I love where we come from. I love that I know it won't rain from April to October, I love fresh tamales in December, I love the pre-seven am cowboy rush at the Longhorn cafe in town, I love the grapevines climbing in clean rows up the flanks of the hillsides, rust-red beneath the autumn mist.
I love simple country music - not the kind on the radio, but the kind you used to hear growing up in the dusty bench seat of the ranch truck, with the head of an australian shepherd resting on the open window sill. The kind of music where Mr. Cowboy Man seemed like he just pulled up right next to you, no frills, to tell you a little something about life - while wearing his awesome vintage 1950's jean jacket and sporting an old nylon string guitar.