Kristen Sublette

I love Texas. My best friend and I were driving home from the college rodeo in Riverton, Wyoming. A year previous we were both new students at Colorado State University, and headed to the same rodeo. Over the course of the weekend we became fast friends, sharing beers and cigarettes, singing our favorite songs, nearly peeing ourselves from laughter, and swapping stories. It was September 2020, we had come through COVID and were itching to travel more together. That’s where the decision was made, on a brisk fall morning, surrounded by the majesty of the Wind River Reservation, we were going to the NFR.

We called it, Operation: Dicked Down in Dallas, because that song was absolutely dominating the airwaves and we were a group of rowdy college kids that had been cooped up for months. We were headed to Forth Worth. The weekend went off without a hitch, everyone’s fake ID’s worked (which was really a feat considering two people were using the same fake), no one was lost or arrested, and we all had some pretty good stories to tell. We went to Cowboy Christmas, spent 15 hours dressing up for the one perf we had tickets to at the NFR, and hitting every bar in the Stockyards. We had a blast, running into other friends from college, and even ending up on an abandoned dairy farm in Godly.

The last night of the trip we were sitting at Riscky’s Bar-B-Q enjoying some good old Texas bbq. My best friend and I were taking pictures, the glow of the neon lights kissing our skin. I looked at her and said, “I think I want to live here.”

Fast-forward five months, I dotted the last scantron, and closed the books on Spring semester. I had just landed a pivotal job as the Social Media Manager at Greeley Hat Works and my best friend was packing up to work for a stock contractor out of Utah for the summer. We were headed to Texas to celebrate another year of college down and the beginning of summer. I had signed up to go on a retreat in Canyon Lake and was itching to see more of the state I had enjoyed so much of in December. I wanted to feel things out, see what Texas had to offer. I had never felt the need to live anywhere other than Colorado. But Texas was calling.

We loaded down my Ford Edge and took off. The drive South was remarkable, slipping through sleepy little towns into major metropolitan areas. We climbed rolling hills and cut through beautiful fields chalked full of wild flowers. God’s glory was reigning down everywhere we went. 12 hours of singing, snort-laughter, road-trip snacks, and finding ourselves stuck behind three different tractors, we pulled into Stephenville. The water tower stood tall and proud marking the town, the ground was green and luscious, the air thick with humidity.

The first day in Stephenville we ate at a beautiful little Southern style restaurant and shopped around the downtown area. The town was cute, with old buildings and a distinctly Texas culture. As we walked down the street peering into shops and getting recommendations from the locals as to where to go, my best friend turned to me and said, “have you noticed all the flatbeds?” I had indeed noticed. We were not in Colorado anymore. The low rumble of diesel trucks that more often then not were outfitted with flatbeds.

There is something about a flatbed pickup. Distinctly western in its style. Often, carrying more clues as to who the owner of the truck is or what they do. When you see more flatbeds than standard pickups, your scene has shifted. It is a subtle marker, the people have changed, the industry has changed. You’ve moved from hustle and bustle cityscape with white collars and loud politics to a much quieter, a more humble approach to livin’.

We spent two days in Stephenville, several people recommended going to the Twisted J. Hoping there would randomly be a Tuesday night concert, we went there to discover a huge college bar, we watched the other kids play life size beer pong and soaked in the environment. We made friends with a group of college students and ended up going to their house to play beer pong and dance the night away, they insisted we sign our names on a giant traffic cone as visitors.

I got a tattoo from a random tattoo shop, we ate Texas bbq, we played Ghetto Cowboy by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony on repeat. I liked what I had seen in Stephenville, it felt familiar with it’s college town vibe. But it was time to cruise South.

Thursday morning I dropped my best friend off in Terrell where she would spend three days visiting a close friend, while I headed down to Canyon Lake for the first ever Lil Bee’s Bohemian Hive TRIBE retreat. I was to say the least, STOKED. The first leg of the trip was already proving to be excellent. I was going on this retreat alone, I knew a handful of the influencers from social media, but I didn’t know who I would be rooming with or anyone personally.

I slid down the interstate listening to Lonesome Dove on audio book. I love audio books and Lonesome Dove seemed fitting for this drive. It was an eight hour drive, Austin was stop-and-go traffic. I finally pulled into the tiny-homes resort about an hour after check in. I was nervous, damn near shaking, as I got out of my car. I had no idea what I was in store for.

To be continued…