Where Arrows Have Landed Legacy Series Entry

Arriving at the Historic Hotel Garza

After my first encounter in seeing a portion of the Macy Ranch, I knew I had to return. But I also knew I didn’t want to make the long commute back and forth from Midland to Post, so I decided

to stay at the Historic Hotel Garza — a bed and breakfast run at the time by Jim and Janice Plummer. They were gracious hosts, and I felt at ease the moment I stepped inside. As it turned out, I think I was the only guest staying there. That was fine by me; I was a bit of a loner anyway.

The Hotel Garza was built in 1916 as a boarding house for workers arriving in Post during its early years — back when C.W. Post, the cereal magnate, was trying to build his model town on the plains. When I stayed there, it was still in its pre‑restoration state, with all the creaks, quirks, and quiet charm of an old West Texas lodging that had seen generations pass through its doors. Jim and Janice kept it warm and welcoming, but the building itself carried the weight of its history.

A Room with a Century of Footsteps

I was shown my room, and as we walked up the stairs I couldn’t help wondering how many feet had climbed those same steps over the last century — and how many had heard them creak just the way I did. When the door opened, I stepped into the past. The room had all the charm of its 1916 origins with just enough modern amenities to keep things comfortable. Thankfully, no outhouse.

I settled in for the evening. In the photo you can see my keys resting on a Texas Highways magazine — a small detail, but it felt fitting. This was going to be home for a couple of days while I returned to the ranch.

Exploring Post, Texas in the Late Afternoon

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Before settling into my room for the evening, I walked around Post for a bit. In one of the photos you’ll see my Ford Ranger parked to the far left in front of the Hotel Garza. The other town shot shows a stretch of Main Street with its brick pavement and old storefronts. As an

artist, I felt like I belonged there the moment I saw the little sign pointing toward the “Art Museum.” It was a small thing, but it made the town feel welcoming — like it understood the kind of person who would stay at the Hotel Garza with a paint box in the truck.

From my upstairs window I could see the courtyard behind the hotel — chairs, a pergola, a waterfall feature and other landscaping. I never went down there, but I remember the stillness of looking out over it.

Breakfast and a Return to the Land

The next morning I headed down the stairs — still creaking, still carrying the weight of a hundred years of footsteps. Breakfast was served on the main floor, and it was exactly what I needed. A quiet room, a warm meal, and the kind of hospitality that makes you feel like you’re being sent off with good intentions. Now fueled for the day, I gathered my gear, loaded up my truck, and set out to see what the day would bring.

I drove to the spot that had first caught my attention — just a little blip on a map back then, the place where I’d met the man who told me the ranch belonged to Bob Macy. Now, with full permission, I could walk just about anywhere my feet and determination would allow. Not far from the crossing, I made my way down the bank and walked a short distance along the water.

Painting in the Quiet of West Texas

It didn’t take long to find a natural composition. The land offered it freely — red earth, shallow water, layered rock, and the quiet of a West Texas day. I set up my gear, squeezed out paint, and took a moment to study the scene before me. There’s always that spark of excitement right before the first stroke, that feeling that something meaningful might happen. I mixed my colors, leaned in, and placed the first mark on the canvas.

I hadn’t been painting long when I noticed movement off to my right. Up on a higher ridge, a small group of cows had wandered in and stopped. They stood there for several minutes, just staring down at me like I was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. I kept working, hoping they’d come down to drink — I’m sure that’s what they had in mind — and it would have made the perfect reference photo. Maybe even a larger painting where I could try my hand at painting cows.

But it didn’t happen.

I could almost hear them thinking:

“What is that weird creature standing in the water.” “He don’t look like no cowboy.” “Hold up… he’s got a brush and an easel, boys.” “Dang nabbit! It’s an artist. I bet he wants us to pose.” “Yeah right. We’re leaving.”

And just like that, they turned and walked off.

Red Earth and Blue Sky

Still, the land gave me everything I needed. The red earth, the shallow run of water, the layered rock, and a wonderful quiet — except for the land itself as it gently spoke to me. I stayed right there in the streambed, careful not to get my feet too wet, mixing paint and watching the colors shift in the sunlight. Brushstroke by brushstroke, the scene began to take shape. It was one of those rare experiences where it felt as though the painting was painting itself.

The piece that came out of that day became Red Earth and Blue Sky, one of the early foundations of my Legacy Series. It reminds me of who I was then: a young painter standing alone in a crossing, seeing the possibilities of paintings in every direction and still hoping the cows might wander into view — but alas, I discovered instead that the land itself was enough.

If you missed my first entry here it is: Painting the Macy Ranch — A Look Back at a Historic Texas Landscape