So you want to be a cowboy.

This past Sunday, Daniel and I spent an afternoon with the dogs at Chisholm Trail Crossing Park. This historical stop turned out to be a pleasant and unexpectedly thought-provoking outing for me, and was also a lot of fun; seeing the dogs so excited to be near water and new smells was totally worth getting begrimed for. Located at the park is a Texas historical marker that tells the story of the "round rock" and the famed Chisholm Trail. The Chisholm Trail carried cattle from South Texas to Abilene, Kansas and beyond. The Crossing at Chisholm Trail Park is a visible reminder of Round Rock’s cattle drive heritage from the American West. On the west side of this local road, the park commemorates the historic cattle drive trail with gorgeous life-size bronze sculptures of early Texas pioneers and Texas Longhorn Cattle.

The Texas Longhorn statues standing here capture the beauty of Texas's State Large Mammal, representing their intelligence and gentle disposition. By 1870 thousands of Texas longhorn cattle were being driven over the Chisholm Trail to the Union Pacific Railroad shipping center over in Abilene.

Round Rock’s Chisholm Trail Road crosses Brushy Creek, where the famous "round rock", for which the city is named, makes its appearance. Round Rock was actually first known as Brushy Creek, named for this creek that runs through it, but was later changed, taking its name from a round rock, marking a 'low water' crossing at Brushy Creek, right on the Chisholm Trail. A lot of people intrigued by the name are surprised to arrive here to find that the famed round rock is actually a circular flat limestone rock in the middle of the creek.

Early settlers, Native-Americans and cattle drivers alike knew and marked this spot of low water where passage for people and cattle was safe.
Just thinking about the incredible history that happened here was enough to prime me for a photo moment with the famous "round rock" in the background, though, the dogs had other plans.


I can't blame them for being so excited to explore this famous trail running through our city. For a small little park, it packs a lot of history...
As I walked around taking in the scenery of this living memorial to a time gone by, I imagined the setting back then. One is led to wonder how life was for the people that traveled through here; what they encountered.. what the nights were like under the Texas moon a century ago...
I can just imagine some tale about horses getting into some weeds, making them act mischievous and stubborn, delaying the cattle procession for several days. It was the age of men on horseback and families in covered wagons. How many times were they subjected to horse thieves, bandidos, renegade Indians and robbers?
You can still see these wagon tracks along the trail next to Brushy Creek, made by wagons passing across one hundred years ago!

The frontier has gone but the future preserved it.

Snapping out of my reverie, I smiled as the dogs cautiously but determinedly approached the creek bank. Berit and Sprocket had a lot of fun taking in summer scents and exploring the edge of Brushy Creek, where Sprocket ultimately became stuck in bottom sludge and sediment and had to be pulled out by Daniel. It was amusing to Berit and I to stand there watching that spectacle. Though Daniel got mucky, I am sure Sprocket believed it was totally worth it. I would have to agree. The history that she alone will leave behind will not be short of good-humoured memories.

After Sprocket's rescue operation, and as this bright May day in Texas got hotter, we proceeded down creek to deeper waters where the girls could have more room to swim around.

As they paddled farther and farther down Brushy Creek, clearly intent on making the most of this short outing, despite our calls to come back, I couldn't help but return to thinking about the cattle crossing of Brushy Creek by drivers of the American West on their way to markets in the east. Did they breathe a sigh of relief when they approached this very land under my feet?

As the dogs continued to enjoy cooling off in the creek, I looked down at the limestone rocks I stood on and wondered how far people had come to reach this eastern boundary of the hill country, and then how far they went from here.

Paths. Destinations.

I stood on a path to someone's destination. Were they happy when they got there? Were they anything like me?

These people most likely never thought of themselves as being larger-than-life as they lived the daring exploits of the old American West. Early settlers. Cattle drivers. Cowboys. Politics aside, that is a pretty romantic vision of true pioneer spirit.

They had to look long-term at their lives, and even past their own lives, and recognize the paths they needed to take. They had to accept that there'd be moments when it would seem impossible to continue. But all that mattered most was to reach the destination. Again, politics aside, these people did this looking at the long-term; for the future of those they cared about.

As we wrapped up this stop and walked back up the Chisholm Trail, I took a last downward glance at the wagon ruts in the limestone. Would I ever be able to cement the image of myself as a symbol of all that was good and just into the American mindset? That lone bronco that would never be forgotten... One thing is for certain - I'll stick to my guns and I'm gonna stand my ground.