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Buzzard Roost, San Felipe, Seminole Canyon.
Breaking away from the highway tangle that defines the urban landscape, I'm in the open on the state road 150 miles to the Rio Grande. At each dip in the road I look for the sign, some arroyo, creek or just a slough. From the rises I see the brushland extends unbroken to the horizon. Hardly any grass or understory. The bare plants have names like guajillo, blackbrush acacia, ceniza, and shrubby bluesage. I don't know them and I'm relieved later on to see black mesquite and an occasional live oak by the roadside. (From San Felipe del Rio, Jan 18, 2009, A Gentleman's Travel Notes.)
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(On this page.)
San Felipe del Rio, Jan 18, 2009
Mexico, a few facts.
Texas, a few facts.
(On the next page.)
Buzzard Roost, San Felipe, Seminole Canyon. Jan'09
Quinceanera, Flea Market, Blackbrush. Feb'09
Eagle Pass, Box Canyon. Feb'09
Big Bend National Park. March'09
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 Murray, Iza and Martin . . . |
 . . . at 26 W Pierrepont . . . |
 . . . and 28 W Rutherford NJ Home Sweet Home '82-'87 |
 Gibralter (?) |
 7x12ft |
 for George and Martin |
 Full service |
 Office |
 and kitchen |
 at Buzzard Roost RV Park Del Rio TX |
 Charlene & Joe following work from San Antonio |
 Dan vet retired from Dodge City KS |
 Martin and George |
 OK (Not) |
 George's backyard |
 with Prickly Pear cactus |
 and room to play. |
 HEB supersupermarket |
 Always has everything |
 For building and fixing. |
 Ratana the gentle landlord. |
 Saloon for |
 drinks and free food. |
 Seminole Canyon |
 Open space |
 with cactus leaf |
 and fruit |
 Prickly Pear |
 Cactus |
 for for Native Americans |
 Seminole Indian drawings |
 Cabez de Vacas |
 Made friends with the natives |
 in theTexas plains. |
 Desert food, the pear . . . |
 . . . or tuna in the Summer. |
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San Felipe del Rio 
Breaking away from the highway tangle that defines the urban landscape, I'm in the open on the state road 150 miles to the Rio Grande. At each dip in the road I look for the sign, some arroyo, creek or just a slough. From the rises I see the brushland extends unbroken to the horizon. Hardly any grass or understory. The bare plants have names like guajillo, blackbrush acacia, ceniza, and shrubby bluesage. I don't know them and I'm relieved later on to see black mesquite and an occasional live oak by the roadside.
A shipwrecked Spaniard journeyed through these parts many years ago. The native population he encountered was so varied he named them by their food supply which interested him greatly. Fig people thrived in the summer on the tuna or pear of the prickly cactus. Other times they dug for roots or ventured out for oysters. Hunters lived on deer and smaller game, or traveled to the unknown for bison. Vacas, with two sailors and a Negro, the only surviving members of his party, lived with these peoples as slave, healer or trader in a series of mutually beneficial relations that lasted seven years. With their help he was able to make it all the way to the Pacific and then south to Mexico. He didn't like what he found there and he was unrecognizaeable to his own countrymen. He wrote about his experiences for the King and was given the post as Governor of Paraguay. He later lost the job, advocating liberal treatment of the Indians, which angered the landowners.When I see them at the restaurant from across the room they seem farther away and I think the distance will not be measured by ordinary means, as it increases when they're close up in speech. The man at the table is solid under a billcap with a religious motif. The woman is in black and heavy makeup while she peels back the tortilla and adds sauce. His is cocacola and hers a dietcoke. Someone stands by the table exchanging information with them while waiting for his takeout. I watch this 15 minutes hoping to get the lingo. The patron seems to be inquiring about my meal and I join my thumb and forefinger raising my arm in a sign that matches his. The road sign points to a downtown of jumble streets and toothless storefronts, an artscenter in a 20's movie house and law offices in varied architecture with bilingual signs in front. The traffic heads north along a fivemile strip with big shopping, chain hotels, ruined structures and empty lots running east and west that tell the story of quick development here. I pull off the highway on the way back from shopping. I pick the first road on the right and on the next impulse an opening in the fence into an empty shrub lot with pipes and equipment some of it on poles overhead. It's five in the afternoon so I turn the car around to face the sun and sit. Spots chosen with such careful attention to accident are the most memorable. Later when I look out my eyes are just a few feet from a grey dove on a branch. I watch for a long time. Alert now for this bird I listen for its pigeon coo. One of them on a high wire this morning is joined by another. The second after a while lowers its head way down then raises it back up again, repeating this bowing motion several times. With the head down its figure is larger for the back feathers in a vertical display. After a moment they're off in a chase. Del Rio TX Jan 28, 2009 |
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