A Solo Trip to Schulenburg, TX

After having Bourbon for over a month — organizing, rearranging, adding touches to make her my own — it was time. Time for a solo road trip.

Time to figure things out on my own. To spread my wings just a little more. To practice being more independent behind the wheel.

Don’t get me wrong — I love traveling with my husband. But there are moments when being alone, with only your thoughts and the hum of the road, it is good for the soul.

I chose Schulenberg, Texas — home of the Painted Churches of Texas. It was a reasonably short drive with the promise of unique photography. When I first heard about the colorful churches tucked into central Texas farmland, it quickly became a bucket-list destination.

So the decision was made. A solo trip to photograph churches.

Hubby walked me through hitching up Bourbon, reviewing important steps one more time. With a best wishes for safe travels and a good-bye kiss, I pulled away.

The first short stretch was white-knuckle driving. Side winds at 25–30 mph kept me alert. But I knew once I turned north, the drive would become easier.

And they did.

This One Feels Different

While I’ve traveled solo several times before, this one feels different. I just wasn’t sure why yet.

After arriving, I enjoyed a quiet evening — travel guides spread out, a map in place, notes reviewed, a loose plan sketched out for the morning. I still wasn’t sure what the plan was, but I knew I had options, even as the day ahead would unfold slowly.

The next morning, I opened doors and stepped into color.

“Pretty” doesn’t begin to describe what I found inside those churches.

Where Silence Meets Color

No matter which of the five churches I stepped into, the architecture and stained glass stopped me in my tracks. The scene before me was just breathtaking.

Built and painted by Czech and German immigrants in the late 1800s and early 1900s, these churches have withstood the test of time — vibrant ceilings, hand-painted detail, light filtering softly through stained glass windows.

And I quickly realized this was not the place for a tripod. It felt intrusive. Disruptive.

So I photographed quietly, handheld, adjusting settings carefully and respecting the stillness of the space.

I left with a deeper appreciation for the time, effort, and love poured into these sacred spaces.

And I left grateful for the quiet.

For the independence.

For the ability to sit alone in those pews and simply notice.