Wellborn, my hometown

When you talk to someone from Wellborn, they will usually let you know that they are 'from' Wellborn. In the last few months, I have come to know so many in our town and we interact in social settings and at political speeches, in fundraisers and fun times. We are so diverse, but so much in common because we are Wellborn.

Many in Wellborn were born here (or nearby), some went to school here, but most, like me, are 'transplants'. But Wellborn is my hometown. However, unlike some places, people move to Wellborn on purpose. Something draws us here and gives us roots. It is definitely hard to describe to non-Wellborn folks what this means, how it feels. My best analogy comes from my Aggie side:

From the outside looking in, you don't understand it.

From the inside looking out, you can't explain it.

In Wellborn, you will find a first-generation American next to someone from an original Austin Colony family, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, hands on hearts, confirming our pledge to our country and to one another. We are old, we are young. There are some with a ton of money and others with lots less. No matter.

We are Wellborn.

Our newcomers aren't carpet baggers, they are just folks who took some time getting here. Whether they are from Ohio, Michigan, the Middle East, or College Station, they came here and stayed because something holds them here, because they want to be part of whatever it is that we have. Maybe it's the working class roots of our town, or simply the ability to be yourself that draws a certain type of folks here.

We all seem to appreciate and value a thing done well, whether it is a turned wooden bowl, a bluegrass performance, or world-changing scientific discovery. We believe that good manners are important and wisdom comes with age. Hard work is a means to an end, and there ain't no free lunch. Men and women who serve in our military deserve our best. Every time.

We love the land and all God's creatures and sometimes just sit and listen to the world. On a fall day, you can hear the Aggie cannon roar from Kyle Field when the 12th Man makes it across the goal line, imagine all the students kissing their dates. But sometimes, like now, in early spring, you begin to anticipate the small peep of a chickadee, the whirr of a hummingbird, a bleating calf in search of its mother. We can still see the stars on a clear night and wonder what the original settlers thought long ago.

Wellborn is a special place. We have a lot to offer and a lot to share.

We are Wellborn. Please let us vote.

Karen