Much to my surprise , it ’ s been 14 years since I started working for the Cenizo Journal . Dallas Baxter asked me if I would take over ad sales and write the occasional contribution . That morphed into copy editing , and when Dallas sold the magazine to Carolyn Zniewski in 2013 , I became the editor-in-chief . Our current publisher , Riley Stephens , has shepherded this old rag through Covid-19 , and out the other side , and I ’ m still here .

I ’ ve measured the last decade and a half one quarter at a time . Just when I think I ’ ve learned everything there possibly is to know about Big Bend history , art , natural science , lore and human experience , another issue is ready to send to print , brimming with tidbits of who we are in the Trans Pecos . We never run out of stories . We ’ ve barely scratched the surface of telling the tales of bygone days , even as we make new ones .

I often think about the Cenizo ’ s place in the world of journalism . It seems strange to even apply the term . We don ’ t cover the news . We don ’ t offer global commentary . I think of the Cenizo more as an historical archive . It ’ s a place where our people , the people of the Trans Pecos , come to express themselves . They tell stories about the old days so the stories can live on to a new generation of readers . They record things so we don ’ t forget . They talk about the hardships of the landscapes and the lessons they learn from living here . Fifty or 100 years from now , some college student will perhaps mine these issues for insights on how we lived — not just the subjects of the articles but the writers , too .

And then I think about the Cenizo ’ s place in the Big Bend . One thing I love about it is its introspection . In the time I ’ ve lived here , I ’ ve watched the region turn itself entirely over to a tourist economy . More and more , our communities ’ focus is toward the lure of outside dollars , and it takes a toll on us in different ways . Friends ’ porches where we passed lazy evenings are full of strangers – not newcomers but an endless carousel of vacation renters . We ’ re priced out of the taco plates we used to have for lunch all week , catching up on the gossip . We don ’ t wave on the roads anymore — heretofore an unforgivable breach of etiquette — because we ’ re highly unlikely to know the other drivers .

This is normal . It ’ s a natural evolution , part of the ebb and flow of what ’ s popular and possible as technology advances and as people take advantage of economic opportunities . Nostalgia is a lie . It neglects to acknowledge the hardships mitigated by change .

But there is a loss , and it isn ’ t inevitable . We can preserve the best of how we live if we ’ re mindful . We can choose to keep some focus on celebrating our cultures and traditions , history and innovations . We can still be communities . That , much more than our landscape , is what draws people to come here in the first place . There ’ s plenty of room in those traditions for anyone who wants to join . The Cenizo has always tried to mine the gold that makes this place so magical , showcasing it and preserving it and inviting others to feel its weight . That , to me , is worth so much more than the dollars flowing from outside .

After all these years , I ’ m proud to be passing on the torch to a new neighbor , Cole Altom . Cole and his wife have settled in Marathon and agreed to take over the editorship of the Cenizo Journal . I ’ m excited for this labor of love to have his energy , his literary experience , and the unjaded perspective of someone who is discovering our stories for the first time .

As I turn my focus toward improving healthcare in the region as the new manager of the Marathon Health Center , I want to thank all of our contributors , readers and advertisers for your support over the years . It has been an overwhelming privilege and a true honor to safeguard these stories . I want to encourage our writers to flood Cole ’ s inbox with contributions . And I want to ask our advertisers , past , present and future , to support this free magazine so that the Trans-Pecos will continue to have a repository for the thoughts and experiences of its denizens .

I ’ m not going anywhere . I ’ ll be very pleased to continue as a contributor , and I ’ ll be doing what I can to make a smooth transition as Cole takes the reins . Thank you all so much for the years gone by , and here ’ s to the years ahead !

It ’ s high time I introduced myself . I ’ m Cole Altom , and if you ’ ve read Danielle Gallo ’ s stirring valediction , you ’ ll know that I ’ ve agreed to replace her as editor of the Cenizo Journal . I can ’ t promise that nothing will change . Even the Chisos , quiet but resolute in their ancient , tectonic compulsions , change every day . But I can promise Cenizo will never become something it isn ’ t , never something unrecognizable , never not something by , of and for the readers of this weird little pocket of Texas . This is y ’ all ’ s magazine . I ’ m just its steward .

A little about me . My wife Mary Beth and I moved to Marathon a little over a year ago . We met in Austin but started our married life in Wimberley , where we had four dogs and as many chickens , a couple goats , some on-again-off-again barn cats , and a barrel full of goldfish that , as local lore held , kept the mosquito population down to a manageably miserable level . We had been visiting the Trans-Pecos region a few times every year for a few years , so we figured we ’ d save the gas money by putting stakes down here instead .

And we ’ re awful glad we did . The transition from Central Texas to the Trans-Pecos was mercifully easy thanks to the warmth and hospitality of our new neighbors . They ’ re welcoming folks , and welcoming folks tend to have that innate ability to turn the foreign into the familiar . They made Marathon seem at once new and known , like waking up in the same clothes you wore the night before . ( No judgment . We ’ ve all been there .)

Truth is , this area was never exactly alien to me . I grew up in San Angelo , which is about as far west in Texas you can go without being in Far West Texas . And editing isn ’ t new to me either . I ’ ve been in the publishing game for about 15 years , and though I cut my teeth at jobs that could be considered more journalistic than literary , you could say I ’ m genetically predisposed to this line of work . My dad worked for a publishing company most of my life , my mom joining him in the twilight of their respective careers . My brother is a librarian for the blind and visually impaired , and my sister works in and around the Texas Education Agency , helping to produce things that people , in theory , read .

So here I am . Danielle isn ’ t leaving town ; she ’ s just leaving me in charge of a publication she spent the past 14 years helming . It ’ ll be a tough act to follow . I hope y ’ all keep me honest .