Journeys:

Watermelons, ancestors, friends and rivers
July 1, 2013

The San Marcos at our campground in Luling.

Our plan to stop in Luling, Texas, was not to attend the 60th annual Watermelon Thump, as the local festival is titled; it was one of those coincidences that just work out. We were there on another ancestral quest. My great great grandparents, Clayborn and Eiza (Gentry) Taylor, owned the nearby Lone Oak Ranch, and are buried in Waelder, a few miles away. When we come here, we always stop to remember them with flowers on their graves.

The Masonic and Waelder graveyards are across the road from each other. Clayborn & Eliza are in the Masonic; two of their sons are in the Waelder Cemetery.

The Lone Oak Ranch is near the site of Hopkinsville.

The house at the Lone Oak Ranch.

During those stopovers, though, we didn’t know about our Gentry ancestry, have just recently found information about those three greats grandparents, James & Peachy (Langford) Gentry. William Fergerson (the one whose grave we couldn’t find at Novice) was married to James & Peachy’s daughter, Polly. William and Polly lived here on property they obtained from James Gentry before they moved further west.

At any rate, we arrived equipped with a general description of the couple’s burial site location and an old internet posting by the owner of the ranch inquiring about information about them. We were unsuccessful at several attempts to contact them. Facing yet another strikeout, what to do except drive out that direction and have a look-see.

The graves were said to be on the A. D. Parr ranch, so when we found agricultural heritage emblems that said that particular place had been in the same family, Parr, for move than 100 years, we were ecstatic, less ecstatic when no one was at home. We left a note and called later after we found a phone number for them. They knew of the burials but the site was on the neighboring ranch where no one lives full time. This lady kindly passed on our message and we began waiting.

Never ones to sit and twiddle our thumbs, we opted for activity whilst we waited. We headed to Gonzales for the county courthouse, an impressive edifice if I ever saw one, but were sent away to the archives in another distant building. Pay dirt there: it is a wonderfully organized archives womanned by very helpful and knowledgeable ladies.

We got James’ and Peachy’s wills, probates and estate inventories, saw not-very-good color photos of the gravestone and more information about the family. I departed with a promise to add my family charts to their files.

A City Market adventure . . .

Buddy had told us about City Market in Luling with the admonition that we must go, so go we did. I have to say it was unlike anything I had imagined. To clarify: it is not a grocery store, but a barbecue place.

Most tables are communal. To order, one stands in line outside a door at the back of the eatery, a line of anxious diners that is continually added to by newcomers. Walking through that door transports you into an atmosphere dimly lighted, smoky and aromatic, also very hot. A half-dozen men in there work in a crowded space with three huge wood-fired smokers, one each for ribs, brisket and links.

Orders are by the pound or partial pound of brisket or ribs and/or number of links. The queue moves quickly: someone slicing by hand knows from experience when he has carved off the correct amount of meat, which is then tossed onto butcher paper and wrapped. Pickles are extra and tubs of salads may be picked up at the front of the place along with plastic ware - no plate offered or needed: just unwrap and dig in to the most incredible barbecue meal ever - and I do mean ever.

I hearken back to the BBQ we lucked into at the biker place in Leaky, Texas: wonderful, worth the trip, and there was the great meal at the restaurant Bob took us to in Kansas City, definitely in the top two after City Market.

The Thump . . .

Then there was that Watermelon Thump thing going on in the middle of town; the theme is all things watermelon, of course.

The Shiner Hobo Band was a large enthusiastic group.

Not sure what the guy with the broom was doing exactly, but he was playing away with great abandon.

Get ready, get set . . .

Go!

This speaks for itself, puts me in mind of cheeseheads.

108 degrees made the spots in front of giant evaporative coolers very popular.

Someone at a past Thump holds the Guiness world record for watermelon seed spitting - an unbelievable 68 feet, 9 inches! I took a picture of Chris down at the spitting end of the spitway to give an idea of the distance.

The celebration was a perfect small-town event: main street fenced off, carnival, booths, bands and people, even a watermelon eating contest. The vendors were different than what we encounter at our festivities. Things for sale were more gee-gaws and commercial items and the food booths were more home-made delectables, like the peach cobbler made by a man from Houston and naturally there was juicy cool ripe watermelon. Peach season is in full swing in these parts and we are taking full advantage - delicious! No worries now about pining for my peach trees that are no longer mine.

Zedler Mill & pond . . .

Our ability to fill up time extended to a swim in the mill pond on the San Marcos River (our campground is right on the river) and a tour of the fascinating Zedler Mill. The city of Luling and a foundation operate the mill and its lovely landscaped riverfront park grounds. I am always fascinated to see the workings of such as this; even better, they had a fascinating antique tool collection.

Love me my floatie!

Another municipal benefit we utilized is a boat drop-off. We left the pickup across from the mill and were driven upriver by a city employee o a put-in point. He left us six river miles up there and we were on our own to kayak back to the mill, alledgedly a 2-1/2 hour trip.

Green heron

Five hours later, we exhaustedly climbed out of our boats. Our planned 8 a.m. departure had been impossible because of rain and lightning; I’ve been caught in the kayak on the water far too many times in electrical storms - not doin’ that again if I can help it. By 2 p.m., it appeared to be safe so we jumped on the opportunity. Of course it started to rain straightaway as soon as we were on the river, just gently and soon ceased.

What an incredibly beautiful paddle it was! I love all rivers, but there’s something about southern waterways that intriques me. First, there’s the humidity; strange as it seems, I love it. The air feels soft as it envelopes me like a cocoon. The sounds on the river are different than what I am accustomed to, also. Insects (a type of cicada maybe?) provide a background kind of purring noise and the bird calls invoke a tropical jungle kind of atmosphere.

Of course the botanicals are lush; the trees are gigantic, vines climb up the trunks and hang over the water. All in all, a wonderful experience.

The first mile or so of the trip was on fairly shallow water with enough riffles to get a bit of an adrenaline rush as we traversed them,. At one low-water crossing, a herd of beef was cooling their heels (no, I guess that would be hooves) and lower sides. No way was I tangling with a herd of cattle, docile though they may be, while I was being propelled forward by a river current. I know plenty about bovines and what I know tells me they will stand still until I am almost up to them, at which time they will bolt right in front of me. In this case, the result would be having my boat becoming entangled in their legs which have the aforementioned hooves on the ends of them.

This thinking led me to hang back and allow Chris, the kayak cowboy, to brave the herd.. He cleared out all but one cow that didn’t want to relinquish her watery cool spot (it got up to 108 that day) and had to double back to yippe-ki-yi her out of the way before I proceeded - my hero!

We wandered as much as one can wander on a river, took photos and just plain enjoyed the sights. Again (what is with this???), I spotted a snake swimming and then another and another and another . . . well one long stretch of the river turned out to be swarming with the swimmers. Need I mention that we did not swim there?

James and Peachy . . .

Running out of time to find James and Peachy by the time we got off the river late Sunday, we were finally able to make phone contact with the property owner. Her husband would be there Monday at 9 a.m. Although Monday was our day of departure from Luling, we made arrangements to meet him and were able to take the trailer with us to leave directly from there.

James & Peachy's gravestone.

The stone after I applied shaving cream to make it legible for the photograph.

What a very pleasant man he was - this Michael owner of the ranch - he got out two ATVs for us all to drive back to the graves. And there it was, surrounded by a very old wrought iron fence, the gravestone is tumbling backwards off its pedestal. It is a peaceful spot under a tree in the middle of a pasture. I am grateful for these and previous owners who cared for the resting place despite not knowing who was there.

Hog dogs . . .

Michael’s daughter was there to tend to her dogs in kennels. Because they appeared to be hunting dogs, I asked about them but never would have guessed at the answer: they are hog dogs. Trained by her husband from puppyhood to assist in taking down the large feral hogs that are commonplace in Texas and other parts of the South, the dogs catch hold behind the prey’s ear so it cannot turn its head to slash a tusk at the hunter, who dispatches the hog up close and personal with a knife.

This extreme hunt is not my cup of tea, but I have to admit I’m fascinated by how they do it. I would have asked much more, but they and we had to be on the road. She did tell me there’s a television program about the sport that has it all wrong; somehow, I wasn’t terribly surprised.

Sue . . .

I have missed my dear friend and former mother-in-law, Sue, since she moved from Arizona to San Antonio. I was happy that she was available to meet us for lunch the day we zoomed by that city.

As before, we avoid driving the interstate highways, utilizing small byways to take us through the real world, not the one that looks the same at every truck stop; however, those speedy throughways are very handy for getting around metropolitan areas.

Being unfamiliar with the city, Chris did some checking ahead of time and found an exit with a restaurant so we could arrange where to meet Sue. As it turns out, the signage is a little confusing; she and we both passed the exit and had to double back, always a joy pulling a trailer in city traffic.

No matter, when all was said and done, we did our catching up and hugging and were happy for the opportunity.

We found it harder to identify birds while traversing the river; than current keeps on doing what currents do while the birds do their best to get out of sight. Most of the birds we got in the area were found otherwise. New trip birds were Carolina chickadee, lazuli bunting, tree swallow, red-bellied woodpecker and belted kingfisher. The black-crested titmouse and chimney swift were life birds for us.