Belle Oaks Inn
Michael sits in a rocking chair on the front porch of the Belle Oaks Inn—and rocks.
Announcing our arrival, I stand and ring the doorbell, clang the antique knocker, and turn the front doorknob, calling out, “Hello!”
“Keep walking down the hall, we’re back here,” is the response.
As I walk, I notice once again the exquisite beauty of Belle Oaks Inn, from the elegant architectural details to the tastefully classic décor. Over the top, yet understated at the same time. How can that be? This 108-year-old antebellum mansion is pure perfection.
Dennis, the innkeeper, comes out to greet me with a warm, welcoming smile and leads me into the kitchen. The kitchen is a room that I never ventured into during my stay here three years ago—the year that Michael and I looked at each other and said, “We have to come back.”—and apparently, it was my loss that I never saw this space. The kitchen is as warm and welcoming as our host. I want to cook here.
The Carriage House
Because Covid-19 is still a hot topic of the day and our mantra has become adventures with social distancing in mind, I chose to book the Carriage House rather than stay in one of the beautiful rooms that I know are above and beside me. Dennis leads the way to the mini-apartment. It is charming. There are two bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms, one bedroom with a king bed, the other with a queen-sized bed, a tiny kitchen, and a sitting room. It is just what 2020 and Dr. Fauci ordered. Outside our front door is a long veranda looking out over sculpted gardens, with chairs for four guests to sit and visit.
I begin unpacking and after a bit, Dennis comes come by to check on us and deliver homemade oatmeal cookies—my favorite. We chat for a while and learn that we are the only guests staying at the Belle Oaks Inn this evening and tomorrow night. I sigh and think if only I’d known. The Carriage House is lovely, but the manor house is magnificent.
Michael and I begin our evening with happy hour on the veranda. Dinner tonight is his experimental hot corned beef sandwiches, and they are delicious. He did bring our good non-stick skillet from home, and I think he is pleased for thinking ahead. Still later, when it is dark, and the loud chorus of end-of-summer insects is stilled, we each take a glass of wine to the expansive, beautiful, gorgeous, beckoning front porch and rock and talk and sip. I begin to feel my inner Scarlett O’Hara take hold.
A Day in Gonzales
At 7 AM, I lay in bed, snuggled under the covers. Both the beeping alarm and the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickling my nose pushes me up and out of my soft cave and into the light of morning. We dawdle. Michael fixes his famous breakfast taco, and I think again that I am probably the luckiest lady in the world, to be married to a man who is willing to share meal-planning and cooking, no matter if we are at home or abroad or picnicking. If it is his week to feed us, he does. And he does it so well—always with aplomb. I think Michael feels his inner James Beard come through every time he steps into a kitchen. He would argue with that assessment, I am sure—not because he isn’t comfortable in the kitchen, but because he is not fond of James Beard’s view on al dente vegetables.
A Driving-Walking Tour
Soon we are in the car with the top down, taking the walking tour of historic houses, not on two feet, but four wheels. There are a million historic homes! Well, not quite a million, but there are 20 on tour #3 –I’m not sure why we started on the last tour first; maybe it’s because Belle Oaks Inn is part of it. Originally the home of C.E. Dilworth, the son of a banker, who was himself a banker. C.E., aka Coke, was the man who built this magnificent Greek Revival edifice in 1912. At the turn of the 21st century, the mansion was boarded up and in ruins. Richard Tiller and Clint Hille appeared on the scene, rescuing and restoring the historic structure and opening its doors to the public as an inn in 2002.
One of the features that draw us to this beautiful old house turned inn is the balcony across the façade and the porch that wraps around three sides of the home. The morning we were due to depart three years ago, unexpected rain came down in buckets. Rather than hurry to leave, we dawdled, testing out all three sides of the wraparound porch and the balcony to see where viewing the downpour was best—relishing the moment. Unfortunately, there is no rain in the forecast today, and the October temperatures are supposed to climb to 90 degrees.
I soon discover that taking a walking tour by car keeps me so busy reading, trying to keep up with the fast turning wheels—although we are driving very, very slowly—that I don’t have time to look at what I’m reading about. I tuck the pamphlet away in the car’s side pocket, deciding to look, not read. Not know.
The POD
We let the day evolve and dissolve, following our noses and trying to keep to our POD. Time melts as we stop at Baker Boys BBQ to buy a picnic lunch for a brief sojourn to Palmetto State Park. We take a peek at the San Marcos River and then take a very socially distanced tour (we are the only individuals here) of the Pioneer Town at the extreme north end of Gonzales.
Then, it is back to our Carriage House for a nap.
The Sam Houston Oak
At 4 PM, we are seated in the little red Mustang, exploring our surroundings once again; our destination is the Sam Houston Oak. It is a little less than 9 miles north of town and a short drive down a combination gravel-dirt-caliche road. Once we are on the gravel path, we disturb a Caracara having a late lunch. Michael stops to check it out, trying to snap a picture of this bird that looks like a hawk with its sharp beak and talons, behaves like a vulture, and is technically a large tropical black-and-white falcon. Our neighbors to the south sometimes refer to it as a Mexican Eagle.
We miss the giant oak tree. Michael turns around and heads back to the highway. When he sees a historical marker telling us both that it does exist, he turns around searching once again. We disturb the Caracara’s lunch for the third time. I think this sizeable winged creature is becoming aggravated with our seeming indecision on where we want to go.
The oak is overwhelmingly large. I wonder at its size 184 years ago. Texas oaks are fast-growing and long-lived—some even living for 500 years. Based on the size of the oak today, I am sure it was substantial even back then. But the story of why this oak is remarkable is because of the tortured tale it would tell, if only it could speak.
The Runaway Scrape
The Alamo had fallen, the Mexican army was on the March, Sam Houston had no choice but to flee Gonzales with his citizen soldiers, sending their families on before them. Once deserted, Sam Houston set fire to the town, leaving nothing to the enemy army but ashes to conquer. Houston and his entourage reportedly stopped in the vicinity of this oak to rest, eat, and nap in the predawn hours after their escape.
David Kokernot
This day is too beautiful to hear the ghosts of so long ago, but one soldier’s words are preserved for history.
“It was a sad thing to see the women and children plodding their way across the prairie,” later wrote David Kokernot, one of the volunteer soldiers. “No tongue can express the sufferings those fleeing families were called upon to endure.”
Later, at home, I research information on Kokernot, and I am overwhelmed with the life these early settlers lived. Born in Amsterdam in 1805, he eventually arrived in Texas via a very circuitous route, filled with poverty, danger, hard work, determination, intelligence, and the kindness of others.
Following our Nose
We leave the ancient oak behind and follow the road. It takes us through Shiner and Moulton and Waelder. I see places we have been and places I want to visit again— Kloesel’s Steakhouse & Bar, where we had lunch decades ago, a two-story wooden structure that looks like it came straight out of the Old West Cowboy Era, painted a cheery yellow, it sits on a small incline at the foot of Moulton. I am happy to see it still stands after all these years. Waiting.
We stop at a Texas historical marker telling us about Old Moulton and another telling us about Sulphur Park, the famous Lavaca County swimming hole between Shiner and Moulton on Highway 95 that operated from 1930 through 1936. It doesn’t tell me why it closed, and always curious as a cat, I want to know the rest of the story. (Click here to read all about it.)
Day’s End
The road finally leads us back to our Carriage House home, and dinner on the side patio. Sitting here, with wine and cheese and bread and leftover smoked brisket from lunch, I feel so lucky. For so many things.
The insect chorus is overwhelmingly loud at sunset, and I remember the sounds of silence at the 4B Ranch not that long ago. I shake my head in disbelief at the cacophony surrounding me. Then a miracle happens, and the sound dies, and all is still. There is only the rustle of the fallen leaves at our feet.
We sit and snack and talk until well past dark.
Matthew Caldwell
During our time in Gonzales, I think of Michael’s ancestor, Matthew Caldwell, who lived here during the Texas Revolution and was a major part of Gonzales and Texas’s history. He is only one of the reasons we are attracted to this town, but an important one for us. Matthew Caldwell was a Texas Ranger, a signer of the Texas Declaration of Independence—known as the “Paul Revere of Texas Revolution” because he rode from Gonzales to Bastrop to call men to arms in October 1835. He was a fighter, a leader, a hero, and at the end of his life, he was a prisoner of war in Mexico, force-marched from El Paso to Guanajuato, Mexico, with his twelve-year-old son, which is a story in itself.
In a letter to his wife in 1842, he writes, “Our journey throughout has been of the most distressing nature. In fact it was a continuance of fatigue, toil, and hunger surrounded on every side by the most barbarous tribes of Indians and scarcely a day elapsed without our performing the last melancholy duty of covering the bosom of a comrade under the green tuft of the wilderness.”
Then I realize even with Covid-19, and everything else going on in 2020, Michael and I are so fortunate to be here—to just be.
For more information on Belle Oaks Inn, click one of the following links.
Belle Oaks Inn Website
Brief History of C.E. Dilworth House, aka Belle Oaks Inn
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