MARFA, TEXAS: SEE IT BEFORE IT'S GONE (MAYBE)
Disclaimer : There are no shots of Prada, Marfa and no shots of winsome influencers wearing oversized travel hats and staring wistfully off camera here.
MARFA
There are no good songs about driving through the desert in a sensible hybrid Ford. Not a damned one. But this is where I found myself one sunny afternoon in October last year, making the six hour trek from San Antonio. Alone and crammed into this strange, fuel efficient vehicle which I had rented to save a little wear and tear on the environment and my trusty truck, I was on my way to one of my favorite places again – Marfa. My first time there was there almost 6 years ago, and I indeed found the magic everyone seems to love to write about, but each trip back has made me realize how fast the pace of change has come to this frontier of creative energy.
If you’re used to traveling the long highways in Texas you know better than to rely on an app to tell you when you’re expected to arrive at your destination. Instead, you estimate time by the number of towns passed. It’s all reasonable speed between San Antonio and Junction; you stop at the Shell in Junction for a quick pit stop, then continue onward, testing the good grace of DPS troopers (that’s the highway law for you non-Texans) by riding heavy on the gas pedal until you hit Fort Stockton. Finally. you’ve made the transition from the land of convenience to the high desert. Although you can see the foothills of the Davis mountains in the distance, there’s still an hour and a half of road until Marfa and by that time your thoughts are on a loop of cold beers and getting the hell out of the vehicle. Relax. Do yourself a favor and listen to Flaco Jimenez and Ry Cooder covering He’ll Have to Go. It’ll put you the right frame of mind.
STILL A SMALL TOWN AT HEART
The fast pace of change around town surprised me. It was still the same quiet town but now there was a business office park-styled monstrosity that was the reincarnation of the Hotel Saint George jutting up four stories in a two-story town, unless you count the courthouse and the Godbold Feed mill a couple of blocks over.
The thrift store, which once hosted one of the coolest Marfa Film Fest parties (mainly because you could buy any glass off the shelf and refill it for free), had moved outside of its prime location and in its place were brand new modernly outfitted storefronts, including a luxury spa service. There’s nothing inherently wrong with either of those but they’re just out of place here. The one truly great thing about this transformation has been the arrival of Restaurant Cochineal. If you’re ever in Marfa, save a few bucks and treat yourself.
As I thought more about how Marfa’s character was changing and that internal “get off my lawn!” rant began building in my head, I had to make myself stop. I’ve found that there’s a truth that permeates all the small towns I’ve been to and that truth is that no matter what happens, there are certain things that will never change. Whether it’s the attitude of the people who live there or the town continuing to do things the way they’ve always been done. Small towns die hard.
The frontier metropolis of Marfa. Come for the big sky, stay for the parking.
All of the photos shown are a collection of shots taken on various trips.
THE ADOBE SITUATION
Small towns may die hard, but all that relatively newfound myth has come with a hefty price in the meantime. It’s no surprise that property values are ridiculously high in Marfa now and even humble adobe homes, which have been there forever because they were cheap to build, are being swallowed up.The county even decided that adobe is now a premium building material because it just fits the Marfa aesthetic so well (tell that to the Hotel Saint George designers) and significantly raised taxes on houses that have stood in Marfa for generations.I’m glad I got a chance to walk around some of the older neighborhoods and see them before they morph into perfectly manicured vacation homes.
THE OLD GUARD
You’re still likely to come into some great conversation if you look for it.Old school Marfans still outnumber the newcomers and remain friendly and even good natured about all the outsiders. I was out on a morning shoot during one trip photographing a rusted truck and crane rig sitting in the lot of Eddie Pierce Motors on Highway 90. Jack Pierce, the owner and Eddie’s son, was kind enough to invite me into his office to chat for a while.He told me the story of how that truck and crane had been used to haul to the original telescope to what is now the Macdonald Observatory.He also talked about how his father had helped build the old Holiday Inn across the road.When I asked what he thought about all the changes in Marfa, he shrugged his shoulders and basically said it is what it is.
We stay at an AirBNB when we go to Marfa. On the last night of my October trip, half of the group I had gone there to meet had already left to drive back to San Antonio. My friend Sarah and I agreed the evening felt perfect for one last fire and a fresh round of drinks on the patio. As I was looking around for some tinder to start the fire, a smiling older gentleman drove up in a custom golf cart. He introduced himself as Fred and said he was a retired Border Patrol agent. He promptly informed me I needed more wood and drove over to his house to get some. Of course I invited him and wife over for drinks.
At one point, Sarah and his wife went off to pick up a pizza. Fred used the opportunity to show me his renovated backyard and, to my surprise, his pet turtles. After topping off his drink inside, we insisted I take one of the turtles to show to Sarah. I forget the turtle’s name but he fit in the palm of my hand and was a zippy little fellow. It was like holding a slinky on the ride back to the rental house.
That was the luckiest turtle I’ve ever encountered. He escaped death twice, flipping a tiny middle claw back at me both times. The first time was when I almost dropped him into the fire pit. Fred insisted I could hold on to the turtle all night, if I wanted to. I didn’t but what are you going to do in that situation? I was sitting next to the fire, listening to the conversation when I felt Lucky crawl out of my hand. In my defense, I was ready to suffer a few burns to pull him out if necessary, but it turned out he had missed by a good four inches. I felt Lucky’s cold stare at me in the glow of the fire pit. The second time occurred shortly thereafter when someone dropped a log near him. It missed him by inches. For his own safety, I finally had to put him in a makeshift corral I made from fire logs. He survived the evening’s festivities, and everyone remained friends. Ah, Marfa.
Change is inevitable, as the cliché goes. No matter how much I may love a place, I have to remember, it’s not my place. I’m just passing through like everyone else. I can’t complain and say I miss the real Marfa. It’s a ridiculous thought because for better or worse, this is the real Marfa now and I know I’ll be back.