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Complete Forecast for  May 17 2008

Being a regional reporter means a lot of time on the road and, for me, that means treks through Henderson and Cherokee counties to cover meetings, major events and other happenings.

But there's a great freedom in traveling those highways, observing the quiet lives of residents in smaller communities along the way. The greatest trips are those when the weather is cool, skies are clear blue and people are up and moving.

I take in the untouched forests in Cherokee County and the vast ranch land of Henderson County. There are few buildings to impede my view, and the miles of highway go on forever. Entering the Tyler city limits, I am immediately brought back to the here and now and the bustle of roadway loops and shopping centers.

Growing up in a small town in the Hill Country, I knew my neighbors, everyone in my graduating class and what it means when rain will not fall and why communities seem to come alive around festival time.

I tend to notice nuances of a small town, and that insight allows me to stop and ask myself, "Why is this story important to these people?"

On a recent trip through Henderson County, I was reminded of why I love community reporting.

The day was perfect for a drive, and I was taking in the county. My radio was tuned to my favorite station, my sunglasses were secure and there was no real hurry to get back.

My heart caught at the sight of a ranch truck headed away from the road through a pasture, kicking up a little dust. The few head of cattle in the vicinity came to, as if from a slow-moving daydream, and began a collective jog beside the truck. It was feeding time.

I smiled and remembered what a treat it was to ride along in such a truck. I had the pleasure many times growing up, and the fascination of seeing a cow become interested in anything.

But I thought about the rancher, too. What have gas prices done to his small operation? Has the weather made a difference in hay production? Are there any farm bills that will directly affect him?

Driving on, the speed limit signs reflected my entering a town, so I let off the gas and coasted for a minute.

School was letting out, and a line of buses began sliding out of the high school parking lot. Boys with backpacks stood talking near the flagpole, and another group in gray T-shirts was warming up for track practice. Little ones were animated onboard the yellow tanks, noisily recalling the day or greeting friends they had not seen since the morning ride to school.

In that moment, I missed afternoons as a teenager - the gossip generated since lunch time spewing among a gaggle of giggling girls, waiting for my mother (a teacher) to finish her paperwork and lock her room so I could beg her into stopping at Sonic for a few minutes for a soda and to be social at the local hangout.

I thought about the school then. Are there still gifted and talented classes? Do the kids have all the books and computers they need? What about all those state tests?

Down the street at the edge of town, I saw a worker fixing a light pole. I wondered if that repair had something to do with the bad weather in the last week, or if the city was planning to upgrade the lighting system.

I continued home to Tyler, thinking about the story I would write on the event I covered that morning.

How would I make that story matter to all those people along the way? Was there a story that would make a bigger impact?

I've been part of community journalism for more than 15 years, and I love it.

Small towns make up a fabric of this country that cannot be appropriately explained. But it does count to say every city council meeting that recognizes the high school band matters, every commissioners court that appropriates road and bridge funds matters.

It matters when a longtime resident is honored or dies at 101. It matters when a mom and pop store is robbed or homes are burglarized.

As a rule, I always think about the importance of small-town living on the outskirts of a major city because it's where I grew up.

I know what it's like to drive an hour to see a movie or go out to eat. I know what it's like to ride in the homecoming parade. I know what it's like to lose a classmate to a traffic accident.

I'll be out in the counties as much as possible, and I'll be on the lookout for those stories that matter.