I am thinking about Texas as I sit here in the cool October night. I do that often, being a native. It's hard not to these days. You see, there's been such an influx of patriotism. I am having trouble grasping it. No, I don't hate America. I love it. I'm still here, after all. I'm proud of being an American, but I have trouble identifying.  

America is an idea for me. A conglomerate of peoples and cultures, faces on the news. America is hope, optimism, symbolic. I can understand that but, honestly, my true patriotism is for Texas. For me Texas is not some distant idea, some vague place that exists only in grammar school geography books. Texas is real, a place that I know intimately. It is a place that I have fallen in love with, and though I was born here it is my adult location by choice.  

I have been to many other places. Oregon was cool and verdant with misty mountains and the smell of pine trees in my grandmother's back yard. I still weep when I remember the first time I saw the snow there. Mexico was poor, dry, rural. It was a lesson that I am not soon to forget. Oklahoma was folksy and wonderfully green. Kansas was flat and perhaps the ugliest place I've ever seen. Colorado and New Mexico converge in my memory: places of red strata earth, cool mornings, and again those beautiful mountains.  

I am not what one would call a seasoned traveler, but I have seen enough to know where my heart lies and why--Texas. To those not from here it inspires images of cattle, open fields, wide spaces, cowboy hats, and good chili. Yes, we have that but there's something more. We are a place of mingled southern and southwestern. I am the archetypical southerner; one generation out of the trailer park, but I have something more.  

My days are dominated by skies so blue they make your heart ache and puffy white clouds. We have oceans--plains--, scrub and searing heat. My home is ugly under the stormy gray skies of winter and spring, but spring is lovelier than the face of the Madonna and summer is, with its heat and drought, a thing unique unto us. It is beautiful, terrible, depressing, uplifting. The scenery carries all the moods of an amazing woman; but can I write this without mentioning the food this amazing woman cooks?  

Chicken fried steak, jalapenos, chili (without beans, of course), fried pies, fried potatoes, lots of beef, good strong coffee, and spicy Tex-Mex. I'm a hefty girl as is and just thinking of this cuisine makes my mouth water and my eyes roll back in my head. (Musical Interlude: Heaven, I'm in heaven...). Of course, It's not all so countrified. We are cosmopolitan here. I eat bagels and cream cheese, cheesecake, and there are Starbucks in every shopping center. My husband eats Thai, and I enjoy Italian. Cuisine here is a good mix of grandmother's-kitchen-nostalgia and international cuisine.  

I must sound like I'm writing a travel brochure, but I would not recommend visiting to anyone. Why? Texas grows on you. It is not love at first sight. Most first-timers exclaim how barren and dry it looks, or how flat the plains look from a plane. True, but I can say this, Texas is its own country. In every sense of the word. Texas is tangible and beautiful for this little country gal. A Texan is my identity and something which I can take pride in. American is only a secondary label, like my middle name, a distant name that once belonged to someone I have never met. But this state is my first name, gifted by my mother and used for years. Yes, I am proud.  

And this way I understand patriotism.

Author's Biography

Amber Hipple is a young Texas native with a passion for writing but not enough discipline to make it a day job. 

She currently resides in Fort Worth, Texas, with her husband and two cats.

E-mail Amber at sheerann12@aol.com

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