The iPhone app blinks, reassuring that it sees us, a blue dot traveling along RR 1376, a squiggly, a two-lane road. We take our time, passing some fenced pastures and a few houses on our way to Luckenbach. We pull into the dirt parking lot and head for the tiny post office and trading post. Inside, we stand near the pot belly stove to warm up and toe-tap along to the music of a guitar-playing cowboy. You never know who’ll stop by for musical entertainment. After awhile, we walk over to the dance hall, strung with Christmas lights that stay up all year. There’s nothing finer than an evening listening to country music, but there’s nothing colder than a wood frame building in December. We decide against lingering at Luckenbach. Hungry for a burger, we drive further on down Old Wildlife Management Road to Alamo Springs, past the bat cave, quiet from the cold. In the summer, these tiny creatures rise in a whirlwind from their limestone tunnel, devouring millions of mosquitoes each night. Tonight, these migratory critters are in Mexico.
Lotta food luv: the green chile cheeseburger at Alamo Springs Cafe.
It’s late when we leave, and pitch dark in mid-December. The stars at night are big and bright, especially in Gillespie County, where ambient lighting seems verboten. The slightest sliver of moon appears. Peering into the sky, I’m able to locate the little dipper above me. Driving back to town in the inky darkness, we listen to Robert Earl Keene and recite our deer-in-headlights instructions. Go slow (not a problem due to the squiggly road). If you see a deer, don’t swerve. Hit the brakes hard and hold the steering wheel firm. We laugh, round a corner, and come to a headlights-to-nose stop. A huge bovine stands in the roadway. He blinks and bows, but doesn’t move. The headlights frame his mooing head. Dust floats around in the beams. We can’t get by the steer. So, I climb in the back of the SUV, pull out our walking sticks, open the passenger door and stand on the running board.
Clicking the sticks, I fuss at Midnight Steer. “Git. Git away!”
Midnight turns his rump toward me. I step down from the SUV and go around the front, staying close to the car in case he gets ornery. Tapping him on the rear with my walking sticks, I scold him again. He moos and moves on. Hubby gingerly drives around him as I step to the side of the road. With the SUV just ahead of me, I look back into the darkness. A shooting star, tiny and diamond-brilliant, illuminates the velvety black sky. I make a wish to have more nights like this, and climb back into the car.
Hubby is smiling. “Good job.”
“Thanks honey. Round up is all finished. Let’s head for the house.”
