Jennifer Plesko

Making that 200 mile drive straight down I-45 every few weeks for the last year or so can be cumbersome. But when it’s spring, and the sky is cornflower blue, and the hills are bright green dotted with the occasional patch of bluebonnets, the drive becomes more of a chance to unwind. I pull back the moonroof, turn up the stereo, load Robert Earl Keen in all six spots on my 6 disc changer, and listen to him sing about people and places I know in that distinct way in which he conveys so much with so little.

At this point, I can tell how much time is left on the drive by which song I’m on.

When I’m close to Ennis, I’m hearing:

The first of the month
Brings back the notion
Of a big round white dance hall
and a cool summer night
Red cherry faces set black shoes in motion
to the oom pa pa rhythm of a German delight

By the time I get to Fairfield, he’s singing:

There’s an alley in Acuna
Right next to a night club
That’s never been paved
And is hip-deep in chug holes
It sort of trails into
What once was a river
But now is a ditch
That smells just like sewage
And there in the alley
We’re drinking Vampiras
And smoking Delicados
With Jaime and Umberto

And when I’m on the last leg somewhere around Normangee, I hear him singing about my hometown:

This old porch is a steamin’ greasy plate of enchiladas
With lots of cheese and onions and guacamole salad
You can get them at the LaSalle Hotel in old downtown
With iced tea and a waitress who will smile every time…yes she will
I left a quarter tip on my ten dollar bill

It’s just another one of those simple experiences that feels uniquely like home to me.