Pull Up a Chair: Honoring Stories, Tacos, and the Wisdom of Old Cowboys

For the last 10 years, I’ve been a loyal regular at Rio Bravo Mexican Café in downtown Georgetown. Sure, the breakfast tacos are amazing (owner Connie Canales makes the best crispy bacon in town—extra crispy, just how she likes it 🥓😋). But truthfully, it’s not just about the food. It’s about the people.

What I love most about Texas is its people. When I first moved here, I learned about a term called “neighboring,” with roots in the ranching and farming history of the state. In essence, it’s all about helping your neighbor bring in their herd or pull their crops, because you may need the same help in the near future. It’s more than a tradition—it’s a way of life. That spirit of kindness and support is alive and well, and I see it every morning at Rio Bravo.

Every morning, a group of local seniors gathers at the same table by the register. They sip coffee, share stories, and trade laughs like it’s the currency of life. For me, dropping by their table to tip my hat and exchange a warm “Good morning” has become an almost-daily ritual.

There’s something grounding about their presence. While the world rushes by, they sit and enjoy each other’s company, a quiet testament to the importance of connection and community. They’re not just regulars at the café—they’re the soul of it.

One of the constants at that table was Jeff Logan, a kind and steady presence with a cowboy hat perpetually tipped in greeting. His “Good morning” always came with a smile that felt like a reminder to slow down and savor life. Over the years, his kindness became part of what made Rio Bravo feel like home.

Recently, I noticed his chair was empty for several mornings. Then, during a visit, I saw his photo was pinned to the café wall. Jeff had passed on at the age of 72. Though I didn’t know him well, his absence left a hole in the rhythm of the mornings, like a favorite melody gone silent.

The Wisdom in Every Chair

In communities across the country, seniors gather in spots like this one—diners, parks, libraries—to connect, reflect, and share their stories. They’ve lived through decades of change, challenges, and triumphs. Their conversations, full of warmth and humor, are a kind of oral history, a treasure trove of wisdom and perspective.

What makes these conversations so special isn’t just the history they carry, but the focus on what truly matters. Honestly, I have no idea what their politics or religions are—it’s just not something they go into. Instead, they share stories of old-time Georgetown and the Texas of days gone by, of lost loves, hunting, and the joy of family. There’s a simplicity to their conversations that feels timeless, a reminder of what connects us, not what divides us.

A Lesson in Slowing Down

Texas mornings have a special kind of magic. Deeply rooted in nature, there’s a unique rhythm here, especially in places like Georgetown, where time seems to slow down, and every conversation feels a little more meaningful. No one has to rush to see the Texas bluebonnets—they’ll bloom when they’re ready. Everyone here knows that beauty is worth waiting for. Sitting down with these seniors from time to time and hearing their stories is a reminder to appreciate the little things: the crunch of perfectly cooked bacon, the warmth of a familiar smile, and the camaraderie that makes a café feel like home.

A Call to Connection

So here’s my challenge to you: next time you see a group of seniors gathered at your local café or park, take a moment. Pull up a chair. Introduce yourself. Ask about their lives, their stories, their lessons. What you’ll gain in return can’t be measured.

It might be a tale of adventure, a pearl of wisdom, or simply the kind of laughter that makes you forget the weight of the day. Whatever it is, it’ll remind you that community isn’t just about proximity—it’s about connection.

The Heart of Texas

What I’ve learned from my mornings at Rio Bravo is this: the best part of any meal isn’t just the food—it’s the people you share it with. Jeff’s kindness and warmth, like that of so many elders, reminded me to pause and appreciate life’s small moments.

That spirit of neighboring I first learned about when I moved to Texas? It’s not just about helping someone in need. It’s about showing up, listening to a story, and finding ways to build one another up.

So let’s celebrate the wisdom of our elders, the joy of a shared smile, and the simple, grounding power of pulling up a chair to listen.

Because every chair around that table holds a story, and every story is a reminder of why we call this place home.

Here's a final tip of the hat, to a kind neighbor named Jeff...

Learn more about Jeff Logan in his obituary.