Dear Tamar,
We’re enjoying one of those stunningly beautiful fall days on the coast. The cool north breeze is blowing wispy clouds quickly away and the sky behind those clouds is the cleanest, purest blue you’ll ever encounter. It’s reportedly been said that Rockport has some of the freshest air in the country and today I truly believe it. It’s noticeably invigorating.
As I walk out the front door I see two white pelicans skimming over Salt Lake and a great blue heron perched on a bulkhead hunting his morning meal. The white pelicans are such a treat to see because they are just now arriving from the north. The entire country and Canada funnels a major migrating corridor right through Rockport and birders from around the world visit each year. Laughing gulls swoop and caw adding their voices to the general feeling of happiness.
Across the street on the vacant tract of land I see and hear RC airplanes emitting a low drone from their tiny little engines. I’ve seen these people before and they usually appear on a Saturday morning. You can tell it’s a Saturday morning because our usually quiet street is busy with the comings and goings of weekend visitors, vacationers and locals running errands.
Next-door stands an unfinished house with plywood boarding nailed over the windows; the vacant lot between us reveals construction materials and tall weeds. I wish they’d finish, it’s unsightly and the weeds harbor mosquitoes by the thousands.
As we continue our walk I notice the breeze has changed from north to south – all in about 10 minutes. In the lull of changing wind directions there is virtually no breeze whatsoever and in that instant I realize I should have sprayed mosquito repellent on my bare arms. They land on me for their morning meal forcing me to walk faster and even jog at one point. There’s one on my arm now – splat – I sure hope that’s my bright red blood and not someone else’s, gross.
As we walk by a rack of trash cans I notice a not so pleasant smell. One of the large gray plastic ones has somehow flipped itself with the lid askew allowing that reek to permeate it’s immediate vicinity. They must have eaten boiled shrimp recently because the peelings are baking in the sun contributing nicely to that nasty odor. We jog by just to get it over with. Too bad the trash pickup isn’t until next week.
Not far down the road on the left stands a typical beach house on stilts under construction with scaffolding completely surrounding it. The painters are working today and busily lather a pretty pale yellow on the exterior. A radio blares Tejano music and Abe and I match our steps to the music’s beat. Every single painter stops and stares as we march in time to the tune. Two of them grin and wave, perhaps wishing they could walk with us.
Next door to that work in progress lies a vacant lot with yellow plastic rope surrounding it. My guess is the owner wanted to prevent the workers from parking on their property. But come on, it’s just a vacant lot, how much damage is being done by the wheels and feet of the workers? Not very neighborly conduct if you ask me.
Two doors down sits another vacant lot with tall yellow sunflowers beaming at the sun as brightly as it beams at them. Their brown middles follow the sun’s path and I congratulate whoever so aptly named them.
Further on I notice an ebony black grackle in the tippy top of a Norfork Pine. The backdrop of the azure blue sky and the evergreen tree emphasizes his dark silhouette. He warns in his strident voice that we are approaching although we exhibit no threat to him or his relatives.
Across the street an older man loads a green wheelbarrow with what looks like large bags of soil. His ratty blue tee shirt and ragged blue jeans indicate he’s ready and willing to get dirty. I immediately notice his snow-white moustache when he turns. The contrast of the brilliant white against his tan skin is startling. If he only knew …
In the distance I hear what sounds like a thousand motorcycles approaching. As I turn to see what the commotion is about I am astonished to see what appears to be a motorcycle brigade coming down our dead end street. There must be 60 of them! Almost all of them wave as Abe sits quietly beside me with his head on a swivel, as if he were watching a tennis match. I wave back at most of them knowing I will get a second chance since they have obviously taken a wrong turn and will be returning very soon. Sure enough, within a few minutes they come back, headed in the opposite direction. The noise is deafening and I’m sure many people have dashed to their windows to witness the disturbing uproar. The head motorcycle guy probably won’t live that one down for a while.
At the end of the road where we turn there stands a woman with a beautiful baby in her arms watching as grandma decorates the front porch with witches, ghosts and jack-o-lanterns for Halloween. The baby appears more interested in Abe as indicated by the huge grin peeking out from the sides of her pacifier. I wave but she doesn’t wave back. Her wide smile says it all.
I laugh and reply, “Yes, it’s much easier.” But really, Abe doesn’t pull me at all; he walks obediently beside me as he was trained to do. What a good boy.
As we stride back the way we came I notice two little boys toting palm fronds, looking for a place to build a fort, I presume. Their dad sports clippers and has been diligently loading the trailer with cut ones. He smiles and says, “Hi!” Maybe he has those younguns helping instead of allowing them to build a fort. I believe both endeavors earn merit.
As we near our gate I hear our wind chimes with their gentle low tone and realize we are truly blessed to live in such a gorgeous setting. With Copano Bay as our constant wide-open view on one side and Salt Lake on the other, I can honestly say I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Pinch me!
Tamar, I would really like you to come down for a visit. It will give you a chance to get away from the bitter cold that has begun up there in British Columbia and you can see for yourself what I have shown you here. Don’t worry; I’ll do the pinching!
Love you! - Roxie
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