A two-hour car ride to Grandma’s house as a child could feel like an eternity. The anticipation and excitement encouraged my mom to play car games like I Spy and guess animal shapes in the clouds. About halfway to our destination, Mom always made a pitstop in the tiny town of Hillji to snag the best jerky in Texas from Prasek’s Family Smokehouse. Aside from our arrival, this was my favorite part of our little road trips; I was hooked on their turkey jerky. Today, I see a variety of Prasek’s jerky throughout H-E-B stores, but it’s not quite the same.

We’d hit the road once more and Mom would pop in a cassette she prepared for our trips— Bohemia Rhapsody was always a great climax. After years of consistent trips from Houston, I noticed a few landmarks that assured me we were getting closer. The large white and orange stripes from the only What-A-Burger in town were to our left as we exited from Houston Highway into Grandma’s historic neighborhood, but it was The Corral that let me know we had finally arrived in Victoria, Texas.

The Corral was not unique in what it served, rather it was known for the iconic sign of the Native American and his drawn bow and arrow, signaling the final arrival into the small town. A string of bulbs alternated illumination as if the arrow majestically twinkled toward the restaurant. Typically, we’d arrive during the day, but at night I caught a glimpse of the stringed bulbs synchronously twinkling from arrow to restaurant. Everyone knew about The Corral—even this city-slicker. I’d imagine the arrow arching over our car as we drove past.

Fast forward to my adult years, when I didn’t visit as much, I noticed the signs were no longer glistening and the parking lot was vacant. I asked Mom what happened (she’s my personal Google) and she informed me the local restaurant closed a few years earlier in 2015. I’d never see those bulbs light up again, but it was still a marker of arrival for me, many others, and now my child. From infancy, she’d reach early childhood pointing at the sign, blissfully yelling, “We’re at Abuela’s house!” We’d built a tradition that I’m confident many families and lone travelers developed over The Corral’s 62 years in business.

Not far from my grandmother’s house, one of my aunts owns property in an even smaller town outside Victoria. She has become the official host of our family’s annual Easter celebration which has grown with every new member—blood or otherwise inducted. I could never leave the party without going to see Grandma, but this last time I decided to go alone. I grabbed my camera (as I’ve become the unofficial documentarian of our extended family’s affairs) and headed to The Corral. I set my tripod low to the open field sprinkled with bluebonnets and other delicate Texas wildflowers. Once placing my camera atop my tripod, I settled on placement, finalized my settings, and took a deep breath. Snap. Memory locked.

Despite the missing details, I didn’t want to miss this opportunity to visually journal years of reflection. Nothing looked as I remember, so I walked closer to the sign for more details. Snap.

One month later, Mom texted me a new view of what used to be The Corral. She exited Houston Highway as normal, and although she wasn’t surprised to no longer see the restaurant, she wasn’t fully prepared to witness the demolition.

After a quick dive, I learned the iconic buffet will be replaced with a Starbucks. The original sign will be preserved in storage, but it is unclear what will come of it. I never did step inside The Corral, but I will always remember its exterior as a home-like welcome. I’m not sad at the change; rather I am grateful I took the opportunity to give my final goodbye as it took its last breaths. This experience was a testament to remaining present and enjoying our journey—thankfully I took the photographs I needed to keep the memories alive. As we change, so will our environment, and more generations will have the opportunity to establish their stories.

This summer marks one year since the well-known owner, Albert Totah, passed at 94. While plans have been made to move forward in the town’s development, the legacy of Albert’s beloved local restaurant will live on.