City of Oaks
Columbus harbors big trees and a role in Texas history.
By Sheryl Smith-Rodgers
Photos by Maegan Lanham

Consider an acorn that's no wider than a penny. That image stuck in my mind as my husband and I drove around Columbus, gawking at the gargantuan live oaks that grow in streets and yards. Could they really have grown from this tiny seed?
Their immense bases and gnarly trunks triggered one "Wow" after another. Never had James and I seen so many in one town.
Among them reigns Grandma's Oak, listed on the Texas Big Tree Registry as the state's champion coastal live oak (Quercus virginiana). When last measured in 2016, it stood 61 feet high with a 338-inch circumference. Three metal braces support heavy branches that parallel the ground. It's estimated that the champ and Columbus' other oaks are at least 500 years old.
Which means they stood watch when Stephen F. Austin's “Old Three Hundred” colonists arrived in the 1820s. One was Benjamin Beeson (also spelled Beason), who operated a ferry at a bend on the Colorado River. After the Alamo fell in March 1836, panicked settlers — during what's called the Runaway Scrape — used the crossing to escape Mexican troops. Gen. Sam Houston, determined to leave no spoils behind, and his Texian soldiers burned the village down on their way to San Jacinto, where they defeated Santa Anna and won the Texas Revolution.
At first called Beeson's Ferry (and a few other variations), the community was later renamed Columbus. Locals theorize that settlers from the Ohio city suggested the name. In 1836, Columbus was designated as the county seat for the Republic of Texas' newly organized Colorado County.

East of downtown, we visit Beason's Park on the Colorado, a take-out point on the Columbus Paddling Trail. A stroll along a concrete walkway leads us past more stately oaks, under the U.S. Highway 90 bridge and over the river via the bridge's sidewalk. We wave at two kayakers as they glide under the bridge.
Overnight, we're staying at the Carriage Step, an elegant 1860s home built of cypress. The two-bedroom house is named for the concrete block at the end of the its walkway — the only surviving one in Columbus — that once helped passengers step down from horse-driven buggies. Sky-high ceilings, original pine floors and period furnishings take us back in time. In the kitchen, we find pastries and fruit, which we enjoy with coffee in the sun room.
For supper, we dine at Schobels Restaurant. First, we help ourselves to the bountiful salad bar and some slices from a huge block of cheddar. Then James digs into his Jaeger schnitzel with mushroom gravy, red cabbage and buttermilk-battered fries. My plate is heaped with shrimp étouffée and squash casserole. Delicious!


Scrolling through History
The next day, we meet up with history buff Ester Chandler at the first of three neighboring museums. We begin at the Alley Log Cabin, the second to be built by colonists Abraham and Nancy Alley. Their first two-room cabin overlooked the Colorado River. During the Runaway Scrape, that cabin was burned, and Abraham — enlisted as a Texian guard — helped his neighbors flee east to safety. Later in 1836, the Alleys returned and rebuilt their oak cabin, where they raised nine children. In 1976, the home was moved from its riverside location to Columbus.

Next door stands the Dilue Rose Harris House Museum, a modest home built in 1858 by Ira and Dilue Harris. Pine and walnut furnishings, such as sofas, chairs and beds, reflect the late 1800s. “What I find interesting is how these two properties, which are so architecturally different, share a common bond - the Runaway Scrape,” Chandler says.
During the Runaway Scrape, 11-year-old Dilue Rose and her family escaped from their home near present-day Stafford. At age 74, she recounted her experiences during the Texas Revolution in The Reminiscences of Mrs. Dilue Harris. The three-part memoir, which is available online, has become a valuable resource for early Texas history.
Lastly, Chandler escorts us next door to a red-doored cottage that houses the Santa Claus Museum. Christmas music tinkles as she talks about the estimated 5,000 Santas — mostly donated by five collectors — displayed on walls, shelves and glass cabinets in three rooms. The oldest Saint Nick is a well-worn doll given in 1913 to the late Mary Elizabeth Hopkins, whose collection launched the museum in 1990.

From needlepoint to ceramic, the variety of bearded fellows astounds us. There are dishware Santas. Ornament Santas. Vintage light bulb, snow globe, Coca-Cola, PEZ dispenser and international Santas. We pause for a selfie with a life-sized Santa, standing in a large glass case. He once greeted holiday customers in the 1950s and '60s at a Garwood department store. Before we leave, James jots a letter to Santa and drops it in the big red mailbox.
Next we head to the courthouse square. In all my years of traveling Texas, this is the first one I've seen with a mini castle-like tower on one corner. Docent Jo Ann Locklin ushers us inside the odd structure, which has housed the War Memorial Museum since the 1960s.
“A stable burned down in the early 1880s because there was no water,” she shares. “In 1883, this tower was built by the Masons with handmade bricks.” A wooden water tank topped the tower, which garaged a horse-drawn water pump on the ground floor. Its walls measured nearly three feet thick. In the 1920s, the city put in a new water system and abandoned the tower. An attempt to dynamite the solid structure failed.
Under the United Daughters of the Confederacy, the tower was renovated to its present design, including the addition of an interior cast-iron staircase salvaged from an 1880s railway roundhouse in Glidden. The museum's exhibits focus on local veterans of the Civil War up through the Afghanistan conflict.
From the museum, we venture into the Colorado County courthouse, a Classical Revival building topped with a clock tower when it was completed in 1891. After the 1909 hurricane destroyed the tower, it was replaced with a copper dome. In the upstairs district courtroom, we crane our necks to admire the gorgeous ceiling and spectacular stained-glass dome.
Across the street, we step in the 1886 Stafford Bank and Opera House, which houses the Columbus Chamber of Commerce. Cattleman Robert Stafford operated his bank and dry goods store downstairs and an opera house upstairs. He also built the next-door Victorian home so he could watch performances from his second-floor bedroom.

“Mr. Stafford and his wife loved the opera,” says tourism director Shelley Janik, who's taken us upstairs to see the old-timey stage, large seating area with original pine floors and a balcony on the far end. “This is the only surviving flat-floored opera house in Texas. Every year, our high school seniors have their prom here.”
Two blocks away, we pop into the Live Oak Art Center, located in the 1891 Brunson Building. Since 1986 the nonprofit center has offered art exhibits, lectures, receptions, workshops and summer camps in the former saloon. In a back room, we peek at the mirrored wooden bar where owner Charles Brunson poured drinks until 1919.

A New Champion Tree
Before we leave, I want to know more about those impressive live oaks. A few inquiries lead us to John Knesek at his home on — where else? — Live Oak Street. At his dining table, Knesek shares photos and stories about Grandma's Oak, which grew in his grandparents' yard on Walnut Street. As a youngster, he played for hours under the oak's branches.
“I'd seen the Big Tree [at Goose Island State Park] in Rockport,” Knesek says. “I thought Grandma's was bigger.”
So he nominated the Columbus live oak to the Big Tree Registry in 1989. But it fell second to the Big Tree, state champ since 1966. Knesek didn't give up, though. Every few years, he submitted updated measurements. Finally, in 2016, Grandma's Oak surpassed the Big Tree and was crowned state champ. But that could change since Grandma's Oak lost a large limb in September 2023.
No matter state rankings, Columbus to us — as the town motto claims — will always be “the city of live oaks and live folks.” We can't wait to go back.