Big Sam Monument

Have you ever driven by this gleaming white thing? 

The 77 foot tall monument is unmissable even at speeds of 75 miles per hour.

Visible from way out yonder along interstate 45, it’s a weird sight blaring out of the highway landscape.

Texans will recognize this retina searing sculpture of the first (and third) president of the Republic of Texas, Sam Houston.

On our way down towards Houston to do some tree hunting on spring break, my son and I had the opportunity to visit this historic statue in Huntsville, Texas, the place of his 1863 death. 

This kind family offered to take our photo (during a pandemic, when we had little contact with strangers).

 

Twin Oaks

Please respect private property when viewing these trees.

Sitting in my car with the window down and my mind racing, I stared at the little fence in front of the house. I had driven two hours to get here, but was just grasping that this was not a public space. This was someone’s home.

Just a few weeks after the crazy Texas winter storm, with record breaking low temperatures that ravaged Texas landscapes, I took off to hunt down the Twin Oaks. 
Driving south from Dallas sipping Topo Chico, I savored my Spotify playlist at top volume, appreciating the sense of perspective that comes from getting my eyes on the horizon, moving away from the city weekend traffic. The calming effect is noticeable as the billboards thin out and open spaces, grasslands and occasional groups of animals take their place.

Hamilton County Courthouse

Motoring through the thriving town of Hico (Texans pronounce this high-coe), folks in masks wandered around rejuvenated buildings, restaurants and antique stores. Not far down the road, my destination: Hamilton, seemed a stark contrast, like a land that time had forgotten.

The word that came to my mind was: dilapidated.

There is a nice court house in the town square, but the other businesses looked faded or closed.

Following GPS through town, I turned and started to enter what looked like a residential driveway.

This can’t be right…??

I pulled over to look up the Famous Trees of Texas web page on my phone, thankful to get a cell signal in the small town. 
Ohhhhhh. This one is on private property.

You can deduct the amount of planning that occurred beforehand.

With trepidation I drove down the long gravel driveway, surrounded by shrubs creating an enclosure, leading to a circular drive in front of an older blue house with white trim. The Twin Oaks were visible, behind a low metal fence. I deliberated whether or not I should go any further.

Should I just stay in my car???

Or could I get close enough to take a few photos? Do I need permission?

Were people watching me from inside the house wondering what the heck I was doing in their driveway?

I considered going up to the door of the house, but after a morning alone and a quiet drive, the idea was unappealing.

I imagined cheerful elderly folks answering the door, “Oh yes! We get visitors all the time wanting to see the old trees.”

Hmmmm Really?  
How many people even know they’re here? I know how much I dislike solicitors knocking on my door.

I thought about Noska, the tattoo artist whom I stumbled upon, in a wild coincidence, when trying to locate the tree called Old Baldy south of Austin. He’s hunted these trees for years from the same book. He told me he had spoken to landowners and jumped fences. 

At that moment, I felt like he was brave and I was a chickenshit.

I did not want to go up to that door. I was still just sitting there mind-spiraling in my vehicle!

My imagination swerved into another scenario of some confused old woman with a walker chair answering the door, wondering what in the world was some random stranger doing knocking on the door? Musty smells came to mind and images of the nursing homes where I had visited my declining grandmother as a child.

I couldn’t do it. 

Knowing that several of these historic trees don’t allow visitors at all, I finally decided that showing respect meant it was best to stay on the outside of the fence. Turning on my phone video and leaving my car running, I anxiously tip-toed over to get a look at the historical markers, nervously whispering to myself. These metal signs seemed to validate the excursion. This place holds significance, instead of being just some half-baked idea in my overthinking head.

This little marker tells the most concise version of possibly the worst Friday night ever.

A guy sets off on a mule to attend a dance in a neighboring town….
That right there just sounds so miserable. All alone, seeking company, with nothing but a mule to reach your goal.

But it went steeply downhill from there.

Wandering along at a mules pace, Indians ambushed him. He tried using the animal as protection from their arrows, but alone and outnumbered, he didn’t stand much of a chance, nor did the mule, whose wounds were mortal. Running to the Twin Oaks for cover, the story claims he wounded the chief with his rifle, scattering the the others, but he barely survived. An arrow was removed from his spine, then he died a few weeks later. 

The first edition book includes a rambling account of how some little girls discovered him and how other men went out to avenge his death, to no avail. Dropped in the 2015 version, the emphasis is placed squarely on the bravery of the white man against the savages. In fact, the reason this whole incident was considered historically important, was that he was the last man killed by Indians in Hamilton county. 

This tale is told with a clear bias.

In 1970, when this account was published, you might hope that perhaps we’d have begun to acknowledge the deep complications inherent in U.S. history with native Americans, but the tone, like several others in the book, was more akin to an old cowboy movie.

Since their name sounds like that of an apartment complex, the title Siamese Twin Oaks might’ve been a more descriptive one for these live oaks, whose conjoined trunks sprouted in two directions from the same spot, typical of the genus. 

You can see from the book photos that they used to look more alike. The main trunk of one twin was recently chopped off leaving a long, leaning stump with some scraggly branches sprouting along the edge of the cut. The so-called twins no longer resemble each other at all. They looked especially weird since dropping most of their foliage during “Snowmagedon,” as did all live oaks in Texas.
From the limited vantage point outside the fence, I snapped a few photos, but felt a constant tension as though I were trespassing. 

The little video I took has the only record of an odd detail which was a complete surprise at the moment: A MULE(!!) standing off in the distance behind barbed wire.

I whispered hello, calling her a donkey. I honestly don’t know the difference. 

Was this coincidence??? 

Now I’m wondering… Wait.

Are these people really into the historic tale behind these oaks? Enough so that they kept a mule as a prop to go along with the account of the guy riding off to the dance??
But the mule was killed!? My racing thoughts backflipped, reconsidering making contact with people in the house. 

Why didn’t I get any still photos of the mule/donkey?

As I quickly documented the twins, she started BRAYING quite loudly, snapping me to attention from my internal Spirograph. Sounding like something from a children’s book, or county music sing-along show, it’s really an incredible sound for a city person with very little animal knowledge to experience:

Haawww Hee Hawwww HEE HAAwww!!!

Was she a guard mule? Did she think I might feed her? I hadn’t noticed a group of sheep until then, but they decided the mule was on to something and they started up. BAAAAAAH! MEHHHHH!

This certainly seemed like my cue to leave, but I felt so stupid just taking off after being there only a few minutes. Whyyyyyy do I ALWAYS feel like I’m doing it wrong? This is not an assignment. Its MY project!! It’s ok to leave.

Except it’s a let-down. There’s all this anticipation, mapping, forcing myself out the door on a lazy Saturday, realizing I have to get things checked on my car before I can go, driving two hours… I finally get here and it’s downright awkward. 

But I did it. I hadn’t visited a tree since my birthday, so I kinda got back on the mule, so to speak.

Driving away, my brain tingling with adrenaline, everything seemed vaguely interesting and I wasn’t ready for the adventure to be over. Wandering the town roads, I spotted a magnificent Redbud (Cercis canadensis) in full bloom. On this gloomy day in mid March, it called out to be photographed. With the rest of the landscape so trashed by the storm, its dazzling colors stood out as the only thing of beauty in the vicinity. Tiny flowers covered the leafless branches splaying out in all directions.

The built up mental pressure lifted and I noticed how much more relaxed I felt shooting this tree without the nerve-wracking discomfort of being watched.

Coming down from self inflicted stress, I stopped again to shoot two leafless, but statuesque live oaks near a small cemetery. They appeared older and more twin-like than the Twin Oaks. Almost every area where a tree might have a name or documentation, there are stately anonymous cousins nearby.

After that, I turned and headed back up the main road towards the highway.