We even stopped in a small town where my husband's ancestors were born, saw the church in which his father grew up, and took pictures of the gravesite where his grandparents were buried.
This town even had a pretty spiffy monument to General Douglas MacArthur. We didn't get to go in, but I had to take his picture.
Some of the towns we saw looked as if time had passed them right on by, leaving behind nothing but flaking paint and rusted memories.
They reminded me of the pictures I'd taken years before as a child, standing on the Berlin Wall, overlooking the bombed out Potsdam Plaza, which had been blown up during World War II and abandoned until the wall came down fifty years later. Cars just like these littered the streets, crushed and broken apartment buildings gaping open-mouthed at the evidence of violence around them. The memory I have of that place was one of a frozen moment, caught in an elliptical loop, forever playing forwards and backwards. These scenes in Central Texas were more bucollic, but gave me that same sense of time trapped in amber.
I didn't even know places like this still existed in the good ole US of A. Learn something new every day.