On boots and bars and motorbikes...

Surfing the state and national headlines last weekend I happened upon a word I’d never seen before, applied to squirrels, of all things, all over Texas. Curious, I clicked the headline, which carried me to a story, written originally for the San Antonio Express News but republished in the Houston Chronicle, about how in this miserable oven setting otherwise known as “today’s temperature” – a weather anomaly that’s been with us for half of 2022 now – even the squirrels were employing an all-new method of beating the heat. They called it “splooting” and because I’ve never a big fan of squirrels (tree rats, mostly) and this sounded something like a child might tell Mom after she hears a loud boom from some back corner of the house (as in “I didn’t do nuthin: It just sploded, all by itself”), I eagerly clicked ahead to the image gallery. To my disappointment, none involved any rodents spontaneously combusting (though that would’ve been kinda cool, you gotta admit). Rather, it showed

'HE WAS MY HERO' Abel Moreno left out early Sunday, Oct. 3, from his Billings, Mont., home so that he’d have plenty of time to cover the many long miles ahead. He needed to make Moulton by Tuesday afternoon, where Abel said he’d promised the local police chief he’d lead up the evenings special National Night Out parade with a showpiece car he’s spent the last few months working on in tribute to his son, Lavaca County Sheriff’s Deputy Dakota Moreno, who was killed in an off-duty traffic accident last year, just three days before Christmas. He was just 24. “I’d love to wake up one day and realize that all this was just some bad dream,” Abel told us Tuesday, hanging back from the crowd seemed to form wherever he parked that car. But some nightmares just stick with you, it seems, no matter how many times you wake. It seems like only moments ago, his dad said, that Dakota was right here, just as healthy, happy and full of life as anyone. “And It feels like about a million years have

If there's one thing the Rev. Bryan Heyer says he knows to be true, it's that members of Sts. Cyril and Methodius Catholic Church in Shiner know a thing or two about community service. They always have, and most likely, always will. “Our church was literally built by the service of its members,” Father Bryan said. “In fact, even the building itself stands testament to that service. It’s tradition of serving that continues on strong still today.” Anyone who might question that fact only need lay eyes on their beautiful landmark red brick church building in Shiner, each stone of it built from the ground up by the hands and backs of local parishioners, who spent the better part of two entire years, from 1920-1921, making sure every element of it was simply perfect. And this coming Sunday, July 11, parishioners from all over, both past and present, will have the opportunity celebrate those many years of service, when Father Bryan and Victoria Diocese Bishop Brendon Cahill come toge

While many enjoyed the much anticipated opening night of Luling’s Watermelon Thump after its coronavirus-inspired hiatus in 2020, several young men were hard at work well into the night proving that watermelons aren't always fun and games in their hometown. Fact is, if you ventured past Mikesh Produce Thursday evening at Luling’s Original Farmer’s Market, just a couple of blocks from the Thump festival grounds off North Magnolia Avenue, you could've seen firsthand that watermelons can be lots of terribly back breaking work. Especially when a load of about a thousand arrives right at sunset, filling the entire length of an 18-wheeler flatbed, and the only way you have to get them off involves you and about a dozen of your closest friends and relatives forming a man chain to pitch the big devils off the truck one by one, pass them along hand-by-hand, and then stack them layer by layer in massive piles on every available tabletop. Just watching them made my back hurt. Fortunately,

You just know that somebody, somewhere, had to be thinking it real hard if not actually saying those precise words when it all went down.  “Honey, have you seen the kids?” To which, a usually reasonable response might be, “Oh, they’ll be back shortly. They ran down to the coffeeshop to grab a bite.” Still, things were anything but “usual” last Wednesday, June 23. “We have kids around our shop almost all the time,” says Amy Bishop, proprietor of the Shinerville Coffee House. “But these weren’t your average, run-of-the-mill kids. In fact, they made for some rather unusual visitors at our shop that day.” Unusual, indeed, for in the middle of town, the middle of the afternoon, the middle of the workweek, a pair goats came wandering up to her coffeeshop door, nibbling on her potted plants as they peered in the windows with curious goat eyes to see what they could see. She had no idea where they came from. Or, more importantly, where they needed to get back to before they became a

Ever had one of them days where everything goes from roses and sunshine to something much more akin to the southernmost drafts of northbound horse? I never was all that great at geography, but something about all this just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve always been a lot better at getting a story told, I always thought. And the editors over at The Ocotillo Review and Kallisto Gaia Press seemed to think so, too, because they recently notified me that they planned to publish my fourth story from my Long Gone & Lost collection, which I’ll be turning in for my MFA here in the very near future. I’m fairly certain that the two fellows from my story would know all about those ill tasting after effects I mentioned, however. They may be all fiction themselves, but they were indeed inspired by real life events in a real life newsrooms. Dave Kindred wrote about a few folks just like these two who, mere days after everybody was riding a high that only those who win six Pulitzers wil