The little town of Menard, Texas is charming and alluring. I’ve written about it before, and I have to say, despite the fact that I have been in many places around the world, Menard is one place I could live out my days.
And there are many reasons for this.
The first, and to me, the most important, is that everyone there seems to be a gardener. It’s obvious that the residents love flower and vegetable gardens. Even the little elementary school has its own native plant garden and vegetable garden, which the children maintain. Flowers are at evfery turn in this arid place. It's a testament to where people’s hearts and minds are.
It's quite obvious that the main street of Menard has seen it’s better days. The old movie theatre screened its last picture show years ago, and has permanently shut its doors. The Menard Hotel is now a home for senior citizens. The wide main street is empty, except for a few cars over at the bank, a constable’s car in front of city hall, and a pickup over at a little store. The town may have lost a great deal of its commerce, but it certainly hasn't lost its soul.
A case in point: I parked my Jeep and walked out into the middle of the deserted main street to take a photo. As I stood in the middle of that wide (but mostly vacant) thoroughfare, a pickup pulled up behind me. I started to jump out of the way, but the driver signaled me to take my time. He just sat there, the pickup's motor idling, until I had finished snapping the shots I wanted. I walked back to the curb and he waved as he slowly drove the truck down the street. I would have been cursed out, run over and possibly shot if I had done that in one of the more prosperous towns along Interstate 10, and certainly would have experienced one out of three in any metropolitan area.
In the twilight, I think of “Brigadoon,” the old Lerner and Loewe musical about a mysterious Scottish village that appears once day every hundred years – the result with a pact with God for saving the village from destruction. Menard's not exactly Brigadoon, but I think you get the implication. The world outside Menard is rapidly changing, but the little Texas town moseys along at its own pace, a little slice of a peaceful past in this speed-of-light world.
I walk along the town's stone-lined "Big Ditch," which we call acequias in New Mexico. The water creates a cool microclimate in the still-warm evening. A few semis move through on their way down from Abilene to Interstate 10, stopping impatiently at the town’s only red light.
The drivers don’t see the flowers, or the beautiful gardens, or the friendly people, or sense the warmth of the place. Neither do the travelers, zipping from somewhere else to somewhere else.
If you ever have a chance, spend a little time in the little town of Menard, Texas. Stop and smell the flowers. See if you think of Brigadoon.
