Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E. Bourland Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Monday, November 24, 2014

Chilicothe's Love's

Highly recommended if you happen to find yourself on Highway 287 in North Texas.
Visit the Texas State Historical Association's web site for a little bit of information on Chilicothe.
            I would not have thought of having lunch there any time soon. My change in plans presented itself at the airport in Vernon, where I was resting before proceeding to my home airport. I sat in the lounge wide-eyed and watching the people there and all the activity. Witt, the executive director of the American Bonanza Society hovered energetically around everyone. A student taking an oral exam was there, too, and the lineman. Lawrence's assistant was there. He was a young man who taught flight instruction with Lawrence. 
             "Let's go have a steak," said Lawrence to Mary. "You oughtta come with us," he said to me.
             "Yes," said Mary, "You ought to." I was glad to accept the invitation.
             Everyone except Witt piled into a crew car parked outside. Hard to know what company built the car, for the paint had peeled and the dents hid any clues to its model. 
             Just past the main entrance to the airport, the left back tire started to bump. Lawrence turn back to the airport and drove it into the large, WWII era hangar. There, we piled into an equally beat up vehicle, then drove to Chilicothe, fifteen miles away, uneventfully. 
             The North Texas landscape had just recently turned to its winter look, light browns and muted greens on both sides of the highway. Long stretches of road reminded us that some highways were built long enough and strong enough to land military aircraft, which is an interesting tidbit about Texas history in aviation. 
             The meal at Love's was fresh and tasty, just like real cooking should be. The ambiance resembled most BBQ places and yet, one can perceive its own strong personality. Highly recommended for the food will embellish the experience. 
            Not too long afterwards, we piled back into the vehicle. Lawrence had difficulty starting it, though, and tried and tried. 
            "Rock back and forth," he said. I wondered what he meant by "rock back and forth." The student and Mary did not hesitate, and neither did his assistant, bending at the waist forward and backward in their seats. 
            "Sideways," said Lawrence. The assistant opened his door, stood outside the vehicle, and pushed to and fro. The car started.
            "Lawrence," I said, "how on earth did you figure out this one?"
            "I've driven enough beat up cars to know."
            His comment made me think about the experiences that flying gives to a pilot, specifically in regard to cars. Every airport is different, some with character and some without; some very wealthy, some in the middle; and some poor. But all have a car available to loan the pilots for them to drive to lunch. MillionAire in Addison provides Mercedes; Oklahoma City provides a Lincoln Continental, purple and beat up, but drivable. At a few airports, you can expect to find a car key underneath the potted plant by the door, and at others, the manager loans his personal car to the pilots. 
           Luxury car, rattle-trap car, either one can provide a nice experience, particularly if you can find a great place for lunch.

Thursday, November 6, 2014


         A charming hotel and diner sit alongside the runway of Gillespie County airport in Fredericksburg, Texas.

Hangar Hotel as seen from behind an A36.

Airport Diner in Fredericksburg.

Replica of old times rotary phone. 

       A painting of four famous people hangs in the Officers Club, left to right, Elvis Presley, Humphrey Bogart, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean. 

A statue at the bar.

Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

Give Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.