession. Cowboys on horseback to the left were competing with colorful clowns on motor scooters to the right. An Uncle Sam on stilts loped along the yellow stripe on Main Street in Tomball. Antique tractors and hand-pulled red wagons toting costumed farm dogs rolled by in the “Burg”. It was eye candy for all ages and it was all Texas.

Big city parades may have their high flying helium filled cartoon characters, heart-throb celebrities and rose covered rolling wonderlands, but they will never have the down home authenticity of a locally owned parade. It’s a spectacle of community pride. It’s small town Texas and I’ll take that over big city pomp any day.

I spent a few days on business in Fredericksburg recently and like the true Texas Travelin’ Man that I am, I explored whenever I had some free time. I always enjoy wandering through the nearby historical sites like the National Museum of the Pacific War with the Admiral Nimitz Museum. More than a dozen art galleries, bats by the billions and wildflowers like nowhere else in Texas are within a short drive. Then there are the wineries . . . we’ll save that for another blog.

But, this night I was on a mission; a mission to try out an eatery that I had never tried before. Something different from the traditional German fare that I am way too fond of when visiting the Hill Country. No, tonight I wouldn’t savor the great brats, sauerkraut and potato pancakes at the Auslander or Altdorf. I had the urge for something with the taste of Texas.

After asking a few locals for their recommendation and cruising the Main drag . . . seriously, it’s on W. Main Street, I found it . . . Hondo’s.

Named for the legendary “Hondo” Crouch, humorist, writer, owner and self-proclaimed Mayor of Luckenbach, Hondo’s had the Texas Hill Country look and smell that could make me happy tonight.

The building looked old yet well kept. A large open patio was covered by the canopy of twinkle lit tree branches. As if I needed a reminder, all it took was one step through the double wooden doors and onto the worn hardwood floor and I knew I was deep in the heart. From wall to wall and floor to ceiling Hondo’s shouted, “welcome y’all!”

To my right was the long, well-seasoned bar that had served up many a Lone Star and Shiner Bock over the years. A traditional-style barroom mirror filled the wall behind the bar and bottles of Tequila, Jack Daniels and other liquid sedatives.

To the left two Texas troubadours were on-stage just finishing their version of “Take it Easy” by the Eagles, then smoothly transitioned to something by Willie and the boys.

I could have chosen the fried chicken sandwich in a traditional fried chicken batter, or an

appetizer of spinach and pepper dip with a large platter of shoe string onion rings, traditional fries and sweet potato fries, but I didn’t. I took the advice of the bartender and went for the famous Donut Burger with a poblano pepper sauce.

The sauce looked like a light colored thousand island dressing with chopped poblano peppers, but it wasn’t. That spicy sauce made the burger something special and with the grilled peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, and a basket of homemade potato chips dusted with parmesan cheese, ooh, I was good for the night. I didn’t even take the time to look for the “donut hole” in the middle of the burger before taking it down . . . it was the kind of meal that would have made Hondo proud. It sure made me smile.

Over the years the stories, the music, and the history have all combined to give this iconic community between Fredericksburg and Boerne an image that any place would have a tough time living up to.

I had no idea what to expect as I turned onto the Luckenbach Town Loop off of Ranch Road 1376.  I rounded the final curve in the narrow road and there it was . . . a spread of old-style tin-roofed barnwood buildings set beneath towering shade trees and surrounded by rows of motorcycles, SUVs and pickup trucks. Welcome to Luckenbach!

It could have been a movie set, but this was the place of “blue eyes cryin’ in the rain…”.

The dust rose in puffs around my boots as I walked toward the Post Office. A tourist sat on the front porch of the historic old wooden building. A sign overhead read “U.S. Post Office, Luckenbach, Texas, 1850-1971”. We both nodded as I walked past.

The path I picked led to a live acoustic guitar venue where a single performer played his Texas tunes to a small audience of appreciative guests. Like me, some were first timers, while others were regulars who come to Luckenbach when they feel the urge to leave it all behind for an hour or two, listen to a little Country music and sip on a cold Lone Star.

The smell of barbecue filled the air as I took a quick look into the nearby dance hall with its well-worn hardwood floor and array of overhead string lights.  This was the stuff that memories are made of. Some of Texas’ most well known performers have sung their songs here. Ray Benson, Gary P. Nunn, Charlie Robison, and Willie’s daughter Paula Nelson were set for gigs around the holidays. I closed my eyes and could almost hear them among the sound of revving Harley’s and children playing in the manicured glade across the creek.

As the web site reads, “ Luckenbach . . . A Texas state of mind, where you can kick back, relax and get away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life—like a step back in time.” That’s true, but for me it was more. It was a look at how Texas used to be and how many of us sometimes wish it still was.  Now that I’ve found it, let’s go to Luckenback, Texas . . . more often.

Ghost sightings are nothing unusual in San Antonio. The downtown is filled with “spirited spots” said to be the favorite haunts of the departed.

With all the carnage surrounding the siege of the Alamo in 1836 it should be no surprise that the historic site and the city blocks surrounding it are said to be loaded with paranormal activity. Add to that natural deaths in the years to follow and you have the perfect scenario for specters and spooks near the Riverwalk.

The beautiful Menger Hotel is reported to be among the most haunted of San Antonio’s historic downtown locations. Directly across the street from the Alamo and built on the site of Texas’ first brewery, the Menger Hotel opened for business in 1859. From President Theodore Roosevelt to baseball great Babe Ruth, the Menger continues to provide a nostalgic place of rest for the living  . . . and the dead.

My friend Jo Cox spent many years working in San Antonio’s hospitality industry. From the legendary St. Anthony to the Crockett Hotel, and other properties, she says the Menger still ranks at the top when it comes to things that go bump in the night.

There is the story of ghostly hotel chambermaid who was murdered by her husband. Sallie White was so loved by the hotel staff that they paid for her funeral, and out of apparent gratitude she is said to still roam the halls of the Victorian wing of the Menger late at night attempting to continue her assigned housekeeping duties.

The spirit of a woman wearing a blue dress and small, metal spectacles is often seen knitting in the old lobby. It is said that she appears to be an “intelligent” haunting, and actually rude to anyone when spoken to.

Tales of the ghost of King Ranch founder Captain Richard King persist to this day. King spent the last days of his life in his suite at the Menger and his funeral was held in the parlor there. Many employees and guests have said that the spirit of Captain King simply drifts in and out of his former suite without regard for walls and closed doors.

On occasion items have moved on their own or “floated” in mid air, and for years staff and guests have reported hearing voices and laughter when there is no viable explanation. As my friend Jo once told me, the Menger Hotel is the place for a supernatural stay in the Alamo City.

By day the City of Tomball, 25-miles northwest of Houston, is filled with thriving antique and specialty shops, mom-and-pop eateries, entertainment and a quality of life that makes living in a small town special.

Despite the lively daytime activities here and in communities just a short drive away, it’s rumored that after dark the surrounding countryside is filled with a nightlife better suited for those who have crossed over. No, not into Montgomery County . . . those who have passed away, yet feel the need to remain in Tomball.

THE MUSEUM MYSTERY

Nestled in the heart of the popular Tomball Museum Center with its historic homes, log cabin, church, one-room school house and farm museum is the Griffin Memorial House.

Built about 1860 by Eugene Pillot, a renowned builder along the Texas Gulf Coast, the Griffin House is a beautifully restored example of Civil War era architecture complete with its own apparition in the attic.

Museum Director, Charles Hall shared with me the story of a female spirit in the Griffin House that has circulated for years. As the story goes the figure of a woman dressed in period clothing has been seen in the upper reaches of the home and more than once rocking quietly back and forth in her rocking chair in the parlor.

The ghost is thought to be the 21-year-old daughter of the Faris family who once lived in the home. The mysterious cause of the young woman’s death has never been determined.

SPRING CREEK SPECTERS

During the Civil War a Confederate powder mill sat in what is now Spring Creek Park, just a short drive from downtown Tomball. It was there Texans loyal to the Confederacy worked around the clock making cannon powder for the rebel army’s artillery pieces.

In 1864 a horrific explosion destroyed the facility killing three men working there. The force of the blast was so great that a huge crater was created that over time filled with water and became a popular swimming hole for locals.

Despite rumors of spirits at the pond and in the surrounding woods, the lure of the cool dark water continued to draw swimmers to the powder mill site willing to risk a ghostly encounter for a quick dip. Unfortunately for some that decision ended in their death. After several curious drownings the powder mill pond was fenced, but the rumors remain even today among park-goers and overnight campers.

A paranormal investigation was conducted at Spring Creek Park in 2008 with results showing evidence of unexplained responses to questioning, shadowy images and psychic impressions. Could these have been the spirits of deceased soldiers of the Confederacy, drowning victims or possibly both?

GRAVEYARD GOTCHA

Historic old cemeteries surround Tomball. From the Pillot plots and the Salem Lutheran Church cemetery, to the Magnolia’s community cemetery and others in Klein and Spring, exploring the final resting places of founding fathers and mothers can be an adventure . . . especially after dark.

A story circulated on the Internet involves the Dowdell cemetery just east of downtown Tomball on FM 2920. It’s said that a group of friends looking for a graveyard “gotcha” parked their car outside the locked gate of the cemetery late one night.

It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of approaching footsteps through the open windows. As the sound grew louder the group peered into the darkness but saw nothing. The sound continued to “walk”around the car, pausing at the rear, then slowly move away into the night.

Minutes later, as they sat there talking about their creepy encounter, a green light flashed through the cemetery and the chained gate began to rattle on its own. The terrified group drove back into Tomball and later that night found unexplained handprints in the dust on the back window of their hatchback.

The days around Halloween tend to make one wonder a bit more about things that go bump in the night; things to be explored after dark, or better yet, left alone. Welcome to Tomball, y’all.

Just north of Houston is the community of Spring. Once a thriving hub of railroad traffic, Spring played host to those who rode the rails as well as those who laid them.

Today the little village is known as Old Town Spring and its oak lined streets are laced with quaint shops, tea rooms and themed venues featuring the best in live Texas style music.

After more than 100 years, Wunsche Bros. Cafe & Saloon, one of my favorite eateries in southeast Texas, still sits along side the railroad tracks in Spring serving up chicken fried steak, juicy burgers, sauerkraut balls and the coldest beer around. But the beer isn't the only reason that Wunsche Bros. is known as the most "spirited" spot in town. It has more to do with the resident ghost that wanders the hard wood floors late at night after the music done and the two-steppers have headed home.

Charlie, the resident specter of Wunsche Bros., is thought to be the ghost of Charlie Wunsche, son of the town's founder. Along with his brothers Dell and Willie, Charlie built the two story Wunsche Bros. Hotel & Saloon in 1902 and apparently upon his death decided to never check out.

Whenever remodeling or construction is being done on the old landmark you can count on Charlie making his presence known. Coffee machines will start and stop on their own, nozzles for the soft drink dispensers will mysteriously disappear only to reappear weeks later, unlocked doors will not open as if being held by someone on the other side, chairs rattle and move about, and strange shadows move along the old hallway upstairs. "Without a doubt, it definitely gets weird around here sometimes," Roxanne joked.

No sooner had she spoken than a chilling wind swept around her and the man seated at the table vanished before her eyes.

Roxanne thinks that she may have seen Charlie herself one night after closing. "Our whole staff believes that Charlie watches out for us," she said. "I had locked up late one night and was walking to my car parked in the dark behind the cafe, when I had this strong urge to look back over my shoulder at the building. That's something that I never do. But, when I looked up at where the liquor room used to be on the second floor I saw a shadowy figure of a man staring out the window at me." Though not frightening the event was unnerving Roxanne said.

All of Wunsche Bros.' staff have a special respect for Charlie. After all he did build the place more than 100 years ago, and they certainly don't want to offend him.

"Charlie is friendly. He watches over us and that's just how we want to keep it," Roxanne said with a grin.








Michael Baxter is the Texas Travelin' Man

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Music Among the Manuscripts

If asked to name the most "spirited" cities in Texas, San Antonio, Galveston and a few others would probably top most lists. But among the rocket scientists, oil workers and its towering office buildings, Houston has accumulated a fair number of haunted hangouts over the years. After all, the Bayou City has been around since 1836.

Mr. Cramer was loner who lived in a basement apartment beneath the library. After working all day he found companionship in Pete and his ever-present violin. Seldom was the night when Mr. Cramer didn't stroll through the building playing beautiful melodies on his instrument, eventually making his way to the ornate rotunda where he would perform one man concerts late into the night. It was said that his lilting version of the "Blue Danube Waltz" could bring a man to tears.

Sometime in the late 1930s Mr. Cramer died in his small basement apartment. But even so, folks said that his music could still be heard throughout the building for years after his passing. Skeptics believed that it was only the wind blowing through the drafty old library, but those who heard the "Blue Danube Waltz" on windless nights were convinced that Mr. Cramer and Pete were still on the job minding the manuscripts at the Houston Public Library.

Galveston Island is one of the most "spirited" towns in Texas.  From the old community cemetery on Broadway to several stately homes and residences on the east end, Galveston is said to be filled with Gulf Coast ghosts after sunset.

Carl Wade is was said to be one of several folks over the years to see for himself evidence of one of Galveston's well known specters - the ghost of Miss Bettie Brown, the flamboyant hostess of Ashton Villa. Ashton Villa is a marvelous example of Italianate architecture built in 1859 by James Moreau Brown. Today the magnificent house on Broadway is a museum home open to the public.

Though strongly denied by management for many years, it has been rumored for years that the spirit of Miss Bettie is still very much "alive" and well at Ashton Villa. "While my brother was a docent at the house he told me about straightening a bedspread in Miss Bettie's sitting room at closing time only to find it rumpled the next morning as if someone had sat or slept on it during the night," reported Carl's sister Adrienne.

The rumpled bed linens were just one of the more regular occurrences referred to by staff members over the years when speaking of Miss Bettie's spirit. It was reported that a caretaker sleeping in the carriage house adjacent to Ashton Villa was awakened late one night by the sound of a piano playing. He reluctantly entered the house and is said to have seen the faint image of a woman sitting at the keyboard of the home's beautiful antique piano. An instant later the music stopped and the apparition vanished. Needless to say the flustered caretaker slept with the lights on in his carriage house apartment for the rest of the night.

There are stories of ceiling fans and lights that mysteriously turn off and on, burglar alarms sounding while in the "off" position during the day, and a trunk belonging to Miss Bettie that locks and unlocks itself without a key. There was an alleged sighting of Miss Bettie during Galveston's annual Dickens Christmas blow-out in 1991. An unidentified woman in a nineteenth century turquoise gown was seen by a docent standing at the top of the home's grand staircase. What made this so odd was that Ashton Villa had not yet opened to the public, and no staff person working in the house was dressed in a turquoise gown that day. The incident was written off as nothing more than Miss Bettie overseeing the final preparations for the holiday festivities.

Though there have been many unexplained happenings reported throughout the years, no one has ever had an ill-feeling about the house or its resident spirit. Ashton Villa's former manager Lucy Testa summed it up best saying, "Several of us have had different feelings while in the house, but never anything spooky or gloomy. It's a happy house, and we were never afraid of the presence that we all knew lived there," she said.

Small Texas towns. What’s not to like about them? Maybe it’s a special shop, restaurant, historical site or the town “character” you meet at the gas station that makes the visit memorable. But, on this day it was more. It was the white limestone church on the hill with its steeple towering above twisted old trees. It was the historic Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Round Top.

Dedicated in 1866, the church was designed in an old world style by Carl Bauer, a German immigrant who moved to Texas along with so many others during that time. The $2,400 cash needed to construct the building was collected by the congregation and all the inside furnishings – from the altar covering to the massive pulpit Bible and Crucifix - were donated.

For more than 140-years, music has lifted high into the sky around Round Top every Sunday from the handmade cedar pipe organ that still plays from the balcony overlooking the sanctuary. Its 408 hand-shaped pipes were crafted from cedar trees grown nearby.

On the gently sloping turf to the rear is the church cemetery.  There are the headstones marking the final resting places of church founders, Texas war veterans, children taken by illness and more. It’s the history of Round Top there to ponder.

As impressive as the building, its contents, and its long history are, one element within the church spoke to me like no other; God’s glass . . . the stained glass windows that have inspired congregations for generations.

Shades of blue and purple are wrapped in bands of gold and orange. Diamond shaped panels spray a rainbow of colors onto worshippers seated in the well-worn wooden pews below.

Each window displays its own distinctive biblical message in a circular pattern among the diamonds. One features a lamb and pennant, another a cross and crown, and a third displays an open bible with the Greek letters Alpha and Omega. The image of two carved stone tablets with the Roman numerals “I, II, III, IV . . . X” share another window with crossed trumpets announcing “Ye Praise the Lord”. It is an emotionally moving display of spiritual art created by devout German believers in small town Texas at the end of the Civil War.

The Bethlehem Lutheran Church is at 409 S. White Street, just a block or two off Highway 237 in Round Top. You can’t miss it . . . just look for the steeple on the hill and God’s glass in the walls.

TOUR TEXAS: Whiskey. Steaks. Whiskey. Steaks.

I’ve made the Josephine Street Café in San Antonio a regular stop for more than 25-years. It’s the kind of place that locals flock to every day and tourists happen upon by accident or on the recommendation of someone who knows good food.

I can remember twenty-five years ago asking the concierge at the Hilton Riverwalk where I might find a good restaurant where the locals eat. He told me to go out of the driveway, then down Broadway, take a left at the Pearl Brewery and look for the flashing signs that read “Whiskey, Steaks, Whiskey, Steaks” . . . he added “park under the freeway and order the steak”.

Since that first outing little has changed at the Josephine Street Café and I wouldn’t visit the Alamo City without a steak and Shiner Bock in a corner booth there.

On this trip a buddy and I settled in around sunset. I didn’t even have to look at the menu. It was the 16 oz. T-bone steak with mashed potatoes, white gravy and a single, large onion ring that spoke to me.

Regular customers and first-timers continued to come and go on the well worn hardwood floor as classic county music played overhead. The old wooden bar along one wall was busy with orders for Texas craft beers, Budweiser and mixed drinks. A waitress patiently waited behind the tree that pierces the dining room floor and ceiling, while a group of customers made their way to their table.

I really love this place. It’s like Cheers with history. From the wait staff to the customers, Texas friendly is the norm and the food is consistently the primary reason for coming.

My steak, topped with seasoned butter, was done just right, and went down great with the ice cold Texas beer from the little brewery about two hours to the east of San Antonio.

My friend and I talked about this and that, watched the diners as they enjoyed their meals, and laughed at the passing convertible party bus decorated with Lone Star and Schlitz beer signs. It was a great night to be in San Antonio.

That’s when our waitress suggested the “best apple pie and ice cream in the entire state of Texas”… come on, who could pass that up? Not me.

Several minutes later the large slice of homemade apple pie with an equally large scoop of Bluebell vanilla was set down on our table. It was awe inspiring . . . a sugary golden crust over cinnamon laced baked apples, and a layer of melting Texas tradition.

The Josephine Street Café is San Antonio. It’s one of those places where the locals congregate to have a good time over a great meal or a brew or two. It’s my go-to place when passing through and I can’t wait to try the ribeye on my next trip to town. I might even have another slice of apple pie.

TOUR TEXAS: "PIGGIN' OUT" IN SAN ANTONIO

It had been three years since my last visit to the San Antonio landmark. No, not the Alamo. The original Pig Stand Restaurant founded in 1921.

Once a nationwide drive-in chain, today it’s only the original eatery on Broadway in the shadow of I-35 that has survived with a full menu of oh-so-good comfort food and old-style service.

A short drive from the touristy destinations along the Riverwalk, the Pig Stand is a flashback to a time when the waitresses called everyone sweetie, signature recipes remained unchanged from year to year, and repeat customers were your best marketing partners.

Smartly dressed in black slacks and shoes, a starched white blouse and long black apron, Cheryl took my order. “Welcome to the Pig Stand,” she said with a slight drawl, taking my drink order . . . the ice tea is really nice. Really.

Before looking at the menu I asked what one item the Pig Stand was best known for. Without hesitation she said, “Oh sweetie, that’s the pig sandwich . . . “. She had me at “sweetie”.

While waiting for my dinner I took in the surroundings. The booths were tufted red and gold sparkle vinyl, with diner-style tables of cream colored tops and a well-worn aluminum strip around the lip. The busy counter offered a similar color scheme with individual swivel stools for diners going solo or wanting a quick in-and-out service.

A tribute to the early years, each booth had its own mini-juke box loaded with hundreds of tunes from Techno-Cumbia and ZZ Top, to George Strait and the Angels . . . “My boyfriend’s back and you’re gonna be in trouble…” It was a serious blend of music for the diverse mix of customers who frequent the restaurant.

On the walls, shelves, counter tops, booth backs, bars and hanging from the tiled ceiling were examples of all things PIG. Ceramic pigs, metal pigs, glass pigs, piggy banks, flying pigs, stuffed pigs, pig pitchers and salt and pepper shakers, a pink pig mailbox, pig sculptures, pig neons, pig pictures, pig paintings and Miss Piggy herself . . . awesome!

It was a wondrous moment when Cheryl sat my meal in front of me. The pig sandwich was a stack of pork tenderloin smoked on-site with a light spicy relish and homemade barbecue sauce to rival the best I’ve ever tasted. Double dipped fries and a lone onion ring complemented the Cole slaw made fresh throughout the day from a secret recipe that my waitress wouldn’t share. Dinner was a serious treat with a 90-year legacy.

As I ate I watched customers come and go, each being greeted by Mary Ann Hill, longtime owner of the Pig Stand who worked her way up from waitress to “top sow”. Her smile was infectious and her welcome was genuine to all who walked in.

Cheryl came back to check on me. “How ‘bout some dessert sweetie?” she asked. “We have the best peach cobbler in Texas . . . I wouldn’t lie to you.” Again, she had me at sweetie. 

The big bowl of homemade peach cobbler with Bluebell vanilla was without a doubt impressive. Sweet, crusty and with a hint of cinnamon . . . combined with a cup of fresh decaf and this was a blog worthy experience.

On my way out of San Antonio the next morning I stopped by the Pig Stand for a quick breakfast of egg and chorizo sausage tacos and coffee. Oh, it made the four hour drive home to Houston much more enjoyable.

 Thank you Mary Ann . . . I will be back.

Fall in Texas. Sometimes it’s cool, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes there’s color in the leaves, and other times no so much. This year it’s been a lot like the scorching, dry summer that has preceded it. But despite what nature may serve up in any given year, fall in Texas is legendary for two things . . . football and the tailgate parties that come before the action on the field.

From the Pros to college, and high school to youth leagues, tailgating is a statement. It’s an art. It’s the opportunity to experience a shared interest with a few friends or a few hundred. It’s a serious part of fall football and no one does it better than Texas.

An Aggie by marriage, I was invited to make the trip to College Station recently to watch the SMU Mustangs go head-to-head with Texas A&M. I had never been to a game at Kyle Field so I was really looking forward to the contest.  

Dressed in my recently purchased maroon and white, I was ready for the game, but not for all the pre-game parties that I found clustered throughout the campus. It was the sort of thing that I had heard about from die-hard fans for years, but not even my fertile imagination would have done justice to the real thing.

Row after row of Aggie logoed pop-up tents cozied up to motor homes, folding chairs, ice chests, smokers and barbecue pits fired by Kingsford charcoal or 12-inch splits of hardwood. I’m sure that there were some Hank Hill propane aficionados somewhere, but they were well hidden from the purists among the shrubs and pick-ups.

I joined a group of Aggie tailgaters, not be confused with LSU “tailgators”, in a parking lot several long blocks from Kyle Field for a bit of pre-game revelry prior to kick-off.  The “Saw-em-Off Rangers” were a blend of alums, current students, family and friends brought together for an evening of football frenzy. Some had game tickets, while others would cheer their team on gather around the large flat-screen TV attached to the rear of the massive maroon and white tailgater trailer.

With the smell of smoke and barbecue from surrounding parties in the air, pans of well-seasoned beef and chicken fajitas were set out on our tables along with warm tortillas, guacamole, pico and more. Homemade desserts like chocolate iced Rice Krispy Treats and Jamie’s Whoop Pies – maroon-colored red velvet delights with sweet sour cream icing between the muffin top layers – provided a balance.

Large chests filled with iced cans of the official beverage of Texas were bottomless, as was the camaraderie. Washers were tossed at holes in plywood game squares much like horseshoes at posts. Footballs were flung overhead and maroon porta-potties soon filled to capacity. It was a great day to be on the campus of Texas A&M University.

Football season in Texas is short lived, but its long standing traditions live on. The rivalries are fierce and time spent together at the tailgate party deepens old friendships and creates new ones.

 If nothing more, grab a bucket of spicy wings, a six-pack of Shiner 102 and a buddy, drop the tailgate on your pick up or set a card table in the driveway, then crank up a game on the radio . . . It’s how we celebrate here. It’s football season in Texas.










  Michael Baxter is the Texas Travelin' Man

Always check TourTexas.com for Texas Tourist Information, Texas Travel Guides, Family Vacations and more.