The way people speak has always caught my ear. Maybe because I grew up around my grandmother and her eight siblings. She was a teenager when the family migrated in 1912 from Big Spring, Texas, to California. They never spoke of Texas. They just spoke in a way that sounded like poetry to me. When I moved to Texas several years ago, I sure was surprised to hear that everyone sounded just like my family.

Bill Bishel, our editor, asked me to take these photographs around and show them to a variety of people and get their responses. He encouraged me to "cast a wide net." Some of those I met with had college degrees, while others had never left the land.I proceeded like a water witcher with a V-shaped willow stick, moving carefully out into each person's heart until I felt the tug, the pull, that told me I'd found the source. I got more than just responses: stories began to flow. And the more people I talked with, the more that source became one voice—much the same way as several springs lead down to one river. To that, I added my own voice.

This is not hick. This is pure dialect that has retained its freedom from an undifferentiated homogeneous speech. There's a way of talking—steady, without commas, then perhaps a full round pause, followed by repetitions and run-on sentences, all at a pace that runs unchecked like a slow, sure spring. The voice here comes through as poetry: reflective, seasoned, timeless, and strong.

This, y'all, is Texas.

Renée Walker Pritzker