Texas Flat

In August we took a little camping trip with my folks to the family spot. Pisor's have been going there for generations. My dad said his grandfather, or was it his great-grandfather, started the tradition. It's a nice little spot nestled in the pines up past Calvin Crest, for those of you familiar with the area. It is not in Texas, nor would I call it flat. I'm not sure how it came by it's name but that really doesn't matter. I have fond memories of the place from our annual summer trips. This was a first for Eric and I hadn't been in years myself. But with the birth of our daughter I suddenly had this urge to reconnect with traditions gone by and introduce our little girl to the pleasures of pine scented air and the symphony of a stream. For those of you who know my dad, well ask him about the parting gift my daughter decided to bestow on him just minutes before we headed back down the mountain. Babies bowels are pretty elusive when it comes to predictability and sometimes diapers unfortunately don't deliver as they should. Ah Texas Flat...the memories I carry of you. Pines that seemed to stretch to the sky, a creek filled with endless possibilities, there was the time the bear came and the time a van of hippies rolled through. Countless images of times shared with cousins, family and friends, with solitude if chosen. And now my dad, christened with a streak of yellow, undoubtedly a grandfather. Texas Flat.