The Way I See It...

Publisher's Letter 

Robin Rogers, Ed.D.

March 2026

It’s our Home & Garden issue, and if you’ve seen the cover, you know we did not come to play. Scarlett Stussy Chaidez, our new columnist and resident dietitian, is standing in a stunning kitchen surrounded by vibrant fruits and vegetables like she just walked out of a lifestyle magazine. It’s fresh. It’s intentional. It’s beautiful.

And it all started with a plan.

Now, I’ll be honest. Large portions of my life have not started with a plan. Some seasons were more “intution and caffeine” than strategy. And yet, here we are—still standing, still publishing, still kicking. But the places and projects that have worked the best? Those had intentions behind them.

Take my home. It was built by an architect from Austin who decided, for once, to build a house he actually wanted to live in. Revolutionary concept, I know. The result? Cabinets where cabinets should be. Storage where storage makes sense. Every space was thoughtfully designed. There is something deeply comforting about living inside a good plan, even if that plan is from 1973.

Four States Living works the same way. Every month begins with a theme. We map out content. We align advertisers. We build stories around an idea. Does it always unfold perfectly? Of course not. Articles sometimes wander. Ads occasionally have their own agenda. But the heart of it remains the same: we plan to tell positive stories about good people in our region. And that plan matters.

Because if you scroll through social media for five minutes, you’ll see plenty of unplanned chaos. We rubberneck digital car wrecks. We consume bad news like popcorn and then wonder why we feel anxious. Somewhere along the way, people started believing that complaining online counted as community engagement.

About a month ago, I read a thread where folks insisted there was “nothing to do” in Texarkana. I nearly needed medical intervention.

Not long before that, my family had hosted some cousins from out of town—cultured, smart women from bigger cities. After a week of showing them around, I was truly exhausted. We “did” Texarkana:

Dinner at The Primary Commons—a farm-to-table gem that could hold its own anywhere. A visit to the 1894 Gallery downtown. An evening of TexRep performing The Mousetrap at the Stilwell Theater—directed by the ever-talented Michael Cooper. I saw that play in London in the ’80s, and I can tell you our local talent stands tall. The Texarkana Regional Chorale also delivered a magnificent performance. We browsed locally-owned boutiques where the owners greeted me by name.

On Presidents Day, we hopped in the car and drove to the Presidential Library in Little Rock to take in eight years of American history, with free admission on that particular holiday. For good measure, we stopped in Hope to see the Clinton Home and National Historic Site, where, after our tour, we were challenged to presidential trivia and became “Junior Rangers.” (None of us had that on our post-30 bingo cards, but life is about growth.)

We took a stroll through Spring Lake Park, with its pristine baseball fields, clean and accessible playgrounds, walking paths that make you want to lace up your shoes. Our two cities, on both sides of the state line, work hard to maintain these public spaces. That didn’t happen accidentally. That happened because somebody made a plan—years ago—and someone else kept it going.

Texarkana isn’t massive, but it’s big enough. We have healthcare access, lakes and rivers, golf courses, parks, arts, culture, and skies so bright at night that you want to put your phone down and just look up. That doesn’t happen in a concrete jungle. That happens in a place where people build intentionally.

Planning isn’t glamorous. It’s not flashy. It’s not popular. But imagine building a home without blueprints. Imagine spending thousands on landscaping without knowing which plants need sun and which need shade. That’s not charming; that’s expensive regret.

“Anything worth doing is worth doing right.” That advice has anchored me more than once. My budget works better with a plan. My parenting and grandparenting work better with a plan. My days are calmer with a plan. Even my joy is more consistent when I’m intentional about where I place my time and attention.

This issue is filled with stories about home, the place where we reset, gather, nourish, and grow. Home is more than square footage. It’s community. It’s neighbors who wave. It’s gallery owners who unlock the door with a smile. It’s restaurants where the servers know your order. It’s ballfields under Friday night lights.

If you live here and still think there’s nothing to do, I’ll say this with love: open your eyes. Or make a plan to find something better. In every place, you give up something to get something. Living well in the four states area doesn’t happen by accident. It happens because people before us built something thoughtfully and because we choose to take up the mantle and participate in it.

I, for one, am pretty proud to call this place home. I hope you enjoy all we planned for this month, and I hope you are inspired to think about your own plans, grand and small. As always, thanks for reading Four States Living Magazine.