I’ve been settling into the slow, relaxing Island Time, flowing with the energy of my body and the ever-changing weather. After the first two weeks of rain and cold and wind, these last few days have been cloudy and warm and very humid, with fog every morning and evening. And I am loving it. My skin is moist without daily lotion, and I don’t even mind that my hair falls into bangs.
Marika and I have explored more of the back streets on the Peninsula, and walked the jetties near the fishing boats and ship yards. We had a picnic lunch at the state park on the west end of Galveston Island, and ate our very first pound of boiled crawfish.
I haven’t been watching as much TV, or even sitting at the computer as often as usual. Instead, Cody and I are loving our every day romps on the beach, playing many rounds of ball in our grassy front yard space, and following the smells of the other dogs in the grassy areas around the RV park.
Every day I sit under the cool and breezy palapa and read a chapter or two, and watch for the egrets and roseate spoonbills in the canal. My legs are covered in mosquito bites, but they’re not the itching kind, and I am so grateful. And when it gets too sticky to be outside, I retreat to the cool a/c inside to read, watch TV or make postcards.
And when I hear myself say I’m too tired to go to the beach, or it’s too windy or too sticky, I ask myself, “If I don’t go, will I regret it a few months from now when it is no longer an option?” And usually the answer is yes. And so I go, always glad that I did. And on the few occasions that I opt to stay home, I really enjoy it.
Marika has been birding all over the peninsula, along the breakers at Rollover Pass where the fisherman line the jetty, down to Bolivar Flats, near the ferry, where the world-famous bird tour leader, Victor Emanuel, has a modest beach house on stilts. She’s been to the wildlife refuge about an hour away, and she took me to a great spot along the Intercoastal Waterway to watch the birds and the huge cargo ships and barges.
Last Saturday, we had talked about driving to Winnie, the closest town east of us. Marika really wanted to get the freezer defrosted, and so I figured I’d sit at the computer and get some work done, even though I really didn’t want to. And then she suggested that I go by myself. And I was thrilled at the idea!
So I grabbed my wallet and keys, a bottle of water and a bag of pretzel rods, and headed east on Texas 87, toward Winnie, to take myself out for lunch. Yes, I still had to have a reason, a destination, a focus. But, for the first time in months, I didn’t have the GPS turned on with a specific destination in mind. I was just driving until I got to Winnie.
I rolled down the front windows and opened the moon roof and loved the sticky coastal air softening my face, thickening my hair. I talked, out loud, through some ideas for the upcoming Heart Sparks workshop at the RV Park.
By the time I turned north onto 124 N, I had a plan for the workshop and could turn my full attention to the new landscape of fields and cattle and utility poles. I passed a half dozen short horned steer walking the fence line, and several dead possums on the side of the road.
I was the only car heading north, as I passed trailers and motorhomes and cars heading to the beach. I started singing King of the Road, but I couldn’t remember the lyrics, so I whistled most of the song, belting out the title line, louder, stronger, happier, with each verse.
There weren’t too many choices for lunch in Winnie beside the usual fast food places, so I checked Yelp on my phone and chose the Shorthorn Cafe in Hamshire, the next town over. I put the address into the Garmin and found the restaurant, an order-at-the-counter sandwich and burger joint next to a convenience store. The gal was young and friendly and said “everything is good,” so I stayed. I enjoyed my burger and fries outside under the covered patio, watching the trees blow in the breeze. On the drive home I wondered why I hadn’t taken myself on a solo trip sooner.
When we leave the Peninsula this weekend, we’ll spend a few nights camping at the state park on the other end of Galveston Island, then head north to a campground 30 miles outside of Austin where we got a last-minute camp hosting job through the beginning of April. The park is on a lake that is part of the Lower Colorado River Authority. We’ll be cleaning camp sites and cabins, and meeting and greeting campers.
It will be good to have a schedule, a routine, and regular interaction with other people. And then, the plan is to return to the coast in April for the spring migration of all of the birds.
But until then, I’m so loving this time here at the beach, made even sweeter knowing that we’ll be back soon.
