This Texas Photographer Turns Dead Animals Into Poignant Portraits
Amanda Stronza pulls over to document coyotes, deer, and squirrels killed along highways.
Amanda Stronza pulls over to document coyotes, deer, and squirrels killed along highways.
The owner of Brotherton’s Black Iron Barbecue, in Pflugerville, died this week, leaving a legacy of supporting fellow pitmasters.
Karen Ramirez traverses vast Brewster County—a territory bigger than Connecticut—so her patients can finish their days at home.
Recent tragedies in Big Bend and Palo Duro Canyon are a reminder to “respect the desert,” says one ranger.
As I untangled Chris’s affairs, I discovered a trove of books, letters, and unarticulated love.
Meet James Bryant, the National Embalmer of the Year.
Considering the pet obituary.
In the year since my mother died, I’ve learned a lot of things—like how to spend time with my dad.
After her mother’s death, Mimi Swartz found herself getting to know her father all over again.
For as long as the U.S. military has patrolled the border in search of drug smugglers, there has been the possibility that an innocent civilian would be killed. The government insists the chance is worth taking. Tell that to the family of Ezequiel Hernandez, Jr.
While politicians and bureaucrats endlessly debate the best ways to secure our borders, undocumented immigrants are dying to get into America—literally.
My mother-in-law knew how to sew, keep an immaculate house, and dress stylishly. In short, she was nothing like the unpolished young woman who married her son. Perhaps that’s why we loved each other so much.
Fun Fun Fun Fest and its post-punk indie sound.
Can Miller Quarles live forever? The 83-year-old Houstonian hopes so—and he’ll pay $100,000 to anyone who will help him.
Eating a peanut shouldn’t be a particularly memorable experience, but for Dallasite Mona Cain and countless other allergic Americans, it’s a matter of life and death.
By pooh-poohing sentimentality and focusing on profits, Houston funeral home mogul Robert Waltrip is making a killing.
A daughter’s gruesome murder became a grieving father’s dark crusade to find her killer and thrust him into an ever-widening spotlight as an advocate for victims of violent crime.
Married for 32 years, my parents both died of AIDS, and we, their children, may never know why.
All I wanted to do was photograph the running of the bulls. I never intended to risk my life.
In her darkest, final hours, a young mother turns to a new kind of medical care for help.
Some last words, reverent and irreverent, like Lyndon himself.