Another thought that divides the world into groups. Fifty years ago one of the uncles was the there had to be a picture person. He lined us up and re-aligned us and fiddled with settings and said, “Just one more.” I don’t know where the prints are. I do know I have memories of bending and trying to turn around some child whose face was hidden in my skirts. When we do find a stack of those pictures in a shoe box, the opening words are always, “Oh, I remember when we…” Then the details are filled in to flesh out the moment of the picture.
A friend and I took an absolutely perfect road trip last week-end and somehow snapped not a single picture, not even the one of two of us for the third friend that couldn’t go. You don’t need to reach out your hand to hold a shot, just open your mind to what I say. The afternoon was a pleasant drive directed by our phone’s GPS, The ultimate destination was Fulton/Rockport, designated as south. I kept having to shake my head over that direction because the Gulf that is normally directly south of us when in Houston had followed the curve of the coast and was now a few blocks to the east. A friend I had taught with welcomed us to a lot with landmark trees, the live oaks. Other lots were crowded with trailers to house those inhabitants designated as ‘winter Texans.”
For two small coastal towns, Fulton and Rockport abound in preserved history. My friend is a par excellent historical archaeologist and gave us a show and tell for adults. We wandered the Maritime Museum and I re-learned about LaSalle’s ship La Belle that sank off Matagorda Bay and is now in the Texas Historical Museum in Austin, offering the possibility of another field trip. Friday morning we went to one of the older houses that had been moved and will now be used for various exhibits. The quilting ladies of the town were training docents for a next day opening,
Friday afternoon was the jewel in the crown. We went on a boat tour to see mostly Whooping Cranes in their migration moments. We sat in a cabin with our small binoculars. Hard-core viewers braved wind and lined the deck with larger magnification and cameras mounted on tripods. I could spend several sentences on geography and controlled burns because that area is my minor in college. The gasping sights were seven families of cranes: two adults and a motley teen delicately stepping and swooping down for a succulent meal. We were delighted the javelina was on a far bank away from the boat. White and brown pelicans and settled gulls welcomed us back into the harbor. Around a supper table that night no phone was passed around with pictures. Instead, we who were visiting bubbled out what our day had been like while the listeners who lived in those midsts daily nodded in agreement. On the drive back home, the pondering of the trip provided our delight in the going.
Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them.
Psalm 111:2
Let Me Tell Ya 