When we were just tiny toddlers, my older brother and I hopped into our parent’s old Nash automobile so excited about visiting our grandparents in the country. The drive from Corpus Christi to San Antonio brings back some of the most yearned for memories of my life; a simpler, less complicated time that I can go back to and take refuge.

My dad, always thinking ahead, had prepared child-sized, home-made “facilities” for use on our road trip. Since gas stations were few and far between, he handed me a small red Folger’s coffee can with a lid and my brother a small glass coke bottle. This little accommodation became a family tradition back in those days.

Mom packed a large brown grocery bag full of sandwiches and cookies wrapped in waxed paper along with a gallon of iced tea in a clear glass milk jug. Ice chests were still a decade away and so was the technology for plastic baggies. There was no air conditioner built for the old Nash so we traveled with the windows open, heads and hands flailing in the breeze. Dad filled up at a “full-service gas station” for twenty-two cents a gallon (which is sadly extinct now, along with glass gallon milk jugs.)

“San-An-Toni, An-Toni-Oh;
She hopped upon a pony, and rode away with Tony;
If you see her please let me know,
And I’ll meet you in San-Antonio!”

Mom taught us all the road songs she knew. “You Are my Sunshine,” “Hush Little Baby,” “America the Beautiful,” “Texas Our Texas,” “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” “Home on the Range,” and “San-An-Toni-O,” come directly to my mind. We came from a musical family where everyone sang, played instruments, danced and played records. No more songs? No problem! We counted wooden telephone poles and read billboard signs until we fell asleep.

After driving about forty-five to fifty miles per hour, for what seemed like more hours than telephone poles, dad put his left arm out of the window to signal a turn and then slowly pulled onto a red dirt road called Rockport Road. About five miles down this road was where my grandparents owned a small dairy farm-turned-cattle ranch. Dad always referred to his parent’s country farm house as “The Ranch.”