Authors:
Historic Era:
Historic Theme:
Subject:
February 1988 | Volume 39, Issue 1
Authors:
Historic Era:
Historic Theme:
Subject:
February 1988 | Volume 39, Issue 1
It wasn’t a bad way to launch a trip into the Texas Hill Country. At an intersection, just east of Austin, our car stopped for an apparition: three small covered wagons bumped across the horizon, leading a line of horseback riders, among them children two to a horse. A few of the riders clutched Lone Star flags, stiff and square in the breeze. I could have been watching the first frames of a Western movie, with plenty of room for a title to materialize against the cloud-swept sky. In fact, these were members of a group called the Trail Drivers Association, out to relive a pioneer past that still holds fast here.
In a state so huge that you really have to push to drive across it in less than two days, a few hundred miles of the Hill Country, bracketed by Austin and San Antonio, lets weekend visitors cover a lot of history. Time a trip for mid-April, when the state flower, the bluebonnet, makes its appearance. For those few weeks bluebonnets become a statewide obsession. The National Wildflower Research Center, an Austin-based organization started by Lady Bird Johnson, receives calls from all over reporting on the best sightings.
Wild flowers, then, frame the picture in early spring. Not just bluebonnets, but drifts of evening primrose, Indian paintbrush, verbena, and wine-cup. The landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted described the sight in A Journey through Texas : “… three or four more species opened into bloom. After this hardly a day passed without some addition, and very soon it was impossible to welcome each new-comer; the whole prairies became radiant and delicious.”
By the time of Olmsted’s visit in 1853–54, the hills had for twenty years been home to farmers who had come from the Southern states. And the first influx of foreigners, from Germany, was shaping an existence that sometimes belonged to the Old World, sometimes to the New. The colonists had been lured to the unimaginable Texas wilderness in 1844 by a group of Hessian noblemen. These innocents were easy prey for Texas speculators, who sold them an impossibly remote and uninhabitable tract, sight unseen. Their bumbling advance man, Prince Carl von Solms-Braunfels, was eventually recalled to Germany, but not before buying in 1844 a second site, which became the town of New Braunfels. His able successor, Ottfried Hans von Meusebach, renounced his title of baron, changed his first name to John, and worked hard “to make a place for German knowledge at the side of American freedom.”
Despite the toll taken by hunger, disease, and the climate, German immigrants kept coming. In 1846 Meusebach led a wagon train of 120 settlers farther into the hills to establish the new settlement of Fredericksburg. One year later he negotiated a landmark treaty with the Comanches.
Strong reminders of the homeland still color the towns that are spread along the trail of