Driftwood is a city slightly southwest of Austin. There are a few good wineries out that way, which was the true focus of my visit. But, then I saw the Driftwood Cemetery and had to stop to take a look. It wasn’t as illuminating a visit as I had hoped. I didn’t recognize most of the names except for the Puryear family, and I only recognize that name because it’s a central Texas judge’s name.
I think this one is self-explanatory. I had no idea that Salt Lick had their own wines. They were okay. They also had a decent selection of other Texas wines like Ed’s Red. It’s definitely worth a stop to their tasting room.
Wimberley Wineries just built a fabulous tasting room and opened it in April. Their wines are too sweet for my taste, but they had a nice selection of wines from a Paso Robles winery by the name of Robert Hall. If you are interested, they have cool fruit wines made of strawberry, blueberry, and plum. I tried the blueberry. It tasted like drunken blueberries.
I’ve been visiting Driftwood Winery for many years, and I am pleased to see how big it had grown. The original tasting room was a tiny mobile unit. About a decade later, they have taken the original family home and converted it to a huge tasting room. They’ve added a really nice (and big) pavilion to have parties. When I was out there today, they were busy making yet another addition.
I’m wondering how the grapes are going to turn out this year. My little grapes are shriveling into raisins when I don’t water them. Amazing: Black Spanish are quite drought resistant. Oh, but not drought-proof.
When I heard that the creek @ Driftwood had officially dried up today, I was worried for the owner. They still have some well water left, but that may dry up before harvest time in 3-4 wks. Yikes.
My grapes have been maturing early this year, though. So, maybe the plant can handle a very difficult growing season.
I just wish I were a fly on the wall when the concept for this grave was developed. Shoot. For all I know, maybe I was!
Count your blessings that I didn’t take pics of the most depressing grave ever. It was a metal crib around a 2 year old boy’s grave. It’s only second to a family plot in the Live Oak Cemetery up the road from me. The tombstones read: Mother, Father, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby. It’s strange. There are a lot of dead children in that graveyard. But, up the road a bit (off of Dittmar), there are hardly any dead babies. The only lesson I can draw from this is that in the 1800s, you should have lived north of Slaughter Creek. Even I don’t like to venture into the woods behind my house alone anymore. There’s something wrong with that creek.
It was named for Augustine B. Slaughter, a Texas Ranger. They say his body is buried somewhere back there. Seriously, local historians claim that he is buried back there. Maybe my house was built on his grave! [Cue scary movie song and haunted TV. Remember when televisions went all goober-boober late at night? Test patterns, snow. Yeah. And right before the channels went off, they’d play the national anthem. Complete with amber waves of grain!]