A Beautiful Wedding in West Columbia – City #11

I was honored to be a plus one this weekend for a beautiful wedding in West Columbia, a town about 55 miles southwest of Houston and known as the “First Capital of the Republic of Texas.” That history gave the trip an extra sense of occasion. West Columbia hosted the First Congress of the Republic of Texas on October 22, 1836, when Sam Houston became president, and it remains a place with deep roots in Texas history. Stephen F. Austin, often called the “Father of Texas,” also spent his final days there, which adds to the town’s historical significance. It was a lovely setting for a celebration that felt both personal and memorable.

The wedding itself was held at Live Oak Haven, a peaceful and inviting venue that felt especially fitting for such a joyful occasion. Surrounded by open land and beautiful natural scenery, it had a relaxed Texas charm that made the evening feel warm and welcoming. One especially memorable moment came when a Great Pyrenees wandered into view during the ceremony, adding an unexpected bit of personality that gave everyone something to smile about. 

The ceremony took place outdoors beneath large oak trees that created a beautiful backdrop and gave the whole evening a classic, small-town Texas feel. The warm weather and open-air setting made it clear that summer has truly arrived, but it also added to the charm of being gathered together outside to celebrate. As the sun filtered through the trees, the setting felt especially picturesque, and it was easy to appreciate how thoughtfully the day came together. It was the kind of evening that felt relaxed, festive, and full of good energy.

The reception carried that same welcoming spirit. There was great food, plenty of conversation, and a relaxed atmosphere that made it easy for everyone to enjoy the evening. The chicken fried steak was especially memorable, and the wedding cake was a perfect sweet finish to the celebration. Altogether, the night felt full of warmth, laughter, and the kind of happy energy that makes a wedding memorable long after it is over.

Overall, it was a wonderful celebration in a town with a lot of character and history. From the setting at Live Oak Haven to the thoughtful details of the ceremony and reception, the entire day felt special. Most of all, it was a joyful reminder that the best weddings are the ones filled with love, family, laughter, and a genuine sense of togetherness. It was a beautiful day for a beautiful couple, and West Columbia made it even more memorable.

Angleton, Texas: History, Gin, and the Glow of Walmart – City #10

A wedding brought me to Angleton, which is exactly the sort of sentence that sounds normal until a car is actually hurtling toward a place never seen before, fueled by optimism, Waze, and the unshakable belief that every Texas suburb is hiding either a charming bakery or a deeply confusing statue. This corner of the Houston area had not appeared on the itinerary before, so the arrival carried expectations of adventure, local flavor, and at minimum one aggressively majestic water tower.

By all appearances, Angleton’s most unforgettable brush with history was Danny Bible, the serial killer known as the “Icepick Killer,” which is not the kind of tourism slogan embroidered on a pillow. This is one of those historical facts that arrives in the room, kicks over the snack table, and demands everyone stop pretending the most exciting local event was once a pecan festival. Even stranger, he reportedly confessed to his crimes for a pack of cigarettes and a Bible, a transaction so wildly specific it sounds less like criminal history and more like the opening scene of a Steven Spielberg movie filmed behind a gas station.

Naturally, the liquor had been forgotten, because no road trip is complete until one adult realizes the group has been failed in a deeply preventable way. That led to a quick pilgrimage to Spec’s for some botanical gin, and for Texans, Spec’s is not merely a store but a spiritual institution with fluorescent lighting. Spec’s Wines, Spirits & Finer Foods was founded in 1962 by Carroll B. “Spec” Jackson and his wife, Carolynn, in Houston, Texas. Starting with just $7,000, the family-owned chain has grown into the largest beverage retailer in Texas, operating more than 200 locations across the state, which feels less like retail expansion and more like a benevolent takeover by people who understand emergencies involving charcuterie and gin.

Angleton was founded in 1890 near the center of Brazoria County and named for the wife of the general manager of the Velasco Terminal Railway, which is a beautifully old-timey sentence that sounds like it should be read by a man with sideburns announcing the arrival of canned peaches. A bitter rivalry emerged between Angleton and nearby Brazoria over the location of the county seat; Angleton won in 1896 and then won again in a county-wide election in 1913, apparently because Texans have never once said, “You know what, let’s leave this unresolved.” The town was incorporated on November 12, 1912. In the modern era, the place seemed cheerfully overrun with food trucks and flashy national chain restaurants, as though the frontier spirit had finally been conquered by queso and backlit signage. From the hotel room, the picture window offered a majestic panoramic view of Walmart, glowing on the horizon like a big-box moon.

Honestly, if Angleton had a mission statement, this would probably be it: A place where history lurks ominously in the background, the liquor store arrives like a patron saint, and the evening closes beneath the sacred glow of Walmart as if civilization itself had decided to clock out in sweatpants. The occasion was a wedding, the unintended result was accidental anthropology, and the lasting impression was that somewhere out there, beyond the food trucks and county-seat grudges, a giant water tower was still judging everyone silently.

Finlayson, where the food is average but the people-watching is elite – City #9

Stop 9 on the 60-city tour was Finlayson, Minnesota, a town named after David Finlayson, a Scottish lumberman and sawmill owner. This is mildly confusing because the name sounds as if it should belong to a place with purely Finnish roots, especially given the strong Finnish heritage in nearby towns. But no, Finlayson is Scottish by name, northern Minnesota by vibe, and small-town enough to make you feel like everyone knows where you are headed before you do.

Finlayson is the kind of place hunters know well, thanks to its access to Pine County woods, nearby public land, and the general promise that if you head far enough into the trees, something with antlers may eventually appear. Dad and I, however, were not there for wildlife unless you count the dinner crowd. Our mission was simpler, nobler, and much more immediate: find food.

That mission led us to Buffalo Tracks Bar and Grill, right off Highway 35 in Finlayson. The place offers burgers, sandwiches, pizza, and the sort of all-purpose menu that says, “We understand hunger and do not intend to overcomplicate it.” It felt like exactly the kind of establishment where expectations should be kept reasonable and observations should be kept sharp.

I ordered the patty melt, which was not offensive but also did not inspire any future travel plans. Dad had a chicken sandwich, and together we agreed that Buffalo Tracks would not become a culinary pilgrimage. But the people-watching? Absolutely first-rate. Two men and a woman at the bar, all somewhere in their 30s, were swearing with such fluency and commitment that it felt less like overhearing conversation and more like attending a live performance. Around us, takeout orders came and went, road-worn regulars drifted through, and locals moved about with the easy confidence of people who had every right to be there because they practically did live there. We stayed longer than the food required, purely for the entertainment value.

Finlayson, where the food was forgettable, but the people-watching made for a memorable matinee.

 

Moose Lake: Rock Solid Memories - City #8

Moose Lake may be the Agate Capital of the World, but I did not arrive with a rock hammer, a collecting bag, or any real intention of becoming an amateur geologist. I came for something far more valuable: a weekend with family at the lake house, where the stories are plentiful, the history runs deep, and the neighbors are unexpectedly notable.

Moose Lake, Minnesota, is very proud of being the “Agate Capital of the World,” which is a bold claim for a town essentially saying, “Come for the rocks.” It also hosts the annual Agate Days celebration and has the kind of north-of-the-metro charm that makes people start talking about scenery, fresh air, and “getting away from it all.” All of that is lovely, of course, but this particular weekend was not about agate hunting, scenic hikes, or pretending to be more outdoorsy than I really am.

I was there for family time at the lake house, which has been in our family long enough to qualify as both property and legend. It started out as a little shack about 100 yards from the water, owned by my great Aunt Nora in 1952. My grandpa bought the property in 1958. My dad still tells stories about when the brush was so thick you could not even see the lake from the house, which seems like a design flaw for lake property, but apparently that was part of the charm. During his St. Thomas years, he spent the summers studying and weekends clearing the shoreline, moving rock and brush, after which his grandmother would feed him dinner, basically the original version of work-life balance.

The reason the place is beautiful now is simple: my dad did the hard part decades ago so the rest of us could later show up and admire it. That is the kind of long-term planning I respect. Next door is the red brick house owned by my sister, 3 years senior to me. She capitalized on the opportunity to have a Lakehouse next to dad, soon after it became available. It was originally owned by Doc Alvin Sach-Rowitz, another name that lives on in family lore. I grew up hearing stories about how he prevented a lakeshore drive from cutting through the property and turning this peaceful stretch into a public parade route for curious strangers. For that alone, he deserves some sort of posthumous neighborhood medal. Doc Sach-Rowitz operated his own community medical practice, often seeing patients in what is now my sister’s lake house. That practice later became part of the early foundation for Gateway Family Health Clinic when several independent local physicians in the region merged their practices. Doc Sach-Rowitz was also deeply involved in community life, occasionally hosting local social gatherings with his wife, Edith. In addition to his medical work, he partnered with Harold Peterson and Ike Boekenoogen to develop the vintage “Halik Frog” fishing lure.

Then there is the fact that Robert Bly once lived on the south side of the lake house, because apparently my family does not do ordinary neighboring properties. Bly, the poet, essayist, activist, and author of "Iron John”, had a log cabin on the lakeshore that helped inspire parts of his writing. After he died, the property went up for sale, and my oldest sister moved with the decisiveness of someone who knows a good cabin when she sees one. The log cabin is now in the family and has been renamed “The Sugar Shack,” which I think is both less literary and more fun. A fair trade.

As a U.S. Army veteran, I can say with confidence that this weekend was exactly the kind of medicine I needed. Not medicine in the clinical sense, obviously, more the kind that comes from family stories, familiar places, and the absence of any pressing obligation beyond maybe sitting on a deck. Moose Lake may be famous for agates, but for me its true value is much simpler: it is a place where my family’s history is still standing, still expanding, and still finding new ways to make itself memorable.

In the end, Moose Lake delivered exactly what I needed: family, fresh air, and a reminder that some of the best weekends do not require an itinerary, only a good view and people who already know your stories. It may be the Agate Capital of the World, but I left more impressed by the family legends than the rocks. In our case, the real gems were already at the lake.

The photograph is of my paternal grandmother sitting by the lakeshore at the Luck family compound.

Forest Lake: A Meal, a Memory, and My Dad - City #7

Forest Lake is, unsurprisingly, very into water. At roughly 2,270 acres spread across three connected basins, it is one of the larger recreational lakes in the metro area and a magnet for boaters, anglers, swimmers, and anyone else eager to pretend they are outdoorsy. Lakeside Memorial Park adds to the appeal with a beach, boat access, picnic areas, and plenty of scenic opportunities for people who like nature. Perfect for “Memorial Day” visitors.

My dad and I, however, were not in Forest Lake for the fishing, the scenery, or any meaningful communion with the natural world. We were hungry. At one point he asked, “What does Google have to say about restaurants in Forest Lake?” and, as it turns out, Google had at least one very good answer: “The Grillium”. It had the cozy feel of a place that knows exactly what it is doing, namely, feeding people well enough that they will be talking about it later. The menu offered plenty of worthy choices, including comfort-food favorites, walleye, and other hearty options, but once I saw house-made corned beef, my decision was over. I ordered the Reuben with the confidence of a man who had done no research but somehow knew he was right. The sauerkraut counted as a vegetable, the tater tots were exactly what the moment required, and by the end of the meal I felt that Forest Lake had shown me its true character: yes, it has a big lake, but more importantly, it has lunch.

In the end, the real gift of Forest Lake wasn’t the lake itself or even the scenery around it. It was the chance to spend a simple afternoon with my dad. Part sightseeing, part good meal, and part easy conversation. Some places stay with you because of what you see there, and others because of who you shared them with. For me, Forest Lake will always be memorable for that second reason.

St. Paul: More Than Just City #6

The flight into St. Paul, Minnesota, was not luxurious, but it was manageable. A little turbulence kept the cabin service grounded, and the close quarters turned the armrest into a quiet contest with the passenger beside me. Even so, the trip was short enough that discomfort never became the point. I was not traveling for convenience or comfort, but for something more meaningful:

to see my dad in his new home.

St. Paul has a colorful past. It was once known as Pig's Eye, named after Pierre "Pig's Eye" Parrant, a one-eyed bootlegger and fur trader who ran an illegal tavern in the area in the 1830s. It is the kind of detail I probably never would have learned had I not stumbled across it in a YouTube video one day. But I was not in town for local trivia. St. Paul has recently become home to my dad, who moved from my childhood house in Fridley, a six-bedroom, three-level place full of memory, into an apartment here in St. Paul.

My dad will turn 90 this year, and Carondelet Village feels like the right place for this chapter of his life. The community offers independent living, assisted living, memory care, and long-term care, with wellness and enrichment programs at its center. What stood out most was not simply the range of services, but the sense that the place was designed to help people remain engaged, active, and connected. It was perfect for my dad.

The tour of the facility was the highlight of the visit. There were pools and pool tables, pottery and sewing rooms, quiet corners for reflection, and a full calendar of daily activities. It was easy to imagine how a person could build a real life there instead of simply passing time. More than anything, I left feeling relieved. A move like this is never small, but seeing the place for myself made it feel less like an ending and more like a thoughtful new beginning.

I am excited for my dad. As he showed me around the new facility, I met one of my dad's high school friends, Fr. John Forliti, who also lives at Carondelet. He and my dad have been friends since the 1950s. I was not surprised to see a 12-to-1 ratio of women to men.

In the end, St. Paul became more than another city on a list. It became the setting for one of life’s quieter passages, the kind marked not by drama, but by acceptance, friendship, and hope. Watching my dad settle into this new chapter, I was reminded that growing older can still hold the promise of connection, dignity, and new beginnings.