A Texas Appreciation Post

Almost all of my family still lives in Texas. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents — they’re all still there, rooted in small towns and big cities across the state.

Texas is where the family tree is planted, where the stories are told and retold, where generations overlap around kitchen tables and backyard grills.

But my immediate family? We’re the ones who left.

We moved away — not in anger or rebellion, just life pulling us in a different direction. It meant holidays turned into road trips or flight confirmations. It meant missing the little things, like birthday dinners or lazy Sunday afternoons where no one really plans anything but everyone shows up anyway.

Still, every July, we come back.

The family reunion is always hot, the devils armpit my Pop labels it. Someone brings brisket, someone else makes the same potato salad they’ve made for twenty years. There are kids running through sprinklers, old photos being passed around, and someone inevitably gets too competitive during the card game. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it’s everything I miss all year long.

This is until I have decided to move in with my grandparents for one month as my Gram’s memory declines, Gram is the historian of the family. She has tracked each family tree all the way to our ancestors in Scotland.

Gram carefully researched and worked with countless of our family members in hopes that she can start a legacy of generations ahead knowing who they come from and what their family members sacrificed in order for them to be where they are now. In our family alone — we have people who fought in the Alamo, World War I and II, Civil War, and the Revolutionary War.

Me & Gram circa 2008

In this month, I am going to be working with my Gram to transcribe all of her knowledge and notes into a document, compile it into a published document where it will stand as a comprehensive novel filled with my Gram’s life’s work.

Coming back feels like breathing again. I cannot wait to see all of the wildflowers and hang out with all of my cousins.

Texas is home, even when it’s not our address. It’s in the way we speak, the way we laugh, the way we always, always circle the calendar for that reunion in July.