SOMEWHAR IN TEXAS

WE’VE COME UP WITH FOUR WON-derful ways to get you out of Dallas for the weekend. From the cool breezes and thin air of the Davis Mountains in West Texas, to the fresh smell of Lake Texoma in the morning, to the slow-motion Old South hospitality of East Texas, to the straightforward people and scenery of the Texas Hill Country, we chose these places for their total lack of similarity to Dallas. The only connection is that you can get there from here-and on just a weekend.



WEST

The Mountains and the Sky



THE DAVIS MOUNTAINS, RISING OUT OF THE central West Texas plains, look like a chain of thunderstorms on the horizon, an optical illusion in the flatland desert. Drawing closer, we notice that the highway is slanting upward, that the car is working harder. Suddenly the road whips around snakey comers, the sheer cliffs and canyons are close beside us, and the mountains loom above.

They’re not huge, but they are definitely mountains. There are no forests, but on the rocky slopes grow cacti, tall grasses, and small trees in the scattered moist places. Hawks and eagles glide overhead, scanning for food. Mule deer and javalina hogs hide in the shadows of the cliffs. Old men in battered blue pickup trucks creep down the roads.

Alpine is about a three-and-a-half-hour drive from the Midland airport, which is less than an hour’s flight from Love Field. We are set up to stay at Jane Merritt-McKenna’s Cactus Rose, which just opened to the public in December. It’s a tall, two-story red brick building, built in 1907 as a residence but converted into Alpine’s only hospital in 1923. During World War II, the A.F. Robinson family bought it to live in while they ran their dry goods business down the street. When the Robinson widow died, the house sat vacant a couple of years until Jane, with a silent partner, bought it in January of 1984.

The house is beautiful. The staircase has dark hardwood banisters with fancy filigree. And the rooms are huge, with twelve-foot ceilings. Our room has hardwood parquet floors (not original in the house, but shiny, clean, and solid), an old armoire, matching bedside tables and lamps, a king-sized bed with an electric blanket (those clear mountain nights get cold), and a half bath.

During the night our sleep is broken by a couple of trains that pass fairly close by, but they are somehow a nice, West Texas-lonesome kind of interruption. In the morning Jane serves us hot sweet rolls, coffee, and juice. After breakfast we wander into the gift shop on the first floor and choose a memento of our trip. Then it’s time to leave.

And that’s when the strategic location of Alpine comes into play. If you’re into backpacking, Big Bend National Park is about an hour and a half’s drive to the south. Then it’s only slightly farther to Terlingua, with its annual chili cookoff the first weekend in November, or to Lajitas on the Rio Grande River, where they have river rafting trips through Santa Elena Canyon.

We choose not to go south, however, but north, into the heart of the Davis Mountains. Fort Davis, twenty-six miles from Alpine, was founded in 1854 to deter Mescalero Apaches from raiding travelers heading west. For most of its existence it was manned by black soldiers and white officers. Today it is restored as the Fort Davis National Historic Site. Adjacent to the old fort site is the Davis Mountains State Park, with scenic drives, picnic areas, and overlooks. We drive into the park, up onto a high ridge. From there a trail leads away from the road and its noises; fifty yards from the road, the wind in the trees and the chirping birds make the predominant sounds. The ground is rocky, dusty, and dry, but there is always something, however small, in bloom.

Thirteen miles to the north, at the summit of Mount Locke, 6,791 feet high, is the McDonald Observatory. The visitors’ center is filled with fascinating pictures, film strips, slide shows, experiments, and gadgets that help explain what the observatory does. Due to the absence of city lights, the sky around here is as dark as it gets in the continental United States. Every Tuesday and Saturday night, right after dark, the visitors’ center hosts star parlies to view and explain the constellations overhead. It gets cool after dark, so dress for it. and bring binoculars to help you see what everyone else seems to see better than you do (the observatory does have a couple of smaller telescopes for those who bring only naked eyes).

On our way back to Fort Davis we see a sign for the Prude Ranch, and pull in. It’s an odd place to find in the Davis Mountains. They have guest lodges, large family dining areas, RV hookups, tennis courts, and horseback riding. But there’s something strange about the place. It has a Six Flags atmosphere. Near the main entrance, a man in a small corral is riding a cantankerous horse, pulling hard on its reins. So many people are watching that we can’t tell if the cowboy is really breaking a new horse, or if it is a planned exhibition.

Back in Fort Davis, as evening is approaching, we decide to eat at Cuervo De Leon. Their Mexican food is marvelous. We especially like their chile relleno, with a thick battered crust topped with white cheese, and the flautas, stuffed with shredded beef, hand rolled, and deep fried. And the queso dip is real melted cheese with chunks of tomatoes and jalapenos.

After dinner, we head to the Limpia Hotel for the night. Built in 1912, the Limpia is approaching seediness now, but a certain charm lingers. The manager gives us a frontdoor key in case we venture out past eleven o’clock, when they lock up. In the room, under the old flower-print carpet, the floor squeaks like at grandmother’s house where everyone can hear your progress to the bathroom during the night. There’s color television, but no phones. And the hotel is furnished with antique-style late-model furniture.

In the morning, we have breakfast at Sutler’s Restaurant, next door to the Limpia. Then we start the drive to the Midland airport and the flight home. The road to Bal-morhea is the most scenic drive in the Davis Mountains. The morning sun highlights the cliffs and canyons in intense relief. A six- or eight-point buck on a mountainside looks over his back at us, then bounds away. Then we are out of the mountains, into the flat monotony of truck stops and oil fields and long-haul semis.



Southwest Airlines flies to the Midland Air Terminal from Love Field in about fifty minutes. Round-trip prices are $30 for senior citizens, $50 if you make reservations fourteen days ahead of time, and $91 if you buy at the last minute. All the major car rental agencies are at the airport, with an average cost of $60 (you’ll drive about 450 miles). Cactus Rose rooms go from $20 for a room with a half bath to $40 for a two-bedroom suite with adjoining bath. Reach Jane Merritt-McKenna a\ (915) 837-7207. The Limpia Hotel rate is $41 for a couple, and their number is (915) 426-3237. Details for the Prude Ranch at (9I5) 426-3202.

NORTH

Luxury on the Lake



’THE FIRST THING MEN USUALLY LIKE TO see,” says Buddy Greer, “are the engines.” He swings out a pane! door below a counter top in the galley and turns a light on. Inside is a clean, blue, 350-horsepower engine. The massive steel looks serious and strong and ready to move. The compartment is soundproofed with thick white foam. “The other one’s over here,” Buddy says, pointing to the second engine below the microwave.

This is the Bluewater Coastal Cruiser Yacht-O-Fun. It’s fifty-one feet long and has two bedrooms, one with a full bath, the other with a half. There’s also a large living room with a couch, and a full galley with a dining area. On top, behind the bridge, is the sundeck, with white cushioned benches and white tables. In front of the bridge is the sunning area on the brow bill, covered with white padded vinyl.

As we sit on the couch inside, friendly violin music comes from somewhere, and the air smells of cooking. Diana Greer, Buddy’s wife, first mate, and gourmet cook, is toasting English muffin quarters topped with crab meat, garlic, and English cheese. She serves them on a silver platter, and they’re delicious.

“That should hold you over until Buddy cooks the meat,” Diana says. “The meal” is a tenderloin of beef, a Chateaubriand the size of a small log. Buddy is preparing the coals in a cooker lashed to the railing on the sundeck. He puts the meat on before he starts the engines, pulls out of the slip, and heads for open water. It’s about an hour before sunset, and Buddy is taking us across the lake to Cruiser Beach, a little sand spit sticking out from the wooded shore.

The yacht has a twenty-three-inch draft, which means it can operate in less than two feet of water. The two propellers are set into slots in the hull, which makes it a perfect craft for beaching. Buddy nudges the bow of the boat firmly onto the red sandy beach and shuts off the engines. The sun is going down to our left. Smoke curls lazily up from the cooker. It is quiet without the engines. “I can get a thousand miles away from Dallas up here on this lake,” Buddy says. “It takes me about a half hour to get really relaxed.”

But before he gets too relaxed, he checks the meat and pronounces it ready. Downstairs in the galley, Diana has timed the cooking perfectly. We sit down to a meal of Chateaubriand medallions, fresh mushroom buttons sautéed in butter, carrots cooked with peeled grapes, and fettuccine with sliced mushrooms. Conversation almost stops while we eat. For a while the only sounds are forks against plates and water lapping against the boat.

Buddy and Diana are the kind of people who are strangers for only a few minutes. They are completely relaxed whether running the boat, preparing the food, or visiting with guests. If you’d rather eat without them, that’s fine, but they’re good people. Their relaxed mood rubs off and pretty soon we are all laughing like old friends,

After dinner Buddy tools slowly around the lake. Later we drift calmly in the middle with the engines off. Everyone is lying on the deck with full bellies, staring at the stars. Then, around 11:30, when we are asleep or nearly there, Buddy starts the engines and heads to the dock.

I had thought we would sleep anchored on the lake, but Buddy doesn’t want us awakened early by fishermen or water skiers making wakes and rocking the boat. At first I am disappointed, but I’m also sleepy, and inside the front cabin, even in the slip, I can hear the waves lapping the hull. Lying in the bed I sense enough movement of the room to remind me of the time I had drunk two small pots of hot sake at a Japanese restaurant. But this movement is peaceful, and it rocks me slowly to sleep.

We are awakened in the morning as the two engines come to life. On the galley table we find a tray of peeled and seeded orange and grapefruit sections, white and purple grapes, mozzarella and Swiss cheese, a pitcher of orange juice, and fresh coffee in the coffee maker. We lounge inside eating and drinking while Buddy takes the long way out to Butterfly Cove where he will beach the boat for brunch. The morning is clear, and the sunlight reflects off the white cliffs along the shore.

Up on the bridge, the morning air is humid and cool, and the fresh smell of the lake intense. Buddy offers to stop if we want to swim. On the stern, right above water level, is a two-and-a-half-foot-wide swim platform with a ladder. Buddy tells us that most people like to dive off the platform and paddle around with inner tubes and floats (the Greers have a couple of floats, but they encourage you to bring your own).

But we’re not swimmers; we’re here to be lazy. So Buddy beaches the boat in the small, white-sand Butterfly Cove, and we have brunch. Diana has fixed homemade hash browns, fresh banana and cantaloupe slices, French toast with syrup, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and coffee. Afterwards, stuffed, we sit on deck in the breeze while Buddy takes us on a tour past Denison Dam (which was built during World War II by German prisoners of war), then across to the Oklahoma side.

When it is finally time to leave, it seems as if the drive back to Dallas might be a thousand miles, not eighty-five miles, and even when we have exited from Central onto LBJ Freeway, I still feel far away from Dallas.



The Yacht-O-Fun is available for bed and breakfast for $200 per night for one couple or $175 per night per couple for two couples. The boat is docked at Grandpappy’s Marina, eight miles west of Denison. The Greers don’t have a liquor license, but they don’t mind if you bring some wine or beer-they’ll even serve it to you. They offer other services as well, such as office parties, special honeymoon setups (i.e., they disappear at the right times), moonlight cruises, and more. Call Buddy and Diana during the week at 238-8224 (in Richardson); on the weekends call (214) 465-7133 and ask the marine operator to call the Yacht-O-Fun.

EAST

The Trip to Jefferson



IT TAKES ABOUT AN HOUR HEADING DUE east on I-20 before you begin to breathe the piney East Texas air. The scent accompanies a gentle transformation to a landscape; suddenly the prairies of outlying Dallas seem dreary waystations to these fertile hills.

We are headed on an oft-postponed and much-anticipated journey to Jefferson-a sleepy Victorian village we have heard and read about for years. The trouble is, every time we have had occasion to slip away to Jefferson for the weekend, we haven’t been able to get a reservation at one of the town’s venerable historic inns. Our destination on this getaway is a relative newcomer.

The trip is slightly longer than we anticipated-a solid three hours-and encroaching darkness prevents a clear view of the 1890s Eastlake Victorian clapboard house where we plan to stay. Since it opened in 1983, the Still water Inn has enticed diners with its wonderful French-American cuisine prepared by the proprietor, Bill Stewart, a former sous-chef at the French Room. Last spring, Bill and his wife Sharon began offering lodgers three immaculately renovated guest rooms.

From the moment we arrived, we took pleasure in the Stewarts’ particularly urbane rendition of country hospitality. Our room, the largest of the three, has been artfully carved from the nooks and crannies of a former attic, and as such, has the effect of a grown-up version of a childhood fantasy bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed high off the floor, an inviting eaved alcove, colorful quilts, antique bears, and a porcelain bathtub complete with big claw feet. Pots of blooming iris grace a nightstand, and the old tub beckons with a complement of herbal bath oils.

Famished, we ask for a snack of some sort to enjoy while we unpack and unwind. Expecting-at best-a plate of cheese and crackers, we are floored when a tray arrives with two piping hot slices of a delicate fish terrine on a sea of pale cream sauce, garnished with baby asparagus.

The ensuing dinner-rare tenderloin of beef, pungent pressed duck, mouthwatering French bread rolls-is equally exquisite in detail and delivery. We end the evening heady with California zinfandel and miles away from home.

Bill and Sharon Stewart are living the new yuppie fantasy: let’s ditch this treadmill, move to the country, and buy an inn. Reminiscing about the inherent joys and hardships of this familiar daydream, they say they took the plunge “when we realized that neither of us was particularly good at working for someone else.” At breakfast the next morning, between courses of fresh fruit, perfectly scrambled eggs with chives, the “obligatory Southern grits,” farm-fresh bacon, and hot oven-baked croissants, softspoken Bill gives us directions to Jefferson proper (the inn is on the outskirts near the intersection of Highway 59 and Broadway) and tips on where to mosey and shop.

The village is a relatively quiet one. except during the Old Homes Tour, the annual spring pilgrimage held each year on the first weekend in May. An afternoon is ample time to explore the town, which began as a rich river port. Bypassed by Jay Gould’s railroad in the late 1800s, Jefferson was forever freeze-framed as an opulent relic of the past. The historical district and sightseeing tours of the old houses (information on walking tours is available at the Jefferson Historical Society and Museum) are musts for first-time visitors. Antiquers will get lost in dozens of antique stores (most of which will deliver large items to Dallas) featuring all manners of old treasures, from antique baby clothes to superb Chippendale chests.

When the historical ambling wears you out. Jefferson offers other attractions on its Big Cypress Bayou, a narrow waterway adjacent to the center of town. Historical tours of the bayou are available on the Bayou Queen, a riverboat that runs frequent tours on spring weekends.



Jefferson is located approximately 160 miles east of Dallas; count on about three hours or so of driving time. You can reserve a room at the Stillwater Inn by calling Bill or Sharon Stewart at 04) 665-8415. The rooms range in price from $60 to $75 a night, including a full plantation-style breakfast.



SOUTH

To the Badu House

AT THE BADU HOUSE IN LLANO, TEXAS, just taking a shower is an adventure. The porcelain tub is supported by bird claws grasping white balls, and a brass hoop screwed to the ceiling holds up the shower curtain. Inside the shower, a brass pipe bends up to the huge shower head that looks like a dried lotus blossom. It takes a great deal of pressure to get anything more than a dribble. Then it’s nice to just stand there in the wide spray while the bathroom steams up.

The Badu House, built in 1891 as a bank, was sold at auction in 1898 to Professor N.J. Badu, a Frenchman. Badu was a mineralogist, and one kind of rock he discovered was special. It was regular granite, but with bright blue quartz crystals. It’s called llanite, and the only place it is found is near Llano. Cut and polished it is beautiful, but it’s also brittle, and never acquired a commercial value because it crumbles so easily. The bar top in the Badu House is the largest display of polished llanite in the world.

In 1980 the place was converted into an inn, and now Lance and Kathy Moran live and do business in the Badu House.

Lance’s grandfather and father grew up in Llano, and he spent most of his summers there as a child. “It’s really great to come back and own something that I used to get chased off of as a kid,” he says. The Morans have furnished the place with early 1900s antiques, most of them purchased in Llano. All of the original woodwork around the windows and doors has been restored. Some of the windows even have their original wavy-but-crystal-clear panes.

The building is a historical marker, which means that no changes can be made to it except to restore it-and that’s been done. But only the original bank is protected; Badu added a porch onto the back, and Lance and Kathy have enclosed the area and made it into a bar. Llano is a dry town, so you’ll have to buy a temporary club membership for three dollars. They have good, reasonably priced food, from basic burgers to chicken baskets, fried zucchini, and steaks.

The bar is the center of activity in the evening at the Badu House. Locals come in and laugh and talk. They’ll chat with strangers, if you nod a greeting, or leave you alone if you want to be clannish. The bar is also the place to find out about the Llano secrets: the best swimming holes and fishing holes on the Llano River. Just ask at the bar the night you arrive, and Lance will give you directions.

The list of things to do in and around Llano is long. (1) The Vanishing Texas River Cruise is forty-five minutes away on the Colorado River. (2) “Old Boom Days” in Llano is the first weekend in November-they have shoot-outs in the street, and period arts and crafts. (3) Antique shops are everywhere. “You can get things for a tenth of what it would cost you in Dallas,” Lance says. (4) Golf. That’s right. Llano has a nine-hole golf course on the river. Lance, formerly a PGA member for five years, says it’s a great course. “In fact,” he confesses, “I’ve yet to shoot par on it. It’s short, but it’s tough.” (5) Enchanted Rock State Natural Area is twenty-three miles to the south. (6) The town square is a great place for walking.

The square is across the river bridge from the Badu House, an easy walk. We stroll across after dinner and a few beers in the bar, about 11:30. In the deserted square, we inspect the Civil War memorial statue and the old stone library, illuminated by street lights. The courthouse is surrounded by shops and old stores (some, sadly, abandoned).

Later, in our room, we fall soundly asleep on the firm Badu bed. In the morning, in the sunny dining room, we find a platter of several types of pastries baked a couple of doors down by two old German women. And there is coffee in Badu House mugs, and orange juice. Then we are on our way, this time to Enchanted Rock.



The Badu House has six guest rooms, ranging in price from $45 to $60 per night. Call (915) 247-4304 for reservations. Llano is about 230 miles from Dallas, and it takes a little over four hours to get there. We recommend spending two nights at the Badu House, and exploring the region casually.



Closer to Home

Bradford Plaza, Dallas: four blocks from the West End MarketPlace, the old Scott Hotel was built in 1925 and has recently been remodeled; $39 for a double; 761-9090.



Dallas Plaza Hotel: built in 1925, the original Hilton Hotel in downtown Dallas has been meticulously restored; bed and breakfast $37.50 to $67.50 for a double; 741-7700.



Hyatt Regency Fort Worth: originally the Texas Hotel in downtown, built in 1921; $65 for the weekend package; (817) 870-1234.



Stockyards Hotel, Fort Worth: built in 1907, the hotel was the first brick building in the area; $95 for a double (ask for special deals); (817) 625-6427.

Nutt House Hotel, Granbury: located in the historic town square, it was built in 1893; about thirty-five miles southwest of Fort Worth (seventy-five miles from Dallas); $45 for a double; (817) 573-5612.



Inn on the River, Glen Rose: located on the banks of the Paluxy River, this bed and breakfast inn boasts one of the only mineral- water swimming pools in the state; 100 miles southwest of Dallas; $90 for a double; (817) 897-2101.