_______________________________________________________Texas Road. Two words that sent a chill down many a young spine back in the day. It was a place to prove to your friends, to your self, that you weren't scared, weren't a chicken. Texas Road differed from all the other county roads that crossed the flat tree-less farmland near Amherstberg; it was swallowed by a dense copse of trees, turned sharply right and crossed a bridge before emerging at a graveyard and eventually joining with another county road. Stories about the area included the ghost of a man killed by his wife (with an iron!) and spectral horsemen. Where better to set up for a plein air in late October? I painted from the bank of the little rill that flowed under the bridge. I can report no supernatural activity, sorry. Oil on panel, 10"x10".