When I loaded up my Mini Cooper and drove from LA to Texas I didn’t know how long I would stay. A week, maybe two. That’s what happens here. One writer friend said she moved from New York City to Marfa to stay for two months. That was three years ago and she’s still in Marfa. Is that what’s happening to me? In my quest for pie — which really means my search for simplicity, the lost values of slower times, and, for god’s sake, less rampant consumerism — I was led to this desert town of 200, sandwiched between Big Bend National Park and Mexico. Now into my third week with no signs of leaving I am asking myself, How the hell did I end up here and, more urgently, Should I stay?
3. Adventures abound. Whether it’s a day trip to Mexico, a hike in the Chisos Mountains, or a rafting trip down the Rio Grande (pictured: Betty Moore and her friend Frank from Austin on our Sunday outing), there is no shortage of outdoor adventure. Bonus points: Every place is easily accessible, there are no crowds, and there are definitely no traffic jams here.
5. Terlingua needs pie! Mimi (my Venice neighbor who lured me to Texas in the first place — she is owner of the rustic-chic La Posada Milagro guest house here) is currently on a shopping excursion in Northern Texas. She was last seen at a Wal-Mart hunting for Pyrex pie plates and Crisco to ensure that I will have adequate baking supplies. Once she starts selling my pies at her espresso bar — we’re already envisioning people driving from miles around for a slice — she may never let me go. And I may never want to leave.