
In Marathon, Happiness Is a Two-Chambered Wood Flute
Bob Freeman is a craftsman who carves, plays, and sings the praises of the traditional Native American instrument.
Bob Freeman is a craftsman who carves, plays, and sings the praises of the traditional Native American instrument.
The small motel has a sliding-roof observatory where people can enjoy some of the darkest skies on the planet.
The anonymous artist calls the piece “a light-hearted jab . . . at America’s propensity for ever-expanding excess.”
Texas Country Reporter revisits James H. Evans after thirty years. His long career has taken different turns, but his unwavering commitment to the people and places of West Texas defines his legacy.
From Flatonia to Marathon, communities—often small and rural—band together to serve their own needs with local essentials.
For Phillip Moellering, barbecue means family, hard work, and basic instinct.
The philanthropic financier who restored a West Texas outpost.
The peppery ribs and cream ales are both worth going out of your way for.
The Texanist on five great small towns that are (pretty much) just like they always were and don’t need to change at all.
For an affordable stay in a new city, with built-in friends.
My grandfather’s work as a paleontologist took him to West Texas over and over again. Fifty years later, I found myself retracing his steps.
Houston’s J.P. Bryan is remaking a West Texas town into what could be the next Taos—and for some locals, that’s a mixed blessing.
The life and legacy of a Texas icon.
That’s what Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall got on their recent trip to West Texas. West Texas retailers got it too.
In 1988, when James H. Evans was in his mid-thirties, he left behind a successful photography studio in Austin and moved to remote Marathon, where he took a job as a cook at the Gage Hotel and shot pictures on the side. “Everyone thought I was nuts,” he says. “I
Now is the time to check out newly stylish hotels and restaurants in West Texas. Tourists aren’t far behind.
By turning two tiny dots into two huge hippos, James Marshall made an indelible mark on children’s literature, and little people laughed happily ever after.
IT WASN’T BECAUSE I was touring West Texas that I ate a cheeseburger for breakfast. It was after stumbling upon Johnny B’s for lunch the day before. Never mind the open sky and distant mesas, the cheeseburger at this inviting luncheonette was all I could envision.Open only since November (and