Leaving the whimsey and magic of The Laurel Tree in Utopia behind, we point our nose toward what I keep referring to as a small gingerbread house. Barely a mile away from Sophie’s Cottage, my heart fills with joy as we turn down a rustic ranch road that promises to lead us to our destination. I will probably never be able to make anyone understand just how much I love the country. The feel. The smell. The quiet. We need to buy a farm, but alas, that is out of the question. I’m going to have to make do with pretending and weekend adventures.

Sophie’s Cottage

Parking our little red convertible next to the remnants of a small orchard, as Michael retrieves our overnight suitcase from the trunk, I study the trees. They could be peach; they could be apple; without leaves, it’s hard to tell. The only thing I do know is that the passenger side of the car is so close to the bare branches that they snag my hair as I open the car door and walk toward tonight’s lodging.

Now that I am here, standing in front of the tiny dwelling, I see it’s not a gingerbread house at all; Sophie’s Cottage is the tiniest version of the way my Grandma’s farmhouse used to feel to me when I was young; suddenly I am a kid again, back on the farm.

There is even a windmill with a wooden tower in the field across from us. Since wooden tower windmills are virtually non-existent in the 21st Century, I’m totally enchanted by its presence. Mentally traveling back to the summers of my youth, I can still see my uncle climbing the wooden tower checking the water level in the storage tank during one of the many long dry spells in Texas.

Serendipity has taken me by the hand once again. I love this tiny cottage and the land where it stands.

Sophie’s Cottage – The Interior

The cottage is cozy and cute, and well equipped. An abundance of charm and comfort is squeezed into a small space; an iron bedstead supports a queen-sized mattress. There is a small table and old-fashioned chairs in one corner, and in the other corner is a washstand laden with fruit and muffins and cereal; a collection of small antique plates are in the space beneath, as well as cups for coffee. A miniature refrigerator contains bottles of water, apple juice, and milk. An armoire houses a flat-screen TV. The pièce de résistance is an old clawfoot tub in the bathroom. The walls are newly redone, made to look old, painted a warm, mellow gold, and accented with wooden detail. A window unit air conditioner blows cool air into the room.

Packing our small overnight bag with bare essentials earlier this morning, it takes less than five minutes to get moved in and settled.

Country Life

I had imagined the “gingerbread cottage” to be remote, standing alone amid the mountains, grasses, and trees. I was wrong. We front a tiny ranch road, and there is a large house across the way. I think it’s comforting to have neighbors in a place that feels like the middle of beyond.

Stepping from the cozy interior onto the porch, I notice our unnamed neighbors taking long strides across their lawn; it appears that they are on a mission — to hike, to explore? I’m not really dressed appropriately for those activities, but our cozy, sheltered, outdoor space beckons and seems to be a lovely perch. Michael and I settle into the luxury of daytime reading on a miniature version of Grandma’s front porch.

While I read, I am distracted by strange noises — thumps and bumps. I tell Michael it sounds like someone has invaded our world. He looks up from his book and matter of factly says, “It’s a horse.”

A Horse a Horse…

Suddenly a beautiful steed emerges from a pasture in the back of our fenced yard; turning the corner he is off, running at a full gallop across the fields, leaving a trail of dust behind him. I have never seen a horse run with the wind before, except in movies. Was this one spooked, or does he run with sheer joy just because he can?

I smile. The sound of the galloping horse reminds me of our grandchildren when they were small and sounded like a herd of wild horses tromping around upstairs when it was too early for Michael or me to even think of getting out of bed.

The Most Beautiful Time of Day

Soon, Mother Nature casts her magic hour spell — the most beautiful time of day. The light of the setting sun is so magnificent that I must venture off the porch and capture the essence of this moment on my camera before it disappears. Michael says, “Wait, it will get better.” But wait, I cannot.

Inhaling the air, treasuring this experience, I wonder if it is the winter sun working its magic or the magic of this place; it is truly a golden hour.

Longhorn Love

I turn and see a herd of Longhorns wandering by looking for water or perhaps nourishment other than grass. Michael follows them as they meander toward our spacious backyard. There is nothing but a thin wire fence between him and the herd. One races up to the fence and almost screeches to a halt as he comes face to face with Michael; I hold my breath. Breathing comes a little easier when I think of the impossible task of someone being gored head-on by an animal with horns that are three feet apart. I’m sure it can be done, but — the tan and white Texas Longhorn loses interest, turns, and slowly walks on.

A Longhorn sporting massively thick horns, now stands in front of Michael. This particular bovine seems friendly —almost tame. He either wants to be the subject of a photoshoot, or he is anxious to have Michael scratch his nose. I can’t determine which.

Eventually, we all do our own thing. The cattle drink from their trough; I continue reading on the cozy front porch. Michael goes inside the cottage and opens a bottle of wine, slices some Manchego, garnishes the cheese with membrillo, adds spicy salami to the mix, and presents me with our evening meal as day fades into night.

When we eventually climb into bed, and I snuggle under the covers, I tell Michael, “I feel like we are the Walton’s on TV, waiting for John-Boy to say, ‘Goodnight Mama. Goodnight, Daddy.'”

“Goodnight, John-Boy.”

Coffee at 6 am

This morning Michael is back on the front porch an hour before dawn, waiting for sunrise. I make coffee for two in the petite coffee pot and unwrap the blueberry muffins provided by our host — we forgo the cereal and milk that is also available.

It is hard to believe we are comfortable sitting outside on a December morning, but we are. The weather is perfect. We live in Texas, after all.

Sophie’s Cottage

This rustic two-room cottage is a wannabe country girl’s perfect dream. Farm life, wildlife, mountain views, trees, fields, cattle, horses, and windmills. What more could anyone wish for? If we had stayed a bit longer, we would have probably taken advantage of the fire pit or charcoal grill. As it was, Sophie’s cottage front porch was the perfect setting to sip wine and nibble on cheese.

Barely ten miles north of Bandera and three miles east, Sophies Cottage is tucked away in a shaded corner of a 65-acre ranch in the heart of the Texas Hill Country; it is one of three free-standing houses to rent at the Last Outpost B&B. The other two are a larger Ranch House that sleeps up to six, and a cozy Fishing Cabin with a loft for a bedroom. The other two rentals both have kitchens and living areas. To find out more, click on the following links:

Sophies Cottage – https://www.backroadstexas.net/property/last-outpost-sophies-cottage/

The Fishing Cabin – https://www.backroadstexas.net/property/last-outpost-fishing-cabin/

The Ranch House – https://www.backroadstexas.net/property/last-outpost-bandera-ranch-house/

The Texas Longhorn

If you are curious about Longhorns the way I was when we first moved to the Texas Hill Country and saw them down every country road, you can find information on the following link: http://www.visitwimberley.com/critters/longhorn1.shtml

“The Texas Longhorn made more history than any other breed of cattle the civilized world has known. He was the peer of bison or grizzly bear… he will remain the bedrock on which the history of the cow country of America is founded.” 

J. Frank Dobie, The Longhorn