The Valentine's Day snow was melted by about 11 am and it warmed up to almost 60. S. and I took a hike in the greenbelt in the afternoon and then came home and had a very average dinner, cooked by me. S. was diplomatic but I could tell he was less than impressed.
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Sunday morning we began a lovely but often smelly (helllloooo Luling and Gonzalez!) drive to S.'s hometown and beyond. Past rusted corrugated hulls of worker's shacks, idle pump jacks and bored-looking cows. We passed the overgrown foundation of a farmhouse; next to it stood a birdhouse on a tall pole, put there and enjoyed by someone long ago. Cropdusters swooping low and making wide turns over the fields; a farm landing strip where the planes came low over the heads of grazing cattle who don't even glance up or start at the noise and bulk swooping over their heads. As we got closer to the coast, the strange sight of palm trees lining farmland entry lanes.
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Metalworks and massive oil refineries off the coast at Port Lavaca (a sad old town that has a public swimming pool mere yards from the ocean, something that perplexed me until I saw how filthy the sea water was). A sign outside a rundown diner that simply said "RESTAURANT"; as if that was all the enthusiasm to be mustered for the goings-on within. Freestanding decks built, not against but in the backyards of apartment buildiings and houses -- they looked like some kind of posh watchtowers.
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On the way to the beach, down a two-lane road, a dog was lying nonchalantly in the center of the road sunning himself. S.'s mom says he is there every time they drive down that way. Seafoam green and coral-colored buildings built high on stilts to protect them from hurricane winds and tides. A beach so packed with washed-up shells the sand crunched as we walked along. Picked up so many shells we could barely carry them. New shapes and colors and beach glass of the oddest olive green color I've ever seen.
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On the way back, thinking about how diferent rural poverty looks from its urban counterpart. Sad-looking skinny dogs and kids underdressed for the weather...porches full of old furniture and appliances, overflowing with years of hard living. The poverty here looks more entrenched and isolated to me somehow.
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I have more notes and some pics but no way to post them for now.
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Perhaps later. Right now, I have some flea-killin' to do...
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