Landmark Decision

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to cross the Brazos River," the voice came over the train's intercom, "An interesting fact is that the early Spanish explorers named it Rios de los Brazos de Dios, meaning 'The River of the Arms of God.'"

We were taking this trip by rail to see family in Texas and had been entertained with sporadic announcements of points of interest along the way.  The name origin of the river reminded me of a beautiful area we had visited in North Carolina called Valle Crucis, or Valley of the Cross, so named by early explorers  for three rivers that come together, forming a cross.

I love the fact that godly names have been given by our forebears to many towns and landmarks across the country.  A little less appealing to me were landmarks pointed out from the train such as the bank robbed by Bonnie and Clyde in Lancaster, Texas, and a bit farther on, the filming site of the movie, Texas Chainsaw Massacre at a two-story, columned house visible in the distance

Thankfully, other scenic and informative spots of interest were highlighted.  I had so enjoyed seeing the Washita River Valley in Oklahoma, otherwise known as the Canyon, as the picturesque Washita River meandered over shallow, rocky shoals, the view playing tag with us through the trees as glimpsed from the train window.

And, near Oklahoma's Turner Falls,  the layer upon layer of rocks and sediment shoved up at sharp angles along the roadside where the highway had been cut through the mountains.  "You can see where these mountains have fallen and folded over," our guide said in the geological lesson.

Our son and host Jamie, ever on the lookout for novel eating places, wanted to take us somewhere called "Bubba's Texas Burger Shack," a local Texas  landmark.  He had heard rave reviews about the hamburgers, and we were curious and eager to try them.  As it happened, I had just paid more than I had ever paid before for a haircut at a glistening, glass-walled salon in Houston's Galleria. It had been cloudy all morning, and as we headed toward the cafe, it became a tumultuous, coastal downpour.

We came upon the questionable-looking, rustic eatery, still in the Galleria district, but practically under an overpass.  I hadn't brought my umbrella, but grabbing my granddaughter's Sunday School paper to shield my hair, I dashed with the others up a ramp and under the front porch shelter. We squeezed into the tiny place, thought better of it, then opted to eat at the damp picnic tables on the porch, despite the roar of traffic and gusty  wind.

All I can say, is the burgers were worth it!  Huge, soft, glistening-brown buns (my husband and I could've split one) held hot, thick, juicy beef  (Howard got buffalo) topped with mustard, lettuce and slices of onion. They tasted so real!  Not like the fast-food  hamburgers, just homemade and hearty!  The customers also looked pretty hardy, I must say, in their beards, boots and work clothes. And I guess my hairdo was hardy, too, surviving intact a Texas landmark lunch!