A Gentle Hand, a Listening Ear, and a Moment of Humanity in the Wake of Devastation
The Guadalupe River doesn’t whisper anymore. In the summer of 2025, it roared — rising fast and without mercy, swallowing homes, dreams, and history across Hunt, Texas, and the wider Hill Country.
Among the survivors is Betty Matteson, a 94-year-old grandmother, who with her family climbed into the attic as floodwaters surged up the staircase. In those terrifying hours, all they had was one another, a flashlight, and a prayer.
They survived — but the home that had stood for generations did not.
Her guest house — the single source of her income — was torn apart. There was no flood insurance, and with nowhere to turn, Betty’s future suddenly felt as uncertain as the water still lingering in her yard.
But today, someone knocked on her door.
It wasn’t FEMA.
It wasn’t a reporter.
It was Randy Owen — the country music legend who helped build St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, who spent decades giving back, and who has now turned his attention to the people of flood-ravaged Texas.
“I heard about Miss Betty,” Randy said softly, stepping onto the cracked porch. “And I had to come shake her hand.”
With no cameras in tow and no grand entrance, he sat beside her on a folding chair, under the shade of a storm-battered oak tree. For over an hour, they talked — not about music, not about fame, but about family, fear, and what it feels like to lose almost everything and still get up the next morning.
Betty’s eyes welled up as she pointed to where her guest house once stood.
“I raised my grandkids out there. I ran that place on my own.”
Randy placed a calloused hand over hers.
“You built more than a house. You built love. And that doesn’t wash away.”
Before he left, he handed her an envelope — a personal donation, enough to begin cleanup and repairs — and made a quiet promise to rally support for others like her.
“We’ve sung about small towns our whole lives. Now it’s time we show up for them.”
Betty smiled through tears.
“I didn’t think anybody would care.”
But someone did.
And in that small, quiet visit, under the weight of tragedy and the grace of kindness, one thing became clear:
The Hill Country isn’t forgotten.
And neither is Miss Betty.