photo just right, you could see a ghostly hand reaching out to touch the spines of the books. The effect was only in one of the photos, so certainly had to be an errant shaft of sunlight that looked hand-like.
I laughed at the illusion and typed in a joking response even as I stretched my shoulders and neck, deciding I’d had just about enough work for one day. I glanced toward the sky, through the front windows, and saw there was still a good bit of daylight left. With my back and legs cramped from lifting stacks of books, I quickly left the Bookmark and locked up, eager to walk off the stiffness and explore my new home.
The foot traffic in Lighthouse Square had lessened markedly as the day eased into afternoon. Though the parking slots in front of the lighthouse were all filled, I knew the passengers were likely settling in at the string of restaurants surrounding the area.
As it was getting late, I made a beeline for the crosswalk and crossed over the four lanes of highway. After walking two blocks, I came to the mesquite-shaded entrance of the Port Isabel Museum, a place I had read about in a brochure picked up at The Fat Mother.
I passed through a small gift shop and paid seven dollars to enter. As soon as I stepped into the museum proper, I was surrounded by shell artifacts from the 1500s. My interest was piqued as I’ve always been something of a history buff. I studied the conch shells the natives and early settlers used as hammers and the sharpened shells they used as scrapers and knives. The ingenuity of early man never failed to amaze me. I also saw a fossilized mammoth tooth as big around as my thigh. The thought of a creature that size was daunting.
Settling the lower Rio Grande Valley had been hit or miss for a good while, it seemed. The Spaniards had numerous deadly encounters with the natives. Not until the late 1600s was a successful colony set up near Port Isabel. The next case held photographic and artistic displays about the development of ranches and the establishment of the vaqueros or Mexican cowboys.
I was intrigued to see that most of the ranch land in the lower Rio Grande Valley had been granted by Spanish royalty to a select handful of families. These families set up huge cattle ranches throughout the area, including what would become Padre Island. I had no idea the island had been a cattle ranch for so long.
I learned that Texas and Mexico fought for independence from Spain using pirates and smugglers to get valley products to ports such as Corpus Christi and New Orleans. Land disputes led to the Mexican War of 1846 which set the Rio Grande River as the boundary dividing the two nations. I studied lists of soldiers’ names and imagined the young, eager faces falling under enemy fire.
I followed the serpentine layout of the museum and chased the history of Point Isabel which became Port Isabel in 1927. I learned about the steamboats on the Rio Grande, transporting cargo north and bringing back goods to the valley. The Civil War placed South Texas in a strategic tug of war that caused it to suffer a good bit of destruction. The 1870s brought the rise of railroad barons and the 1900s saw South Texas dealing with the Mexican Revolution, and later becoming a prime fishing and tourist destination. My head was spinning by the time I finished the last display and stepped out of the coolness, back to the steaming sidewalk of Port Isabel.
I made my way back across Highway 100 and entered the old light keeper’s cottage where the Port Isabel Chamber of Commerce had established a tourist bureau. I checked out a few brochures, picked up a detailed history and a phone book, walked across the lawn, mounted the ten or so steps, and walked into the dimness of the lighthouse. Black iron stairs spiraled into the air above me.
“Think I’ll make it?” I asked the young college student minding the table just inside the entry.
“I think so,” she said with a shrug. “You look pretty fit.”
I
I laughed at the illusion and typed in a joking response even as I stretched my shoulders and neck, deciding I’d had just about enough work for one day. I glanced toward the sky, through the front windows, and saw there was still a good bit of daylight left. With my back and legs cramped from lifting stacks of books, I quickly left the Bookmark and locked up, eager to walk off the stiffness and explore my new home.
The foot traffic in Lighthouse Square had lessened markedly as the day eased into afternoon. Though the parking slots in front of the lighthouse were all filled, I knew the passengers were likely settling in at the string of restaurants surrounding the area.
As it was getting late, I made a beeline for the crosswalk and crossed over the four lanes of highway. After walking two blocks, I came to the mesquite-shaded entrance of the Port Isabel Museum, a place I had read about in a brochure picked up at The Fat Mother.
I passed through a small gift shop and paid seven dollars to enter. As soon as I stepped into the museum proper, I was surrounded by shell artifacts from the 1500s. My interest was piqued as I’ve always been something of a history buff. I studied the conch shells the natives and early settlers used as hammers and the sharpened shells they used as scrapers and knives. The ingenuity of early man never failed to amaze me. I also saw a fossilized mammoth tooth as big around as my thigh. The thought of a creature that size was daunting.
Settling the lower Rio Grande Valley had been hit or miss for a good while, it seemed. The Spaniards had numerous deadly encounters with the natives. Not until the late 1600s was a successful colony set up near Port Isabel. The next case held photographic and artistic displays about the development of ranches and the establishment of the vaqueros or Mexican cowboys.
I was intrigued to see that most of the ranch land in the lower Rio Grande Valley had been granted by Spanish royalty to a select handful of families. These families set up huge cattle ranches throughout the area, including what would become Padre Island. I had no idea the island had been a cattle ranch for so long.
I learned that Texas and Mexico fought for independence from Spain using pirates and smugglers to get valley products to ports such as Corpus Christi and New Orleans. Land disputes led to the Mexican War of 1846 which set the Rio Grande River as the boundary dividing the two nations. I studied lists of soldiers’ names and imagined the young, eager faces falling under enemy fire.
I followed the serpentine layout of the museum and chased the history of Point Isabel which became Port Isabel in 1927. I learned about the steamboats on the Rio Grande, transporting cargo north and bringing back goods to the valley. The Civil War placed South Texas in a strategic tug of war that caused it to suffer a good bit of destruction. The 1870s brought the rise of railroad barons and the 1900s saw South Texas dealing with the Mexican Revolution, and later becoming a prime fishing and tourist destination. My head was spinning by the time I finished the last display and stepped out of the coolness, back to the steaming sidewalk of Port Isabel.
I made my way back across Highway 100 and entered the old light keeper’s cottage where the Port Isabel Chamber of Commerce had established a tourist bureau. I checked out a few brochures, picked up a detailed history and a phone book, walked across the lawn, mounted the ten or so steps, and walked into the dimness of the lighthouse. Black iron stairs spiraled into the air above me.
“Think I’ll make it?” I asked the young college student minding the table just inside the entry.
“I think so,” she said with a shrug. “You look pretty fit.”
I
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