A Tale of Two Towns

Marfa and Fort Davis form the north and SW points of a triangle on the Farwest Texas map. Each side of the triangle is about 20 miles long. (Alpine is the largest third point, but not much to say about it--it's a typical Walgreen's-and-WalMart town, with all the necessities you don't find in the other two.)

We've enjoyed our time in both Marfa and Fort Davis.There's plenty of good eating, playing, and relaxing to be had in both, even tho neither is any bigger than Pilot Rock (where Gale grew up so fine, in Eastern OR.) Both are dependent on us tourists, and they go out of their way to lather-on their Texas hospitality. But I've been talkin' to folks around town (no surprise). Turns out, true Texans in Fort Davis (who're willing to open-up and say) have issues with their sister-town down the road. They get downright prickly about it, if encouraged. When we mentioned we'd just come from Marfa, our gentlemanly Fort D hotel nextdoor neighbor (Clifford Swift from Waco) leaned back in his porch chair, folded his arms across his chest, cocked an eyebrow and said, "So whadaya think about Marfa?" I know a loaded question when I hear one.

Marfa, it seems--as charming and pleasant as it is--has been pretty-much taken-over by aliens. Folks with some high-falutin' ideas and enough money to implement them have arrived from New York, New England, even Europe. And they've not been shy. Donald Judd, a very famous artist (whom I've never heard of) was one of the first to come. An "influential minimalist," he constructed an exhibit of concrete sculptures out in the desert south of town. Others are buying-up old, neglected buildings in town and "improving" them in ways that suit their east-coast tastes. One highly-acclaimed restaurant is operated by a Rhode Island woman trained at the CIA (Culinary Institute--not the spy guys.) Galleries, up-scale gift-shops, jazz and film festivals, and the rising price of local fixer-upper homes complete the picture. None of this is inherently evil, of course. It's no doubt contributed mightily to Marfa's economic health. And the aliens we chatted with seemed quite normal. (Most of 'em only had one head, from what I could tell.) But that said, you might imagine that some of the ranchers and other well-rooted townspeople are not taking all-that-kindly to this "elitist" take-over of their town.

Fort Davis, on the other hand, has escaped this phenomenon-- for better or for worse. We think "for better." Its charm is immersed in its history that dates back to the 1840s, when the military Fort Davis was a major watering hole along the San Anton-Santa Fe trail. As historic monuments go, the nearby Fort replica rivals our own Fort Vancouver. We've stayed the last two nights at the 100+-yr-old Hotel Limpia-- a lovely, green-&-shady place that Charlie, especially, has enjoyed. The woman who checked us in had to come from behind the desk to give him a kiss on the top of his head, b/c he's "so cuuuute." (We're also grateful to the fine veterinary clinic here in town--Dr. David Taylor in particular--who've been helping us nurse our pup past the some-sort-of-bug he's picked up along the road. )

I'm in the Ft D library now-- in the very building that was the commercial heart of the town, in the late 1800s. Proprieters O.M. Keesey and George Gaither sold "clothing, groceries, cradles, guns, whiskey, coffins, tobacco, spitoons, wagon wheels and harnesses, and did private banking," says the sign on the wall outside the entrance. The store also operated the first telephone in the county, via barbed-wire lines running to the ranches in the area. Like the Deming museum that used to be an armory, I can think of no better use for this tough, weathered ediface than housing the Jeff Davis County Library. Instead of barbed-wire, as a means of communicating with you, I'm taking advantage of their wireless hospitality.

It's time to turn around. We're moving back into New Mexico today. Carlsbad, Socorro, and parts beyond . Looking forward to exploring what lies ahead, on the Road from Texas. Looking forward to sleeping in our own bed, too.